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I toyed with my pizza, flicking a piece of red pepper around on the end of my fork.
“What’s up, Cal?” She’d practically devoured her meal before I’d even started. “Arm still troubling you?”
I shook my head. I’d not thought about it all week.
“Is your bike fixed yet?”
Another shake.
“Well, there’s your problem. Lack of exercise.”
I couldn’t help the snigger. “Exercise isn’t the issue.”
She paused mid-bite. “Ah-ha. You’re hiding something from me.” She waved her final piece of pizza at my face.
“Yes. If you don’t mind, I’d rather not say anything about him yet. Early days.” I backed off. I wasn’t ready to talk about Stefan. All I had to tell Fiona would be sex, a little spell of clarinet playing and what else—one meal of pasta?
“Sure. When you’re ready.” She tried to look uninterested and failed dismally.
“You’re right about the bike. It’s not fixed. I miss the freedom of cycling.”
“Time to get back in the saddle. If you’re over Micah, you can be over a broken arm. I’ll take you tomorrow to the bike shop. You finish at three and I’m not working. All you need is a new front wheel and a basket. Unless you can make do without your granny basket.” She gave me a cheesy grin.
I met her smile with one of my own. “Cruel woman.” I carved a piece of pizza up with my knife, my appetite returning. “We’re on.”
* * * *
Stefan sent two texts during the day. The first asked if I had any particular food preferences or dislikes. I replied no curry or almonds. A weird combination, but we all had our foibles. The second instructed me to wear a pretty dress, as he intended to take me out for a meal.
Naturally, I fretted over my wardrobe all evening. Short or flowing, long sleeves or a cool sleeveless? I trooped downstairs to where Talia with her boyfriend George—his adopted English name—lounged in each other’s arms before the television. I held up the choices.
“Which one?” I whined pathetically. “I mean, do I show legs? Or bosom with this one? This one hugs the waist, except my heels don’t go with it.”
I rambled and George’s eyes glazed over.
Talia leaned across his lap. “Callie. It doesn’t matter. He wants in your panties. What about underwear?”
“He said pretty dress,” I hissed back as an uninterested George remained piggy in the middle.
“You think too much. He will not care. You look good in all of them. Frilly undies and no bra. That tight dress will do it.”
I stared at the bear hugger dress. It would work without a bra. Sleek, emerald green and to the knees. “Okay.”
* * * *
The next day, Fiona and I loaded my wrecked bicycle into the back of her Astra. She’d put the back seats down to accommodate the frame. After a short drive, Fiona parked up on the curb outside the bike shop, and I dodged the traffic opening the car door.
The man in the bike shop worked quickly. The frame had survived the impact of the curb intact. The wicker basket ruined, I opted for a metal one to replace it. Fiona rolled her eyes at the accessory.
I defended my purchase. “I don’t have the luxury of a car. Where else am I going to put my shopping?”
The bicycle meant freedom. I could pedal to rehearsals, even Stefan’s house in Grantchester was doable. I was back in business. No more being at the mercy of bus timetables.
I thanked Fiona for the lift, spun the pedal around a few times and pushed away from the curb.
* * * *
With my bicycle tucked away in the shed in the back yard, I waited for the evening in a perpetual state of restlessness. I filled my head with ridiculously erotic images of Stefan screwing me remorselessly in his studio. I had to stop myself from going crazy, so I packed and repacked my bag with unnecessary things, which I presumed he wouldn’t possess—a hairdryer, a mobile charger and a towel, because my mother told me men never have nice towels in their bathrooms.
