Free Black Mischief by Carl Hancock

be urging him to be more bold. When Reuben revved the engine enough to suggest he was about to give it free rein, the response was alert and eager.
    His first timed run was exciting. One hundred was no great speed, but it gave him a sense of fear, of risk. He wanted more. A hundred and five, a hundred and eight. The faster he went, the easier it was to control the bike. Bernard had warned him that speed was a drug and that he must not push too hard. He would allow himself one more run.
    He started on the murram, a hundred metres back from the beginning of the tarmac. Before setting off, he looked down his track imagining that he was at the start of a big race. By the time he passed the lodge gate he knew he must be going at well over a hundred and could not resist pushing much harder, whatever happened. What a way to go!
    The crossroad was coming up fast and, with a great effort, he eased back. He had never felt a greater sense of achievement. During the hour and more that he had been out on the road, he had not seen a single other person. This had been a bonus.
    When she rounded the corner up ahead, he was caught completely off guard. A big, bay horse was trotting towards him on the edge of the road. The small female rider tried to steer the animal out of the way. All would have been well had he braked calmly and eased gently to a stop. He hesitated, and then panicked. He was too heavy on the brakes and the bike skidded off the tarmac onto the grass verge and came to rest, with the front wheel just touching the boundary wall. Reuben was not physically hurt and the machine was undamaged, even if insulted by smears and smudges of red mud and dust.
    Instead of being grateful for a soft landing, he was furious with the person who had dared to ruin his perfect afternoon. As he checked over the BMW, he raged against the young woman sitting on the verge ten metres away, holding the reins of her horse.
    â€˜You stupid, stupid cow! Look what you’ve done! You’ll pay for this.’
    To have a good look at the bike, Reuben pulled off his helmet. The girl was close enough to recognise a neighbour. She screamed back.
    â€˜Oh no! Not another half-wit Rubai allowed out on the road to terrify the neighbourhood! More money than sense. Little boys playing with big man’s toys. And you can’t even control the bloody thing.’
    Even in his anger Reuben saw that the young woman was in pain. She was struggling to get to her feet and he hurried over to help.
    Passions were cooling on both sides. She raised her left arm to restrain any possible over enthusiasm. ‘My bloody arm has gone. Help me up. That’s all I want from you. Then just bugger off before I really lose it!’
    He held back. He wanted to help. But that would mean he had to get very close to her, to touch her. The idea created its own panic. Oh, shit! She’s looking at me! Now what do I do? Shut my eyes. That would be useless. She probably thinks I’m some kind of weirdo!
    Out loud he tried to make up a sensible explanation for his hesitation. ‘See, I’m just working out the best way to, sort of, approach this. Don’t want to make things worse, you know?’
    â€˜No, I don’t know. Just grab me around the waist and lift. I don’t bite! Not usually.’
    Stung by his own stupidity, he obeyed meekly. His ordeal was over in seconds, but the reverberations of the simple act stayed with him much longer.
    He stood behind her and grabbed her ‘round the waist. Her flesh was firm under his grasp. The flat of his hand touched the sharp bottom of her rib cage then slid up inadvertently. The softer feel of her breasts acted on him like an electric shock. He almost let go. She glared at him, but her grimace was for the pain, not for anger.
    â€˜Okay, leave it. Come on, Shadow. Home, boy!
    Reuben did not know much about perfume. He could distinguish between Lydia’s flowery scents and his mother’s musky French and