Going Green

by Nick Spalding

  ‘Okay, Joseph, that sounds great,’ Nolan replies. ‘Let’s get going then!’ he adds, giving Kevin a broad smile.

  Joseph hands me one of the three helmets. It’s testament to the fact that he can see how worried I am that he gives me the biggest and most padded of the three.

  I sigh as I unbuckle the helmet’s strap. I didn’t do much with my hair this morning, knowing that I’d be out here doing this, but helmet hair is something that I require days to recover from. I hadn’t planned on washing it for at least another two days, but this will guarantee I’ll be slapping on the Pantene this evening. Possibly just after I’ve slapped an ice pack on my undercarriage.

  Yes. Just think about the ice pack. The cool, soothing ice pack. That should get you through this.

  With my cycle helmet on, and the GoPro recording every moment of my Cyclocity torture trip, I remount the hideous contraption very slowly and await further orders.

  ‘How long . . . how long do you think this will take?’ Nolan asks Joseph, trying to maintain the impression of a man who is happy to be here, in this most rarefied of strange situations.

  ‘Five, ten minutes?’ Joseph replies. ‘If Kevin takes the lead, and you two follow him about for a while, that should be all I need. Then I’ll do lots of close-ups and beauty shots of the bikes alone. That’ll give me everything I need for the raw footage.’

  Nolan nods.

  Five to ten minutes then.

  Can I manage that?

  Yes. I probably can. It’s obvious that Nolan wants to finish what we’ve started, and do right by Kevin Flounder. This is quite admirable, even if it does mean that he’s probably going to have a mashed penis for the rest of his life.

  This is the first time I have ever considered Nolan Reece’s penis. Which sounds not just a little like Reese’s Pieces – a sweet I wholeheartedly enjoy popping into my mouth whenever I get my hands on one.

  And now I’m thinking about Nolan Reece’s penis in direct conjunction with things I pop into my mouth, and that, my happy friends, is NOT A PROFESSIONAL TRAIN OF THOUGHT.

  I do not see Nolan in that way.

  I don’t.

  Okay, as established, he is very cute – in that unconventional Adam Driver way. His unruly black hair and open smile are adorable – but he’s not my type.

  Definitely not.

  And I swore to never have a relationship with anyone I work with again. Not after Robert Ainslie bloody Blake and his wilful destruction of nature reserves.

  ‘Ellie? You ready for this?’ Nolan asks me, as he mounts his Cyclocity 5000 again. It’s plain I’ve been wool-gathering, and wool-gathering about Nolan’s penis to boot. How embarrassing.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ I reply, a little too loudly, and nod my head. The weight of both cycle helmet and GoPro feels very strange and off-putting. Something else I’m going to have to cope with, along with the wobbly wheels, loud motor and rock-hard saddle. Joy of joys.

  ‘Great,’ he replies with relief. I think he’s taking some strength from my willingness to carry on with this torment, and I don’t know whether I’m happy about that or not. ‘Okay, Kevin,’ he says to the chief torturer, ‘you ride out ahead and we’ll follow. Just try to take it slowly and keep us away from busy streets. Maybe just go around the park a couple of times, eh?’

  Kevin snaps a happy salute back at Nolan. ‘Roger that!’ he exclaims, and pushes his bike into motion, pointing it at the park’s exit. Nolan takes up station right behind him, and I start to pedal right behind Nolan, with Joseph now in his van, bringing up the rear – a rather large and unwieldy-looking camera set up on the dashboard next to him, filming everything that goes on in front.

  Five minutes. That’s all. Just five more minutes . . .

  To begin with, Kevin does as instructed, and keeps the pace nice and slow.

  Wing . . . wing . . . wing . . . wing . . . wing . . . wing, goes my bike’s motor at a sedate pace, as we pootle along the road that runs parallel to the park, with only one car passing us for its entire length.

  This isn’t so bad. I can cope with this.

  But then we reach the T-junction at the end of the road, and instead of turning left to continue our circumnavigation of the park’s perimeter, Kevin decides to turn right. As he does so, I swear I hear him shout ‘Tally ho!’, and definitely see him stick one arm out in front of him with his finger thrust in the direction he wants us to go.

  Bloody hell. He may be having the time of his life, but I’m sure as hell not. The last thing I want to be is beholden to the movements of an overenthusiastic inventor, keen to show off his latest invention.

  But such is my lot in life – as Nolan follows Kevin right, forcing me and Joseph to do the same.

  On this bigger, broader road, Kevin starts to pick up the pace.

  Wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, wang, his bike goes, as its speed increases.

  Wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, wong, Nolan’s bike echoes.

  And Wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, wing, mine responds, as if the three of them were communicating in their own strange velocipede language.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ I groan, feeling the saddle biting into my crotch again, this time much harder thanks to both the increase in speed and the roughness of the tarmac on this particular road.

  After about a minute, we reach yet another junction, and I am dismayed to see that the road crossing ours is much, much busier. It’s a bloody dual carriageway, it looks like. Will Kevin do a one-eighty and bring us back in the direction we’ve come from?

  Will he fuck as like.

  Instead, he indicates left – and out we all go on to the main road.

  The dual carriageway is quite, quite terrifying. Cars zoom past me at forty miles an hour, which would be bad enough on a good bicycle, but on this wobbly silly bamboo bugger, it’s a thousand times worse. I’m petrified that, at any moment, my dubious control over it is going to desert me completely, and I’m going to steer right out into the path of a passing truck.

  At least I don’t have to pump the pedals now. The e-motor has been charged, and I can rely on that to power me along. Even if it is a bit erratic.

  Up front, Kevin is attempting to match the speed of the cars around him, and has flicked his bike into the highest gear that the electric motor can handle.

  Nolan does the same, forcing me to follow suit.

  I am instantly propelled forward as the motor reaches its maximum power output. An output that goes far beyond what I would have thought possible for such a small piece of machinery.

  Wingwingwingwingwingwingwingwingwingwingwingwing wingwing, the fucking thing goes, at an alarming volume.

  Now I’m in real danger of being smeared across two lanes of traffic.

  Riding around on an e-bike may be much better for the environment, but it is not better for the state of my mental or physical health. I’d cheerfully punch a polar bear in the chops right now, if I could just be allowed to get off this hellish contraption and back into my lovely car, with its big comfy driver’s seat.

  Nolan’s undercarriage must be red-raw. It’s a wonder he hasn’t crashed.

  Kevin is far from crashing. He’s having way too much of a good time. Is he riding along waving his legs about like a madman? You bet your nice, pain-free arse he is.

  I might not be much of an advertisement for the joys of e-bicycles, but Kevin Flounder makes up for my lack of enthusiasm in leaps and bounds. I hope Joseph is concentrating his video on what Kev’s up to, rather than focusing on my misery.

  Oh, who am I kidding? This video will never see the light of day. The first thing I’m going to recommend to Nolan once we get back to the office is that we never, ever speak of these things again. E-bikes might well be the way of the future, in terms of protecting our planet, but it won’t be ones made by Kevin Flounder – unless the entire human race turns into a bunch of sadomasochists overnight.

  Just as I’m wincing against t
he draught of a large Highways Agency truck passing me, I see Kevin lurch off to the left, down a side road that splits from the dual carriageway. Thank God for that – at least we’re leaving the heavy, fast traffic again.

  And even better, it looks like the traffic lights ahead of us that lead on to a roundabout are turning red. Kevin will have to stop now, to make sure that he—

  Oh no. The fucker isn’t stopping. Not for anyone or anything.

  Kevin flies out on to the roundabout – and I can see that Nolan is preparing to do the same!

  I consider my options.

  If you were to line up the entire serving British Army in front of me, all keen to play a nice, exciting game of soldiers, I would say fuck this. I would say fuck this in the loudest voice possible.

  I slam on my Cyclocity’s brakes as hard as I can.

  Wingwingwingwingwingwingwingwing – WERRRRRRNNNGGGGG, cries the motor as the brakes also squeal in protest. WERRRRRRRGGGGGG – PLOING!

  Oh shit. I think I’ve broken something.

  Never mind though, at least it’s not my fucking head.

  The Cyclocity screeches to a halt right on the line, just as the light above me goes red. I look up to see that poor Nolan has lost control of his bike, and is heading straight for the centre of the roundabout.

  My heart flies into my throat as I watch him fly across the road. ‘Nolan!’ I wail ineffectually, as he rockets away from me towards inevitable disaster.

  He mounts the kerb with an enormous clatter, and bounces up the grass mound, screaming for all he’s worth. The e-bike’s brakes do nothing on the slippery grass surface.

  Nolan’s hectic forward motion is eventually halted when he has the presence of mind to jump backwards off the saddle, sending him tumbling into a heap on the grass, as the Cyclocity spears straight for the small thicket of bushes and trees at the top of the roundabout.

  Wongwongwongwongwongwongwongwongwong – FTWANG!

  The bike hits a perfectly placed tree stump and pinwheels into the air, end over end until it crashes back to earth, hidden from view on the other side of the thicket.

  I am delighted to see Nolan get unsteadily to his feet, with no apparent signs of injury. He looks over to me, and gives me a wobbly thumbs up. This helps to lower my heart rate a little.

  There’s no sign of Kevin fucking Flounder. He’s probably reached a high-enough speed to go back in time and date the teenage version of his mother.

  I sit on my bike, breathing hard for a moment, trying to digest what’s just happened.

  I then turn my head to look back at Joseph, who is staring out of the window, completely bug-eyed.

  ‘Did you get all of that?!’ I shout at him, in a decidedly frantic voice.

  I do hope so. Nothing will sell the concept of riding an environmentally friendly bike more than watching one somersault over a roundabout in glorious slow motion, don’t you think?

  The Cyclocity 5000 – get on one of these things, and you’ll never ride another bike again!

  Back at the park, I’m delighted to say that we’ve all made it through this experience more or less in one piece.

  Okay, I will be sat in an ice bath for most of this evening, and Nolan will walk bow-legged like an eighteenth-century sailor for the rest of his life, but considering what we’ve both just been through, that’s getting off quite lightly.

  I find myself wanting to stand close to Nolan. He looks extremely perturbed by the whole incident, and I’m feeling quite protective of him. The horrible memory of watching him fly across that road is one that is not likely to leave me for quite some time.

  Kevin Flounder remains unwholesomely happy about the entire thing, despite Nolan accidentally dismantling one of his precious prototypes by firing it into a roundabout. Bamboo might be a very strong material, but even it doesn’t like being subjected to such forces.

  ‘Not to worry!’ he tells us, as Joseph pulls the mangled wreck out of his van. ‘These things happen. I might need to go back and lower the overall performance of the motor. It might be a tad high at the moment.’

  ‘Yes, just a tad,’ Nolan says, blinking slowly.

  ‘So . . . when do you guys think the video will be ready to go online?’ Kevin then asks, showing a degree of misplaced confidence in his bicycles that would be quite heroic, were it not quite so delusional.

  ‘Um . . .’ Nolan begins, still blinking like an exhausted Labrador.

  ‘We’ll have to go through the footage and make sure we have everything we need,’ I jump in, figuring that I’m probably better placed to placate Kevin than Nolan is right now. There’s something about a near-death experience that doesn’t do much for your diplomatic skills. ‘But we’ll definitely let you know what we’re going to be doing with it once Joseph has finished the edit.’

  I have a feeling that the only thing we’re actually going to be doing with the record of today’s events is bringing it out at office parties once at least six bottles of wine have been consumed.

  ‘Oh,’ Kevin replies, a little deflated. This is to be expected. He thinks today has gone brilliantly in every single respect, bless him. I don’t want to puncture his balloon of happy optimism, but on the other hand I don’t want him to leave here today thinking that Viridian PR are all that enthusiastic about the Cyclocity 5000. The look on Nolan’s face tells me he’s probably going to be having nightmares about it for the foreseeable future, so the chance of us championing the bike now is slim to none . . . as it somersaults over a bush.

  As Joseph helps Kevin load the three bikes back on to the little flatbed truck our inventor friend arrived in, I walk with Nolan over to where both of our cars are parked. The Mercedes looks quite reprehensible next to Nolan’s gleaming Tesla. I really am going to have to do something about that.

  . . . I don’t mean I’m buying an e-bike to replace it, I hasten to add.

  ‘Well, that was a little . . . disappointing,’ Nolan confides, as he opens his car door.

  ‘That’s something of an understatement,’ I reply. ‘If you hadn’t jumped off that bike when you did, you would have had a disappointing forty-mile-an-hour run-in with a tree.’

  Nolan winces as the recent memory flashes before his eyes. ‘I’m sorry I dragged you into it.’

  I wave a hand. ‘It’s fine. At least we had a go.’

  ‘I really wanted those bikes to be good,’ he continues. ‘These kinds of things are so important going forward, and I really want us to be able to get people out of their cars. This should have been a perfect vehicle for Viridian.’ He bangs the roof of his car in frustration. ‘It would have sold us so bloody well to the right people!’

  ‘Hey, look, it’s okay,’ I assure him. ‘Not everything is going to be a winner. We’ve done well in the last few weeks to get the ball rolling. We shouldn’t get despondent when something doesn’t work out. It’s bound to happen from time to time. It’s better we pursue these things and find they’re not right for us, rather than do nothing.’

  Nolan smiles gratefully. ‘You’re right, Ellie.’ He puts out a hand and gently squeezes my arm. ‘I’m very glad I’ve got you by my side.’ The hand lingers there as Nolan looks at me warmly.

  Oh, boy.

  I may have gone a bit light-headed.

  It’s been a while since a man touched me in that kind of . . . intimate way.

  Too long, to be honest.

  . . . and the last one to do it was Demonic Rab, so it doesn’t exactly come with good memories attached.

  There are parts of my brain and body that are reacting to this unexpected intimacy from Nolan in a way that can only be described in polite company as ‘interested’.

  But you can’t be interested in your fucking boss, young lady. Remember? We’re never having another workplace romance! Remember Robert!

  ‘Well, time to get back to the office, I suppose!’ I say, a little too brightly.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agrees, eventually taking his hand away and looking over at Kevin. ‘We’ll
have to let him down easy,’ he says in a sad voice.

  He really is quite a lovely man.

  No!

  No, you stop that Ellie Cooke! You stop that right now!

  ‘Right! See you back there then!’ I splutter, and throw open the door to my Mercedes.

  I barely give Nolan time to respond before I’m in the driver’s seat and firing up the engine. I’ve never wanted to get away from a warm, good-natured conversation more in my entire life.

  I have no idea whether I’m reading the signals from Nolan right, but I sure as hell know I shouldn’t be giving him any signals in return. My life is complicated enough with this new job. I do not want to complicate it further by entertaining the wrong thoughts in my head about my employer.

  Stay strictly professional, Ellie. That’s the lesson of the day.

  . . . actually, the lesson of the day is probably ‘Don’t get on an electric bike invented by a madman with concrete genitals’, but it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it – and isn’t really something I can take practically forward in my life.

  Your mileage may vary.

  Chapter Six

  THE COCKATOO . . . OF DOOM!

  Something rather amazing has occurred . . .

  I’m happy.

  More specifically – I’m happy at work.

  Now, for those of you who are blessed with a job that they’ve always been happy with – and never had any complaints about – that might come as something of a surprise to hear.

  But then, there are only seven of you out there who actually feel like that, so I won’t worry too much that you might not get what I’m talking about.

  The many months spent at Stratagem as the place continued to fall apart were a thoroughly miserable experience – so much so, I’d forgotten what it was like to be satisfied with the day-to-day experience of being a publicist.

  But since becoming Head of Client Relations at the newly invigorated PR company I work for?

  It’s been quite marvellous.

  My new job is going very well.

  Like . . . exceptionally well.

  The past few weeks have been fantastic.