by Anna Bell
I was hoping that I’d never have to do the Spinnaker abseil. It was supposed to be the finale that would never come because my leading man would show up at the end of Act One.
‘I love that idea. What better way to prove that we understand the attraction than experiencing it in a way that no other agency would,’ says Rick, slamming his hand down on the table in triumph.
I’m starting to hyperventilate. I feel Linz staring at me, her eyes narrowing, as if she’s a dog smelling my fear.
‘I’m so up for that,’ she says looking directly at me. ‘I love abseiling. I did loads of it at university.’
‘Excellent,’ says Rick. ‘Us four will obviously do it, but we can open it to the wider office to see if anyone else wants to take part.’
‘But, Giles,’ I say, ‘weren’t you saying the other day that you couldn’t imagine doing it?’
‘Well, if you’re going to, then I’d be pretty wimpy not doing it myself,’ he says, shrugging his shoulders.
‘That settles it. The pitch for the tender is at the end of May, so if we could do it before then. Abi, are you all right to organise it?’ says Rick.
‘Of course,’ I say, rehearsing in my head the little white lie I’ll tell this afternoon – that sadly every date between now and the end of May is full.
‘I can do it,’ says Linz, putting her hand up as if she is still at school. ‘I mean, Abi’s so busy with all her existing account work, I’ll happily coordinate a day we can all do.’
‘OK, then. Thanks, Linz,’ says Rick.
Linz raises a satisfied eyebrow, and gives me a smile that only a woman would understand. I’m sure neither of the boys will realise it has all the hallmarks of a bitchy move.
‘So, let’s get cracking on some concepts, and we’ll meet back in two weeks to see what we’ve come up with. And hopefully Linz will have some news for us on the abseil. Excellent idea, Abi – I hadn’t picked you as the adventurous type. I’m impressed,’ says Rick as we stand up to leave.
I see Linz’s face fall as he praises me, and I can’t help feeling a little swell of pride. No one’s ever called me adventurous before. Although I’m sure he won’t be calling me that when I back out, unable to even go up the tower, let alone abseil down it.
I watch Linz as she bounds out of the meeting room, energetic and hungry for the job. I can’t shake the feeling that she was deliberately trying to steal my thunder at the meeting. I wonder if that’s what Giles meant the other day. That while I was at home brooding, she was here getting cosy and muscling in on my job.
It’s bad enough that I’m having to up my game thanks to my written warning, but now I’m going to have to keep up with some eager-beaver newbie who’s showing me up.
How am I going to get out of the abseil now? There was me thinking that I wouldn’t actually have to go through with this, but now everyone at work will be expecting me to do it. I’ve not only got to get Joseph back before the end of May, but I also need to come up with a good enough excuse to wriggle out of the abseil. One that’s less disturbing than Fran’s fake baby. I thought I had enough on my plate trying to do this list, but now the pressure is really on.
Chapter Six
Sod having three months to get Joseph back – I’ve got under eight weeks until the Spinnaker Tower abseil, which now gives me less than eight weeks to get him back and think of an excuse to actually get out of it . . .
I’m wandering down Marmion Road, a pretty little shopping street in Southsea, trying not to get sucked into the quirky shops that line the route. I’m looking down the side streets for Ben’s bike shop. I’ve only got an hour for lunch and whilst the shop is only a ten-minute walk from my work, I haven’t got time to get distracted by window displays or the treasure-trove of beautiful things in the interior design shop. Focus, Abi. Focus.
I find the street and spot Ben’s shop immediately with its bikes chained up outside. I’ve never noticed it before, but that’s probably because there’s a chocolate shop on the other side of the main road, and I’ve usually crossed over by this point to drool through the window.
I turn up the narrow street that would just about fit one car. On one side of the road there is a row of cute, colourfully painted terraced houses, all with hanging baskets or window boxes outside that will be brimming with flowers in the next month or two, which will add to the cottagey feel. On the other side is the back of the hardware store that fronts onto the main road, and next to that is Ben’s bike shop – On the Rivet.
I push open the door and the bell jangles noisily. I’m surprised that it’s such a big shop as from the outside it looked narrow and pokey. Inside it seems to stretch back and is much more open than I expected. It’s positively Tardis-like. It’s also surprisingly light and airy with wooden floors and bikes hanging from shiny chrome fittings. Not at all how I imagined it would be.
‘Be there in a second,’ calls a voice that I recognise to be Ben’s.
I look around at all the bikes and a wall full of clothes and accessories. There’s a lot of stock and, as the only customer, I wonder how he can get enough footfall to run this place.
Too scared to look at the bikes by myself, I start browsing the clothes instead. I’m squinting at what looks like a Borat mankini when Ben pops out from the back.
‘Hello,’ he says as he walks over to me.
I turn to face him and he breaks out into a smile.
‘Abi?’
He wrinkles his eyes at me as if checking that he’s got my name right. I give him a quick nod as I reply, ‘Hi, Ben.’
His smile is infectious and I smile back. He runs a hand through his messy hair but it does little to tame it. He’s also got more facial hair than last week – he’s practically got a beard now.
‘So, you were serious about needing a bike then?’
‘Yeah – there’s no way round it. I need a bike if I’m going to cycle the Isle of Wight.’
‘Wow, most people that say they’re going to do those kind of lists talk about them for ages before they actually do anything about it. So have you started it yet?’ he asks.
‘Not exactly. I had no idea it would all take so much planning. But I’ve got things booked – tea at the Ritz, a 10k run, a windsurfing course. Oh, and the abseil.’
My stomach lurches at the thought. I got an email from Linz this morning to say that our team abseil has been booked for the beginning of May. I’ve got eight weeks to come up with an excuse. Hot favourite at the moment is a tumble down Snowdon resulting in a twisted ankle. Although, with me being so uncoordinated that’s a pretty likely outcome whether I need an excuse or not.
‘Gosh, you’re really going for it,’ he says. ‘That’s some determination.’
I smile and nod. Joseph’s worth being determined for.
We stand there awkwardly for a moment, before I turn towards the bikes as if to remind him of why I’m there.
‘Right,’ he says, taking the hint. ‘So what type of bike are you used to?’
‘Well,’ I say thinking back to my childhood bikes, ‘I had a Muddyfox mountain bike when I was little.’
Although I should have added the disclaimer that, much to my parents’ annoyance, it was more of a decorative feature of our garage, residing there without disturbance and playing home to a number of spider families.
‘Oh, didn’t every girl? My sister had one of those too. OK, so mountain bikes. Hmm, are you going to do much off-roading then?’
‘Only if I can’t steer properly,’ I say with a nervous laugh. ‘But no, I don’t know what it’s like circumnavigating the Isle of Wight, but I imagine it’s roads most of the way.’
‘Yeah, it is, but do you not need a bike for after? I mean, I’m surprised living in Pompey you don’t have one.’
‘Oh, God, no. I don’t know what’s worse in this city, the bikes that don’t think the Highway Code applies to them, or the car drivers that jump all the red lights. I don’t think I know anyone who rides a bike down here th
at hasn’t been hit by a car.’
Ben’s looking at the floor and I get the feeling he’s avoiding eye contact.
‘I mean, I bet you’ve been hit by a car in Portsmouth?’ I ask.
‘Well, yes. A couple of times,’ he mutters.
‘I rest my case. No, I think the Isle of Wight will do me. And I guess I’ll have to do a bit of training beforehand. It’ll take a few days to do the challenge, won’t it? I still don’t know where I’m going to stay overnight, or who I’m going to get to drive the support van behind me,’ I say, thinking about what I’ve read so far about cycle challenges. ‘There’s just so much to organise with this bucket list.’
Ben looks like he’s biting his lip and I get the impression that he’s trying hard not to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Sorry,’ he says laughing. ‘It’s just I’ve never heard of anyone having a support van for it before. It’s not like you’re doing London to Paris. Then you might have needed some help, but most people do the Isle of Wight in a day.’
‘They do?’ I say in disbelief. ‘One day?’
It still seems like an awful lot of cycling to me, but instead of scaring me, Ben’s revelation has the opposite effect. This challenge is suddenly sounding achievable.
‘Yep, that’s why I assumed you’d put it on your list. It’s often in those must-do cycle-ride lists that they have in magazines and newspapers because it’s relatively easy and doable in a day. I mean, not that I don’t think it’s a challenge,’ he says in reaction to my fallen face. ‘If you’re not a cyclist then it will be hard for you.’
‘Don’t say that,’ I say, trying to smile. ‘I don’t want you to put me off.’
‘No, sorry. I forget that for some people getting on a bike is hard. Usually we only get die-hard bike nuts in here. Most amateurs go to Halfords.’
The way he says that makes me feel like that’s where I should have gone.
‘Oh, God, Abi. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that most people that don’t know anything about bikes go there as it’s easy. A lot of people find this kind of place intimidating.’
I look around the shop and realise it’s actually one of the least intimidating specialist shops I’ve ever been in. It looks fresh and modern and everything’s bathed in a warm glow. There’s a cosy feel to the place that makes it almost homely.
‘I mean, how I could intimidate anyone, I don’t know.’ He laughs abruptly and it startles me.
He shakes his head before he rolls up his long sleeves and walks towards a rack of bikes. ‘Let’s get you a bike then, before I talk myself out of a sale.’
Judging by the empty shop, he definitely couldn’t afford to do that.
I follow him over and stroke the handlebars of a mountain bike. It looks a lot more hard core than my old Muddyfox and there are certainly no pastel pink or purple hues in sight.
‘Now, these are our second-hand bikes. I’m guessing you really don’t want a brand new one. I’ve refurbished all these myself and they’ll be fine for what you need.’
I see the second-hand sign hanging over them and glance longingly over at the new ones – my inner child rearing her head like a magpie. They are so shiny.
‘How much are the new ones?’
‘They start from a thousand pounds.’
I try and swallow the lump that’s appeared in my throat and my eyes almost pop out of my head.
‘A thousand pounds?’ I repeat.
‘Yeah, but as I said our market is serious cyclists. We customise most of the components, so you’re looking at spending upwards of one to two thousand if you want something decent.’
‘So, the second-hand ones,’ I say turning my attention back to them.
They might not be as shiny, but I’m sure it’s like a new car, once it’s off the forecourt and a little muddy you’ll never know the difference.
Ben smiles and pulls one out. ‘This one’s probably the right kind of thing for you. It’s a hybrid, so you can ride it on and off the road. I’m hoping that you’ll get the cycling bug and want to use it after your challenge. I mean, that’s what I hope for with every customer,’ he says and coughs. ‘So it’s got decent brakes, it’s had new tyres put on and the suspension’s pretty decent. Do you want to hop on and see how it feels?’
‘OK,’ I say, swinging my leg over the bike. I notice the price tag of £200. That’s more than I’d budgeted for, but still, my poor savings.
I wriggle my bum into the seat and try and get comfy, which I would have thought would have been a bit easier thanks to the extra pounds I’ve put on lately. I grip the handlebars tightly and squeeze the brakes. I put one of my feet on a pedal and swing it a little.
‘Seems OK,’ I say, not really having a clue what it’s supposed to feel like.
‘Hop off for a second.’
I do as I’m told and Ben bends over the bike and makes an adjustment to the seat.
‘OK, get back on.’
I mount the bike once more and it feels a lot better. I’m no longer on tiptoes trying to reach the floor.
‘That’s better,’ says Ben. As he leans over me and changes a dial by the handlebar I can smell his aftershave. It’s not one I recognise, but it’s got a lovely, fresh smell and I want to breathe it in more. I have to stop myself leaning into him like I’m in one of those ridiculous Lynx adverts. I have to remind myself that it’s just a chemical reaction.
‘So, take it for a spin,’ says Ben, moving away and taking his nice scent with him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, thinking that I’ve misheard.
‘Go for a blast, if you turn right out of the shop you can do a little loop and that way you’ll find your stride before you hit Marmion Road and have pedestrians to contend with.’
‘You want me to go for a ride?’
‘Um, yeah. You wouldn’t buy a car without a test drive, would you?’
‘No,’ I say glumly. If I’d known I was going to have to ride a bike I might have prepared myself.
‘You should be OK in what you’re wearing. It’s not like you’ve got heels on.’
I look down and curse the fact that I’m wearing practical skinny jeans and flat boots.
Ben’s looking at me expectantly and I don’t want to tell him that I’m scared. I mean, what thirty-year-old can’t ride a bike? I swing my leg off the bike and go to push it out of the shop.
Ben opens the door for me and I lift the front wheel up over the threshold. I have to admit it’s nice and light – at least I can steer it while I walk. I wonder how long it would take me to walk around the Isle of Wight pushing a bike? I could hop on the bike for the photos, and Joseph wouldn’t be any the wiser.
‘Off you go then,’ says Ben.
‘But I don’t have a helmet on, or anything,’ I say, desperately trying to think of an excuse. It’s bad enough having to ride a bike for the first time in about twenty years, without Ben the expert watching me do it. I’m scared I’m going to wobble into one of the many parked cars, or fall off into the road. They say that you never forget how to ride a bike, but what if I’m the exception to the rule?
Ben’s disappeared into the shop. I sigh with relief. Perhaps he’s giving me some space. I’m taking a deep breath to try and compose myself before I set off, when he returns with a helmet in his hands. He gives it to me with one hand and takes the bike with his other.
I reluctantly take the helmet and put it on, defeated. I’m not going to be able to get out of this. I adjust the chin strap before clipping it together. At least if I fall off now I’ll be protected.
‘You’re all set,’ he says, taking his hand away as I put mine on the handlebars.
‘I’m on my lunch break, you know. I’ve got to get back in half an hour,’ I say, clutching at straws.
‘Abi, I’m asking you to go once round the block, not once round Portsmouth. It takes most people about a minute max.’
I’m not most people . . .
I sense t
hat he’s not going to let me buy this without riding it.
I take another deep breath, swing my leg over once more and balance a foot on the pedal. I can feel my legs quivering beneath me. I push off with my other foot and desperately look down, trying to find the other pedal. The handlebars are turning left and right and the front wheel is wobbling out of control.
‘Whoa,’ says Ben, running after me, grabbing the handlebars and steering me away from a parked car.
‘Sorry,’ I say as he steadies me and lets go. I try to steer in as straight a line as I can, this time keeping my eyes forward.
I manage to make it a few metres down the road, cycling at about the pace of a snail. I’ll bet Ben didn’t take that into consideration when he said it would take a day to do the Isle of Wight.
‘Abi, stop!’ shouts Ben.
I squeeze the brake and put my left foot down. I feel the bike lurch, throwing me forward a little. Thank goodness I wasn’t going any faster, I might have had use for my helmet.
I look round at him, trying to calm my pounding heart. ‘What’s wrong, wasn’t I doing it right?’ I say.
‘Yes, you were. It’s just you were going to turn the corner, and the pavement on that road is a little uneven. I thought it might throw you – literally.’
What a loser. I feel like I’m back in my garden when I was seven being shoved off down towards my house after my dad removed my stabilisers much against my will. That time I’d ended up in a pile of recently raked leaves with a bruised shin. Now it might only have been my pride that was bruised, but somehow that seems worse.
I get off the bike and turn it round.
‘I’m the worst rider you’ve ever seen,’ I say glumly.
‘Not the worst rider,’ he says, taking control of the handlebars and lifting the bike back over the doorway into the shop. ‘But one of them.’
‘Oi,’ I say, folding my arms over my chest defensively.
He laughs and I notice a little dimple on his left cheek that’s in danger of being swallowed up completely if his beard grows any more.