Faith Read Free

time.
    Ewan makes no serious attempt to engage me in conversation apart from a perfunctory “Are you warm enough?” I mumble that I am and sink into the soft leather of my seat.
    “Music?” Ewan gestures at the CD player. I shake my head, hoping he’ll leave it at that. He’s only giving me a lift, for heaven’s sake, but I’m acutely aware of his presence alongside me. His voice is low, melodic almost, his fingers long and capable on the steering wheel. My imagination is starting to hit overdrive as I envision what he might be able to do with those hands.
    I pull myself up sharp—this is ridiculous. And quite wrong. Ed might behave like a randy tomcat, but I know better. No good comes of daydreaming about sexy doms, especially unattainable ones. Kinky sex is not my thing.
    My mental state under some semblance of control, I turn my head to watch the landscape of the Yorkshire Dales roll past the window, noticing a few spots of rain against the glass. I was right about the weather.
    The road opens out again, we’re on a long, straight section, and it’s a little wider too in this stretch. The bike is visible, maybe a half mile or so ahead. Ed is taking advantage of the lack of bends in the road to open the throttle right up. The high-pitched roar of the engine reaches us even at this distance. There’s a muffled “Shit! He’s a fucking maniac,” from alongside me. I can’t help but agree and I’m glad I’m not the one on the back of the bike. Maybe if I were, he’d not be showing off so much though.
    There’s a surge of power under me as Ewan hits the accelerator and the Nissan leaps forward. He’s trying to close the distance, maybe even get in front and if not, slow Ed down, at least retrieve his girlfriend from the danger zone. The car eats up the long straight road and Ewan slows a little for the curve at the end. The bike is in sight once more, approaching another bend. Ed is leaning it over, almost parallel with the ground.
    Ewan swears again, this time something truly obscene, and stamps hard on the accelerator.
    The Yamaha reaches the bend, at the extreme of our line of sight. I’m not sure what I see next, but it doesn’t look right. The rear wheel lifts, then bounces back down. The bike is disappearing around the bend in the road. It looks to be sliding across the tarmac now, but not before we see a figure flung from it.
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Ewan hits the brakes hard as we careen towards the bend too, the tyres screeching against the asphalt. I smell burning rubber as the powerful car slithers to a halt, sideways across the road. The bike is nowhere to be seen.
    Ewan flings open the driver’s door and leaps out. He runs full pelt across the road to the grassy verge at the edge. I’m still in the car, dazed, wondering what the hell just happened. Clumsy, my fingers numb, I fumble with the door handle and drag myself out. I can see Ewan crouching in the longish grass at the roadside, leaning over something. Someone.
    Oh, God. Oh, God, where’s Ed?
    I stumble across the road to stand behind Ewan, desperately, selfishly hoping that the body in the hedgerow is not my husband. I can’t see the casualty properly, but I recognise my leathers and heave a sigh of relief, followed by a surge of guilt.
    “How is she? Is she okay?”
    Ewan doesn’t answer me; he’s too busy dragging his phone from his pocket. He hits the keys and within seconds is connected to the emergency services.
    “Ambulance, please. RTA, motorcycle. One, possibly two casualties.” A pause, then, “No, no other vehicles involved.” Another pause. “B6255, about ten miles south of Hawes. Hurry. Please.”
    He turns to me. “Where’s your husband?”
    “I, I don’t know. I…”
    “Stay with Carrie, I’ll go look around.” He skirts past me to jog along the road looking in both directions for some sign of the bike. He halts, then scrambles off the road and disappears down a grass bank. My impulse is to run after