“It’s just that I’m not sure how I’ll cope if I end up rolling right over in some crash and end up trapped upside down hanging from my harness like that little girl did in the Ministox the other week…” I admitted.
Jo shrugged. “They’ll just come and pull you out. You’ve got a helmet on and the harness. You just wait for them to come.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. I found myself pushing my plate away.
“What don’t we understand Eve?” Sue asked.
“I was in the car with my mother when I was six and a juggernaut went into us and we turned upside down. It took the top of her head off and I was hanging upside down in the harness in my child seat, covered in her blood and brains until the police pulled me out.”
They all stared at me, horror on their faces.
“God, that’s awful, Eve,” Jo said. “I didn’t realise.”
Pete and Paul pulled almost identical grimaces and Sue got up sharply from the table on the pretext of going to the oven.
“Don’t ever invite your dad to watch the races then,” she said with turned back as she bent over a timer on the oven door. “If I can’t bear to watch, then your dad certainly won’t be able to.”
“Thus speaks the woman who prefers to ride a wild animal with no brakes or seat belt perched six foot above the ground!” Pete tried to lighten the atmosphere.
Paul reached out a hand and covered mine. “You can’t let it stop you giving it your all on the track. Try to remember that you’re quite safe now, you’re an adult and you’re the one in control this time.”
“That’s tough Dad,” Jo objected.
“No he’s right,” I said thoughtfully. I took a deep breath. “And I’ve said it aloud now. I’ve never said it aloud before. I just have to stay in the present don’t I?” I looked across at Paul. “I feel better for talking about it, thank you.”
“And at the end of the season we’ll put you in for the Whites and Yellows Final at Belle Vue and then you can give me my car back.” Pete was clearly feeling uncomfortable and trying to move the conversation on. He saw my expression at the reminder that I had to give his car back. “Don’t worry, Eve, we’ll source you another one. We’ll suss out a really good one for you. How much do you think you’ll be able to afford?”
I looked glumly at him. “I’m only on the young person’s minimum wage, and I’m going to have to move out of home soon…”
“Young person’s minimum wage?” Jo exclaimed disgustedly. “They might as well put you on starvation rations and be done with it. You need to ask for a pay-rise!”
“And you need to get some sponsorship,” Pete suggested.
“How about asking the manager at the garage you work at to sponsor you as part of their advertising strategy.” Paul advised. “You can promise him the prime advertising slot on your car. Invite him to attend at Belle Vue this Saturday to see what a great opportunity you’re offering him.”
I thought about asking Entwistle for a pay rise and sponsorship and to come and watch me race all in one fell swoop and I could just hear his sarcastic response in my head. The prospect was terrifying.
Dad was still at work on Monday. He was in a good mood, probably because of HER but nevertheless, his jolly whistling and general bounce gave a nice atmosphere to the place. I noticed the men were finally beginning to relax around me and were dropping back into the mild ribbing banter of the era before Trev’s sacking and their own verbal warnings. Good old Dad, I thought.
I tried to screw up my courage to go into Entwistle but couldn’t make myself. What was the worst that could happen? I challenged myself. It was only the thought of having to admit to Pete and Paul that I hadn’t had the guts to do it, and the thought of them giving up on me if I didn’t have the nouse to raise some sponsorship for myself towards the new car, that made me finally knock on his office door.
He was non-committal at first. I came round to his side of the desk and pulled up the BriSCA website for him, showing him the ‘partners’ page with the list of garages, tyre companies, body builders and parts suppliers that were benefitting from their connection with the Stocks and then the ‘marketing’ page trumpeting the fact that the F2 racing industry was worth twelve million pounds a year, with all the convincing figures to back it up. Then I showed him some attractive pictures of the cars with all the advertising and sponsors’ names all over them.
Then I sat quiet and waited.
“Hmmm,” he said. “Hmmm.”
I waited, my heart beginning to thump.
“Hmmm.” He stared into space.
“So how much are we talking?” He asked at last.
I panicked. I had absolutely no idea what figures Pete and Paul were working on. I’d never thought to ask what amount I should be looking for. “If you came along to Belle Vue on Sunday, you could meet my race team and talk about that with the manager,” I blagged.
“Hmmm. I must admit I was thinking that we needed some more advertising opportunities. And maybe sponsoring a female racing driver at a garage that is aiming to raise its quotient of female clientele might be no bad thing…”
I had a sudden blinding inspiration. “And, one of my fellow team members, another female racing driver – well she’s a really good mechanic and her garage has just had a hostile take-over and she needs to find another job – so maybe you could take a look at her on Sunday as well?”
His eyebrows raised and his level of interest suddenly upped substantially. “Ok, Eve, let’s do that.”
He walked out of the office with me and waved the men over. “We’re having a work outing next Sunday afternoon to Belle Vue,” he announced.
“Going to the dogs are you?” Dad inquired.
“No we’re going to see your daughter race.”
Dewhurst and Bolton looked pretty enthusiastic. “That’s a great idea, boss,” Bolton said.
Dad looked a bit blank.
“He doesn’t really know about it,” I told them. “At least, he’s had his head in the clouds so much these past few months he’s not taken any notice…”
As Entwistle walked back to the office, Dewhurst said, “Well that’s a turn-up for the books. He’s never suggested anything more than a measly Christmas curry outing before…”
“So am I invited?” Dad asked in almost childlike tones.
“Course you are, Dad,” I said, “but I’d advise you don’t come.”
“Why not?”
Bolton had been fiddling on his smart phone. “I’m guessing this is why not,” he said to Dad, and thrust some footage under his nose. He’d picked a YouTube clip with loud roaring sound, several bumps and then a huge pile up.
Dad rasped at his cheek, his lips pursed and brows wrinkled. “They’re terrible drivers,” he observed.
“No Dad, it’s the Stock cars, it’s meant to be like that!”
He blanched. “And you’re off doing this every weekend?” He sounded horrified.
“Every other weekend at the moment,” I corrected.
He stared at me.
“You signed parental permission for me to do it remember?”
Dewhurst and Bolton quietly melted away.
“So how about you and Pauline come to the big competition final at the end of the year when I’ll be really good at it?”
“Think that might be for the best,” he agreed faintly. Then he tottered off in a dramatic fashion, muttering theatrically, “I shall never sleep soundly again!” Soon a curtain of red sparks were curving through the air again.
“He’ll get used to it,” I surmised with a grin in the direction of Steve. “Surely it must be better than me going round stabbing people?”
Alan was furious. “This is just the sort of publicity the Youth Offending Service doesn’t need!”
“I didn’t do it though!” I protested.
“No, of course not,” he responded instinctively, then corrected himself. “Well I don’t know if you did or didn’t, but whatever, it’ll get into t
he papers and we’ll be made to look bad.”
“Oh God? Really?” I felt desperate. What would the Satterthwaites think of me if this all came out? How could Entwistle or the Satterthwaites sponsor or back someone accused of sexual abuse? It would be the end of my racing career and maybe the end of my job!
“I’ll ring them up straight away,” Alan promised me. “You’d have thought they’d have rung me by now.”
“What are we going to do about me finishing my hours? I really loved going to Lyndale. I can’t face having to start again all over somewhere else – you’d better just put me on something dumb like litter picking – though it seems such a waste of my time. At least Lyndale made me feel like I was actually doing some good somewhere!”
Alan sighed. “I think we’d better give you a month off while we sort this out. If we can’t clear your name then we’ll be hard put to find you something you’re allowed to do. Are you any good with old people? Can you cook? Can you sing?”
I shook my head. I thought about taking Quinn in to sing at an old people’s home and came to the conclusion that it would most likely finish them off…
“But you’ve no objection to old people?”
I shook my head. “As long as they’re really old batty ones,” I suggested. “I’d probably get along with them best if they’re completely nuts or like cars.”
I thought about it for a minute longer. “Got any dementia units for retired racing drivers round here?”
He finally broke into a grin. “Do please go away, Eve, I can’t cope with you for more than half an hour at a time…”
On Tuesday I got a phone call from Nasim on Beth’s phone. I answered it nervously and walked away from the men indicating to them that I was taking my break.
“What’s up?” I greeted her.
She was sobbing. “Tariq’s been charged with drugs offences and he’s being kept in custody unless we can raise £100,000 in bail money.”
I whistled incredulously. “That’s a helluva lot of money, Nasim!”
“Apparently they set it to match a percentage of the value of the drugs in question!”
“I don’t understand Naz, I thought Tariq was a good Muslim and was anti-drugs?”
“So did I!” She wailed. “So did Mum and Dad! The police even had Sahmir down for questioning when he should have been doing a GCSE! It’s so unfair!”
“Oh dear, how awful,” I sympathised.
“And then when my parents kept me off school for a week so word wouldn’t get around about Tariq, Mr Henderson called them in and tore them off a real strip about interrupting my education!”
“Good for him!” I applauded.
“Actually…” She stopped short and her tone changed. “A-c-t-u-a-lleeeee…”
“What?” I demanded on tenterhooks.
“He put me in for the Oxbridge exam, just to see if I was up to it, and I got such good marks he told my parents it would be a complete waste if I didn’t go to Oxford to read law!”
I held my breath. “Brilliant! And how did they react to that?”
“He ladled it on thick, he really did. Referred to me as ‘the brightest and best of a generation’ and said the world needed clever people like me to make the most of my gifts!”
“Blimey!” I said dutifully. “And your parents said...?”
“Well, I think Dad’s fallen for it. He’s so disappointed in Tariq I think he’s taking solace in the fantasy of being able to drop ‘my daughter the lawyer who got a First at Oxford’ into the conversation.”
“So no pressure there then?”
She laughed. It was nice to hear her laugh at last. “He’s started to talk like I’m definitely going. Which is just as well really, as if he’d refused I’d decided I was going to run away and go anyway. If Tariq can turn out to be such a hypocrite, I don’t see why I should be made to be the good little Muslim daughter. It’s not against the Qur’an for me to become a lawyer and earn my own living!”
“Well done Naz, congratulations!” I encouraged. And we rang off before she noticed that I hadn’t commiserated that much with her about Tariq.
I was immediately on the phone to Rajesh.
“Thank God, Allah, and all the Saints and every other deity in existence either real or imagined!”
“So that’s a ‘phew what a relief’ from you is it?” I teased.
“That’s about the size of it… At last I can go back to having my own flat again and my parents can stop asking why I don’t bring you home to meet them!”
“And even better, you will be able to see Nasim as freely as you like once she’s escaped to University…”
“True,” he agreed, sounding cheerful.
“So can you ring your sister and let her know the good news that Naz has managed to rescue herself and doesn’t need our help anymore?”
So a phew from me too, both about feeling safe on the streets again, and being relieved of a half promise to be involved in Chetsi’s Feminist Plots to Transform the World - I was having enough trouble of my own just breaking into Stock car racing.
On Wednesday, as I drove back in after my self defence class, Quinn was lying in wait for me.
“Do you fancy sharing a flat with me?”
“God no,” I responded immediately. “You’d be a nightmare to live with!”
“That’s what Kes said too when I asked him yesterday.” Quinn looked glum.
“Why? Are you thinking of moving out?”
He kicked at the wall, hands in pockets. “More like a case of having to. Dad had a quiet word with me. Once Mum’s had the baby she’ll be going straight into chemo and her immune system will be down and stuff, and they want my room for her to retreat to while she’s going through treatment. And Siân will have the baby in with her whenever Mum can’t cope.”
“Oh,” I said. It sounded a bit dire. I tried to inject a more hopeful note. “She won’t die, Quinn,” I reassured him. “Pauline says the survival statistics on breast cancer are really good these days…” If they catch it early enough, she’d added with a grimace. But I decided to keep a lid on that remark.
At that moment Kes turned up, pulling his bike in alongside us. “Ok you two?”
“Not really,” Quinn said gloomily. “Eve’s just turned me down as a flat mate as well.”
Still astride the bike, Kes removed his helmet and placed it down in front of him. “I didn’t know having Eve along as well was an option. If she’ll agree to come, I’d say yes.”
“Would you?” We both said almost in unison and in an identically surprised tone.
Kes ran a hand through his hair thoughtfully. “Yep. It would make all the difference to the dynamic if there were three of us and mixed sex.”
I thought about it. Yes he was right. With Kes alongside to keep Quinn in order and be an ally to me, I’d actually feel ok about it.
“Well in that case…” I mused aloud. “Maybe it’s a goer after all.”
Quinn looked from Kes’ face back to mine and back to Kes again like a hopeful dog.
“But don’t imagine I’m ever going to do your washing up or all the cleaning,” I said firmly. “And you both have to invest in some headphones if you’re going to practice your guitars around the house. And no smoking in the house ever!”
“Yes, none of your evil fag breath in the flat, Adam,” Kes joined in.
“Anything else?” Quinn sounded daunted.
“Yes, no pants on the fridge,” I said.
“Who keeps their pants on the fridge?” Kes asked incredulously.
“Don’t forget I already live with two men…” I said ominously. “I’ve got your measure.”
“So is it a done deal then?” Quinn asked.
Kes and I looked at each other. I leant back against his bike and half hitched my bum up on the back seat. “And the best part is that I’ve already gone out with both of you, and not slept with either of you, so there can’t be any trouble on that front either.”
Kes grinned a
nd Quinn glowered.
“Agreed?” Kes reached out a hand to shake with me.
“Agreed,” I said and shook.
Then we both shook with Quinn. His expression lit up like the sun coming out. “Thanks, you’re both stars, you really are!”
“Now we just have to find a suitable place,” Kes said.
I walked back into the house. “I’m going to move out to live with Kes and Quinn,” I announced.
Dad looked up, seemingly unsurprised. “That’s nice, Eve.”
Pauline looked ecstatic. She turned to Dad. “Does that mean I can have her room for my dollshouse collection?” She asked.
“If it means it gets them out of our bedroom, then yes!” Dad exclaimed with dawning relief.
“Oh we’re so sorry to see you go, we’ll really miss you Eve,” I mocked.
“Course we will,” Dad said. “– it’s just those damn dollshouses!”
On Friday straight after work, John Holt came round to the house. My stomach lurched when I saw his uniform coming up the path. I opened the door to him and invited him in. I saw him look taken aback as he glanced around the transformed room.
“We had to re-decorate after the bombing,” I explained.
He sat down and got straight on with it. “Good news,” he told me. “Craigside have dropped the complaint.”
I felt the room tip around me for a second. I let out my breath. “Thank goodness for that! What happened?”
“Well they investigated, and contacted Katie’s parents and they confirmed that they’d always referred to the suppository as ‘having one up the jacksie’ and that she’d taken it on as a catch phrase. And then Craigside admitted that the member of staff who’d reported it was completely new and over-zealous and didn’t know the pupil in question and had jumped to conclusions.”
I felt like crying with relief.
“So you’re completely in the clear, Eve.”
“So I can go back?”
He shook his head. “No, Alan’s going to find another placement for you.”
That took the gloss off it a bit, but at least I still had my reputation intact.
Paradise Postponed (Not Quite Eden Book 2) Page 31