‘Admit it, then,’ I tease. ‘You’re no match for me.’
Kerry stops running and bending over, rests his hands on his knees, breathing hard. ‘Not in these boots.’
I turn around and once again jog on the spot. ‘Excuses, excuses! You’ve got no stamina.’
‘No one’s ever complained about my stamina before.’
And there, he is doing it again, making his eyes glitter mischievously. ‘First time for everything.’ I turn and sprint off down the road.
‘Be ready first thing Sunday morning,’ Kerry calls after me.
I wave my hand in acknowledgment but don’t turn round. I don’t want him to see the ridiculous grin that has involuntarily plastered itself over my face. Going on the back of a motorbike is something I would never normally dream of doing. Ed wouldn’t approve, for a start. However, I’m beginning to suspect Kerry Wright is having a bad influence on me. And I don’t mind in the slightest.
Chapter 15
My eyes fix on the black crash helmet Kerry is holding out to me. Should I do it? Do I have the nerve? Ed would disapprove. It’s this thought that makes me take the crash helmet.
Shaking my hair over my shoulders, I pull the helmet down over my head. The padding, although soft and spongy, holds my face firmly in place, squeezing the sides of my cheeks against my teeth. There’s a funny smell to the inside of it; musty like a charity shop, with a dash of petrol. I struggle with the woven chinstrap, not being able to see the D rings makes it difficult to fasten. I feel Kerry’s hand on my wrist as he pulls me towards him and takes over, securing the strap in a matter of seconds. Then, turning the key in the ignition and thumping down on the kickstart with his foot, the vintage Triumph Bonneville erupts into life, the noise rumbles through the exhaust pipes like a purring lion awakening from its slumber. A few flicks of the wrist on the accelerator and the beast roars into life, louder, deeper, faster, now snarling. I flinch and screw my nose up at the fumes emitting from the exhaust. A hot, burning oily smell, once again mixed with a hint of petrol that I can taste as it drifts in the air.
Kerry pats the pillion seat and holds out his hand. For the briefest of moments, I hesitate. My stomach is jiggling around so much I imagine my insides must look like a snow dome that had been vigorously shaken by an over-enthusiastic child. I’m unsure if this is fear or excitement. I glance at Kerry.
‘Trust me,’ he calls, his voice muffled by the visor and the growl of the engine. ‘You’ll be okay. I promise.’ His grey eyes ooze sincerity and, in that second, from just that one look, I really do believe I can trust him with my life.
Swinging my leg over the seat, I rest my feet on the pegs and shuffle closer to Kerry. Excitement zings through me as the insides of my thighs come to rest against the outsides of his and, slipping my arms around his waist, our bodies mould together.
‘Do what I do,’ instructs Kerry. ‘If I lean, you lean with me. Any problem and you want me to stop, just tap my shoulder. Okay?’
I give the thumbs-up sign and raise my voice above the engine noise. ‘Yep. That’s fine.’
I’m surprised by how excited I feel and although I know Kerry is pulling away slowly, I can’t help but tighten my grip on him.
Steadily, we cruise out onto Beach Road and follow the estuary up-river, then turning at the end away from the water down the High Street, we head out of the village. Hitting the open road, I hear the change in the engine noise as Kerry moves down a gear and accelerates away.
It’s a totally new feeling being on the back of a motorbike. It’s a beautifully warm morning and I feel cocooned in the leather jacket and gloves Kerry insisted I borrow from Bex.
The feeling of the wind rushing over me, being so close to the road as it zips underneath the bike, together with the noise of the engine rumbling and growling, roaring occasionally, gives me a real sense of freedom.
We ride up the hill towards a semi-derelict croft we used to frequent as teenagers. We often held late-night parties up there away from the adults of the village. Okay, parties might be stretching it a bit, but we took alcohol up there, sat around a camp fire, a few of them smoking, while one of the lads boomed out the music from his car stereo.
Kerry reaches back with his hand, patting my thigh.
‘You want to go faster?’ he shouts above the noise.
I can just about make out what he’s saying and looking in the mirror on the handlebar, I nod my head. He winks back at me and then moves his hand to cover mine, pulling me tighter to him.
The speed at which we accelerate takes me by surprise and for a second, as I jerk backwards, I think I might tumble off the rear of the bike, but the momentum flicks me forwards again and my crash helmet taps the back of Kerry’s. I cling on and snuggle up against his back as close as I can, dipping my head to stop the wind buffeting it backwards. It’s scary but exhilarating all at the same time as I feel the adrenalin rush through me.