A Bicycle Made For Two: Badly behaved, bawdy romance in the Yorkshire Dales (Love in the Dales Book 1)

by Mary Jayne Baker

  ‘I don’t know, darling,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I could, but it seems rather – well, naff, no offence. And I really think we should be making money.’

  ‘I agree,’ Stewart said. ‘If we need 25 grand in the kitty by January we should be focusing on proper fundraisers, save the promotion for later. Sorry, Lana.’ Yolanda sent a smug look my way.

  I drooped a little. I’d been pretty pleased with my yarnbombing idea and it was disheartening to have it rejected out of hand.

  ‘Lovely thought though, chicken,’ Sue said, giving my arm a comforting squeeze.

  ‘So, any other ideas?’ Gerry asked.

  ‘I had one,’ Tom said, trying not to look at Cameron.

  ‘Don’t you dare,’ I whispered. But it was too late.

  ‘Nude calendar. Cycling theme. That’d make money and get us some press.’

  Cameron frowned. ‘What, us lot?’

  ‘Yeah, why not? Bit of cheeky fun, the village’d love it.’

  ‘Well, Yo-yo?’ Gerry said. ‘This is your area. It’s all jam-making in the buff with WIs these days, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s Ladies Who Lunch now, dear,’ Yolanda said stiffly. ‘And I do all my cooking nude actually.’ She flashed a suggestive smile at Stewart. ‘It’s only natural, after all.’

  ‘Ew,’ Tom muttered.

  ‘Visual?’ I whispered back.

  ‘Just thinking about that Victoria sponge I bought off her at the last cake sale.’

  ‘Bit old hat, isn’t it?’ Sue said. ‘It might’ve been original when that WI in Rylstone did it, but the world and his wife’s doing nuddy calendars now.’

  ‘With a cycling theme though?’ Tom said. ‘Anyway, it’s more about it being a novelty round here than setting the world alight.’

  ‘Oh, I think it’s a wonderful idea!’ Yolanda said, not taking her eyes off Stewart.

  ‘You would,’ Gerry muttered.

  ‘After all, how many calendars have their own hunky cycling celebrity? That would be a massive selling point,’ Yolanda went on. ‘You’ll do it, won’t you, Stewpot?’

  ‘Christ, she’s given him a nickname already,’ I muttered to Tom.

  ‘I’m more concerned about him slapping his massive selling point on the table for her,’ he whispered.

  Stewart shrugged. ‘Yeah, why not? Always willing to get my kit off for a good cause.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘Hey. What if I could get us a real celebrity?’

  ‘Oh God,’ I whispered to Tom. ‘He’d better not say what I think he’s about to say.’

  ‘I could get us Harper Brady.’

  ‘Yep,’ Tom muttered.

  Yolanda’s eyes were wide. ‘You’re not serious! You know Harper Brady? The Harper Brady?’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Stewart said. ‘He’s my cousin.’

  ‘Oh my goodness, really?’ she practically squealed. ‘I love him!’

  ‘Yeah. You might want to meet him before you go too far down that route.’

  Her gaze dwelt on his muscular arms. ‘You must have excellent genes in your family, darling. Do you really think he’d do our little calendar?’

  ‘Don’t see why not. Harper loves taking his clothes off, I don’t think he’s had a TV role yet where he hasn’t at least got his arse out. Anyway, he owes me a favour. I helped him with the research for Soar.’

  Yolanda’s eyes and mouth formed a teashop’s worth of saucers.

  ‘That drama about the soldier with PTSD? I’ve seen every episode! You didn’t work on that?’

  ‘Er, yeah, I gave a bit of advice on the cycling stuff. Not that Harper ever acknowledges it, but my name’s in the credits.’

  ‘I had no idea you were so important, darling,’ she purred, resting her long fingernails on his arm.

  ‘“Exploited” is the word I’d be tempted to use. But thanks.’

  Yolanda was practically sitting in his lap now, and the name-dropping git was clearly loving every minute.

  ‘Brady won’t do it,’ I said. ‘He’ll think it’s beneath him.’

  ‘Probably. But like I said, he owes me a favour.’

  ‘All right, Stewart, go ahead and ask,’ Tom said. ‘It’d be good for sales, I guess. So, who else?’ He glanced at Cameron. ‘You?’

  ‘What, like… you know, all of me?’

  ‘If you want. Stewart can knit us all willy warmers to keep out the chill.’ He turned to Stewart. ‘How much wool’ve you got?’

  ‘Not enough.’

  ‘Pay no attention to them,’ I said to Cameron. ‘You won’t have to full monty, it’s not that sort of calendar. It’ll be just the suggestion of nudity with the tiniest amount of flesh.’

  Cameron still looked uncertain. ‘Well, if all of you are doing it…’

  ‘Not sure I will. I can be photographer or something.’

  ‘Oh, come on, sis,’ Tom said, nudging me. ‘All for one and one for all. Like you said, we won’t show anything. Just a bit of tummy and some arm or whatever.’

  I glanced down at my tummy. I could feel it muffin-topping over my jeans as we spoke. Letting it all hang loose for the whole village to see wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time.

  ‘Absolutely not.’ Gerry folded his arms. ‘I won’t have our Lana doing it. I was her dad’s best friend, I stand in loco wotchacallit now he’s not around.’

  ‘Oh right, but you don’t mind Tom doing it,’ I said.

  ‘That’s different. He’s a bloke. When women do it, it’s…’ He paused, fumbling for a word outside his usual vocabulary. ‘…objectifying, that’s it. You don’t want every randy old bugger in the village ogling you in the altogether, do you?’

  Sue snorted. ‘Objectifying. He’s been at my Woman’s Own again.’

  ‘Oh, no no no, it’ll be empowering!’ Yolanda said, her eyes glittering. The idea had clearly caught her imagination, in a way I sensed was nothing to do with WIs and everything to do with Yolanda Sommerville.

  She came over and started prodding my arm and squeezing my hips like a prime cow on show.

  ‘Ow! Geroff, Yo-yo!’

  She ignored me. ‘Oh yes, we can definitely work with this. New hair for the day – lose the frump, you know – I’ll do your makeup, we’ll give you something to keep this little tummy hidden. And of course we want to make as much as possible of these, don’t we?’ She gave my boobs a friendly pat.

  ‘Yolanda, get OFF!’ I batted her hand away, blushing furiously. ‘Not appropriate, ok?’

  She shrugged. ‘All girls together, aren’t we, darling? We’ve got the same parts, there’s no need to be coy.’ She turned to Stewart. ‘What do you say, Stewpot? Don’t you think our Lana would make a perfect Miss July?’

  Stewart was still staring at my recently prodded chest. He blinked.

  ‘Sorry, what? I was miles away.’

  Yolanda flicked her eyebrows in my direction. ‘Honestly, these boys. A hint of breast and they’re away with the fairies.’

  ‘Ok, ok, I’ll do it,’ I said, mainly in the hope it might take the conversation away from my boobs. ‘But I’m not showing my bits, top or bottom. I want to be completely covered.’

  Yolanda looked disappointed. ‘Well, I’m sure we can get you some props, if that’s the way you must have it,’ she said. ‘I’ll certainly show my tops and bottoms. It’s for the village, after all.’

  ‘We know, love,’ Gerry said. ‘Even when we were at school you’d get yours out for half a long fag and a bag of chips.’ He turned to meet Sue’s glare. ‘Er, so I heard,’ he said with a guilty smile.

  Tom looked at Sue and Gerry. ‘Well, suppose I have to ask. Are you in, old people?’

  Gerry snorted. ‘You what? You want me to chuck the wedding tackle over a bike saddle at my time of life? I thought we were trying to make money.’

  Sue nodded. ‘He�
�s right, it’s not a pretty sight. Reminds me of Christmas.’

  I shot a warning look at Stewart, whose mouth was opening, but it was no good: he couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Go on, Sue, why Christmas?’ he asked. ‘Does he tie a little ribbon round it for you as a treat?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I was thinking more last turkey in the shop.’

  I curled my lip. ‘For God’s sake, stop, or I’ll have nightmares. Anyway, it’ll be strictly pants on, thanks, Gerry. Just take your top off and sit in a tin bath or something.’

  ***

  When we’d done as much planning as we could stomach and Yolanda and Stewart had gone on their merry way, Tom drained the last of his pint.

  ‘Right, drink up, sis. Time to go home.’

  ‘I’ll walk with you. I’m going your way,’ Cameron said.

  ‘Er, yeah… actually, I’m just going to pop to the farm,’ I said. ‘I need food for the dog. You boys walk back.’

  Gerry frowned. ‘Eh? I sold you a big bag of biscuits last week.’

  Sue nudged him in what after 23 years of marriage must be some pretty bruised ribs.

  ‘Well, he’s a growing puppy. Anyway, it does no harm to stock up.’ She sent pointed side-eyes between her husband and Tom.

  ‘Oh. Oh! Right.’ Gerry stood up. ‘Ok, girls, come on. And on the way we can work out how to tell Roger Collingwood we need to book the Temp so the entire cycling group can take their clothes off.’

  Chapter 16

  I plonked the unnecessary bag of dog biscuits down in the hall, leaving Flash to give it a thorough sniffing, and joined Tom in the living room.

  ‘So, how was your moonlit walk?’ I asked, sitting down next to him.

  His lips twitched at the corner. ‘Not telling.’

  I examined him through narrowed eyes. ‘Ooooh. You got a snog tonight, didn’t you?’

  He let his mouth spread into a grin. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Good lad! More to come?’

  ‘Hopefully. We’re going out for a drink next week.’

  ‘Ha! I’m a genius. Told you inviting him on the committee was a great idea.’

  He shrugged. ‘Wasn’t bad.’

  ‘Say it. Say “Lana Donati is a genius”.’

  ‘All right, all right. Lana Donati is a genius.’

  ‘Yes she bloody well is.’ I grabbed him round the neck and rubbed his hair with my fist. ‘Now say Peanuts.’

  ‘Peanuts. Peanuts! Geroff, Lana!’

  ‘That’s right, Peanuts. And don’t you forget it.’ I let him go.

  He smoothed his hair. ‘Ok, Lana Donati, self-proclaimed genius. When’re you going to leave my love life to self-destruct and sort your own out then?’

  ‘How? You just bagsied the only decent lad under 35 in the village.’

  ‘Come on, you’re exaggerating.’

  ‘Am I?’ I put up a finger. ‘Ryan Crooke, 32. Lives with his mum, smells of Dairylea.’ Another finger popped up. ‘Scott Spen, 26. Looks like a sheep, sounds like a sheep, may actually be part sheep.’

  ‘Give over, he doesn’t look that much like a sheep.’

  ‘Yeah? Flash chased him down the street the other day.’

  ‘You’re making that up.’

  ‘Maybe. Right, next. Graham Hobson, 29.’ I curled my lip. ‘Estate agent. Nothing more to say there. Matthew Cornwall, probably still a virgin at 33, Jamie Collingwood, 25, addicted to online porn, Olly Harrington, 35, two ex-wives and a kid he never bothers to see, Johnny Southgate, 28, beard, Deano Teasdale, 24, mad as a squirrel and still the best of a bad lot – need I go on?’ I paused. ‘Actually, I can’t. That’s it.’

  ‘No it isn’t. You missed one.’

  ‘All right, fine. Stewart McLean, 27. Arrogant arse monkey, never wastes time with second dates if he doesn’t get laid on the first one.’

  ‘You really think that’s why?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know. I can’t help remembering that he asked, I said no and that was the last I ever heard from him.’

  ‘He fancies you, you know. He was staring at your boobs all night.’

  ‘He fancied me a year ago. Yet, here we still are.’

  ‘Hmm. You know, he had his accident around then. Maybe that had something to do with it.’

  ‘For a whole year?’ I shook my head. ‘No, Tommy, he just forgot about me. Something that seemed pretty significant to me was obviously no big deal to him. I bet the man’s shagged more women than you’ve had hot chips.’ I scowled in the direction of the window looking out towards McLean’s Machines. ‘Thank God I didn’t go back to his. The last thing I need is to be another notch on Stewart McLean’s bike saddle.’

  ‘Dunno. He doesn’t seem like the kind of bloke to string women along to me.’

  ‘Look, even if he does still fancy me, he’s made it abundantly clear friendship’s all he’s interested in. Whatever ship me and him might’ve been on a year ago, it’s well and truly sailed.’ I shuffled round to look at him. ‘Why’re you defending him anyway?’

  ‘I’m not really. Just playing devil’s avocado.’

  ‘You’re on my side though, aren’t you?’

  ‘Course I am. You’re my baby sister.’ Tom gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Forget him then. You’ve got options. There’re more places in the world than Egglethwaite, you just need to put yourself out there.’

  I thought about Andy Chen. ‘No… not yet. I’m not in the boyfriend market right now. Too soon after Dad.’

  ‘That excuse won’t hold water forever, Lana. You know Dad wanted you to be happy.’

  ‘Well, one of us at a time, eh?’ I patted his leg. ‘You’ve got a date next week. We have to get you ready.’

  ***

  Tom looked in the mirror and shook his head.

  ‘I’m not wearing it.’

  ‘No, but come on, it’ll be perfect!’ Deano said, brushing a few Flash hairs off the shoulder. ‘When he sees you in this he’ll fall into your arms and you can crush him against your aching chest, it’ll be well sexy.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Lana. Did you really have to ask for style tips from the man whose last date was with a kitchen implement?’

  I shrugged. ‘Thought we needed the male perspective.’

  Deano folded his arms. ‘Look, do you two want my help or not?’

  ‘No. Bye, Deano.’ Tom nodded to the door.

  ‘Don’t listen to him, he’s just nervous,’ I said. ‘Of course we want your help. You’re our resident perfectionist.’ I scanned Tom’s outfit. ‘Still. You seriously think bow tie, tweed jacket? He looks like a retired librarian.’

  ‘Nah, it’s ace,’ Deano said. ‘Very in with the hipster brigade. Bow ties are cool.’

  ‘They most certainly are not cool.’ Tom unfastened it and yanked it off his neck. ‘Lana’s right, I look about 75.’

  I could see Deano’s brow gathering, the way it did when he’d been asked to cook something not on the menu.

  ‘You’re looking at it the wrong way, Deano,’ I said in my best oil-on-troubled-waters tone. ‘Imagine Tom’s a meal you’ve been asked to prepare for a special occasion.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like this analogy,’ Tom said. ‘Having Deano looking at me like a piece of meat.’

  Deano broke into a grin. ‘Yeah, you love it.’

  I ignored them. ‘So you’ve made the fanciest dish you can imagine for the special occasion, truffles in blackcurrant jus or whatever.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it’s a kids’ party, and the little treasures all start crying for jelly and ice cream. Get me?’

  ‘That’s a bloody long way of saying you need to suit the clothes to the occasion, sis,’ Tom said.

  ‘I thought he’d understand it better this way.’ I slapped Deano’s arm. ‘So? Reckon you can
make our Tom into jelly and ice cream before Cameron gets here?’

  ‘S’pose,’ he said sulkily. ‘But you’ll have to brief me. What’s the date?’

  ‘Just the pub,’ Tom said. ‘Thought I might function better in a crowd.’

  ‘And what impression are you going for?’

  ‘Well, sort of pale and interesting, the Byronic silent type. That way if I lose the power of speech he’ll think I’m brooding rather than terrified.’

  ‘Right you are. One Byronic jelly and ice cream coming up.’

  Deano flung open Tom’s cupboard and started chucking things on the bed.

  ‘Ok, black jeans, those’ll do for starters. Keep the shirt you’ve got on, top button unfastened. Chuck this blazer over it.’ He looked at Tom’s bare toes. ‘What trainers have you got? Any Converse?’

  ‘What’s Converse?’

  Deano shook his head. ‘If Jasmine hears you say that she’ll give notice on the spot. Well, never mind, your usual ones’ll do.’

  Once Tom had changed, I had to admit the effect was pretty good. He was tall and skinny, with a tendency to shrink himself by hunching, and as a result clothes tended to hang off his gangly frame like he was outgrowing last year’s school uniform. But the ensemble Deano had put together suited his skinniness; sophisticated without being too dressy.

  Deano examined him closely, then clicked his fingers. ‘Ha! Still got it, right, guys?’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve done well,’ I said. ‘Even I’ll admit he’s not entirely hideous.’

  ‘Do I get a snog now then? You promised me one if I helped.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘Your eyes did. Go on, Lana-nana, just a little one.’

  I pecked his cheek. ‘There you go.’

  He shrugged. ‘Better than nothing. Right, I’d better get the pottage on. Enjoy your date, Tommy.’

  ‘Enjoy is not the word,’ Tom said when Deano had disappeared. He chewed anxiously on his thumbnail. ‘If I can get through the night without him running away that’ll be as much as I can hope for.’

  ‘Oh, you’ll be fine,’ I said in what I hoped was a reassuring tone. ‘You talk to him in our meetings, don’t you? You even manage a bit of a flirt, sometimes.’