THE LOST RIDER

We left his place together in the rain to ride to the centre of town. I waited when she went back for her umbrella she’d forgot and shouted, ‘come on,’ being tired, wanting to go home.
I’d been in Stapleton the early part of the evening and said I'd go to his when he texted, ‘come over, she’s here.’
I rode through the rain arrived wet and stood in front of the fire to dry. She went to the pub for take-outs for them and he rolled a joint. I didn't drink nor smoke feeling unwell with a cough’s kept me awake the last few nights.
She got to me in the alleyway, my front light was dim she had no lights at all.
We rode down High Street, a bit of Chelsea, St. Marks, Stapleton where we stopped and I asked her, ‘which way do you go?’
‘Through the underpass,’ she said.
‘Ok.’
At the crossing corner of Seymour she went over the road and up on to the pavement. I looked back she said, ‘oh you’re going that way.’
‘Yes,’ I said, meaning I was going to ride to the lights cross the road there to the pavement then down the underpass. When I got there I couldn’t see the entrance to the tunnel or remember where it was and felt a panic like I do when I can’t find a way out.
Turned round stopped, waited for her to catch up, she'd know, she didn’t get there. I rode back from the corner, couldn’t see her and realised when she’d said she went the underpass she meant St. Pauls not the Easton Way.
Was a shame not to say, ‘bye, good to see you,’ seeing she’s not over here very often now and as I rode back to my place I hoped she got home okay.