"Hey I put one of my tiny ebooks on this!" I yelled at him. He used to be my boyfriend, when he wasn't too busy cooking bits of his moterbike.
"You didn't, you daft sod," he yelled back, he was riding along with his hands on the handlebars, revving up the engine, with me stuck behind him in the following wind.
I wasn't really happy, my hair was all mussed in the helmet. I could feel the wind sandpapering my face. We were riding where we shouldn't, straight along an old promenade, where people didn't often come.
"Poetry again? he yelled at me, "Rick Lupert only keeps the downloads going for 24 hours, so I suppose most people will miss it."
I hung on tight, "All day May 1at today!"
"Were they ones you're proud of?" he screeched, pushing the bike harder, the engine screamed and for one terrifying moment the angle shifted, the earth turned. The front wheel came off the pavement and span dizzelly in the early may sunshine.
"Not particular," I said grimly holding on. "Ones from long ago, or ones that I've published. He's got a fair few from across the world this time."
"I prefer art," he yelled, watching the wheel drop back onto the promenade and the back wheel turned in a sickening half circle and we fell against the old sea wall.
He didn't speak again. It was left to me to phone the ambulance, and hobble while they carried him into it. It was left to me Ito call his family and to watch his girlfriend cry. She felt betrayed, she said and left.
I never meant that to happen. He'd just turned up, in the street, and said, "Come for a ride on my new bike! It'll be like old times."
It had been like old times. Me scared, and mussed up, him brave strong warrior king, all bike and man.
So what did they carry in? It wasn't him!