‘Hey there!’ A thirty-something woman Raven hadn’t spoken to yet rode up alongside her. She glanced at her phone. See? See? Proof I am wise and all knowing. There is nowhere in Britain to privately have a wee.
‘Nice day for it, eh?’ said the woman, who looked very much as though she made her own granola.
Raven gave her camera the side eye, then pocketed it in the one place that was vaguely waterproof, her sports bra.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Raven.’
‘Yeah, I know. Molly,’ she said. ‘I’ve been following your Insta feed.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. You’ve got some fun perspective on the human condition.’
Raven glanced at Molly, too startled by the comment to act cool. ‘Really? What do you mean?’
‘Oh, you know,’ Molly began, which was a ridiculous way to begin because Raven had literally just said she didn’t understand. ‘I believe a lot of kids your age don’t think about other people and their perspective and how they are absorbing the world. You know – a minute in another man’s shoes theory? Anyway, all of this me me me malarkey has made Western civilisation – at the very least – the epic shithole that we see today.’
‘So … I take it you’re from the Optimists’ Society?’
Molly laughed. ‘No. No. I’m a shrink. Well. School shrink slash guidance counsellor. Gummy bear?’ She held out a soggy packet.
Wet, glommy and misshapen, it was just about the best gummy bear Raven had ever had.
Right there and then, Raven decided that if she ever were to see a shrink, she would see one like Molly, granola-aura withstanding. She finished chewing, took a swig of the energy drink Sue had mixed up for her this morning then asked, ‘Do you generally counsel people that the world is an epic shithole destined for ultimate destruction?’
‘Ah!’ Molly brightened. ‘I didn’t say anything about ultimate destruction. Interesting path you took, there.’
‘I didn’t—’ Raven stopped. ‘So … does the fact I think the world being an epic shithole destined for destruction mean I also think there is no opportunity for salvation?’
Molly grinned. ‘Ah, well … now that’s the big question, isn’t it?’
Raven slowed and pointed up ahead. ‘Cattle grid.’
‘You don’t ride over them?’ Molly asked.
‘Errr … no.’ They were totally bumpy and her tyres could fall through them and the assault on her ass wasn’t even worth contemplating.
‘Why not?’ Molly wasn’t slowing down.
‘Because, they’re a hazard.’
‘Really? Or are they a perceived hazard? A risk worth taking?’
What school of counselling did this woman come from? She most likely had an internet degree or was lying and was actually a Scientologist on a secret recruitment mission. Was it Tom Cruise in disguise? Would she pull her face off for a big reveal when she decided to convert?
‘C’mon, let’s ride across it together,’ Molly encouraged. ‘I bet you’ll surprise yourself.’
Raven glanced at her, the cattle grid, the pouring rain, desperately trying to remember the contents of the first-aid kit she’d stuffed in her CamelBak (thanks Mum and Dad). There were plenty of bandages in there. Bandages that would have to swaddle her huge helmet head, because on the off chance she suffered a massive brain injury that put her in a coma forever, they would have to leave it on until emergency services arrived. Maybe there weren’t enough bandages. She should walk. On the other hand, if she rode and took the optimist’s view of massive cerebral injuries courtesy of the cattle grid and/or the tarmac, a brain bleed would a) very likely put an end to this conversation b) mean she’d never have to pick what she was going to study at uni and c) allow her to live out the rest of her life in a nice quiet ICU ward with, hopefully, her parents keening by her side lamenting the fact that they’d ever suggested she work with Uncle Ravi forcing her to leave the family home armed only with a duffel bag full of fantasy books and another full of black clothes and a lifetime’s supply of eyeliner. She would also get to ride in Becky’s warm, dry van until the ambulance came (air ambulance if the injury was truly traumatic although … rain).
‘Okay,’ Raven decided about a metre from the grid. ‘Let’s do it.’ From there everything turned slow-motion. She actually felt her heart stop beating as she held her breath, heard the individual plippity-plop of rain drops on her helmet, vibrated with the whirr of rubber on tarmac as she pedal pedal pedalled and then … oh! You could ride over a cattle grid and survive.
‘See? Perceived hazard.’ Molly looked smug, but the happy kind of smug that came from proving to someone they were capable of overcoming something that terrified them, all of which meant … was Molly not a Scientologist at all, and actually an imaginary angel sent to teach her a valuable lesson about fear? She thought about taking her photo to see if she was actually hallucinating her and then thought better of it. This was a moment to live in, not record for posterity.
‘Why are you on the ride?’ Raven asked. ‘Are you building up your client list?’
‘Ha!’ Molly smiled, her grey/brown plaits swishing across her shoulders, ‘I suppose you could say it’s pretty good feeding ground for people who are interested. But no. I’m riding for my kids.’
‘You have children?’
‘No. I couldn’t have kids,’ she said, then
