With Beau’s soothing drawl in my ear to keep me company, I was able to focus on the race. His gentle reassurances when the memories threatened to overwhelm me meant I never fell into a waking nightmare. As he’d proven during the test laps at Queensland Raceway, he had a great eye for reading the track and squeezing a few extra fractions of a second out of the lap times. More than just being my guide through my panic, he was damned good at the job, feeding me track conditions at just the right time.
“You’re doin’ so well, darlin’,” he said as he encouraged me through my last few laps. “Your track position is awesome. Just two more laps, and then it’s time for Parkins to take her home.”
I didn’t reply because I was in the middle of a stoush with two other cars, trying to wrestle our ProV8s around the corner three-deep. Someone had to give, and I wanted to be the one in the position to take the racing line. When I stuck it, I gave a little whoop of joy. It matched perfectly to one Beau gave.
By the time I came off the track, we were in second place. Everything after that was up to Steve.
Despite the nightmare that had driven me from bed early, I actually had a decent run. Better than I’d expected. There was a team of people who made that possible, but there was only one I wanted to thank as I climbed from the car. Unfortunately, by the time I reached a place even close enough to talk to him, he was already feeding instructions and information to Steve, and I refused to disrupt him while he was working.
Instead, I retreated to the safe area that Dad had set up for me. A small area where I could hide away from the press and the bustle of the pits. I buried my head in my hands as I listened to the race.
“Hey, girlie, you did great out there.”
I nodded to welcome Angel. “Thanks.”
“How’d it feel? Being back out there for real.”
I stared at my hands for a while as I considered the best way to respond to her. How to make her understand what it had been like being on the track again. “Good. It was like I was free again for a while. Like I was me.”
“You don’t sound convinced by what you’re saying.”
“I am. It’s just I don’t know how to do all of this. I was terrified Dad might ask me to finish the race.”
“Why would that have been a bad thing?”
I threaded my fingers together over and over, keeping my focus on them rather than anywhere else. “Because the first thing that would’ve happened when I stopped was a microphone and camera shoved in my face, and I don’t know how I would’ve dealt with that.”
“Aren’t you on a media blackout though?”
I scoffed. “Do you think that would’ve actually mattered if I’d pulled up after finishing second? No one knows the full story of what happened. All they know is I was missing, and now I’m not. And how’s it going to be next year? Dad still wants me in the car, and if I do . . . What then? I can’t skip out on every interview and media expectation for the rest of my life.”
“Your parents would think of something.”
I laughed. “They might be good at what they do, but they’re not miracle workers. You’ve been around the traps of my life long enough to know the expectations to perform the promotional side of things as readily as the track work. This isn’t a job you can do if you’re not comfortable with a microphone in your face every race day, and I don’t know that I will ever be okay with that.”
“I thought you were happy being back doing what you loved? That’s what you said at dinner last night.”
“I did. And I am. It was just . . . different today. And I’ve got a lot to think about.”
“Different?”
“Yeah. I don’t know how else to describe it. Yesterday, I felt more in control than I have in a long time. That was still true today, but it also felt more like a job than it ever has before.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Chewing the inside of my cheek as I considered her question, I tried to come up with an answer. “I don’t know. I just don’t know if it’s a job I really want. This life has always defined me, and now . . . I don’t know if it does anymore. And if I’m not a driver, if that’s not me, who am I?”
One glance up at Angel’s expression confirmed I wasn’t explaining myself properly at all.
“I guess it’s not all that I want out of life anymore,” I added, hoping that might clarify it, but doubtful it would. “I don’t know if it’s what I want to fight for.”
“What do you want then?”
I stared at the back of Beau’s head as he performed his duties to the team faithfully. What I was about to admit to Angel was something I couldn’t admit to him. “This is just between you and me, okay?”
She leant forward on her knees. “Of course.”
Closing my eyes, I pictured what I wanted. A round belly and full breasts while I nurtured a baby to life. The life that had been stolen from me twice now, by my illness and then at the hands of Bee. The life that had been thrust into my face again and again with Mum’s pregnancy and emergency surgery, which had taken away the option for her to be a surrogate. There were other options, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to consider them. The fantasy in my head wasn’t watching someone else carry my child, but to feel every kick and flutter myself.
“I want a life,” I murmured. “A normal life. With no illness hanging over my head, no limitations on what I can and can’t do.”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with being on the track,” she admitted. “Or on cameras and microphones.”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” I sighed. “I don’t think I’m explaining myself right.”
She held her hand out, and I slipped my fingers between hers. “Start from the beginning and take it slow. I’m here for you, Pheebs. Always.”
“Being out there, well, it used to feel like home. Like nothing else was important when I had my hands on the wheel and my focus on the track. But now . . . it was like it cleared my head of everything else like always, but winning, the track, the car, even the other drivers, none of it mattered. It wasn’t important anymore. They only took up as much room as they needed in order for me to get the job done. Instead, I thought about the life I have and the one I want. I thought of everything I’ve asked of Beau—everything he’s given up for me—and how I wish I could make it more worthwhile for him.”
“You don’t think this is worthwhile for him?”
“At the moment, he probably believes it is,” I admitted, “but what about what happens next?”
“What happens next?” She clasped my hand tighter as she asked the question.
I leant back and shook off the dark thoughts that had taken root in my mind. “Nothing. Don’t worry. I just don’t know what I want to do next year, and that’s playing with my mind I guess. Do I really want to put myself in front of the cameras over and over? Do I want to have the whispers and gossip take over because I can’t talk about what happened?”
“You know what you have to do, don’t you?”
I wished I did. “What’s that?”
“You need to talk to your Mum and Dad. They’re the ones who’ve faced the media circus over and over throughout the years. They’ll be able to help you decide whether you want to get in front of that storm again. And they’ll help figure out what it will mean if you can’t.”
“I already know what it’ll mean if I can’t.” I reached for a bottle of water from the small fridge as I watched one of the screens near Beau light up with the current placings. Steve was in second place on the track with all mandatory pit stops down. Barring a disaster, it looked like we’d claim a podium. Fresh off the sort of hiatus I’d been on, that wasn’t anything to complain about, and yet I couldn’t find any celebration in it either.
Thankfully, first place was the other Emmanuel car. On track for a one-two should’ve caused my heart to race with glee. Instead, my mind twisted down dark paths.
Before I’d fully processed the placings, the graphic was
replaced by a live interview with the lead car’s co-driver. Just a few feet away, a camera crew and reporter were deep in my team’s pit, talking to David Weston, the other production car driver on our team—the second driver in the other car on the track.
I froze as it occurred to me how close the reporters were. Turning my gaze away from the screen and towards the place they stood, I watched as they moved towards Dad. After asking him a few questions, the reporter nodded in my direction. I could see the hunger in his eyes, the desire for the scoop.
It reminded me of a different hunger. A different desire.
It was enough to drive me to my feet.
It stole my breath as I heard Angel say my name.
“I have to get out of here,” I muttered.
WITHOUT WAITING FOR a response, I rushed from the cover of the pit. I burst into a busy Paddock where superfans had paid for the privilege to peer behind the curtain and watch from a distance while we worked. All around me gazes spun to see who was emerging from the pits.
Each one wanted something. Some surged forward, urgently pushing their hands into backpacks or pockets, no doubt in search of notebooks or collector cards, anything they could get me to sign.
Still unable to breathe, I dropped my head and pushed through them all. The further I went, the thicker the crowd around me grew and the harder it became to force any air into my lungs. The world spun, and I stumbled forward, my knees buckling temporarily. From what felt like every direction, hands reached for me, no doubt trying to help me stay upright, but only serving as reminders of other hands grabbing with a darker purpose. Clawing at me for their own pleasure and causing untold pain in the process.
I shouted at everyone to get out of my way as I pushed through the crowd. It wasn’t enough though. I couldn’t fight my way out. Like a rising sea, they crushed further in on me.
Trying to see if I was okay.
Trying to get a photo or autograph.
Trying to get a piece of me.
“Leave me alone!” I cried as I was jostled around.
A camera was shoved in my face. Flashes went off in sequence, one after the other in an almost endless stream of photos. Images of Polaroids beside me on the bed flooded in and the shudder that raced down my spine added to the chaos in me.
“Please let me free,” I begged as I sank to the floor, the flashes enough to bring my captor’s voice and laughter to my mind. “You don’t belong out on the track.”
A gap opened up in the crowd, no doubt in response to my crazed shouts. I tucked my arms against my body and ran through the space, racing as fast as I could away from everything.
When I realised I’d stopped, I found myself doubled over, panting for breath near the Emmanuel Racing trailers in the trailer parking area. I fell to my knees and started to cry.
“Excuse me.” The voice that called to me was small; a child’s.
I glanced in the direction it came from, not sure what to say to the little girl approaching me.
“You’re Phoebe Reede, aren’t you?”
I used to be. Despite the words that wanted to be free, I simply nodded.
“Daddy says when I grow up, I can be just like you if I like,” she said. “He says I can be anything I wanna be.”
Swallowing the fear that had overtaken me, I brushed away my tears. “Your daddy sounds like a smart man,” I said in the best voice I could find.
“Billy at school says I can’t because girls aren’t allowed to race cars, but I told him he was an idiot because you’re a girl and you race. He said you weren’t anymore because you couldn’t keep up with the boys.”
I spun around, so I was sitting in the dirt and patted the ground next to me. “What’s your name?”
“Mary.”
“Well, Mary, Billy is wrong, isn’t he? Because I’m racing today, aren’t I?”
She nodded. “I told him he was wrong, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
I brushed my hands over my cheeks to wipe away the remnants of the tears that had burned my eyes while I was trying to escape the crushing crowd. “And guess what?”
She looked up at me with wide, eager eyes, as though every Christmas and birthday had come at once for her. “What?”
“I’ll be out on that track all next year too, giving all those boys a run for their money.”
“Really?” The adoration in her eyes was a better motivator than anything I could’ve thought up on my own.
“Yep. So you can tell Billy that girls can do anything boys can do.”
“And we can do it better!” The words came out of her in a rush. She reminded me so much of Beth when she was a little younger.
“Not necessarily,” I said, not wanting to send her on a path that would make her life all about boys versus girls. “But we can do it the same.”
Talking to her was a salve to the worry that had filled me. Thoughts of reporters and autograph-hunters, and everything else that came with public life were a little easier. I still had concerns; I might always have them. If facing all of that meant I could give hope to a girl like Mary, and fill her with the belief that she could do anything she wanted, it might be worth it all.
“Where are your parents?” I asked, realising they had to be worried about her.
She frowned. “I lost them. Mummy was getting food and Daddy was taking James to the toilet. I watched you running, and then when I turned back to Mummy, she was gone. So I followed you instead. Why were you upset? You did great today.”
“Thank you. I’m great out there.” I nodded in the direction of the track. “I’m just not so great in here anymore.” I tapped my temple. “Sometimes I get sad about things that happened to me.”
“When you were missing?”
“Yeah.” My voice cracked.
“Mummy said she didn’t think you’d ever come back when the news said you were gone.” Mary shifted a little closer to me. “She said you were dead.”
There were so many ways I could have responded to the statement, but I didn’t want to scar the little girl for life. “Nah, not me. I’m a fighter.”
She puffed out her chest. “That’s what I told her.”
“Let’s go find your parents, shall we? They must be worried about you.”
“Can I get your photo when we find them?”
“How about we get a photo together when you do.”
Her eyes lit up again. “Can we really?”
“Of course, and then you can take it to school and tell Billy how you know I’ll be out there next year.”
After climbing to my feet, I offered Mary my hand and led her out of the trailer parking. Despite the crushing sensation on my chest as we closed in on the crowd, I tried to stay focused on Mary and the search for her family. Figuring the best bet was to lead Mary back to where she last saw her mother, I headed towards the food.
A voice screamed Mary’s name. I glanced up at the haggard looking woman rushing towards us. It was the face of a mother who’d lost her child in the crowd and had spent the last little while considering the worst-case scenarios. It was the face Mum had worn when she’d found me in the stairwell of Dr Bradshaw’s building, after I’d run from the shrink’s office.
Before we could cover even a quarter of the distance between where we’d been and where the lady who was clearly Mary’s mother had stood, the lady had raced over and swept Mary up in her arms.
“Don’t do that ever again!” she scolded. “I was so worried.”
“You didn’t have to be worried, I was with Phoebe.”
Mary’s mother’s eyes opened and her gaze found mine.
“She followed me to the trailers,” I confirmed. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not surprised. You’re her hero.”
I reached one arm across myself to grip the opposite elbow. “I’m not a hero.”
“I don’t know. To be back here, doing what you’re doing, after what happened to you, that’s pretty heroic.”
I wanted to demand that she told me
what the hell she could possibly know about my life, but I couldn’t. In her eyes, I saw Mum and all the other women in my life who cared about me, so instead of the demands, I offered her a thank you instead.
After dragging the little family away from the worst of the crowd, I got some photos and signed some autographs. It actually wasn’t as bad as I’d worried, but it was also only a handful of people. I’d been in crushing crowds before, and that was as a production racer. I could only imagine what it would be like when I was racing a ProV8, or if I won the championship.
When the cameras were packed away, I thanked the family again and warned Mary about running off, even if it was to follow a hero or a friend. As I said the words, her mother’s curious eyes roamed my face, and I had no doubt she was trying to figure out how much of the warning related to my experience.
I turned to head back to the pits when another voice called my name. Closing my eyes and taking a breath, I hoped it wasn’t the start of a swell of people. I twisted to greet the dark-haired woman trying to garner my attention.
“You’re Phoebe, aren’t you?” she asked in a way that made it clear she hadn’t followed my career.
“Yeah. Why?”
A smile split her slicked red lips, and her chocolate eyes sparkled. “I need to talk to you. Have you got a minute?”
I stole a glance back at the pits. Beau, Angel, and Dad were likely going crazy with worry for me. I didn’t even have my phone on me to call them and reassure them that I was okay.
“It will only take a minute, I swear. I’ve just got something important I need to discuss.”
“I’m not doing interviews about what happened,” I spat, certain by her demeanour that she was after something like that from me.
“Oh. No, it’s . . . uh, it’s nothing about that. It’s about your father actually. Well, your grandfather.”
I narrowed my eyes as I tried to work out what she was talking about.
She sighed and hung her head. “I’ve been trying to talk to your dad for almost a year, but he won’t have anything to do with me.”
If Dad didn’t want anything to do with the woman, I assumed there must have been a reason. I stepped away from her. She reached out to me, and I yanked myself away from her grip.
Phantom (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #5) Page 2