Maddie pulled away. ‘Look at us,’ she said. ‘Weeping like babies in front of all these blokes.’ She pulled out her handkerchief and blew her nose. ‘I’ve got a reputation to maintain and – a business to run for the next few months all by myself.’
‘You can do it. You know you can. And talking of business, give me one of your cards.’
Maddie reached into a storage pocket under the dash and pulled out a small box from which she extracted a card. ‘If anybody asks, I know nothing.’
Accepting the card, Raych nodded and made her way across the paddock to the green Bugatti.
Slipping back into the driver’s seat, Maddie dialled a number in response to the first voicemail message she had picked up. ‘Hello, Mr Fox-Sanderson. Maddie Townsend. I’m responding to your message. What can I do for you?’ She slid down in her seat. Fox-Sanderson was a regular customer and he always made a point of dealing with no one other than her father. She grimaced as she listened to his usual whingeing and waited for an appropriate moment to interrupt him.
‘I’m certain we can fit that work in. I will need to check our calendar at the garage when I go into work tomorrow but… No, unfortunately it won’t be Dad who will rebuild the engine for you, he’s taking a well-earned break and… I will have Olly do that work for you… He’s a very capable mechanic, Mr Fox-Sanderson. I would trust him to work on Dad’s Morgan if I wasn’t able to find the time to do the work myself… No, it was Olly who did the work on the Sprite that you brought us last year… No, it was Olly who did the work on the Mark 1 Cortina and I can assure you he is more than capable of completing the work you require on a 1965 MGB…Yes… I will… first thing tomorrow… Yup, be in touch tomorrow. Bye, Mr Fox-Sanderson.’ She stabbed the end-call button, rested her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes.
A car pulled up in the next but one space to the Morgan. Maddie looked up. It was the Delahaye, and inside it Simon and James were talking. The windows were wound up and she couldn’t hear what was being said, but there was no mistaking the look on Simon’s face as he spoke to his navigator. James was turned away from her, with his back wedged up against the door. His hand gestures, the way his back was arched and the slamming of the car door when he subsequently got out led Maddie to one undeniable interpretation. Their driving relationship had just come to an end.
‘Oops!’ Maddie watched, but Simon was staring ahead unaware. She decided to let him have his space.
*
The first-floor bar at The Old Green Wicket hotel in Haven Bridge had been transformed. Bunting using small replica red, green, blue and chequered flags adorned the picture rails the length and breadth of the room. At one end, a long table was set out with numerous cups, plaques and awards, all polished and gleaming.
Behind the awards table, a projector was displaying pictures and photographs of the good and the great from all aspects of motorsport. Interspersed with these shots were photos of cars of all ages, including, Maddie noted, some wonderful coach-built vehicles dating from the last few years of the Victorian era and the first decade of the 20th century. She watched with keen interest as the reel repeated and noticed Miss Moonshine at the wheel of a 1928 LaSalle, her dog on the passenger seat beside her. Maddie shook her head. Her grandfather had worked on that car in the late 1930s and 40s. She recognised the number plate. In their old family photograph albums, it was the car that had fascinated her as a child. If pushed, she would sometimes admit that the LaSalle was probably her primary prompt to join the family business.
‘A penny for them?’ Simon, tall and elegant in a blue suit, stood at the opposite side of the dining table from Maddie.
‘Sorry… Oh, they’re not worth even a groat,’ she said smiling.
‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Nope. Table’s set for six, but I think there will only be Raych, me and Robin from the hotel at Asby. So, take your pick.’
Simon moved round the table. ‘I’ll take the spare seat next to you, then.’ He put down his pint of bitter. ‘Raych not staying for the dinner?’ He grinned at her. ‘Was the experience of being a navigator too much?
Maddie studied the tablecloth to hide her smirk. ‘Raych wouldn’t miss this for the world. She’s over there.’ She nodded towards the bar where Raych, in a full-length fitted chocolate brown dress, hair beautifully dressed and curled, was sipping a glass of prosecco and talking to Robin.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘It should really be me who gets you a drink. I owe you a pint at least for helping me this morning with the flats. But I see you’ve already got one.’
Simon smiled. ‘Have you always been this fiercely independent?’
‘Yup.’
‘Well, just for this evening, how about we forget that we are normally competitors and mechanics. Instead of our usual overalls, I’m wearing a suit and you’re… well, wearing a dress and – ’
‘I think the description you’re looking for is that I’ve scrubbed up reasonably well.’
Simon laughed. ‘I’m not going to be able to win, am I?’
Maddie shook her head.
‘So, a glass of fizzy stuff like Raych, or something else?’
‘I’ve checked the wine list and they have an excellent white sauvignon. A glass of that would be very nice, Mr Walker, thank you.’ She gave her best echo of Raych’s breathy tones.
‘Sauvignon coming up. And I like fiercely independent better.’
Maddie watched him as he moved across the room to the bar. The place had begun to fill up, and some of the VIPs and officials had arrived for the formal part of the evening. A flutter of applause spread around the room as the Mayor and his wife walked in. They were greeted with complimentary drinks from a waiter near the VIPs’ table. Next, Miss Moonshine – without her dog on this occasion – appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in a sleeveless silver-grey evening gown and carrying a matching shrug and purse. She paused and took in the scene. A bright smile on her face, having spotted the Mayor’s wife, Miss Moonshine took her place with the other dignitaries.
Maddie checked her watch. It was almost seven and there was no sign yet of Simon’s navigator, James. She scanned the room full of people. The soft music that had been playing when she arrived was drowned out by a myriad of conversations. At the bar, Raych and Robin were deep in conversation. Simon was slowly picking his way back through the tables.
‘Thanks. Is James not staying for the awards and dinner?’
Simon shook his head as he sat down again. ‘Let’s just say that as far as motoring is concerned, James and I have decided to declare our partnership at an end.’ He took a gulp of beer.
‘Ah. I kind of thought that might be the case. In the paddock at the finish, you two didn’t look too pleased with each other.’
‘It wasn’t mutual.’ He sighed. ‘Basically, I sacked him. At every stop yesterday, he took the opportunity to have a beer. Last night he got hammered in the hotel bar. Today he was like a zombie, and at lunchtime it was clear to me that you couldn’t be beaten. I drove to maintain my fifth place. As I’m sure you know, driving and navigating at the same time in these kind of events isn’t easy.’
‘Hmm.’
The VIPs assembled in front of the awards table and the Mayor tapped on the microphone. Raych and Robin took their seats at Maddie’s table. The lights were turned up and the hum of spoken words died down.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the final event of this fabulous weekend. I hope you’ve noticed the photos behind me, showing points on the tour among all the historic pictures. A wonderful show, I think. I also can’t help noticing that one particular car, a Morgan, seems to have been photographed quite a lot over the past two days.’
The Mayor picked up his crib-sheet, placed his spectacles on the end of his nose and studied it for a moment or two. ‘My wife’s just reminded me that dinner is to be served at 7.30, so I don’t want to keep you hungry people waiting any longer than necessary. Miss
Moonshine is here to present the awards, so let’s get on with it, shall we?’ The Mayor looked at his audience in anticipation of a response, and was rewarded with a light applause.
‘So, in reverse order, the award for overall third place across both days goes to car number 17, the 1938 Alpha Romeo driven by John Newton with navigator Darren Lessing.’
Polite applause followed as the team collected their awards from Miss Moonshine. The driver gave a nod and a wave to those gathered in thanks.
‘The award for overall second place goes to car number 5, the 1935 Riley Imp driven by Will Jordan with his navigator wife, Liz.’ The couple made their way to the front, collected the trophy and plaque and shook hands with Miss Moonshine. Mrs Jordan then approached the microphone.
‘Thank you everyone for organising a great event. We’ve both thoroughly enjoyed it. Maybe next year we’ll be first, who knows?’
A round of applause along with some barracking ensued.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, please.’ The Mayor held up a hand to quell the disturbance.
‘Just two more awards. The prize for overall first place, with no penalties, goes to car number 3, the 1936 Morgan 4-4 and driver, the talented and expert mechanic Maddie Townsend, and her lovely navigator, Raychelle Decoursey.’
A roar of applause went up as Maddie and Raych made their way across the room.
‘Well done,’ said Miss Moonshine as she handed the cup to Maddie and a plaque to Raych. ‘With the difficulties you’ve had you both deserve this.’
‘I think it was your good luck that won this for us,’ said Maddie, as she accepted the trophy. ‘And I need to give you this back.’ She offered the piece of quartz in the palm of her hand.
‘You keep it, my dear,’ said Miss Moonshine, folding Maddie’s fingers over it. ‘And when you get back home, use it to help your father recover.’
Shouts of, ‘Speech!’ were coming from the audience, giving Maddie no time to think about, or question, what the old lady had said.
She turned to face the room. ‘Thank you, everyone. And especial thanks to Raych, who stepped in as my navigator at the last minute, having never done the job before. I think I put her through hell on Saturday, but today she did a fantastic job. I can now go home and present this to my dad. Everyone, I think Raych deserves her own round of applause.’
The room erupted with cheers and shouts of, ‘90 right!’ and ‘Sweeping 30 left!’, as the girls negotiated their way back to their table.
Simon and Robin were still clapping as they took their seats.
‘Well done.’ Simon reached out, took Maddie’s hand and squeezed it. ‘I don’t suppose you would like to partner me on the White Rose Tour next month, would you? Robin’s competing and Raych has agreed to navigate for him.’
Maddie was about to refuse when she felt her attention drawn to the other end of the room. Miss Moonshine, the projected images playing behind her, took a couple of steps forward and smiled.
‘Well, what do you think?’ asked Simon.
Miss Moonshine nodded at Maddie and turned away.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I would like that.’
The End
Author Bio Angela Wren is an actor and director at a theatre in Yorkshire, UK. She loves stories and reading and writes the Jacques Forêt crime novels set in France. Her short stories vary between romance, memoir, mystery and historical. Angela has had two one-act plays recorded for local radio. Find out more about Angela
The Angel Stone
by
Sophie Claire
Lola was in the cereal aisle restocking the packets of cornflakes when Greg appeared. He was grinning so hard that she immediately stiffened, sensing trouble. He never shopped in Supersave, and he’d never dropped by to see her in all of the twelve months they’d been together. His mate Barry appeared too and gave her a brief nod, but hung back near the muesli, his gaze fixed intently on his phone.
‘Hey Lola,’ said Greg, loudly, and gripped her by the shoulders.
Lola glanced at his hands, perplexed by the way he’d clamped them around her. The smell of aftershave bit at her. ‘Hey,’ she murmured. ‘I thought you were working tonight.’
He was the night guard at the scrapyard, which meant he was usually asleep at this time.
‘I am,’ he said, and glanced back at Barry.
‘Is everything OK?’
He nodded – a little too enthusiastically – but didn’t say anything.
‘Greg,’ she said quietly, ‘I can’t talk long. Pat’s on my case. I’ve got to get all this lot out by four o’clock.’ She pointed to the trolley stacked high with cornflakes boxes.
He knew what an ogre her boss was, yet his response was to shoot her another goofy smile. She frowned. Was he drunk?
‘Forget about those for a minute,’ he said, and his tattoos blurred as he swept his arm through the air. ‘This is important.’
He rooted around in his pocket, and Lola looked anxiously about. If Pat caught her chatting, she’d be in huge trouble. She’d already been interrupted six times this afternoon by customers asking where things were.
Greg pulled out a tiny velvet box and cleared his throat. Barry stepped forward and Lola suddenly realised he wasn’t looking at his phone – he was filming them.
Her heart slugged as Greg dropped to his knee. She stared at the top of his head, and a prickling sensation spread from her throat up into her cheeks. His brown hair was neatly combed and he was wearing his leather jacket. He looked like he was dressed up for a night out, she thought faintly.
‘Lola,’ said Greg, opening the box and presenting it to her. Inside was a minuscule diamond protruding from a shoestring of silver. ‘Will you marry me?’
She blinked. How could he put her on the spot like this? They’d never talked about marriage. Not once. They weren’t even living together. The longest they’d ever spent together had been a weekend in Wales. Something inside her kicked out in panic. Marriage was for later, for people with kids and a house and a –
Did she want to marry him?
The clawing in her stomach told her everything she needed to know.
‘Well?’
The fluorescent lights above span and her head swam. How was she going to get out of this?
‘Lola?’
She glanced at Barry, whose phone was still pointed at them like a gun. Behind him a cluster of customers had paused, baskets in hand, to rubberneck. This would be all over Facebook by tonight – if it wasn’t already being beamed out live.
‘I – I wasn’t expecting this,’ she whispered.
Greg grinned up at her. ‘I know. I wanted to surprise you.’
She tugged at the collar of her uniform. The pea-green polyester suddenly felt prickly and tight. She didn’t want to get married, but if she said no, how humiliating would it be for him? She couldn’t do that to him. A memory sprang up of the humane mouse traps her mum had put in the kitchen a few years ago and the way the mice’s eyes had bulged, too big for their bodies, when she’d found them in the plastic cage. Trapped.
She sucked in air. There was only one way to get out of this.
‘Yes.’ She forced the word from her lips.
‘What was that?’ He darted a look over his shoulder at the camera, then turned back and grinned. ‘Say it again, flower. A bit louder.’
She stretched her lips into what she hoped was a convincing smile. ‘Yes.’
*
Two hours later, Lola shut the front door and heeled off her shoes. She had unloaded all the cornflakes in the end, but only because she’d stayed late to finish the task in her own time. From the kitchen came the sound of a pop song, and the sweet smell of onions cooking. She pushed the door open and her mum and sister both looked up from the laptop.
Mandy jumped up and threw her arms around her, squealing in her ear. ‘We’ve seen it! It’s on Facebook and everyone’s talking about it. OMG, I can’t believe it – who knew Greg was so romantic? I’m so happy for you
, Lo!’
She stepped back, flicking her long dark hair back over her shoulder. ‘Show us the ring!’
Lola felt the knot in her chest tighten as she held out her left hand.
‘Congratulations, love,’ said Mum, and hugged her too.
‘It’s on Facebook? Let me see.’ He hadn’t wasted any time.
Her stomach plunged as the video played out in front of her. Barry was good with computers and she could tell he’d been heavily involved in putting the film together. It began with a photo of her, labelled ‘The Unsuspecting Bride’, then switched to a video following Greg, ‘The Groom’, from the car park into Supersave. Lola winced at the unflattering shot of her bum as she bent to pick up cornflakes boxes. The tinny supermarket music had been replaced with the upbeat rhythm of Bruno Mars’ ‘I Think I Wanna Marry You’.
She sat down heavily. Why had he rushed to post it online? This was moving too fast.
‘…did you know he was going to propose?’ She realised Mandy had been firing a stream of questions at her, most of which Lola hadn’t heard. ‘You look so shocked – was it a complete surprise?’
‘I had no idea.’ Lola groaned. ‘Oh God, it’s so awful…’
Mandy put her arm around her. ‘It’s not that bad, Lo. True, a bit of lipstick would have been better and you could have brushed your hair – but you look…sweet. Natural.’
Lola smiled at her sister, whose make-up was always immaculate. ‘I mean it was horrible to be put on the spot like that…’
Her mum, who had been drying pots, stopped and looked at her.
Mandy’s heavily pencilled brows pulled in a frown. ‘But you said yes.’
‘I know, but –’
‘So it all ended happily. When’s the wedding?’ She clapped her hands. ‘You will let me do your hair, won’t you?’
Lola shook her head. ‘That’s just it. I can’t do it, Mands. I’m going to have to get him on his own and explain.’
Her mum sat down next to her. ‘You mean you don’t want to marry him?’
Miss Moonshine's Emporium of Happy Endings: A feel-good collection of heartwarming stories Page 19