Deception

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Unusually for Scotland, it hadn’t rained for the past two weeks so, when Alex Johnston put his BMX bike into a rear wheel skid and brought it to a halt on the canal towpath, it threw up a satisfying cloud of dust. He completed a 180-degree turn and rested his elbows on the wide handlebars to grin and dare a second boy to emulate this feat. The second boy, Ian Ferguson, started his run down the embankment, looking distinctly nervous but still determined to take up the challenge. All went well until the turn was almost complete but suddenly, at the last moment, his rear wheel lost all grip and bike and rider came down in an ungainly, whirling heap in the dust.

‘Bloody useless!’ cackled Alex.

‘Hit a bloody stone, didn’t I,’ retorted Ian, known to his pals as Fergie.

A third boy came cycling towards them along the towpath and stopped with an amused look on his face to watch Fergie get to his feet. ‘Shit, Fergie,’ he said with a shake of the head, ‘you’re going to be looking out your arse for the rest of the holidays when your old lady sees the state of your keks.’

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