I couldn’t help smiling as I watched the children getting ready, their faces shining with excitement and mischief. Some of the cutest little witches, werewolves and monsters you ever saw, pushing bikes covered in everything from mummies’ bandages to real homemade slime. They each had a trick-or-treat basket attached to the front, the idea being that villagers would throw sweeties into them as they went by. The cycling celebrity Stew had got for us – a former Tour de France winner turned coach called Harry Croston, apparently pretty big if you followed that sort of thing – was to judge best costume.
I could see Stewart in the crowd too. He was with someone else: a tall, well-built vampire with his face painted deathly white.
That costume – tailored and expensive-looking, not the usual tatty wear-once clobber people bought for these events. And that disdainful lip-curl, the swaggering gait…
Ugh. Harper Brady, trying to be incognito again. I’d been avoiding his calls ever since our disastrous fake date.
The band had a special number lined up to accompany the bike parade: Michael Jackson’s Thriller with cornet solo. A bloody cornet solo. In Thriller… As a dumpy, bespectacled Yorkshireman stood and placed his instrument to his lips, I could imagine that somewhere Jacko was spinning in his grave.
When Harry Croston gave the word, the kids started wheeling their bikes down the hill to the mellifluous sound of a brass band murdering a classic piece of eighties pop.
Harry eventually selected a tiny girl of about four as the costume prize winner. She and her bike were dressed all in yellow with a load of grey cardboard triangles attached, and when Harry asked what scary thing she was meant to be, she whispered shyly she was ‘shark-infested custard’. I was guessing it wasn’t a gag she’d supplied herself, but it got a laugh out of Harry and she attached the blue rosette proudly to her onesie.
After that it was another five numbers from us, then a break while Gerry’s morrismen took over. Abandoning my trombone, I went to talk to Sue.
‘Will you look at that?’ she said when I joined her. I followed her gaze to the beer tent, where a gang of pint-nursing morrismen in various stages of drunkeness were huddled.
‘Bloody hell, what’re they wearing?’ I said, goggling.
‘It’s not what they’re wearing that worries me, love.’ She nodded to Gerry. ‘It’s that second pint he’s just glugged.’
‘To be fair, I can see why he needs a drink. Is that what border morris dancers wear then?’
She shrugged. ‘So his lordship tells me. Tragic, isn’t it?’
Egglethwaite Morrismen were a familiar sight at village events in the traditional white bloomers and bells, but today’s get-up was radically different. Knee-length smocks covered in red and orange rag-ribbons and battered top hats stuck with feathers, faces painted with swirly black patterns – they looked like fire demons or something. They also looked ridiculous, but being morrismen they were presumably used to that.
‘Suppose it is spookier than the usual gear,’ I said.
‘You know, we were 20 when I first let him take me out. Thought he looked like Martin Kemp without the eyeliner.’ She sighed. ‘Now look what I’m married to.’
‘Ah, give over. You love him to bits.’
‘I do, sadly. Although I might change my mind in a minute when he starts titting about like Fairy bloody Snowdrop.’
I felt a jab in the back, and turned to find Tom and Deano behind me.
‘You two coming for a wander or did you want to stay for Gerry’s dance?’ Tom asked.
‘Better not,’ I said. ‘Might hurt his feelings if I descend into fits of uncontrollable laughter.’
‘Again.’
‘I’ll stay,’ Sue said. ‘He’ll only sulk if one of us isn’t here for moral support. See you in a bit, kids.’
Chapter 32
I took an arm each of the two lads and we started meandering through the crowd, looking at the stalls.
‘No Cam?’ I asked Tom.
He flushed. ‘No. I’m avoiding him a bit, to be honest. This meet the parents thing’s still sore. The closer it gets, the more terrified I get, and he won’t let me out of it.’
‘Just talk to him about it, mate,’ Deano said.
‘Easy for you,’ Tom said, glaring at him. ‘You just say whatever pops into your head with no worries, don’t you? I have talked to him. He always seems to end up more confused than before.’
‘Write to him then,’ I suggested. ‘Might be easier to explain your chronic shyness by letter.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘That’s not a bad idea actually.’ He nodded to Stewart on our cycling group stall. ‘Come on, we’d better show our faces over there. Curious to see what he’s doing.’
‘Don’t you two know what’s on your own stall?’ Deano asked as we weaved through the crowd.
‘We couldn’t think of anything good in the planning meeting,’ I told him. ‘Stew said to leave it with him.’
I frowned when we reached our table. Apart from a stack of calendars for sale there was nothing on it at all: just a sign shaped like a pair of lips with £1 written on. Stewart saluted when he saw me, like he always did when I was in my band uniform.
‘You’d better be flogging homemade lip balm, McLean.’
He grinned. ‘Guess again.’
I shook my head. ‘Selling kisses, seriously? That is so tacky.’
‘Bit of fun, isn’t it?’ he said, shrugging. ‘I’m having a great afternoon.’
‘Oh, I bet you are. Hope you get a coldsore.’
‘I meant takings-wise.’ He shook his bowl of coins. ‘Why, Lana, jealous?’
‘Um, let me think… no. What’s softcore prostitution got to do with Halloween then? Or cycling?’
‘Well, I was a cyclist. And the kisses are pretty spine-tingling.’ He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Fancy a free sample? I don’t usually do try before you buy, but for you…’
‘This wasn’t Yo-yo’s idea, by any chance?’ Tom asked.
‘How’d you guess?’ Stew nodded to the cash bowl. ‘About a fiver of that came from her. She’s my best customer.’
‘You astound me,’ I muttered.
‘Go on, I’ll take one.’ Deano chucked a quid in Stewart’s bowl and leaned over the table to plant a big kiss on his lips.
‘Er, whew. Thanks, Deano.’ Stewart rubbed under his nose. ‘You shaved today, mate?’
‘No.’
‘I can tell.’
Tom shook his head. ‘Straight guys are weird.’
‘What is it with you and personal space?’ I asked Deano.
He shrugged. ‘I had a very lonely childhood.’
‘Where’s Harper?’ I said to Stewart. ‘I saw him creeping about in his vampire costume.’
‘He’s around somewhere. Probably bragging about how he was first choice to play Edward Cullen in Twilight.’
Tom’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Bloody hell, was he?’
‘Nah, don’t be daft. That’s just what he tells girls.’
‘Did you have to invite him?’ I said. ‘You already got us a celeb, we don’t need Harper Brady’s unique brand of star appeal.’
‘I didn’t, he just turned up. Must’ve seen my plug on Facebook. He’s been following me round like a puppy lately, don’t know what’s up with him.’
There was a queue building behind us: a gang of girls about my age whispering together and giggling. Stewart had become a bit of a local heartthrob lately, and I’d noticed a steady increase in the number of women popping into McLean’s Machines. They never seemed to hire a bike, although quite a few came out clutching calendars.
‘How much do you think he charges to do it with his shirt off?’ I heard one girl mutter to her friend.
‘So, Lana?’ Stewart said. ‘Last chance. I’ve got customers waiting.’
‘If
it’ll shut you up.’ Something about the girls seemed to have brought out my recessive jealous gene. For some reason, I didn’t want to go without them seeing Stewart give me a kiss.
‘On the cheek,’ I said as I leaned over the table. But it was too late. He’d already taken my chin in his palm and the next second his lips were on mine.
If I thought I’d put our kiss that night at Pagans’ Rock behind me, well, I was wrong. As soon as our lips met, it came rushing back: the rightness of it, the unleavable security of his arms. I could feel my body waking for him, just as it had then – just as it sometimes did in the dreams I’d never admit to.
And yet this kiss was chaste as anything on the surface. There was no searching tongue, no urgency, no bodies pressed close. It was gentle and lingering, his thumb just caressing the tip of my ear as he held his lips against mine. The purity of it, the sweet, beautiful simplicity of his touch, was what caught me off guard. God, it was sexy.
‘Lana…’ he whispered when he drew back, his eyes holding mine.
I cleared my throat. ‘Right. Thanks for that.’ I managed what I hoped was an unconcerned smile as I chucked a pound in his bowl. ‘For a good cause, right?’
‘Bloody hell, was that really only a quid’s worth?’ I heard one of the girls whisper as I marched away. ‘Wonder what I could get for a tenner.’
‘And you can both stop looking at me like that,’ I said to the boys when we were out of earshot.
‘She hates that guy, you know,’ Tom said to Deano.
‘Oh, yeah. Obvious. I often kiss tenderly with people I hate while they stroke my ears.’
I shot him an accusing glare. ‘You kissed him too.’
‘Not like that I didn’t. That was out of Casablanca or something.’
‘Come on, sis,’ Tom said quietly. ‘Why not stop kidding yourself, eh?’
I sighed. ‘I’m not kidding myself. I mean, I’m trying to, but… well, it’s not working, is it?’
‘You can say that again.’
‘Ok, so I like him,’ I admitted. ‘More than I’ve liked anyone in a long while. Ever, probably. And you two going on about it all the time is hardly helping.’
‘Why don’t you do something about it then?’ Deano asked.
‘Such as?’
‘Well, maybe I’m being too scientific about this, but if I like someone and I think being with them might make us both happy, I would be with them. You know, in the biblical sense. With genitals.’
‘Even if they’d hurt you once before?’
‘I admit that’s never come up,’ he confessed.
I looked at Tom. ‘What do you think?’
He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I want you to be happy, and he seems to make you happy – sometimes, anyway. But he hurt you, and I don’t want you to be hurt. I’m a simple person, Lana. To be honest I’m a bit out of my depth.’
Deano pointed to where Yolanda was doing her cupcakes and clairvoyancy. ‘You could try professional help. Maybe your future’s in the cards.’
I snorted. ‘Gypsy Rose Yo-yo?’
‘Go on. Might cheer you up, at least.’
He guided me to Yolanda’s stall. She’d spread a red-and-white-checked tablecloth over it, a crystal ball stuck in the middle next to a pack of tarot cards. The whole display was, rather bizarrely, surrounded by gravestone cupcakes on little silver stands.
‘Evening, gorgeous,’ Deano said to Yolanda with a wink. ‘Brought you a customer.’
‘How much are the cupcakes?’ I asked.
Deano shook his head. ‘Don’t let her get out of it, Yo-yo. Lana needs some advice on her love life from the spirit world.’
Yolanda tutted. ‘Tarot has nothing to do with the spirit world, darling. It’s all about channelling your own latent energy. The cards are merely a guide to help you clear the blockages you’ve created for yourself.’
Deano nodded. ‘I get it. Roughage for the soul.’
‘Well yes, if you must put it that way.’
‘Where do you get all this New Age guff, Yo-yo?’ Tom asked.
‘There was a feature on it in Perfect Homes.’ She picked up her tarot pack and held it out to me. ‘Ok, Lana, I’m going to ask you to cut the deck in three places for past, present and future. All the time you must be focusing on the question you want answered.’
‘You don’t really believe in all this, do you?’ I said.
‘But of course, hun,’ she said, eyes wide at the mere suggestion. ‘There are more things in heaven and earth and so forth. You should try opening your mind a little.’
I took the cards from her with a resigned sigh.
As I shuffled them, I tried to focus on the question I wanted to ask. What was it? Something to do with Stewart. Why was he so annoying? No, that wasn’t it. Why did he have to keep popping up in my life to make things all confusing? How did he get his hair so perfect?
‘Try to keep your energy positive, dear, or you may get a bad reading,’ Yolanda said.
‘I am positive.’
‘Are you? You look angry to me.’
I lifted my frown and forced my face into something a bit more neutral. The question I eventually focused on as I cut the deck three times and handed the cards to Yolanda was simple. What the fuck do I do now?
Yolanda laid the three cards I’d selected face down on the tablecloth.
‘Ok, let’s see what we have. The first card represents something from your past that’s colouring your life in the present. Something that still needs closure.’
She turned it over and looked up at me with sympathy in her eyes. ‘Oh, darling, I am sorry.’
The picture was of a heart, pierced with three swords.
‘What’s it mean then?’ I said, my tone carefully nonchalant.
‘The Three of Swords means just what it looks like. Heartbreak. Pain or loss in your romantic life.’
Deano nudged me. ‘See? It works.’
‘It can’t work. It’s random, isn’t it?’
Yolanda drew herself up. ‘It most certainly is not random, young lady. And if you’re not taking it seriously I may decide not to do the rest of the reading. Honestly, typical Aries.’
‘Sorry, Yo-yo,’ I said with an apologetic smile. ‘Go on, please. What’s in my present?’
She turned the next card, which showed a grinning moron in motley. I didn’t need to be a tarot expert to guess this one was called The Fool. Anyway, it was printed underneath.
‘Oh, very nice,’ I said, folding my arms.
‘Ha!’ Tom leaned round me to talk to Deano. ‘You’re right, it does work.’
‘No, no, you’re misinterpreting the card,’ Yolanda said. ‘The Fool doesn’t represent literal foolishness. It can signify new beginnings, a freeing of the spirit.’ She squinted at it through her sunglasses. ‘Only…’
‘Only what?’ I said.
‘Well, it’s upside down. A reversed Fool means something different. Naivety, wilful blindness…’ She looked up at me. ‘Is there anything in your life you’ve been avoiding facing up to, Lana?’
‘No,’ I mumbled.
‘You would say that though, wouldn’t you?’ Deano shook his head. ‘This is uncanny. Do the last one, Yo-yo.’
She flipped the last card, and despite my lack of faith I instinctively recoiled. It was the one card in the tarot everyone knows and fears. Death.
‘Now, don’t worry,’ Yolanda said quickly. ‘Death doesn’t mean what people think. It’s a positive card, especially for the future.’
‘What does it mean?’ Tom asked. He looked frightened, too. Perhaps after losing Dad we were more superstitious than we realised.
‘Change or rebirth; an upsetting of the status quo, perhaps. Not always for the better, but that very much depends on the individual. The energy for change is there, it just needs to be c
hannelled.’
‘Well, Lana?’ Deano said. ‘Reckon you’re ready to align your chakras and do some channelling?’
‘I reckon I’m ready for a cupcake.’
When we’d paid Yolanda for the reading and a bun each, we wandered away to watch the end of Gerry’s dance. The morrismen were still skipping about, knocking sticks together, although Sue had wisely sidled off to the beer tent.
‘How weird was that?’ Deano said. ‘It’s like the cards knew all about you, Lana. Heartbreak, hiding, change… we might have to burn Yo-yo as a witch.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ I said through a mouthful of crumbs. ‘She could’ve picked any three cards and we would’ve made them about Stew. You see what you want to see, that’s how it works.’
Still, the whole incident had left me jittery, if only because it’d forced me to think about Stewart. Our history, how I felt about him now, and… future. Did we have any future?
I wished I hadn’t let Deano talk me into it.
‘Right,’ Tom said when he’d finished his bun. ‘I’d better go find Cam. Don’t want him to think I’m sulking.’
‘I’m going back to Yo-yo’s,’ Deano said. ‘Quite fancy a go on the tarots myself. You coming, Lana?’
‘No, the band’ll be back on soon. I’ll wait here till Rodge needs me.’ I didn’t want to watch Deano getting his cards read. The pictures on those things creeped me out.
Chapter 33
A few minutes later someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to find a well-groomed vampire grinning at me.
‘Sexy outfit,’ Harper said. ‘Have you got the pompoms to go with it?’
‘Ugh. You and Stew really are cousins, aren’t you?’
‘Can’t believe you play in a brass band. Is it supposed to be ironic or what?’
‘Er, no. I enjoy it.’
He laughed. ‘You are the strangest girl. Hey, did you get a new phone, babe? Keep ringing you and there’s no answer.’
Of course. Obviously it wouldn’t occur to Harper Brady I just didn’t want to talk to him.
I sighed. ‘Harper, listen, I’m sorry. I’ve been ignoring your calls.’
A Bicycle Made For Two Page 25
