Thrills and Spills

by Dominique Kyle

  I glance round, still bent over, “Why?”

  “Because from where I’m standing I can’t be entirely sure whether they’ve put any knickers on you!”

  I straightened up. “Oh crap! Haven’t they? I can’t remember now, they took that many things on and off me! Maybe they were avoiding VPL.”

  I angled a bit away from him and bent over again, still determined to get a good shufti at this engine.

  “Eve!” Roger’s insistent tones again. “I’m telling you that’s more Penthouse than Vogue and we really can’t show that shot on prime time family viewing!” In the footage on the Wednesday they actually left in his hand swiftly coming over the lens to shield my modesty, or the viewer’s – whichever.

  I straightened up glumly and put the bonnet gently back down.

  “God this is boring,” I said, leaning my forehead against the roof of the car. Then I sat on the bonnet and went to cross my legs.

  “Knickers Eve!” Roger warned.

  “Oh for God’s sake, someone get this girl some underwear!” I exclaimed.

  The team in the corner glanced over at me, then went back to talking intently together.

  I started to talk to Roger to fill the time in. I indicated my upper left arm. “I was worried about what they’d think about this scar, but apparently this is a ‘real people’ series and flaws are allowed. They’ve even deliberately not make-upped it all out.”

  I pulled my knees up but kept them tightly together with my arms around them and Roger said nothing so I figured it was ok. “It’s a pain cos people always ask how I did it and I don’t really want to say because then they want to know the whole story, so I’m trying to think up an alternative but it’s hard to think of something that would cause a thin long line like that right across – do people ever have freak cheese wire accidents?”

  Roger bit his lip. Now I was determined to get him to giggle. “Actually I think it was something to do with a cheese wire that got me chucked out of Brownies… Can’t remember exactly what I did, something appalling I expect. I mean, come on, whose idea was it to send me to Brownies? That was never going to end well was it? Can you believe it, they have an initiation ritual where they make you jump over a giant toadstool then tell you that you are a fairy and that the fat woman standing in front of you that you know perfectly well is the woman from the chip shop is a Tawny Owl. Someone should tell these parents that they’re sending their kids to some sort of freemasonry cult for little girls!”

  I could see the camera starting to shake now and grinned across at him. “They’ve got my measure – they always send me a cameraman who’s normally out in the jungle shooting wildlife programmes. You’d much rather be filming chimpanzees copulating wouldn’t you Roger? Well just get yourself assigned to Quinn’s eighteenth birthday party and you’ll feel right at home!”

  He backed away from the camera to allow both it and himself to settle and I slipped down from the bonnet, glancing over at the oblivious magazine staff.

  “I think I might just…” I directed at the camera with a naughty smile, and opened the driver’s door and slipped into the seat. I glanced behind and quietly closed the door. The leather was warm on my bare bum cheeks, but I decided not to tell the audience that. I wriggled into a better position, then wound the window down. “You’ll never believe this,” I whispered to Roger, “but they’ve left the key in the ignition…”

  “Eve!” Roger said warningly.

  I gave a naughty smile and a raise of the eyebrows, pressed my foot on the clutch and turned the key in the ignition. As the engine purred to life, the magazine shoot team looked round in horror and started to run towards me. I looked out the window and said with satisfaction, “Well that got their attention, didn’t it?”

  Sitting on the settee at the Satterthwaites’, they were all howling with laughter. “You are just endless trouble, aren’t you?” Paul said, wiping at his eyes. “They didn’t realise what they were taking on with you!”

  After they’d shown pretty much the whole of that first part with Roger they just cut to some final finished stills from the five outfits they’d put me in.

  “You look fantastic Eve,” Pete complimented.

  “Well don’t expect me to replicate it for your benefit,” I said irascibly. “It took them bloody hours to get me looking like that – and I’ve got a life to lead and races to run!”

  But at least I’d paid for my car.

  Quinn’s birthday. A Thursday. Quinn had already booked the Friday off work as a precaution – he intended to go on a bender. Siân came round to dress him, and I suggested Lisa help and even I got in on the act.

  “You need to really go for it tonight, Quinn,” I urged. “Ignore Sasha. Be yourself! Be completely outrageous! I think you should go for the ruff…”

  The two girls fussed and tarted, and the end result was spectacular, even for Quinn. I raised my eyebrows admiringly, and when Kes popped his head round Quinn’s bedroom door he swallowed hard and said rather faintly, “Bloody hell Quinn, don’t be too understated, will you?”

  There was the stiff lacy white Elizabethan ruff framing his face and sticking up right behind his head. Siân had plaited and back combed and silver sprayed his hair into five high points that stuck straight out from his head, and woven sparkly stars into them. Lisa had given him white foundation, black and purple make-up round his eyes to make two dark hollows and black arrow lines down either side of his nose and purple and black lipstick and outliner. He had the tightest spangled silver trousers ever possible, purple knee-high heeled boots and a tight waisted, leather laced, black basque with no shirt underneath showing all his shoulder and arm muscles when he took off the calf length black PVC raincoat that he admitted to us that he’d bought from a fettish shop. Lisa finished off by winding black leather bands round his wrists, and they escorted him triumphantly out to the waiting van.

  I lay back on the settee looking forward to a quiet evening in, fondly imagining Tyler spitting out his coffee in hilarity when he saw Quinn in next Wednesday’s footage.

  Suddenly my phone buzzed. I reached for it lazily, then sat up straight when I saw the message. She’s been rushed into theatre for an emergency caesarean! Oh my God, I thought, he’s going to be born on Quinn’s birthday!

  I put the TV on and tried to concentrate on something, but eventually an hour later the phone rang. I snatched it up.

  “It’s a boy!” Dad yelled.

  “Yes, Dad, we knew that already! How is he though? And how is she?”

  “10lb 2 ounces,” he said proudly. “And that not even full term – just as well she had a caesarean it would be like trying to squeeze a rugby ball out!”

  “Yeah Dad, you can spare me the graphic details! How is he?”

  Dad was clearly on a high. “Her blood pressure went through the roof and they whipped her in, and forty minutes later they’d heaved him out and put him on her chest… He’s fine, she’s fine, we’re all fine!”

  “Great, Dad,” I said. “Congratulations! When do we get to see him?”

  “Tomorrow after work?” He suggested. “They’ll both have to stay in here for a couple of days to make sure everything’s ok.”

  “How d’you think she’d take to having the cameras come in with me?” I asked tentatively.

  “You know what,” he said, “I get the feeling she’s been a bit miffed about not being featured yet and the way she’s going on about the lad, I think she’d like the whole world to see him!”

  “Well warn her then,” I said, “so she can get her lippy on and not be caught with a tit out or something and I’ll text you when we’re on our way.”

  When I got off the phone I immediately rang Sasha to organise it.

  I was just heading for bed around a quarter past eleven when Kes arrived back in the flat. “Blimey – you’re back early!” I said surprised. “I thought it was going to be an all-nighter?”

  Kes threw himself onto the settee and groaned. “Quinn only went
and got himself bloody arrested at the end of the gig didn’t he? So we’ve all just come home.”

  I sat down in the arm chair opposite him. “My God! That’s just so typical! What happened?”

  Kes yawned. “I dunno really. Beats me! One minute he’d jumped off the stage after having finished the encore, and the next minute he was smashing this guy in the face!”

  I stared at him open-mouthed. “This is the same Quinn we’re talking about? He wasn’t on anything was he?”

  “I don’t think so,” Kes frowned, “But then again, you never can tell with Quinn.”

  “So then what happened?” I asked agog.

  “Well all hell broke loose and everyone was hitting everyone else and I tore my trousers – look -” He showed me a big rip in the leg. “And I even saw your Jamie smashing someone over the head with a chair!” He saw my horrified face and said hurriedly, “Don’t worry – he’s fine. And females were screaming and the police came in…”

  “And dragged Quinn out…” I finished off for him.

  “And the other bloke…” Kes agreed.

  “Who was he?” I asked curiously.

  Kes frowned. “Thing is Eve, I’m pretty sure it was that bloke from your garage, the one that was at the Walter Trout gig, do you remember?”

  I froze. Luckily he didn’t notice. “Oh well, night Kes,” I said quickly. “Guess we’ll hear all about it tomorrow when he’s released from the cells.” And I shot into my room.

  I lay in bed with my breathing ragged going hot and cold. I was desperate to ring Pete but I knew it was too late. I tossed and turned but I couldn’t sleep. About one am I heard the door to the flat open and Quinn quietly moving around. He stopped outside my door and hesitated. Then he tapped very quietly, “Eve?” He whispered.

  “Come in,” I said. “I’m not asleep.”

  He came in and sat on the edge of my bed. I could just see him by the slight street light that came in through the curtains. “Guess you heard from Kes what happened?” He opened.

  “Sort of,” I hedged.

  He lay down beside me on the bed and sighed. He smelt of beer and fags and sweat and aftershave and something a bit medical. He’d obviously removed the ruff at some point.

  “I hope you aren’t getting any silver on my pillows,” I said in severe tones.

  He said nothing.

  “So what happened?” I asked.

  “It was that bloke from your garage, Eve,” he said. “That arrogant blonde one – can’t remember what you used to call him…”

  “Trev,” I said in a tight voice.

  “Well when I got off the stage he just started saying stuff about you…”

  “What sort of stuff?” I said sharply.

  There was a short pause. “Appalling stuff. Really out of order. I can’t even bring myself to tell you what he said…”

  “Ok,” I said. Maybe it was better not to know.

  “And I just got this rush of blood to the head and saw red and went for him.”

  “Oh God,” I groaned. “Are you ok?”

  “Yeah, mostly…” He was lying limp on the pillow. Probably the poor lamb was in shock as he just wasn’t a natural fighter.

  “And I suppose the cameras captured all this and you told them that it was about me?”

  He hesitated. “Well they’ll have got the fighting on camera, but when they asked me what it was about I refused to say. I didn’t think it was fair on you.”

  “Oh God, thanks so much Quinn!” I felt like bursting into tears. “Please don’t tell anyone what it was about. Please don’t!”

  He reached out in the darkness and hugged me. I clung to him for a moment in the absence of Pete and he absentmindedly started rubbing my back comfortingly, something he never used to do when we were an item. “No, I won’t even tell Kes,” he promised, “don’t worry.”

  I calmed down. “Thanks Quinn, I owe you for that. I’m sorry it spoilt your birthday.”

  “No worries,” he said yawning. “I’ll just go out tomorrow night instead, in some sensible trousers that I can actually sit down in without castrating myself, and without any cameras following me around, and I might even pull that way!”

  He hauled himself up and went to the door.

  “Oh, Quinn, I forgot to say – I’ve got myself a new little brother!”

  As he opened the door I saw in the panel of light from outside that his tired face was bruised, but he mustered a smile and said, “No kidding? It’s an auspicious day to be born!”

  “Or just a really suspicious one,” I flipped back. Ok, it was pathetic as quips go, but it was one thirty in the morning.

  We walked into the hospital with Tanya and the camerawoman at six o’clock the next evening. (First camerawoman I had seen so far, so I was well chuffed).

  Pauline was in a private room, all dolled up with her mass of dyed blonde hair arranged perfectly and a frilly flowery dressing gown on.

  Dad turned round, beaming, and handed me the baby. I held the little bundle carefully supporting the head like I’d learned on Mariah and stared fascinated down at the screwed up little face.

  “He’s not as ugly as I expected him to be,” I commented.

  “Oy!” Pauline protested from the bed. “How dare you!”

  “I just meant that all new born babies are a bit red and wrinkly aren’t they? After all they’ve been submerged in bath water for the last nine months…”

  “Not my baby – my baby is gorgeous – aren’t you petal?” She reached out her arms for him and I took him over to her. She cuddled him close, but I noticed she angled the pose in such a way that the camera would still be able to get a good close up shot of him.

  “So what was I like when I was born?” I asked Dad curiously.

  He smiled soppily. “Oh the most beautiful little thing imaginable, five pound eleven ounces, creamy skin, tiny ears, rosebud lips.”

  “Honestly Dad!” I said, pulling a face to camera. “I think you must be a bit biased!”

  “It’s no wonder you turned out to be a racing driver,” he teased. “You were always in a hurry. We didn’t even have time for the ambulance to arrive – you were determined to get there first. Your mum stood up and I had to leap forward and catch you as you shot out!”

  “No really?” I exclaimed with a laugh. “You’ve never told me this before!”

  “Well I guess if your Mum had still been around, you might have heard a few graphic birth details by now…”

  Pauline was loudly clucking to the baby. I guess it wasn’t fair to divert the attention to myself, after all, it was her big day. “What are you going to call him?” I asked. “You’re completed banned from Cain and Abel!”

  She looked utterly blank at me.

  “He was born on Adam’s birthday, didn’t you know?” I said.

  Her eyes lit up. “Never! On our gorgeous Adam’s birthday,” she cooed at him. His little red wrinkly hands reached up and his head began to nuzzle sideways.

  “Ooo, are you hungry, petal?” She trilled and began to undo her dressing gown.

  I turned to camera and mouthed ‘she’s getting the tits out’ and jerked my head. “Time to go, methinks!”

  “Bye, flower,” she said in pre-occupied tones.

  “Bye Pauline, bye Dad,” I kissed him dutifully, “bye newcomer!” And I herded Tanya and the camera out.

  “You didn’t ask any questions,” I said to Tanya as we walked out along the corridors.

  “Didn’t need to,” Tanya said. “You were doing well enough on your own eliciting interesting information…”

  I glanced at the camera to make sure it was over the woman’s shoulder pointing backwards rather than towards me.

  “Go on,” I said, “tell me honestly, how ugly was that baby?”

  “Um, fairly,” Tanya said.

  I looked at the camerawoman. “Medium,” she agreed. “And a little bruiser to boot.”

  “Ten pound two,” I agreed.

  “Ouch,” s
he said with a grimace.

  Another under-attended F2 race meet. Instead the Saloons and the Monster Bangers were the big draw. Plenty of local whites, yellows and blues but almost no reds. I expected to be as anonymous here as I had been at the last one, but the commentator had obviously been primed and every time he read out my name, instead of saying the usual ‘768 Eve McGinty’, he said ‘768 Thrills and Spills star, Eve McGinty!’

  It put the local males on their mettle and they really ganged up to try and shove me around while I got the hang of their rather bumpy track. Still, I hung in there and took it carefully and managed a fourth in the heat.

  I decided that I might as well just go for it in the Final, just to make sure of that red roof. I put my foot down and rammed all and sundry and just kept smashing into the back of the leader at the end until I finally span him out of the way to take the win.

  “Phew,” Jo said. “That was aggressive. How’s the car? Will it be ok for the Grand National?”

  We looked it over. Mainly cosmetic. “Are you going to take the same tactics for the National?” She queried.

  I frowned. “Depends I guess. It’s a tight track so it’s not so much about speed on the straights, if intimidation works, then I’ll go for it. We’re not racing tomorrow so we’ve got time to mend any damage.”

  She shrugged. “Up to you…”

  The rules were that if you won the Final you could double your points in the Grand National – but only if you chose to take a full lap handicap. I’d never dared take up the opportunity before, but maybe this was the occasion to have a go? Against the low grade yokel lokels here, I might just have a chance. So I positioned myself, put my foot down, came up to the back of the pack and just had to blast my way through. After my attacking approach earlier, a few got speedily out of the way and those that didn’t were for it. Bang, bang, bang! The two at the front, a red and a blue got shoulder to shoulder to try to block me out. I bashed one, I bashed the other. Neither moved over. So I bided my time and made it look as though I was about to pass between them in a gap that had opened up on the straight and they quickly moved together, tangled wheels in a stupid mix up and ended up crashing out on the corner, smashing into the barriers still locked together, leaving me to slew cleanly round and under the black and white flag in the lead.