Bron-17

Picture: Peter Thwaite

Continued from Chapter 16: Bron-16 | ABCtales

“You be OK?” said the Australian woman in the Notting Hill Secondhand Exchange.

“Yeah. Think so.” Bron nodded, uncertainly.

“Need to think on yer feet, in the traffic.”

“Oh yes. Should be fine.”

She swung her leg over the crossbar, dug her foot into the toe-clip and wobbled away erratically down Pembridge Road. She crouched down, grasping the drop-handlebars; it all felt awkward, unnatural. Her legs flailed, the bike hardly moving, seemingly. She fumbled for the gearshift, clicked it a couple of times. The faint resistance of the pedals melted away; Bron toppled; she thrust both feet down onto the tarmac. “AAARRGGH!” She felt her muscles twist and burn.

She reset the gear, the other way. Now, the bike pulled away steadily evenly. She swung left onto the Bayswater Road.

The black tarmac swung sharply to the left; a painted arrow hooked unhelpfully, in the Paddington direction. She turned, then swivelled her head back round again as the bike wobbled wildly. Shutting her eyes, Bron swung across right, into the other lane. A horn blared, a sharp ‘SCHREEP!, SCHREEP! SCHEEEEEEP! as the line of traffic braked hastily to a halt. “Got a fuckin’ DEATH wish! Luv? yelled someone from a rolled down window.

Brixton. Blackheath. Woolwich. Greenwich. Night was drawing in. She ought to get a set of lights, she supposed. She punched down on the pedals, sticking out her arm, accelerating and sliding into the gap in the traffic as she pulled past the parked lorry, down Creek Road, heading towards Deptford.

Now, she was sliding smoothly round the Rotherhithe Tunnel roundabout, signalling with her arm, left, right, left again, moving smoothly across the lanes, looking out for the arrows. A sign pointed right, numbers and symbols in red circles, one of them with an flash symbol on the outline of an orange lorry. What the hell. She stuck her left arm and rushed down the slope into the gloom. The noise of the traffic echoed and boomed off grubby white-tiled walls, roaring and pulsing. Momentum carried her up the slope, back into the fading light. Signs pointed to Limehouse. She shuddered to a halt, waited for a gap in the traffic and swung left, across The Highway, heading for home.

To be continued in Chapter 18