by Anna Bell
‘Nope. Get your arse in gear. Or else next week is going to be a whole lot harder.’
‘At least then it will be over,’ I say. ‘Then I might get my Sunday morning lie-ins back.’
Ben drains his coffee cup, stands up and deposits it on my kitchen sideboard.
‘No chance. Once the Isle of Wight is out the way, we’ve got a mountain to hike.’
I groan and curse Joseph in my head. His bloody list. I bet he’s lying in bed still, or lazing about reading the Sunday papers in his kitchen, Radio Two blasting, his expensive coffee machine whirring away in the background. For a split second I wonder if he’s there alone. I close my eyes. I can’t think that he’s replaced me yet, not when I’m going to all this trouble to get him back.
‘So I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Wear something tight.’
‘What?’ I say, thinking I’ve heard him wrong.
‘I mean wear something like leggings – nothing that’ll get caught in the wheels.’
This is just getting worse by the minute. My thighs in leggings have got to be three times the size of Ben’s chicken legs.
‘See you soon,’ he says as he wheels his bike back out.
My Sunday morning is panning out dramatically differently to how I’d planned. But I guess there’s no use fighting it.
I quickly pick up my phone to check Facebook, scrolling through my notifications, before I jump in the shower. A few people have liked my windsurfing pictures, but not Joseph. I bring up his page, just to see if he’s been up to anything, but all he’s got is a check-in at his local pub on a Saturday night, which is hardly a shocker, being that he’s a creature of habit. The only good thing is that he checked in with Marcus, which gives me a kernel of hope that he’s still single, and that spurs me on to get ready for my cycling adventure with Ben.
‘There’s no way in hell I’m doing that,’ I say, crossing my arms defiantly.
Wearing leggings and exposing my thighs is one thing, but hurtling down a hill on a mountain bike is quite another.
‘It’s not as bad as it looks. It’s barely a slope.’
I should have twigged that what goes up must come down. Ben’s brought me to the Queen Elizabeth Country Park. A lovely wooded hilly area, perfect for a stroll and a coffee and cake after. But what I hadn’t realised is that it’s also home to a labyrinth of cycle paths that seem to propel the riders down sheer sides of muddy hills. Surely they aren’t health and safety approved?
‘It’s practically a cliff face,’ I say dramatically.
OK, I’m exaggerating, it’s not a cliff face, but it is a hill. And it is steep.
‘You’re just going to ride down and pick up a little extra speed, that’s all. But see how the path levels out there at the bottom? Any speed you have will disappear quickly when you get there.’
‘But what if I hit a tree root? Or my wheel doesn’t grip the mud? Or I go over the handlebars?’
‘Or you get hit by a falling meteorite,’ says Ben laughing. ‘Yes, Abi, all those things could happen. But you could trip over when you’re walking on a pavement, or you could roll out of bed and land on the floor. But usually it doesn’t happen, and if it does it’s an accident. By the way you talk, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you leave your house at all.’
I’m momentarily winded. Ben is laughing and smiling at me and I do try and smile back, but I can feel the tears building up. He doesn’t realise it, but he’s hit a nerve. I know I’m a wimp. I know I don’t take risks. He doesn’t need to point out that I’m scared of more things than is rational, but that’s who I am. I blink my eyes a little to try and get them to stop from turning into full-on tears.
‘Oh, Abi,’ says Ben, his tone changing, and his expression turning to concern. He reaches his hand out and squeezes my arm. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just joking.’
‘I know,’ I say, trying with all my might to force a smile on my face. I feel pathetic enough as it is without adding to it.
‘Look, we can walk down with the bikes if you like? And stick to flatter paths. You are doing much better today as it is.’
‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘Let’s do this. You’re right. I could injure myself in everyday life. I practically take my life into my hands when I go out drinking in my high-heels. You go first though.’
‘Are you sure? You don’t have to.’
‘I’m sure,’ I say, nodding my head and mounting my bike.
‘OK,’ says Ben, climbing onto his and giving me a look to make sure I’m serious before he sets off down the hill. ‘Just make sure if you do brake that you do it gently and squeeze the back one first.’
I nod and wave him off.
I watch as Ben descends and I wonder if I can actually go through with it. I know he must be braking more than he usually does as he’s not hurtling down like I thought he would.
He makes it to the bottom, and I know it’s now or never.
I want to be the kind of woman who would do this. I try and pretend for a moment that Ben is Joseph. If he was here in front of me, there’s no way I’d let him leave me behind up here and no way I would want him to know that I’m too much of a wimp to do it.
I put my feet on the pedals and grip the handlebars hard so that my arms go rigid and I’m afraid they might snap.
I concentrate with all my might to make sure that I stay in a straight line and don’t go off the path, trying to stay in Ben’s track line. My speed picks up and I begin to feel that dizzy somersault feeling in my belly and the wind whistling through my hair.
I’m terrified, but as I start to level out and slow down, I realise it wasn’t that bad. Yes, I may have peed myself a little bit, and my heart is racing, but I’m smiling. I’m actually proper cheek-achingly smiling.
‘You survived, then,’ says Ben as I come to a halt next to him.
‘I did.’
‘And you’re grinning. I’m going to take that as a sign that you actually enjoyed yourself?’
‘Steady on. Enjoy might be bit strong. But it definitely wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.’
‘So, do you want to do the same slope again?’
‘No.’
I watch Ben’s face fall.
‘I want to go higher,’ I say before I can change my mind.
‘Really?’
‘Careful or I’ll chicken out.’
Ben grabs hold of his handlebars, ‘Come on, then. I know just the one.’
I follow Ben as the path climbs higher. My legs are crying out in pain, and I’m tempted to get off and push, but I don’t. Ben gets smaller and smaller in the distance until he reaches the top. I’m a bit behind him, but I eventually make it to the top, huffing and puffing, and I see we’re on the edge of another hill.
Now, with my fear of heights I’m generally OK if the ground is solidly beneath me. Towers, bridges, open stairs – all give me the heebie-jeebies, but as long as the hill I’m on has a wide path and I don’t have to peer off the edge, I’m OK.
But this one is quite steep and it goes on and on and on.
‘Still OK? We can go back the way we came if you like – it’s not as steep,’ says Ben, as if he’s reading my mind.
I shake my head. ‘What’s to fear?’ I say, banishing all thoughts of tree roots, flying over handlebars and broken limbs.
‘That’s the spirit. See you at the bottom.’
Ben pushes off and I’m left in a cloud of dust. He’s clearly going faster this time.
I take one last look over my shoulder at what, in comparison, looks like a gentle incline (although my thighs would disagree), and go for it.
I can’t stop the little wail that escapes my lips as I whizz down the hill. My hand hovers over the brake and whilst every instinct is shouting for me to squeeze it, a little voice in my head tells me not to. My heart begins to pound so loudly that I can hear it pulsing in my ears, and the wail I’m emitting is getting louder. I’m going so fast now that I don’t know how I’m ever going to
stop. But the funny thing is, it’s OK. Yes, I’m terrified. Yes, I fear I’m in imminent danger, but I’ve gone all light-headed and stomach-flippy and I feel fan-bloody-tastic!
I reach the end of the slope and, as the path goes uphill again, I naturally slow down. Ben’s waiting up ahead where the track has levelled out near some open woodland with picnic benches. He’s got a stunned look on his face.
‘Blimey, you weren’t hanging around there, were you?’
He climbs off his bike and takes off his helmet, before hanging it off his handlebars and leading his bike over to a picnic table. I follow him over and unclip my helmet. My hands are shaking so hard that I can’t get the catch, and Ben leans over to help me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, as I take off the helmet. He hasn’t moved back since he helped me with the clasp and he’s so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek. I look up at him and find myself staring straight into his eyes. For a second they’re locked in and I almost want to reach up and kiss him. But I don’t. Instead I look away and take a step backwards. It’s just the adrenaline from the ride.
‘That was some rush,’ I say. ‘Is it always like that?’
‘Most of the time,’ says Ben. ‘But the more you do it, the more you need to up the ante to beat it. Like going off-trail and going down sheer drops.’ He raises an eyebrow as if suggesting that we try that.
‘I think I’ll stick with this for now.’
I laugh as Ben gets out his flask.
‘What? I don’t go anywhere without tea? Don’t tell me you don’t want a cup?’
‘Of course I do.’ I wince as I sit down on the bench, still sore from yesterday’s adventures. Although Ben was annoyingly right, the riding has loosened me up a bit.
Ben pours the tea and hands me a cup.
‘Thank you. Don’t suppose you’ve got a sneaky cake in there too, have you?’ I say peering into the top of his rucksack and thinking that I’ve earned it with today’s ride and yesterday’s windsurfing.
‘Always,’ says Ben, throwing me a Mr Kipling cake bar.
He truly is a man after my own heart.
‘I can’t believe I did that,’ I say biting into the cake bar.
‘I know. I’m so proud of you. Last week you could barely go in a straight line and now you’re hurtling yourself down hills. What’s changed?’
I shrug my shoulders and begin to pick at my cake. What has changed?
‘I don’t know. I think it helped going windsurfing yesterday. I mean, I know I was shockingly bad at it, but I kept falling in that freezing water and I kept getting back up and at some point something pinged in my head and said, look at you, you can do this. And I guess when we were on that hill earlier I realised that I’m so blindsided by what could go wrong that I don’t think about what could go right. And it just hit me, it’s only fear.’
Ben drinks his tea and nods.
‘I mean, I definitely don’t want to go up any steeper hills or narrower tracks, and I still have no idea how I’m going to abseil the Spinnaker Tower, but I’ve got to learn to trust myself and my abilities more. God, I sound cheesy,’ I say blushing.
Ben’s so easy to talk to that I sometimes forget that we barely know each other. He probably thinks I’m such a loser. I only cycled a path a five-year-old could do blindfolded. It’s not like I tightrope walked over the Grand Canyon or anything.
‘No, you don’t. You sound honest. I’m usually around such adrenaline junkies that sometimes I forget that things like this can be a big deal.’
‘You mean, I’m a loser for thinking it’s a big deal?’
‘No, I mean it – it’s refreshing. I’m caught up in a world where it’s always who can do the steepest run or the craziest ride and sometimes you forget that it’s not always about what other people are doing, it’s about your own personal journey and what you feel.’
‘Deep, man,’ I say, taking the last bite of the cake.
‘Totally,’ he says, laughing. ‘Oh, I forgot, I took a photo of you on my phone during that last run,’ he says.
‘You did?’
‘Yeah,’ says Ben, pulling his phone out and after tapping away he hands it over.
‘Oh, wow.’
I’m pulling a weird face that looks like I’m having a tooth extracted, but there’s no denying the rest of it is all action.
‘Can you send it to me? I want to put it on Facebook. That’s a perfect try-to-win-Joseph-back photo.’
Ben frowns and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he’s interrupted as a set of bike brakes screeches near us and I instinctively flinch as dust heads our way.
‘Hiya,’ says a woman, stepping off her bike and unclipping her helmet.
She goes over and kisses Ben on the lips and I realise that it’s his girlfriend, Tammy.
‘Hey, I didn’t realise you were up here,’ he says in surprise.
‘Yeah, I was supposed to be going to Steyning but I overslept. I was just setting up my GPS to map my route, and saw that you were here too.’
She looks over at me as if she’s only just noticed I’m there. At first she looks a little unsure of who I am and what I’m doing with her boyfriend.
‘Abi,’ she says after a second, breaking into a smile. ‘How nice to see you. And out on a bike too, huh? Ben and his bike-bullying strikes again.’
‘Hi, Tammy,’ I say. ‘Just giving it a go.’
‘Are you getting on any better than you were before? Ben said you were a little nervous.’
My cheeks flush and I suddenly wonder what else Ben has told her. What if he’s told her about my real motivation behind the bucket list?
‘She’s improving in leaps and bounds,’ he says.
‘Excellent – well Ben is a very patient teacher. Right, I’ll let you get back to your lesson. I’m just on a warm-up so better keep moving. But I’ll drop by yours this afternoon, shall I? Are you going to be in?’
‘Yeah. We’ll be heading back to Portsmouth soon. Abi’s got a busy afternoon of TV-watching planned,’ laughs Ben.
‘OK, great. Perhaps we could go for a run along the seafront.’
‘Yeah, OK.’
My cheeks flush as I feel even more like a couch potato. These two really are the polar opposite of me and the way I spend my downtime. They also seem really laid back as a couple – dropping in if they’re free. Totally different to the super-committed, diary-dated relationship I had with Joseph.
Tammy’s got her helmet back on and she’s ready to go.
‘Good luck with the Isle of Wight next week, Abi.’
‘Thanks, I’m going to need it,’ I reply, waving.
With a whoosh she’s off, flying back up the hill we came down earlier, probably at the same speed that I cycled down it. She has to be one of the fittest people I’ve ever seen.
‘Right,’ says Ben taking the cake wrappers. ‘We should get going again as well. Before our muscles seize up. Now, there’re a couple more gentle slopes down and then we’ll be at the car. Then you can get back to your TV.’
‘Great,’ I say, suddenly, and just for a second, a little disappointed that I’m going to be in my flat alone this afternoon. I begin to wonder if I should go for a run, train for the 10k.
I slowly stand up and my legs buckle at the pain. On second thoughts maybe an afternoon lounging in the bath with a book might be in order. I’ll leave the running to Ben and Tammy.
‘Thanks, Ben,’ I say as we mount our bikes again.
‘For what? The cake bars?’
‘No, for everything. I couldn’t have done this challenge without your help.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ he says, putting on his helmet.
‘I mean it. Thank you.’
I really do mean it. If it wasn’t for Ben I’d be sitting at home still feeling sorry for myself instead of having Lara Croft-esque photos taken of me to post on Facebook and woo Joseph back.
Suddenly spending an afternoon alone doesn’t seem like such a dull prospect. At l
east I’ll have time to craft the perfect Facebook status updates.
I’m going to get Joseph back, I can feel it in my bones. OK, so that might be aches from yesterday’s windsurfing, but something in my head has changed. It’s like for the first time I’m confident that I can do this list, and that means I’m getting ever closer to getting back the love of my life.
Chapter Twelve
Four weeks to get Joseph back before the abseil, and after tomorrow’s cycle ride I’ll be four challenges in. Ain’t no stopping me now . . .
‘It can’t be a big night tonight,’ I say as I answer the door to Sian. Tomorrow is the Isle of Wight bike ride. It’s going to be rough enough going over on the hovercraft at seven in the morning; I can’t imagine doing it with a hangover.
The fact that she’s shown up at five in the afternoon worries me as that usually means a few drinks before we go out.
‘That’s fine. I just wanted to get out of my house. Angela is driving me insane.’
Ah, Angela, Sian’s note-writing, rule-setting housemate.
‘Do you know she left me a note to tell me that I had accumulated too many wine bottles and I needed to go to the bottle bank. How does she even know they’re all mine?’
‘Are they?’ I ask as we walk into my little lounge.
‘Well, probably, because she’s like a saint who takes about three weeks to finish one bottle of rosé and Hannah only drinks gin. But still. It’s like living with my mother. Except worse, as at least my mother drinks as much wine as me.’
Sian collapses onto the sofa and huffs loudly.
‘I don’t know why you don’t just move out. Get somewhere of your own. I’m sure you could afford it.’
I sit down opposite her in my wicker rocking chair.
‘I could, but then I’d be tied into a six-month or year-long lease. And what if the job came up?’
I nod. I’d forgotten about the job. Ever since I’ve known Sian she’s been desperate to become a reporter in London at one of the Nationals. She’s chomping at the bit to be a tabloid journalist. She made the transition from uni newspaper, to small-town newspaper and now she’s working at the city newspaper here in Portsmouth. It’s a pretty big paper, but it’s not quite big enough for Sian, and at every opportunity she’s trying for the next step up.
