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

by Mary Jayne Baker

‘Just to see if you’re feeling better. You were in a real state yesterday afternoon.’

  I groaned. ‘Then you were here.’

  ‘Yep. You came to see me in your pyjamas and I helped you to bed, it was all very sexy.’ He turned to Tom. ‘Can you give us a minute, mate? Me and your sister need to have some words.’

  ‘If Lana’s ok with it,’ he said, glancing at me.

  ‘S’pose,’ I muttered. I had a vague idea I was supposed to be annoyed with Stew about something but it’d disappeared in the fog of pain and drugs.

  Oh yeah, the bike racks, that was it. Going behind the backs of the committee, getting us yet more bad press. But being annoyed with Stew felt like hard work today, for some reason.

  ‘I’ll pop downstairs then,’ Tom said. ‘Update the specials board or something.’ He flashed an anxious look back at us as he pushed open the door.

  Stewart took a seat in the armchair and Flash, the treacherous hellhound, slithered out of his bed to weave himself round the warmth of Stew’s calves.

  ‘So, what words do you think we need to have?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, there’s an apology coming. And I need to tell you some news.’

  ‘News?’ I said, instantly alert. I’d learnt to dread that word over the last few months. ‘You haven’t heard from the council? Ow!’ I clutched at my jaw. The sudden panic was making my gums vibrate.

  ‘Calm down, it’s nothing bad. Look, can I do my apology first?’

  ‘If you must. What’re you apologising for today?’

  He looked at me keenly. ‘Don’t you remember any of yesterday?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  He lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment.

  ‘I’m sorry about the bike racks,’ he said at last. ‘You’re right, I should’ve run it past the committee. Wanted to surprise you, that’s all. I genuinely thought you’d think it was funny.’

  ‘Hmm. Ok.’

  ‘It never occurred to me it was all grist to the mill for Sienna Edge. I’m sorry, Lana.’

  ‘Suppose you weren’t to know,’ I said, relenting at last. It was hard to stay mad at him with that earnest, pleading look in his eyes. ‘It’s the council’s reaction that worries me. You know how they are about anything that could reflect badly on them.’

  Stewart smiled. ‘Then I should probably tell you my news.’

  ‘Go on,’ I said, frowning.

  ‘Only if you promise not to have a go at me about doing things behind your back. I caused this and I wanted to sort it.’

  ‘Sort it how?’

  ‘Look, I know you like to keep Andy all to yourself, but I gave him a ring this morning to tell him what’d happened,’ he said. ‘I thought it’d be better coming from us. Anyway, he didn’t seem to think it was a problem. We had a good laugh about it.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I don’t think the council are as prudish as we thought. We got ourselves all worked up over nothing.’

  I flushed. ‘You mean I did.’

  ‘Well. The viaduct project’s your baby, isn’t it? Of course you’re protective of it,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I was just as bad. I was scared stiff I might’ve jeopardised the whole thing.’

  His expression was serious, but there was an amused glint in his eye. What wasn’t he telling me?

  ‘Ok, what?’ I said, my mouth twitching with a smile. ‘Out with it.’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, casting his eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘I know you, Stewart. Come on, what else?’

  He nodded to the window. ‘See for yourself.’

  I stood up, massaging my jaw as another spasm shot through it, and twitched open the curtains.

  There was a little gaggle of teenagers clustered around Stewart’s bike racks, giggling as they took photos of each other posing with the bums. One lad was laid across a pair of buttocks, pouting provocatively as his snickering girlfriend took a pic on her phone, while another crouched in a position that made it look like the huge backside was his own.

  ‘We’ve gone viral,’ Stew said. ‘There’s a whole Facebook group set up for fans of what they’re calling The Arses of Egglethwaite. People’ve been coming from all over to take pictures with them.’

  ‘Bloody hell! They’ve only been there a week.’

  ‘Yep, and already a landmark. The best thing is, I put up a donations box next to them for the viaduct. We’ve made nearly a hundred quid.’

  I fixed him with an impressed gaze. ‘In a week? That’s amazing!’

  ‘Isn’t it? It’s been bringing in a good bit of business for the shop, too. Hope you don’t mind, but I pinched a few of your Flagons business cards to put on the counter. Thought it might get you some knock-on trade.’

  ‘Did you?’ I said, blinking. ‘Thanks, Stew. That was a nice thought.’ I laughed. ‘Sienna’ll just love the fact she’s boosted trade for us, won’t she?’

  ‘So am I properly forgiven this time?’

  ‘You’re forgiven. I’m sorry. Overreacted, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, you were right. It was reckless and I should’ve thought it through.’ His eyes darted over my face. ‘You mean it this time? Because I actually came over to offer to resign. If you wanted me to.’

  ‘Resign from the cycling group? Why?’

  ‘You seemed so pissed off with me the other day in the restaurant. I can’t be in meetings if you don’t want me there, Lana.’

  ‘I do want you there.’ I flushed. ‘I mean, we all do. You’re the cycling expert, aren’t you? Can’t do without you.’

  ‘Hoped you’d say that.’ He stood up. ‘Right, I’d better get back to the shop. See you later, kid.’

  And he was gone, leaving me as confused as ever. That did seem to be the lingering aftertaste of a chat with Stewart McLean.

  ‘Well, we made friends again,’ I told Tom when he came back up. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘What, you’ve forgiven him?’

  ‘For the bike rack thing, yeah.’

  ‘And the not calling you thing?’

  ‘Not that. Not yet.’ I massaged my jaw again. ‘Be a while before that one stops hurting.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  I turned to glare at him. ‘Why’re you always saying “hmm”? If you’ve got something to say, just come on out with it.’

  ‘You sure you want to hear it?’

  ‘I’m a big girl, I can take it. Jesus!’ I grabbed my jaw as another spasm shot through it. ‘Go on, tell me while I’m in pain. Might make it easier to digest.’

  ‘Well, I’ve got this theory.’ He paused. ‘You sure you want to hear?’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, get on with it.’

  ‘All right. I reckon Stew’s in love with you.’

  I frowned. ‘Have you been talking to Deano?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘He said… only…’ I shook my head. ‘Never mind. You’re both wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ He started counting on his fingers. ‘He’s been coming into the restaurant more and more. He’s always staring at your boobs. He flirts like mad with you. Looks after you when you’re on drugs.’

  ‘That’s just fancying someone though.’

  ‘Yeah. It’s the looks he gives you that were the clincher.’

  ‘What looks?’

  ‘The soft ones with the love-light in his eyes. The ones that seem to say “Ooooh, Lana, hold me close against your ginormous bosoms and whisper sweet nothings to me for ever and ever”.’

  I shook my head. ‘You watch too many films.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘He does look all soppy at you. Plus he calls you “kid”.’

  ‘I know, patronising git.’

  ‘He only does it sometimes though. When he’s worried about you, like he feels protective. And he touches you in
appropriately.’

  ‘He does not!’

  ‘All right, he touches you appropriately then. Patting your hand and stuff. When you mention Dad, mostly.’

  I blinked. ‘You noticed all that? I didn’t.’

  ‘No, well you’re as bad.’ He sighed. ‘You know, I can’t help liking him. Wish it was all straightforward for you, sis.’

  ‘Me too.’ My brow lowered. ‘But it isn’t, is it?’

  ‘Did he tell you why he did it?’

  ‘He told me he was depressed after his accident. Couldn’t face the world.’

  ‘And you’re not happy with that.’

  ‘That I can understand. It’s the fact he left it a whole bloody year. A year, and not a word.’ I scowled. ‘And then he just turns up out of the blue, grinning obliviously like it’d meant nothing, asking if we can be friends… ugh.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘God knows.’ A single tear slid down my cheek. ‘Wish I could just hate him, Tommy,’ I whispered.

  He guided my head to his shoulder. ‘Hard work, these relationship things, eh?’

  ‘They make my jaw hurt.’ I snuffled wet eyes on his t-shirt. ‘How’d it go talking to Cam?’

  ‘Well, I’m meeting the parents now,’ he said with a grimace. ‘He sulked me into it in the end.’

  ‘Did you tell him what you were scared of?’

  ‘Not sure I got my point across too well.’ He clicked his tongue and Flash went bounding up for a stroke. ‘I thought I’d said absolutely no way to the parent thing, but apparently I agreed unreservedly. So he tells me anyway.’

  ‘When is it?’

  He groaned. ‘Next month, week after The Boneshaker. Hey, reckon your dentist’d sell me some drugs? If Cam’s parents were animated snowmen I bet they’d be a lot easier to handle.’

  Chapter 31

  I had forgiven Stew for The Great Bum Rack Debacle. Still, I don’t know what it was: after our latest falling-out-and-making-up, something seemed to change between us.

  We were matey enough, but I felt strangely awkward in his company, especially on the rare occasions it was just the two of us. And although he was his usual funny, flirty self, there was a certain… I don’t know, keenness. I often caught him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention, then quickly averting his eyes.

  I tried my best to ignore it, throwing myself into planning for The Boneshaker with gusto. If ever I found myself thinking about what Deano had said the day the committee visited, I pushed it to the bottom of my mind.

  At least the viaduct fundraising was straightforward, an antidote to my confused and confusing feelings about Stew. I’d been working really hard – promoting the calendars, encouraging groups to set up their own events, roping in volunteers for The Boneshaker – and the thermometer outside the temp had shot up to 18 grand. We were still waiting on the council grant, but Andy sounded confident the delays were just paperwork.

  Added to that was the excitement of finally seeing the route map, which was released by the Le Tour organisers in late October. We still had to wait until January for the official announcement Egglethwaite would be included, but for now just looking at the wiggly Stage 2 line running between York and Sheffield gave me a buzz.

  The Boneshaker was to be a sort of autumn fete-cum-community trick or treat with a spooky cycling theme, something a bit different than the usual vegetable shows and harvest festivals. Practically everyone in the village had been roped into getting involved one way or another.

  The kids had been decorating their bikes for a costume procession down the main street, with a prize for the scariest bike and owner. We had over 30 themed stalls and pocket-money games in and outside the temp, where a wide cobbled yard served as our village green, and Billy was setting up a beer tent for thirsty mums and dads at one end.

  For entertainment we had Gerry’s morrismen, who were down to dance a Welsh border morris – spookier than their usual ribbons-and-hankies prancing, apparently – and Roger had had the band rehearsing a selection of Halloween music. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard Werewolves of London arranged for brass.

  Me, Tom, Sue and Gerry arrived at the yard, lantern-lit for the occasion, shortly before kick-off.

  ‘Right, I’d better go get changed,’ Gerry said.

  ‘Where’s your kit?’ Tom asked. ‘You’ll have to dance in your vest and pants if you’ve forgotten it, you know.’

  He grinned. ‘Jim’s bringing it. Bit different than the usual clobber. Wait and see.’

  I glanced down at my uniform as Gerry dashed off ahead to the temp. At least with the morrismen performing, the band wouldn’t be the most ridiculously dressed people there for a change.

  Speaking of which…

  I nudged Tom and pointed to where Yolanda was waiting for us. ‘Check out Audrey Hepburn’s big sister.’

  ‘Jesus. Has she raided Jasmine’s wardrobe?’

  Yolanda had abandoned her usual shawls in favour of some oversized designer sunglasses and a big floppy hat. It was the low-cut and oh-so-very skintight little black dress that really disturbed me though.

  Sue snorted. ‘Oi, mutton dressed as lamb,’ she called as we approached. ‘What’s with the getup?’

  Yolanda turned to give her what, despite the sunglasses, I recognised as a pretty filthy look.

  ‘Well, you should know, Old McDonald. You’re the sheep expert.’

  ‘Don’t come the class warfare line with me, sweetheart,’ Sue said. ‘What’ve you done with the two A-levels that’s so amazing? And everyone knew you only got those because you were having it off with Mr Gallagher in exchange for private tuition.’

  ‘I was not!’ Yolanda lowered her voice. ‘It was Mr Boswell. And my God, was he worth it.’

  ‘Bloody hell. No wonder the poor sod died of a heart attack.’

  ‘Just because you didn’t lose your virginity until you were 21, Susan.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘I did not need to know that.’

  ‘Enough,’ I said, holding up a hand for quiet. ‘No bitching today, please, ladies. This is supposed to be a jolly village event, not an episode of Dynasty.’

  ‘She started it,’ Yolanda muttered.

  ‘And I’m finishing it. Behave, Yo-yo, or I’m sending you to your room.’ I glanced at Tom, the nearest man of her preferred age within grabbing distance. ‘Alone.’

  ‘Spoilsport.’

  ‘Why aren’t you in fancy dress then, Yo-yo?’ Tom asked. He gestured down at his zombie cyclist costume. ‘We were expecting group members to set a good example.’

  ‘Oh but I am,’ Yolanda said. ‘Ladies Who Lunch decided on a Witches of Eastwick dress code for our stall, add a bit of glamour. Spooky buns and tarot card reading. We’re calling ourselves The Cupcake Clairvoyants.’

  ‘You’d better not be got up like a dog’s dinner for the benefit of some poor lad, that’s all,’ Sue said.

  Yolanda scanned Sue’s high-vis vest with disdain. ‘And what’re you supposed to be, the planet Saturn? It clashes dreadfully with your hair, you know.’

  ‘I’m marshalling the kiddies’ procession,’ Sue said. ‘But of course, with your psychic powers you already knew that.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Sue put two fingers on each temple. ‘Ok, what am I thinking now?’

  Yolanda grinned. ‘Language, Susan Lightowler.’

  Sue laughed and slapped her on the back. ‘All right, love, that’s enough fun for one afternoon. Come help me get the little dears in position.’

  When they’d gone, I shook my head. ‘I’ll never get those two. Have you ever seen a friendship built entirely on out-insulting each other before?’

  ‘Well, if Gerry and Sue managed to build a marriage on it…’ Tom said with a shrug. ‘You’d better go find Roger. He’ll panic if you’re late,
and you know that makes him go extra pompous.’

  ‘Where’s Stew?’ I asked casually as we made our way to the band’s marquee. ‘He is still running our cycling group stall, isn’t he?’

  ‘Hmm.’

  I nudged him in the ribs. ‘Oi. Can you cut out the Stew-related hmming, just for today?’

  ‘Hmm. Well, all right.’ He gestured to the tables around the edges of the courtyard. ‘Me, Stew and Cam are supposed to be stallholder liaisons. I’d better go find them actually.’

  ‘All right, see you later.’ I gave his elbow a goodbye pat and nipped under the marquee.

  ‘Afternoon, fellers,’ I said to the band, squeezing down the second row to my seat. ‘Abide With Me on standby in case it all goes tits up, yeah?’

  All my nightmares for weeks that hadn’t been about giant flamingoes and mead-supping Alsatians had involved no one turning up for this event. We’d really put all our eggs in one basket by going for a single big fundraiser rather than a lot of smaller ones, and we were counting on a healthy five grand profit.

  After about ten minutes, a crowd had started to gather. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Roger struck us up for a bit of creepy background music, the Star Wars imperial march. It was an old favourite and I knew the part by heart, so I was free to keep one eye on the growing crowd.

  Nearly all the kids and quite a few adults were in fancy dress. There was a scythe-wielding Grim Reaper in black lycra, a ghost rattling bike chains, a witch with a bike-mounted broomstick… the theme had obviously captured Egglethwaite’s imagination.

  I tried not to look at a giant vampire bat in a cycling helmet. It reminded me of the barbastelles.

  Sienna Edge had been doing her damnesdest to get us into a war of words in the press, upping the heartstring-tugging with every letter she wrote, but I’d kept my word to Tom and refused to engage. She was still painting us as the heartless millionaire capitalists intent on wiping out a colony of innocent baby bats, like a bloody Disney film from the eighties. What’s worse, other letters were starting to appear. Letters of support for her.

  Whenever I nagged Andy for the wildlife report, the answer was the same one I got when I asked about our loan: paperwork delay. But his warm, reassuring tone always left me feeling things were in safe hands.