The Way Back

by Dominique Kyle

  I digested this.

  Heskett eyed me. “So what are you going to say to me, Eve?” He prompted.

  I thought about it. “I think I’m ideally suited to manage Nish’s races,” I said at last. “I’m a driver myself, albeit from a different format, so I understand the race skills needed. I come from a mechanics background so I understand all the mechanical issues going on with the car. I run my own company for designing and building Stock cars and so have a modest expertise in designing cars for racing and therefore have a fair grasp of the design issues. And I ran a business for three years training up drivers for Stock car racing, so am used to managing young drivers. And I spent six months looking after Nish when he was going through a vulnerable time so have a good idea of his capabilities and weaknesses, both physical and emotional.”

  “Ok,” Heskett judged. “That was a decent pitch. You forgot to mention that you are good at maths and interpreting stats.”

  “You think?” I queried.

  “Well, according to your mentor Paul Satterthwaite, and according to Alan and Mizo, and according to Nish himself, you are,” Heskett confirmed.

  I rolled it around in my head for size. I wasn’t used to myself being considered good at the academic side of anything. I got terrible school reports. And when they’d moved me on from aerodynamics and left me stuck in the mechanics team, I’d figured they must have thought I was crap at the thinking side of things and only worth using on the practical.

  “So given that by the conclusion of our meeting we had all decided that you were the right person for the job as long as you were willing to submit to a bit of discipline about not giving in to any of those impromptu media moments,” he looked severely at me. “Button it completely unless a senior manager has pre-arranged an interview and tells you in advance that you are doing it,” he warned. “So, as I say,” he continued, “subject to that caveat, I’m pleased to be able to tell you that we’d like to appoint you to the position of Nish’s Race Engineer, if you think you’re up to it.”

  “Course I am,” I said a bit sharply.

  He smiled approvingly. “That’s more like it! Of course there’s going to be more to the role than you’re currently aware of. You’ll be having to take full responsibility for everything that Chris was previously sorting out. However I’m sure you’re capable of it. You’ll be working under Hugh now, so reporting to him instead of Alan.” He pulled out a sheaf of papers. “So now we need to sort out an updated contract to cover your new pay and conditions.” He named a sum as the yearly salary and informed me of the number of paid holidays and paid sick days.

  “Ok,” I said. I’d never had paid sick days before.

  He stopped and sighed and looked reprovingly over the desk at me. “No, Eve, this is where you’re supposed to negotiate with me about your pay.”

  “Is it?” I said blankly. “But you’ve just told me my pay.”

  “You negotiate about everything at this level, Eve. That’s why women get paid less than men in a lot of the top roles. All the men walk into the interview and demand more money when they’re offered the job. If you just sit there meekly and say ‘ok’ they’re going to think ‘great, we got a bargain there’ and never let on to the fact that they were willing to go higher…”

  “Ok,” I said again. The pay was higher than I’d ever had in my life before, so it sounded very adequate to me. I was stumped to know what to say.

  “So how about saying to me that we won’t get a more ideal fit to be a race engineer for Gilbraith, and that you’ve already proved your worth by gaining Williams the first top position podium for three years, and that you’re sure that you can get more finishes like that out of our new driver, and we’d be fools to let you slip through our fingers?” He prompted.

  I thought about it. “Well, all those things are very true,” I agreed. “But I’ve no idea what I should be asking for.”

  “Thing is, Eve,” he coached. “Podium finishes mean both more points and more kudos. They’re almost priceless. More points mean we end up higher up the Constructors’ Championship which means we get distributed a significantly higher cut of the money allotted to the constructors. And more kudos means that we gain the attention of top brands eager to sponsor us, which brings in even more money. So what’s another couple of thousand to us when we work in budgets of millions? That’s the calculation you make…”

  I bit my lip. I still had no idea. This wasn’t a scale I’d ever worked on before.

  “Ok, Eve,” he said at last. “Let’s just pretend you suggested an extra five thousand a year, and I suggested we’d be willing to go to one and a half thousand, and then you insisted on us making it two and a half thousand, and we caved in at that point because we always knew we were willing to go to that…” He looked down at the contract and crossed out with two sharp lines of biro, the original figure and upped it by two and a half thousand. And then,” he hinted, “it might be worth re-visiting your contract every couple of years if you think your performance is good enough to warrant us needing to offer you more.”

  He pushed the contract towards me, along with a biro to sign it with.

  After I’d signed it and he’d received it back and put it to one side, he asked pleasantly, “I hope you’re taking a holiday?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, you need to,” he insisted firmly.

  I sighed heavily.

  “You don’t need to look so glum about it,” he laughed. “Have you got no home to go to?”

  I shook my head. No, I didn’t actually.

  “Go sun yourself on a beach then…” he suggested kindly.

  Sun? With my fair skin I hated sun. And with all the travelling I’d had to do over the past few months, the last thing I wanted to do was go on a holiday abroad somewhere. But I knew he was right. I needed a break.

  “So you head off now to spend some time with Hugh for a couple of days,” Heskett ordered. “He confided in me that he’d been quite surprised at how little Chris gave you to do, despite the fact he was meant to be training you up, so you may have a bit of catching up to do. And then I don’t want to see you again from Thursday onwards for at least two weeks, and I’ll escort you off the premises myself if I see you trying to creep in before then.”

  I wandered around like a lost soul on Thursday. Went for a lonely run. Perused the internet where I found that my ‘Posh Boy’ exchange with Nish (as it was being referred to) had been added to nerdy collections entitled such things as ‘10 funniest radio communications in Formula One’ and Nish’s last bend manoeuvre put into similar collections of ‘best overtakes’.

  Finally I rang Jo. “How many races do you think we could fit in over the next two weeks?” I asked her. I could hear the grin spring immediately into her voice. “I wondered if I was going to hear from you,” she said. “Yeah, we can get you to quite a few. And Tony will be testing one of your new builds. I’ve got two ready, so Dad was going to come as well. You could try one of your own cars if you like.”

  “So Tony’s driving now?”

  “Yeah, he’s never going to win any titles, but he’s loving it. And he’s got a good mechanics head on him, always tinkering about trying to optimise the set-up. It’ll be grand if the four of us can all get together and you can pick Horrock’s brain as well now he’s had one for a year. With four brains on the job we might be able to make some fast progress.”

  “Are you able to get three cars to the tracks?” I asked, “Because I’d still like to drive Tyler’s one because I intend to remind everyone what they’re missing…” The test drive ones likely wouldn’t be that fast.

  “Sure thing,” she agreed equably.

  “And one last favour..?” I asked tentatively.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I crash at yours for a couple of weeks?”

  When the doorbell rang an hour later, I had no idea who it was going to be. I opened it cautiously. It was bloody Quinn.

  “What do you want?” I
snarled.

  “That’s a nice welcome,” he said cheerfully, stepping inside. It was a small flat and it suddenly seemed a lot smaller. He looked sparklingly well. His green eyes bright and his mouth quirkily tipped into a teasing smile.

  “Well, what do you expect?” I demanded angrily. “You ignore me for nearly a year and then you turn up without a by-your-leave, and expect me to be grateful!” I turned away sharply. “I suppose you’re staying with Nish are you and Nish sent you round?”

  Quinn shook back his mop of dark curls. “Well he did suggest I pop round actually…” He admitted, without looking at all abashed at having to make the admission. “Surely it’s not a year, Ginty?”

  “September last year,” I snapped. “That’s the last time I heard from you, and it’s August now – do the maths!”

  “Surely I texted you or something?” He protested.

  I glared at him. “Nope!”

  “Ah! I knew I’d seen you some time!” He produced triumphantly. “I saw you at Entwistle’s!”

  “Entwistle’s?” I yelled at him. “You fucking turned your back on me at Entwistle’s you complete toe-rag! I was having to testify all day for a week in that appalling trial, be humiliated in front of the press, had to stand in front of those evil smirking men and you turned your back on me! Even bloody Sahmir turned up every day in court to support me, but you? You didn’t even text me to say you were thinking of me! You didn’t even ask me out for a drink or something to see how it was going! You’re a total fucking shit-head!”

  “Oh, don’t be such a grumpy cow, Ginty,” he dismissed. “I’ve come round now, haven’t I? To ask you out for a party…”

  So that was when I picked up the nearest plate and threw it at his head.

  On our way down to London he nattered on about everything he’d been up to over the past eleven months. When I answered at all, I answered monosyllabically.

  “God, you’re not much fun tonight, are you?” He complained as we hit the outskirts.

  He’d finally persuaded me to come with him because he said he was short of a ‘plus one’ and then he’d proceeded to diss the only dresses I had hanging up – since apart from the plain ones I’d purchased in Italy to wear to work at Ferrari, I’d bought no new ones since Tyler had died. Quinn said those older ones looked like they came out of the ark, practically last decade, he condemned energetically, but he finally picked out the red one saying I looked half way classy in that. Bastard… Then he made me get into stilettos despite the fact I kept telling him that I’d only just got over a severe sprain of the ankle and it was still a bit fragile. “E3?” He’d sounded almost impressed. “But you fell off, right?” Grrrr.

  Quinn finally drew us up in front of some amazing venue, lights blazing from the massive windows, and spilling out of the huge pillared doorway at the top of an expanse of white marble steps. Quinn’s car was immediately respectfully fielded at the bottom of the steps and driven off by a smartly uniformed parking valet. Shit, I thought. This is big. This is celebrity territory or society circles. I was now a tinsy bit more grateful that Quinn had got so fussy with me. I’d assumed we were going to some birthday bash at the house of one of his friends that would involve drunk young men lying around on a settee, drugs and loud music. He guided me up the steps with a hand on my lower back and then we had to negotiate the doorman and his polite offer to receive from us any unwanted outer garments. Once inside, I looked anxiously around. A sea of strangers. The women were all glittering and stunning, swanning around with supreme confidence. The men were all expensively well-groomed, many of them exhibiting the flamboyant sort of style that indicated that they were from the artistic set. I glanced up at Quinn for re-assurance, but it seemed that he had already abandoned me, swinging his way confidently over to a group of outrageously dressed types who greeted him warmly. He didn’t glance back to see where I had got to, so I stood there rooted to the spot weighing up my options. Scuttle like a scaredy-cat after him, or pretend insouciance and head for the bar? As I ranged my gaze over the scene I spotted a very familiar figure. Thank God for that! Nish appeared like an oasis in the desert. I smiled in relief as he glanced over and saw me. He headed straight over. “I guess Quinn’s arrived then?” He surmised, glancing around the room for him. I nodded and pointed. Nish was enviably at ease in these surrounding. Standing out as strikingly handsome, even amongst all these other beautiful creatures, and expensively dressed in a deceptively simple open necked white shirt and dark trousers. One of the great things about Nish I suddenly realised, which was something I had never noticed before in the settings I normally saw him in – sweaty in sports gear, in dressed-down work clothes at the factory, in his racing gear, or stripped down to his boxers, was that there was no fancy preening with him. No pretentious dressing or behaviour. He was very straight forward. Unlike a certain other male of my acquaintance, I snarled to myself, poncing about in steel heeled boots, brimmed hat, and long swirling coat like bloody Dick Turpin in a pantomime.

  “Where’s Miriam?” Was what I actually said aloud, looking expectantly around for her. I’d make it my mission look after her, I thought, because she’d be really timid in a setting like this.

  Nish looked surprised. “Oh, she’s on tour. Didn’t Quinn tell you that I was coming with Sappho?”

  No, he bloody didn’t, I thought. Now all became abundantly clear. What a turd he was. I asked Nish to find me somewhere safely on the side-lines to sit with a drink, citing my dodgy ankle as an excuse, and he kindly ensconced me into a luxurious armchair, set me up with a double Jura, and then wandered off when I assured him that I was happy just to be an onlooker. Not so happy at what I was forced to on-look though. Sappho was making her move. She fluttered and twirled effervescently closer and closer to Quinn. Tonight she was in emerald green, floaty and cut high at one side almost up to her hip. She had no problem flitting around on those heels, I envied sourly, as her beautiful long dark legs flashed hypnotically into view. I tossed back the whisky. Beside me, some guy sat down and blatantly did a line of coke. I stared at him and he didn’t even glance sideways. Huffed it up and went off again. God, this was going to be a long evening…

  Sappho finally made it into Quinn’s orbit, worming her way into his group, where she determinedly flirted and sent sizzling hot looks from under her lashes up at her target. He carried on talking and laughing with his mates, but as usual he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Finally he twirled her off to the dance floor where they gyrated and laughed and finally ended up tightly wound together to a smoochy one. I dragged my eyes away and looked down at my watch. I could just about see that it was half past midnight through the blurring of my eyes. How was I going to get home now? My lift was quite clearly planning to go on elsewhere tonight…

  “How’s it going?” A voice just above me.

  I looked up. Nish was standing there. He looked intelligently down at me. “Oh dear,” he commiserated, “that good, huh?” He began to laugh and bent over to wipe the slowly rolling tear from my cheek with his thumb. He glanced up, his eyes searching the increasingly crowded crush of humanity, and finally saw what I presume he’d expected to.

  “He’s such a shithead!” I declared furiously. “I didn’t even want to come, and now I’m not going to be able to get home. And I’ve got a five hour bike ride tomorrow to get back up North and I don’t want to be unbearably knackered for it.”

  Nish laughed sympathetically. “We’re both complete light weights, aren’t we? And parties are just so tedious when you don’t drink! Round about now everyone morphs into total idiots but they still all seem to rate each other as highly entertaining seen through the bottom of their glass…”

  He too now glanced down at his watch. “It’s an hour and a half past my own bedtime,” he announced. He glanced back across to the dancefloor. “Those two have no intention of coming away anytime soon, so let’s leave them to it, shall we, and head off home?”

  I could have cried with relief. He smiled at m
e. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Fine,” I said. “As long as I don’t turn it over in these appalling death traps that Quinn insisted I wore!”

  Nish ran his eyes over my strappy stilettos. Then he smiled slowly at me in a way that I’d never seen before and bent over me. “Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed.

  “Why?” I frowned.

  “Just do it, Eve,” he ordered in masterful tones.

  I put my arms around his neck and without warning he scooped me up in his arms and straightened up. I squawked worriedly.

  “What the hell are you thinking of Nish?” I demanded as he tossed me slightly into a better position.

  “Don’t argue Eve, we’re saving your ankle.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I protested. “And there’s going to be a whole stash of gossip now for God’s sake!”

  “I mean there to be,” he told me with a mysterious smile. “I intend us to reach gossip central… Now look adoringly up at me like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind.”

  “What the hell is Gone With the Wind?” I responded irritably, clutching his neck tightly as he set off across the crowded room with me.

  He sighed. “I must remember to beachcomb my conversation to remove all cultural references when I speak to you. Although when you started that sentence I was convinced you were about to say, what the hell is adoringly? Because you sure haven’t had much practice at it! At least, not with me at any rate. The only way you look at me is assessingly. Your eyes flicker over my face or over my body or at a screen of my stats or at me performing some task, and all the time you seem to be deciding whether I’ve made the grade yet…”

  We were nearly at the door now, after he’d politely squeezed his way through the crush with me still in his arms..

  “Oh dear, do I?” I said apologetically. “I guess that might be true…”

  He’d handed his token in to the man on the door and by the time we reached the bottom of the steps, Nish’s red Ferrari was parked there waiting for us. Wow, I thought. If you’d ever asked me to imagine being present at an event like this, I’d have assumed I’d be the valet driving the guests’ cars around, not the guest being placed back on the ground and having the car door opened respectfully for her. I saw from the way the valet’s eyes darted between us as he closed the door on me, that he knew who we were. And shit, who’d have thought I’d ever be at a party like this where the staff recognised me? But hey, that’s just cos the guy was into cars. Inside, none of the other guests seemed to have taken the slightest notice of me.