Hard Tail(19)

Turned out it was just biker-speak for a catastrophic loss of energy during an endurance race. And they meant catastrophic-apparently bonking can cause dizziness, confusion, heart palpitations and, in extreme cases, seizures and coma. So a bit more serious than just feeling sort of knackered.

I still sniggered as I read the article, with its useful tips on how to avoid a bonk.

***

The next time the bell jangled, I looked up to see someone who could have stepped right out of the pages of that magazine. He had on baggy shorts and a faded T-shirt and the sort of leathery tan you only get by being out in all weathers. Somebody really should have told him about sunblock and moisturiser. He also had a liberal splattering of mud up his sturdy-looking calves. When he turned to shut the door behind him, I saw the mud extended right up his back, almost to the ends of his over-long ginger hair.

He was probably Jay's dream customer. I could imagine this bloke and Matt talking for hours about grunts and grinders and other terms I'd picked up from the bike mag but which were still, sadly, all Greek to me. He lingered to cast an eye over the high-end mountain bikes on display, raising my hopes for a moment-those bikes didn't just cost an arm and a leg, you'd probably have to throw in a head and a torso as well; Jay would be seriously chuffed if I managed to sell one-then loped up to the counter.

"'Lo. Matt thur?" he said out of the side of his mouth.

My hopes crashed so far they probably bonked. For all I knew, they grunted and ground too. I pasted on a smile that made my jaw ache. "You must be Steve," I said, shoving a hand out for him to shake.

He took it like this was some arcane ritual never before seen in darkest Totton, and let it go again like it might bite him. "Nuh-uh. 'M Adam. Me 'n Matt 'r jus' mates."

I felt a weird mix of relief and disappointment. "He's just out the back." I found myself pronouncing my words more precisely than usual, as if to compensate for his unclear diction, and hoped he hadn't noticed. "I'll go and give him a shout."

Matt was in his default position: bent over an upside-down bike frame, his rear end pointing at me, baggy jeans for once stretched tight over his arse.

It seemed awfully warm in here. I was surprised he hadn't opened a window. I spoke to him twice before I realised he had his iPod on and couldn't hear me. I didn't think prodding him in the bum would be an acceptable way of attracting his attention so, feeling a bit foolish, I moved around the room until I was in his field of view-or at least, my feet were. Finally, he looked up.




 

 

"Tim!" he said a bit more loudly than usual. Then he remembered to pull out the earbuds and gave me a goofy grin. "Nearly finished with this one. Need some help in the shop?"

"No-your, er, friend is here."

Matt went utterly, completely still. "Steve?" he said. There was something odd about his voice. Was he embarrassed at the thought of me seeing who he was shagging? I felt myself begin to blush at the thought of Matt and the as-yet-faceless Steve. Shagging.

Alternatively, maybe Matt was just embarrassed at the thought of his lover seeing the clueless idiot he was nominally working under. "No! No, it's, er, Adam. That's who he said he was. Adam. A mate, he said."

"Oh! Adam! Yeah, he's a good bloke. Comes out with us on Thursday nights-you remember I told you about him? Haven't seen him for a while-how's he looking?" Matt chattered away as he stood and wiped his greasy hands on already-stained jeans.

"Er, muddy?" Had Matt mentioned Adam? Maybe he had-when we were at the café, perhaps? I was ashamed to realise I couldn't remember. I'd been too worked up about the whole bloody gay thing at the time.

"Yeah, that's Adam all right. Do you want to send him in here?"

I could hardly say no. "All right." I nodded and wondered why on earth I hadn't just done that in the first place. "I'll, um, send him in."

Adam responded to my invitation to go out back with an indecipherable grunt. Or possibly a grind. Then he loped through the door, treating me to another view of his mud-spattered back. I hoped he wasn't planning to lean on any walls.

He was in the back room so long I started to entertain dark suspicions as to what he and Matt might be up to in there. In fact, it began to be getting on for lunchtime, and my stomach started rumbling so loudly I was worried it'd scare off potential customers three streets away. It struck me I didn't even know if we shut for lunch, so I wandered over to the door and had a look at the opening hours on the sign. No help there-it just said nine thirty to six, Monday to Friday, and nine thirty to one on Wednesdays. I dithered a bit about going in to speak to Matt-then told myself firmly that as his (acting) superior here, I was perfectly within my rights to interrupt his conversation with a mate.