Pole Position Page 7

  “Got to dash. I’m off to Oulton Park to watch Jon race, and I’m ridiculously late already. Is the bathroom free?”

  “Ah, no. Danny’s just gone in there.”

  “Bugger.” I riffled through the clean laundry pile for a fresh T-shirt, and grabbed the first one that came to hand.

  “Do you want some coffee?”

  “I want a shower,” I wailed in despair. I glared at the clock as Colette brewed some coffee, singing to herself.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I observed idly.

  She smiled back at me over her shoulder. “Am I?”

  I remembered Danny’s absence again. “You’ll have to have a night alone again. You can be completely uninhibited without us here. So where was he last night? Danny, I mean. Does he have a new girlfriend we’ve not met yet?”

  Colette paused, and then turned back to me. “He said he’d rowed with Clare, nothing new there, but I’ve no idea where he spent the night. Judging by the state of his breath, he found a whisky bottle.” She blushed. “I’ll go and tell him to hurry up.”

  I had my quickest ever shower, put on clean jeans and a T-shirt, and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt. Thankfully, the traffic was light, and I finally arrived at Oulton Park. It was nearly four. Jon’s race would be well underway. The anxious ball inside my chest tightened further.

  Finding a parking space was another nightmare, and then I had to find the Competitors’ Enclosure. It was easy to figure out where the race was being held. Engines roared, the PA system blared, and the crowd cheered. I pushed through hordes of people, getting even more panicky. The race must surely be about to finish. He’ll think I didn’t come.

  Finally, I squeezed through a gap in the crowd and saw my goal in front of me, the Competitors’ Enclosure, with a bored looking youth on the gate. I stopped in front of him and gave him my best hundred-watt smile.

  “Hi there, I’m here to see Jon Craigowan. My name’s Anita.”

  “You and half this crowd. You want to see him, go find a space in the stand. He’s car number six, the blue one.”

  “No, you don’t understand, he told me to come here. He said to ask for Tom.” I struggled to remember the name Jon gave me. “Tom McNally. I’m to ask for Tom McNally.”

  I stood beaming, waiting for him to let me in, but he just scratched his head. I watched as dandruff flakes drifted down onto the papers in front of him. With painful slowness, he looked through the sheaf of documents, as though trying to find something.

  “Oh please.” I was close to tears. “I’m so late already, and I was supposed to be here for the start. Will you please ask Tom McNally to let me in?”

  “Your name has to be on the list. And Tom is watching the race, he won’t leave it until it’s finished.”

  “But he’s expecting me,” I wailed. I really thought I’d just turn up and be let straight in. No such luck.

  He gazed back at me, stony-faced. I had a burst of inspiration.

  “If I give you a note, would you please pass it on? Now, before the race finishes?”

  I should have been expecting his reply. “Sorry, but I can’t leave the gate, otherwise anyone could walk in.”

  I felt like screaming. Then I spotted my name on the list. “Look, there I am—Annie Cartwright.”

  “You said your name was Anita, not Annie.”

  I closed my eyes a moment, summoned every ounce of patience, and then spoke slowly and clearly to him. “My name is Anita Cartwright, they must have written it down wrong. Look, there’s my name against visitors for Tom McNally. Like I told you.”

  He glared at me. “Identification?”

  Oh for fuck’s sake. I rummaged in my purse. “Bank card and photo-ID driving license.” I held them out triumphantly.

  He slowly examined them, cross checked them against the list, then with a final scathing look mumbled something unintelligible into his walkie-talkie and gave me back my cards.

  “Well? What happens now? Can I please go in?”

  “Nope.” He gave me an insolent grin. “You wait for someone to come and collect you.”

  “And how long will that take?”

  He shrugged. “Might be after the race has finished, they’re all a bit busy at the moment.” He turned back to his papers and ignored me. I paced up and down as I waited with increasing frustration.

  It was actually only a couple of minutes later that a young lad came running up to the gate. “Annie Cartwright?”

  “That’s me!” I hurried to the gate and was finally—thank God—admitted.

  “Hiya. I’m Mikey, I was told to watch out for you. We’ll have to be quick, the race is almost over.”

  “I got held up, and couldn’t get here in time. Was Jon disappointed I wasn’t here at the start?”

  “Dunno, sorry.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the front of a small knot of people. “There you are, he’s taking the final curve now.”

  I gazed at the blue car flashing across the finish line, the marshal waving a checkered flag as he did so. The crowd went wild. I’d missed the race, but I was here now.

  “How can I get down there?” I had to shout over the engine noises for the young lad to hear me.

  “This way.” He spoke into my ear and disappeared into the surging crowd heading for the pits. I had to push and wriggle to get through. By the time I got close, Jon’s car had returned and stopped, and he was climbing out. I watched, entranced, as he pulled off his helmet, then a balaclava, and looked around the massed people pouring forward to congratulate him. A stocky man in overalls was already by his side, talking to him, and Jon listened intently. I wanted to shout, but I knew he wouldn’t hear me. The noise was incredible.

  It all happened as though in slow motion. Jon looked away from me, but I could see he was talking to this man, then he turned to wave to the crowd. I watched helpless as a tall, curvy blonde uncoiled herself from a stool and walked right up to him, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. I stopped. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. If it was just a groupie, then Jon would push her away, but he didn’t seem to be complaining. I caught a glimpse of his face. He looked tired—exhausted—and fed up, but he kept the blonde by his side, and they posed together for the press.

  I stood still, my hand to my mouth. I contemplated being sick, there on the ground in front of me, but managed to hold it in. What was all that crap about trusting him? I wanted to be angry, but right then, I just wanted to go home. With a sob, I turned and ran, as best as I could, back to the gate and out to my car.

  So much for trust, he was no better than Rob.

  7.4 Colette

  After she left to meet Jon, Danny and I finally shared the bath I’d offered him. And fucked. Like rabbits. We were at it all afternoon; I probably wouldn’t be able to walk the day after. We were in Danny’s room this time, when I realized there were sounds from downstairs.

  “Shh,” I whispered. “That might be Anita.”

  He lay back on his bed and grinned at me. “Go and see, then hurry back.” I staggered downstairs—my thighs were already protesting—and found her sitting at the table.

  Our kitchen table had been the scene of many dramas, from celebrations to drunken upsets. We used it as the central gathering point so I wasn’t surprised to see her there. What worried me though, was her expression. She looked vacant, as though she’d wandered off and left her body behind.

  “Anita?”

  She turned to face me. Her lovely eyes were dull and red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying. They flicked over me, and she asked, puzzled, “Have you just got up?”

  “Just had a bath,” I improvised, hearing Danny clumping downstairs. He at least had put on some clothes. I blew him a kiss. Anita didn’t notice.

  It seemed the lazy Sunday shag was over for now. I pulled my robe tight and sat next to her, Danny taking the chair opposite.

  Anita looked across at him, and sighed. “Okay, you were right. I should have listened. I went to the races to see Jon.” S
he took a deep breath and I didn’t think she was far from tears. “And I saw him, snogging some Barbie doll at the track.” She stared down at the table and examined her fingernails. “As far as I’m concerned, he can get stuffed.”

  “No. Are you sure?” I put an arm around her shoulders and looked across at Danny for support. He watched her intently, his lips curving up at the corners. I glared at him and the smile vanished.

  Anita took a shuddering breath. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.” She made her way upstairs while I stared in appalled silence at Danny.

  “I told you.” He looked very pleased with himself. “He’s a fuckwit, and the sooner she realizes, the better.”

  “Danny. She’s our friend. She’s hurting. Couldn’t you have a little compassion?”

  “I’ve got plenty of compassion. And I’ve mopped up plenty of tears in my time. It’s best it ends this way, Colette, before she gets really hurt.” He tugged me closer, and eased the front of my robe open. “Now then. Where did we get up to?”

  ****

  Several hours later, I found myself poking through the meager contents of the fridge, contemplating what I could rustle up for supper. I’d become the unofficial cook of the house, and thanks to my mum’s skills in the kitchen, capable of producing a decent meal out of slim pickings.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Danny. “Spanish omelet okay, babe?”

  “Yep. And pass me a beer while you’re there.”

  “What happened to please?”

  “Yes, it would please me.” While shagging made me ravenous, it put Danny in a brilliant mood. I’d never seen him so playful before. He shucked up behind me, feeling my bottom as I chopped onions and potatoes. I was dressed again, so he couldn’t get access to me quite as easily.

  I pretended to be cross, but really, I was enjoying the attention. “Babe, if it’s not too much trouble, would you go and tell Anita the food will be ready soon?”

  He just grunted and nibbled on the back of my neck. He would probably have stayed there if the phone hadn’t rung. He grabbed the handset and walked into the hallway, pulling the kitchen door closed behind him. I stopped chopping to listen more closely. It was a short call, and moments later he was bugging me in the kitchen again.

  “Who was that?”

  “Dunno. Wrong number.”

  “That was a lot of talk for a wrong number.”

  “Was it?” He gave me an innocent look and made himself busy laying the table.

  I turned down the heat under the omelet and slipped upstairs to Anita’s room, knocking before I went in. She sat on the bed, knees tucked to her chin, gazing out through the window at the darkening sky.

  “I’ve made some supper, hun, would you like to join us?”

  She glanced at me as though surprised to see me. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” She picked at the quilt cover and looked at me again. “Was that the phone?” Her eyes were huge, her expression hopeful.

  “It was a wrong number.”

  “Oh.”

  I hovered in the doorway, uncertain what to do.

  She dropped her head. “Go and eat. I’ll be down later.”

  Chapter 8

  8.1 Jon

  I really thought Anita would be there. There was always a chance she’d come late and missed seeing me before the race, but I was convinced she’d be waiting when I finished. And knowing she was watching, or so I thought, I pulled on every last ounce of energy to make it a damned fine race. I soared across the finish line, seconds ahead of Daniel Jerman, my nearest rival, and cruised around on the victory lap. I grinned and punched the air.

  Not only had I almost certainly confirmed my championship win—with only four races to go, I would be difficult to beat—but she’d celebrate with me. As I pulled into the pit lane I looked, but there was no sign of her.

  When Tom broke the news Anita hadn’t turned up, I felt as though I’d been punched in the stomach.

  “Are you sure? She’s not just late?”

  He shook his head. I could tell he was embarrassed for me. “Not unless she arrived in the last couple of minutes, and that’s unlikely.” I sagged, unwilling to think about why she hadn’t bothered to come. “The press are here, lad. Give them a big smile. You’re a pro, remember? Give ‘em what they want. You can worry about your girl later.”

  He was right, as always. I plastered a grin on my face, accepted the embrace of the nearest track girl and posed for some pictures. I did some more air punching, gave a few sound bites, then allowed myself to be swept away by the promoters to accept my trophy, and to get royally pissed. If she couldn’t make the effort, why should I bother to go chasing after her?

  ****

  Hours later, I was about to get a ride home, when the young apprentice from the pits spoke to me. “Excuse me, did you see that young blonde asking for you? I lost her in the crowd and figured she must have found you.”

  I just scowled at him. If he was trying to fix me up with yet another nameless bimbo, I wasn’t interested. I had a stinking headache, had drunk far more than was good for me, and wanted to go home and sleep.

  “Annie,” he persisted. “Annie Cartwright.”

  My sleepy brain cells ticked round, once, twice. “You mean Anita Cartwright? Tall, slim, brown eyes?”

  He nodded. “Pretty too.”

  I hauled him to one side in the crowded room. “She was here? You spoke to her?”

  “Yes. She arrived late. I went to fetch her from the gate just as the race was finishing. Took her down to the pits, but then I lost her. I’d assumed she’d found you.” He looked a little wary.

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. She had been there, and probably seen me with the track girl. Tom said she hadn’t arrived, and I never thought to check for myself. Bloody hell.

  I dug in my pocket for my mobile, then pushed my way outside, took a few deep breaths, and called her home number. After an agonizing wait, a familiar bloke answered. Shit, it was him again.

  “I want to speak to Anita, please.”

  There was a pause, and then the guy cleared his throat. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.” He sounded bored.

  I gripped the phone tightly. I imagined I was squeezing my hand round his neck instead. “There was a misunderstanding, I only just found out she was here. Will you get her for me, please?” I had an intense dislike for this man. It had to be the Danny that Anita and Colette had spoken of.

  “What misunderstanding was that?” He was smirking, I could tell. “She said, and I quote, ‘he was snogging some Barbie doll. As far as I’m concerned he can get stuffed.’ I think that’s pretty clear actually, mate.”

  “Well, mate, would you please give her a message from me? Tell her I’m sorry, and it wasn’t what she thought—”

  “I’m not your bloody secretary.”

  I took a deep breath. I was in no state to drive round to her house so I’d have to ask someone to give me a lift there. “Please tell her I called. Will you do that?”

  “What I will do is give you some advice. I warned her not to get involved with you, and now she understands why. She’s not your type, so why don’t you just fuck off and leave her alone.”

  He hung up on me. I hurled the phone to the floor and shouted a few obscenities of my own.

  My parents had come to the race, and they were both celebrating as Dad drove away from the racetrack. There was talk of going on to a party, or a restaurant, but I couldn’t face it. Dad glanced across at Mum in the passenger seat of his Mercedes, and she turned round in her seat to speak to me.

  “Jon, darling, what’s wrong? We thought you’d be so pleased to win today. Is it something to do with Susie?”

  My eyes felt tired and gritty when I rubbed them. “No, nothing to do with Susie. I met a girl, and there’s been a misunderstanding. I was hoping to see her today, but I don’t know if she wants to see me.”

  I must have sounded desolate, and Mum looked worried. “It’s only eight, why don’t you go roun
d and see her? Is she local?”

  I considered this option, but I couldn’t bear the thought of having my parents sitting outside, watching me try to make up with her. “She lives in Cumberley. If you drop me off at the end of her street, I’ll get a taxi home.”

  8.2 Anita

  I dozed. It was easier than staying awake and reliving that moment over and over. When I awoke with a start, it was dark outside, and I heard raised voices—an argument. Bloody Danny, probably having another fight with Colette or Clare. I groaned and reached for a pillow, only to pause. That sounded like Jon.

  I put the pillow down, hurried to the bedroom door, and listened down the stairs.

  “I just want to talk to her.”

  It was Jon. What the hell was he doing here? I crept halfway down the stairs and peered through the banisters. There was Danny in the doorway, Jon on the step and Colette lurking in the kitchen.

  “Fuck off, Pretty Boy. I’ve already told you, she doesn’t want to see you.”

  “Then I’ll wait until she does.”

  “She’s not even here.”

  “Her car’s here. I know she’s here.”

  I realized he was drunk from the slight slurring in his words. But he was here. He’d come for me. My chest warmed at the thought.

  I don’t know who moved first, but Danny and Jon were brawling and rolling on the gravel path, a wriggling, struggling mass of fists and feet. They were a similar height but Danny was solid and stocky, while Jon was thin and wiry.

  “Danny!” Colette launched into the fray and tried to haul him back while I tried to put myself between the two of them. It was useless, they didn’t even see me. Jon was flat on his back. Danny knelt over him and tried to punch his face.

  “Stop.” I yelled. I was as pathetic as a gnat buzzing around them.