High Octane

by Ashlinn Craven

  She threw a cushion at him. “Stay away from athletic people. A nice, safe, banking employee is what you need.”

  “And you need your head examined. I didn’t even get to meet him! That would’ve made my year.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said sadly. “You’d have got on. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t get to meet any of his family either. In fact, you could say he really went out of his way to avoid that happening.”

  “Well, I have a load of bankers who want to meet you, my famous, TV-presenter sister. You won’t be single for long.”

  “Load of wankers, you mean.” Viv pictured Kieran, the last one she’d dated. “I’ll pass.”

  They sat in silence, Liam slowly filling his bag of chess pieces clink, clink, clink, Viv watching him vacantly as she ran through the series of incompatible men she’d dated in her life.

  “You know what?” she said. “Maybe I will watch a little bit. The start. You know, to see if there are any crashes.”

  Liam grinned. “Knew you’d cave. I’ll set the alarm to seven fifty, just in case.”

  • • •

  Adam found the street using his phone’s GPS. It was off a squalid market, rife with people, chickens, spices, foodstuffs. All he could see was a typical open-front restaurant with sacks of rice lining the crooked pavement out front. He located the serving woman and asked for Aqil.

  “Ah, Aqil …” She nodded vigorously and pointed upward with a soupspoon. One floor up.

  He climbed the dark, narrow stairway that stank of cabbage and unidentifiable pungent vegetables. The house door was painted a bright blue. He knocked. A wizened old woman in a shawl answered, toothless, but with a mesh of kind wrinkles around her eyes.

  “Aqil?” he asked, pretty sure that she wouldn’t understand a word of English.

  “Aqil! Aqil!” she croaked. She turned her beady eyes back to him, searching him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. Was it her other grandson, Ahmed, who had died, or how did she fit into this tragic picture?

  A tall, thin boy came through with a slow, sulky gait, typical of any sixteen year old. The old woman gestured to where Adam was standing at the door.

  Aqil turned and stared. His arm shot to the woman’s to prevent her from walking any nearer the door. His mouth opened, but no words came out. The woman made a questioning sound.

  The boy held his hands to his head. He started jabbering in Malay, or what Adam thought was Malay until he got used to the sounds and discovered it was English, or something like English, with many consonants glossed over.

  The boy slowed down after a minute and started speaking a more intelligible version. “You got my email?” he asked. “You came to see me?”

  “I did. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to check that you were doing okay. I’m sorry about what happened. About Ahmed.”

  At the mention of Ahmed, the old woman’s hand clamped to her mouth, and she nagged the boy again so that he’d translate. He calmed her down with a few words, and then in another torrent of words he pointed to Adam, then to a small TV at the back of the room, then back to Adam again. She stared at Adam, backed off, through the same narrow doorway from where Aqil had appeared.

  “She get tea, yeah? Come in, sit here. I can’t believe this. I can’t believe this. Why did you come all the way here?”

  “Aqil, where is your family? The rest of them?”

  “Oh no, they’re not here. They sent me here.”

  It was as Adam suspected. “Because of what happened?”

  “Yeah, they think I will feel better away from there.”

  “Aqil, listen to me. You have to go back. Talk to them. Share your pain with them. Explain that you’re hurting as much as they are. If you don’t, you’ll carry this forever, and you may never see them in the same way again.”

  The boy shook his head. “No, no, I can’t do that. They say I killed him.”

  “And did you?”

  “No, of course not. He’s my brother. I told you; I told you. It was an accident. He fell off the bike.”

  “I know that. You know that. They know it, too. They just want to blame someone. But you have to fight for your right to be accepted in your family no matter what, and you have to do it now, Aqil. Or it’ll be too late.”

  Aqil looked up in anguish. “You help me? You go there?”

  And so Adam found himself driving out to a rich suburb of KL with a boy who had turned from sullen and timid to someone he knew was bright and inherently hopeful under all the recent bereavement. Aqil wanted to be a civil engineer. Or an architect. He had set ideas. And he knew more than Adam did about F1 history. The guy was a walking encyclopedia. Adam tried to catch him out as they navigated the crazy streets of KL:

  “Okay, who finished sixth in the Australian Grand Prix of 2007, after starting last on the grid?”

  Aqil thought for a moment. “Felipe Massa.”

  “Who made his debut in the 2007 US Grand Prix, when he was nineteen?”

  “Sebastian Vettel.”

  “How many races did Michael Schumacher win in 2000?”

  “Eight—no, nine!”

  “Damn,” Adam said. “I give up.” They both laughed. Aqil stopped laughing abruptly in a way that reminded him so much of how raw he’d felt after Eddie. How it had felt wrong to laugh or smile at anything. He looked at the grim set to the boy’s mouth.

  “It’s hell, isn’t it? He’ll never go away. He’ll always be there. And that’s a good thing. Your job is to live the life you have so that one day when you talk to him, you’ll be happy because of the things you’ve done.”

  Aqil nodded.

  He left the boy at the automatic gates with some local currency to get back to his granny when he was ready. Adam knew his gesture could only have symbolic value at best. The rest was up to Aqil. He promised to get him two seats in the grandstand. Did he have any other brothers?

  “No, a sister. She’ll come.”

  “Even better,”

  “You win for me?”

  “Don’t worry about that. You go get your family back.”

  “Like you got yours?” Aqil asked.

  He shrugged. “I’m working on it.”

  Driving alone back to the hotel, Adam felt a tight bolt of anger being twisted counter-clockwise, letting the pressure eke its way out. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. It opened up the way for too much to get in, and it was emotionally exhausting. The raw vulnerability in Aqil’s eyes brought home to him how far he’d come since he was sixteen—how far down the wrong road. With any luck, Aqil would take the right turn when it came to deciding how to carry on with his life.

  Chapter 27

  Sepang, Malaysia

  Adam ran into Reece in the lobby and couldn’t help overhearing his ridiculous conversation with the poor receptionist. Reece was trying to get a room change so he could have a view of the pool area, like last year. No doubt he wanted to inspect the female guests in their beachwear so he could choose which one to attack next. Mid-negotiation, he held up his forefinger and turned around.

  “Fontaine, sorry to hear about … you know.”

  “Save it.” He looked about for another receptionist. Reece apologizing for anything was just about as disingenuous as things could get.

  “Look, I had nothing to do with it.” Reece held up his palms. “Just so that’s on the record.”

  Adam looked past him. Another receptionist had come to the desk. He marched over to the young Malaysian man.

  “Adam,” Reece said, sharply.

  “What?”

  “For old time’s sake, man, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The thing with Viv. Someone tipped them off, but it wasn’t me.”

  “Tipped who off?”

  “The press.” Reece held up his phone.

  Damn. So the gossip had started, had it?

  “Wasn’t me,” he repeated.

  “Forget it.” Adam wanted
him to shut up so he could think about what this meant. Vivienne would hate it. Especially now. Didn’t matter who had leaked the story.

  “And I’ve nothing to do with her quitting either, got it?”

  “Quitting?”

  Reece frowned. “You don’t know? She quit, right? The Beeb? I just heard. It’s official.”

  Adam spun and walked blindly away from reception, forgetting what he’d come down for.

  Why would she quit? But she’d have said something, surely? And she wanted that job. It was her best way into journalism. Other journalism. She’d always mentioned how being a serial F1 driver girlfriend made her queasy, but queasy enough to give up on a career choice?

  God. Quit? Where was she now?

  He’d assumed she’d be here reporting. In Malaysia. That they’d still have a chance. Or at least that he’d still see her and gauge her reaction to being apart—to see if it was wrecking her mind just as much as it was wrecking his. He’d assumed she was all right, that she’d hang on until the end. And then things would be easier.

  But this meant she wouldn’t be here at all.

  Or ever again.

  • • •

  “No,” Chad said for the third time. “Don’t be a moron. Even with a direct flight, you’d get there Wednesday afternoon, local time, earliest. You’d have to leave that same evening to get back here by Thursday evening. You’d miss the practice runs. I forbid it. End of.”

  Adam stared straight ahead, determined to wait it out.

  “Not to mention you’d be sleepwalking for the qualifiers. You never sleep on those international flights,” Bruce added, quite unhelpfully.

  “Fine.” He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

  “Sorry, mate,” Bruce said with a nod of sympathy.

  Chad gave him a look of disgust.

  “We’ll see you at dinner?” Chad asked. “In the Red Room? They’re doing French cuisine tonight. I’ll need your help in selecting my wine.”

  “Yeah.”

  Adam traipsed back to his room and slumped on the bed beside his packed holdall. He flipped his well-worn passport in his hand for a moment, deliberating, looking at the eight-year-old photo of the very serious young man on the first page.

  Then he stood up.

  Fuck them all. He was going to London. He’d find her, and he’d beg her to think again. Ask her to come with him to Saskia’s wedding. Having Vivienne sharing his life was more important than his grievances with his ailing father. More important than anything. If he could ever forgive the old codger remained to be seen, but until that point, he needed to get his priorities straight in his own life. Otherwise he was still living for Eddie, wallowing in old wounds.

  That was not what Eddie would have wanted.

  Chapter 28

  London

  Adam arrived at the shiny black door of Dreyfuss Lane 304, dog-tired, hoping the stale air of the airplane didn’t cling to him. Even first-class plane travel made him feel filthy. She wasn’t answering her phone. If the house was empty, he’d just spent a lot of time sitting in an airplane for nothing.

  An auburn-haired, earnest-looking young man with blotches of freckles on his nose opened up. His eyes blinking in the sunlight were so exactly the shape and color of Vivienne’s that Adam knew who he was in an instant.

  “You’re Liam.”

  Liam, whose expression had changed in a millisecond from polite to awestruck, was gasping. “Adam Fontaine! I—I’ve set the alarm to see you at 8:00 a.m. on Sunday. But now you’re here on my doorstep. Um, I’m not quite sure I’m not seeing things. Shit, Viv’s not here. I mean, she is here, but not right now. She’s out. Sorry—I’m blabbing, aren’t I? I—I tend to do this when I’m shocked … I mean, pleasantly surprised—”

  “It’s a family trait,” Adam said, smiling. “Do you know when—?”

  “—she’s back? I don’t know for sure. But please come in. Forgive me. Come right this way. There you go. God, you’re tall. Yeah, I’m working from home today. Hence the mess. But wait. Aren’t you meant to be in Malaysia? Free practice and all that?”

  “I’ll pass on that question.”

  “I don’t know what time she’ll be back.” Liam held a hand to his jaw. “She’s out talking to a prospective client.”

  “Prospective client?”

  “Yeah, she’s got this new job. Well, she’s sort of creating this new job. She’s starting her own agency. PR agency.”

  “PR agency? Really?”

  “Yes. Sit there, Adam, please. There you go. See when you’ve had TV exposure as she’s had, it generates interest within the right circles. You can hit the ground running because people want a piece of your expertise and automatically think you know what you’re doing.”

  “Well she does know what she’s doing.”

  “Yeah, actually,” Liam agreed.

  “Any idea when she might back?” Adam glanced at his phone for the millionth time that afternoon.

  Liam rubbed the back of his neck, looking pained. “I couldn’t say. She’s at the mercy of London traffic. God, she’ll kill me. I know I’m supposed to be doing something polite here like offering you tea or something.” He wrung his bony hands in a show of anxiety. He was more highly strung than Vivienne. “Do you want tea?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Coffee? I do have real coffee with beans and shit.”

  “It’s okay, Liam, I’m just here to see your sister.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Right. Right. I’ll call.” He walked around in a circle as he punched the phone.

  “I’ve tried,” Adam said. “But maybe she’ll answer to you.”

  Liam tried. “No luck,” he said after a few tries. He shot Adam a woebegone look.

  They sat down on the couch together. Adam’s gaze landed on the old-fashioned clock on the mantelpiece, ticking away. Five o’clock. He had to leave back for the airport at seven, latest. “And you’ve no idea who these clients are? Even whereabouts they are in London?”

  “No. South End, she said, but that doesn’t narrow it down much.”

  “Christ,” he said. “I can only wait until seven.”

  “She may be back by then. If the traffic is good, which”—he looked at the clock, crestfallen—“it never is at this time.”

  Adam rose. “I won’t take up your time.”

  “What?” Liam laughed in a strangled manner. “You’re just going to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  The younger man jumped up. “Well, write a note or something. Otherwise she’ll say it’s a hoax. She won’t believe me.”

  “No. I’m not sure she wanted to see me anyway … we’ve … I’ve … it’s complicated.”

  “If you saw the way she was moping around here, you’d have thought twice about coming back here, too.”

  “Moping is she?” Hope ignited in his chest again.

  “Seriously. It’s unbearable. Can you—please—take her off my hands?”

  Adam laughed.

  Liam smiled, too. A very Vivienne-like smile.

  “Look,” Liam said. “If you’re going to be in London for the next two hours, it may as well be here rather than in an airport lounge, right? And well—Top Gear’s on, if you wanted to see that?”

  Adam hesitated.

  “I have beer.”

  “No, really I—”

  “It’s Belgian.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Trappist.”

  “Which one?”

  “Westvletern 12.”

  “Don’t do this to me.”

  Liam marched off triumphantly to the kitchen.

  He sank back in the black leather couch. The room was small, neat, typical twenty-something male with obscure dark posters, assorted gadgetry, plugs and adapters strewn over the simple wooden coffee table, and a huge TV with a workstation taking up one wall of the room. The only evidence of Vivienne being there was a soft cardigan hanging off a chair and a faint whiff of her Daisy perfume in the air.<
br />
  His gaze landed on the printer because there were printouts beside it with pink and green colors that looked familiar—

  He wandered over.

  “Oh, yeah, that. FontaineFans.com,” Liam said, coming into the room with two bottles of Westvletern. “You can blame me. She liked the colors, but after a while I didn’t think they were the best for you. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I gave her a hard time over it,” Adam said ruefully. “I never considered how much time she must have put into it. And for the life of me I still can’t understand why.”

  “Well, it is a bit … girly. Maybe that’s why she told me to shut it down.” Liam shrugged and picked up the TV remote. “It was probably as well because the traffic was reaching the limit my provider could handle. Some Japanese kid took it on. Bought the whole shebang off me for 5,000 quid.”

  The strains of the Top Gear theme tune filled the living room. They watched in fascinated silence for forty-five minutes, broken only by their laughter.

  It was long enough to learn there were few things better in the world than watching Top Gear with Vivienne’s brother in this cozy living room. The warming caramel finish of the Trappist beer almost mellowed the bitter taste of the absurdity of taking a flight from Malaysia to London without seeing Vivienne herself.

  As the ending tune rang out, Liam shook his head. “God, I’m so sorry. That’s a long old way to come for a couple of beers.”

  “Not just any beer,” Adam reminded him. “Good company, too.”

  “There was that,” Liam said. “Now will you please leave me some proof for Viv that you were here?”

  “Tell her I said the beer’s better this year.”

  Liam exhaled. “You’re not making this easy for me, are you?”

  He grinned. He shook Liam’s hand, and a bolt of sadness shot through Adam at the thought of never seeing him again. In a short space of time, he’d met someone he could be really comfortable with. And that didn’t happen too often. “Bye, Liam.”