A Summer to Remember. Victoria Cooke

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       Chapter 10

      When I arrive back at the bike rental place, the Grinch is messing with the wheel of a large black and red mountain bike outside. The anger I felt towards him earlier has dissipated a little, in light of such a wonderful afternoon. I’m ready to return the bike and go back to my hotel, freshen up and perhaps find a new bike rental place should I ever need one.

      He gives the wheel a little shake to make sure it’s fastened on tightly and then glances up at me, his hair falling into his eyes. ‘You found your way back then?’

      ‘Oh, ha-ha.’ I sound very British, like the British people in American films do. It’s odd to hear myself this way and it isn’t as though I’m speaking any differently; I just sound different because of the thick American accents around me.

      He stands up, wiping a streak of black grease on his jeans. He’s intimidatingly close, almost a full head-height taller than me and a good six inches too close. Scratch that, he’s six feet too close. I swallow hard, unsure as to whether I’m going to get another earful. I’m braced and ready. He’s only a foot away, and I can feel something between us. An energy of some sort which binds itself into a hard knot in my chest. I don’t step back. I put my hands on my hips and stand my ground.

      ‘Do you want to pay cash or card?’ he says eventually, slicing through the tension. The breath I was holding escapes. Was that it?

      ‘Er, cash … no, card.’

      ‘Do you need a moment to think about it?’ There’s a frustrating sarcasm in his tone.

      ‘You do know there are customer service courses available, don’t you? I bet repeat custom isn’t the foundation of your business model.’ I jab the air in front of his chest. ‘It’s a good job you’re based in a tourist town where you have a constant flow of new and unsuspecting victims to rent bikes to. You could be the Bates Motel of the bike rental world.’ Too far?

      The corner of his mouth curls up in a bemused smirk that makes me all the more cross. ‘If you’re finished, and I really hope you are, closing time was fifteen minutes ago and I’m starving so I’d like to wrap this up. I open up again at 9 a.m. tomorrow though, if you’d like to carry on.’

      ‘Oh.’ Okay, so maybe I’m in the wrong this time but that just makes us even. ‘Well, here.’ I hand over my card, and he heads inside without a word. I follow because, well, he has my card.

      ‘You could have just said you were closing,’ I say when I reach the counter.

      ‘Well, you know … customer service.’

       Touché.

      He runs off a piece of paper and presents a slip for me to sign. I haven’t paid this way in ages. I look at him to check it’s right, and he gives me an impatient look, so I scribble my signature and slide the paper back across the counter.

      ‘All done then?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘Okay, well thank you and goodbye.’ Eurgh, why did I thank him? I just can’t help myself. He raises a hand, and I walk out with the strange feeling of unfinished business.