The Way Back (Not Quite Eden Book 6)

by Dominique Kyle

  “Just because you had one bad experience…” Nish started irritably, “it doesn’t mean…”

  I glared at him. “I worked with that guy every day at the garage and I thought I was giving out all the right signals that I wasn’t interested. And then when I refused to go back to his flat, he put a drug in my drink, drove me back to his flat against my will and raped me while I couldn’t fight him off! How do you think that makes me feel about all the other men I meet who seem ok during the day at work?” I got up abruptly. “I don’t want to talk about this. Thanks for the coffee. Did the locksmith give you a new key for my flat? And how much do I owe you for it?”

  He shook his head. “Williams are paying. I think they’re worried it’ll turn out to be some kind of campaign against them.”

  That was a relief. No doubt the bill would be over a hundred pounds and I couldn’t afford it. Maybe the landlord would have paid, but it would probably have turned into a fight over it.

  Nish got up and went to a glass bowl near the door and fished out a set of three keys on a ring for me. “I forgot you wouldn’t be able to get back into your flat without these. Is that why you came round?” He sounded hurt. Almost crushed.

  I said nothing, just accepted the keys. “Thanks for sorting everything out for me while I was away,” I said politely.

  He took hold of my wrist. “Don’t go.”

  I yanked my wrist out of his grasp. After all we’d just said too! I glared up at his pretty boy face. I bet he was reacting to my keeping my distance because women generally didn’t. Bet he was used to females throwing themselves at him, and casually handling him and smiling all the time at him and standing close to him in conversation. Just like I saw women doing all the time with Quinn. And Quinn never even seemed to notice when older women like my stepmother inappropriately stroked his bare arms or patted his thigh, because he got that all the time and assumed it was normal. Nish would never even have noticed the women that kept their distance because he was surrounded by the ones that didn’t.

  He realised his tactical error and panicked. “I’m sorry!” He put a hand to his head as though he’d just realised exactly how bad what he’d just done was. “Sorry Eve,” he said in a small contrite voice. “I just wanted to hear about Hockenheim…”

  When I said nothing, he suggested as though proffering an olive branch, “We could get a take-away?”

  Thing is, I knew really by now that he wasn’t going to rape me. I knew really by now that he was as desperately lonely as I was, and almost as much in exile as I was from his own life, and dying to hear any intimate scrap of information I could impart to him about the latest big race that he’d agonisingly missed. I knew exactly how he felt…

  “Ok then,” I agreed abruptly. “As long as it’s Thai,” I bargained, “Because I make better curries than the slimy stuff they serve up round here, and since I’ve lived in Italy I’ve gone off those nasty American pan things…”

  I saw his face flood with relief and we both smiled at each other in a kind of anxious ‘let’s try again’ way.

  Back at work, Alan was explaining to me that it wasn’t a great time for me to arrive in his department just before the four week Grand Prix summer break.

  “That’s why we sent you straight into Hockenheim,” he explained. “For the next couple of weeks not much will be happening, and quite a few people – especially those with kids will be taking their hols. Have you any booked?”

  I shook my head. “No-one said anything to me about holidays. I don’t think I get any.” And I didn’t have anywhere to go anyway.

  “So in that case, we thought you’d be best sent down to the Simulator Department. Gilbraith will be down there every day testing all sorts of proposed new upgrades and set-ups so that we can take the decisions on the individual changes over the next couple of weeks, and then it’ll be all systems go again!”

  Ok, I’d settle for that. I was dying to see the Simulator in action and get my head around what kind of information it provided and how it did it.

  Nish looked surprised when he walked in and saw me there. I’d already had an hour’s induction, looking at all the figures and graphs to see how they compared under different simulated conditions.

  “So,” Mizo introduced. “Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium. First Grand Prix 1950. Forty four laps. Circuit length seven point zero zero four kilometres, race distance three hundred and eight point zero five two kilometres. Lap record one minute, forty-six point five seven seven seconds, Sebastian Vettel, in the Ferrari SF70H August 2017 with a top speed of two hundred and thirty-six point five eight three kilometres per hour.”

  I watched him setting up the computer. Nish and he discussed what they were trying to achieve.

  “We’ll split it into four sections of eleven laps,” Mizo suggested. “And after each section we’ll change the aerodynamics and see how it affects the stats.”

  Nish got in and a perfect replica of the Circuit de Spa-Francorchamps was spread out in front of him.

  “How does it feel?” I asked curiously. “How much like the real thing? They claim that every bump and detail has been laser scanned in 3D into it, but when you drive on the actual circuit for the first time, does it feel like you’ve already been there? Does it help you anticipate the corners and cambers?”

  “Pretty much,” Nish said. “You get all the same resistance through the wheel and pedals, but you don’t get the G forces, so it would be a shock to the system when you went out to drive for the first time if you didn’t realise that.”

  Even on the simulator, with short breaks after every eleven laps, driving at such speeds for almost two hours and with such a sustained level of concentration was clearly exhausting. My brain was exploding just getting my head around all the information we were gathering. And Nish’s verbal feedback was just as important. “Getting a lot of understeer,” or “not enough downforce to keep me stable on that corner,” or “brakes locked there.”

  When he finally got out, he looked drained. Mizo tossed him a bottle of what looked like chocolate milk and Nish flopped down in a chair and started sipping it.

  Mizo looked at his watch. “Half an hour till lunch. What do you say to putting her on it so she can see how it feels?” He glanced at Nish enquiringly.

  Nish smiled. “Yeah, why not? This is where I get my revenge on her shoving me into her Stock car and making me drive round that wretched oval with everyone taking a pot shot at me!”

  “Ooo-er! Where am I now?” I appealed as I tried to get the hang of the controls. I was careering across what looked like a big lawn.

  Nish was laughing. “Order me a beer while you’re in there why don’t you? You’re in the refreshments tent you idiot!”

  “Whoops!” I wobbled my way back through the virtual barrier and back onto the course. “Which way round am I? Where’s the start?”

  Mizo was hiding a grin and Nish rolled his eyes dramatically.

  “Ok, let’s start again,” Mizo suggested. “And you help her out a bit more Nish…”

  This time I actually stayed on the tarmac and started to approach the first corner. “You just give me exact instructions Nish, on each corner and straight – what gear I should be in – what other buttons I need to press…”

  He sat in the control area and patiently gave me instructions through the mike into my headset. Indications of top speed, gear changes, when to brake, what line to take round the corner. We got round one whole lap with no mishaps.

  “Ok, again,” I said. “Tell me the same instructions as we go round again.”

  We did it again. I noticed that his instructions were slightly different when I was going faster or taking a different line. That was useful. It helped me learn how to adjust for varying approaches and reassured me that he wasn’t doing it by rote but was assessing continuously what I needed to do.

  Lap three. “Now just watch me Nish, and correct me if I’m doing something wrong or if I ask for advice.”

  A c
ouple of times he intervened, and once I asked about an approach.

  I glanced round at Mizo. “I’m ready now.”

  Mizo looked at Nish. “She’s on that last set-up that you said was the most balanced. So we’ll give her eleven laps and measure her time against yours on that last eleven. Sound fair?”

  Nish nodded.

  I roared away with a flying start and drove like the devil. Each lap I was more ready for the corners and quirks, and I felt I was getting into the zone. At the end of eleven I was knackered. I got out and stretched awkwardly. “God, I can really feel my arms and legs, and that’s only a quarter of a race and with no G forces! And I was having to really make sure I didn’t lose concentration – when it’s not really life or death and nothing really is going to happen if you crash, you’re less motivated, aren’t you?” I was gaining respect for Nish now. “And you have to do that with real weather and other drivers all over the place getting in your way and sun in your eyes…”

  Nish nodded.

  I wandered over to where Mizo and he were sat by the screen of stats. “How’d I do?”

  “Four point two one seconds slower than Nish on the same eleven laps,” Mizo reported.

  I pulled a face. “Oh well. I guess I wasn’t going to do that great on my first time was I?” I said resignedly.

  Nish and Mizo exchanged glances.

  “Are you really sure that timing’s right?” Nish asked.

  “Course it is,” Mizo said.

  “Lunch,” I suggested cheerfully, I was starving now. “Thanks for that guys! That was fun…”

  When I walked back into the mechanic’s department, the ones that were still there and not off on holiday looked up and burst into a round of applause.

  I stared at them. “What’s that for?”

  “We hear you were only four seconds short of Gilbraith’s eleven laps time,” Sam explained.

  I pushed my hair back behind my ears. “That’s terrible though isn’t it?” I said. “That’s nearly seventeen seconds over a whole race. And anyway – how d’you know that?”

  “Mizo texted,” Ben said.

  “It’s not at all terrible, Eve,” Alan intervened. “If you look at the stats for most of the races, assuming Nish came first with his time, you’d probably only be between two and five positions behind him. And that on your first time on the simulator is fairly outstanding if you ask me!”

  “Oh well, Nish is sick at the moment,” I shrugged it off. “Don’t suppose he’s up to speed.”

  “You’re not going to convince her!” Zak said. “From what we hear, he’s pretty hot on the simulator still…”

  And at that point, I secretly became a bit pleased with myself.

  Heskett called me up to see him. “I heard about your lap time,” he said. He gave a slight smile. “We don’t usually do this, but I’m going to get you on the simulator every day after Nish finishes to have a go at a sample section of what he’s just done. Just to keep him on his toes…”

  I nodded. I understood what they were playing at. Every driver needs some other driver breathing down their neck to keep them on their mettle and bring out the competitive element. Damn, I was going to have to get fitter… get down that gym.

  “Oh – and the IT department haven’t noticed any unusual activity on our main systems so we’ll just have to wait and see what those break-ins were about…”

  Down in the simulator department we were also driving Monza in Italy to test all the same upgrades. After that the cars would yet again be coming back to the factory to be sorted out before the Far Eastern stage which would be operating under entirely different conditions. Nish did the same patient three lap tutoring. When he looked at my time after, he exclaimed, “I’m not helping you next time. You need to make your own way round Singapore!”

  Mizo hid a smile. Then he texted my department.

  On Friday night my doorbell rang. I answered it reluctantly, I’d just made myself some tea. But it was Quinn standing there.

  “Oh my God,” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “Come to see you of course,” he said with a smile and a formal kiss to my cheek. “Saw you on the telly the other day – just a millisecond – German Grand Prix – knew straight away it was you – in the pits you lucky thing! How’d you swing that?”

  I opened the door wide to let him pass. “Cheese on toast?” I offered.

  “We can do better than that,” he said cheerfully. “Come on, get dressed up and I’ll take you out.”

  Of course I soon worked out that he’d really come to see Nish. But at least he let us have an evening on our own first, and he stayed at mine for the night.

  He made up a nest on the sofa as though he felt he had to at least make the attempt, then crept into bed with me. As he put his arms around me I burst into tears.

  “What’s the matter?” He asked with a comforting squeeze.

  “I’m so lonely,” I sobbed. “I wish I could come home…”

  “But you’re getting the chance of a lifetime here Ginty,” he reminded me. “Don’t waste it.”

  “I know,” I sniffed. “It’s just…”

  “Just what?” Quinn delved.

  “I don’t know…” I sighed. He smiled at me and finally I smiled back. “You’ve no idea how good it feels to be hugged, Quinn.” I said. “I feel like some iceberg that’s never going to melt…”

  He smiled again. “How about a back massage?” It was the only thing I ever let him do. Sometimes I felt like I shouldn’t, but he was brilliant at back massages.

  It felt wonderful.

  “So has Nish been behaving himself?” He asked as he worked gloriously on my shoulders.

  “Yeah,” I said, my head resting sideways on my folded arms. “Why did you warn him off?”

  Quinn worked expertly down my spine and I sighed as all my tension began to melt away. “I don’t know.” He sounded uncertain. “I just found myself doing it. A bit of me just didn’t quite trust him.”

  I wondered if both our attitudes had been irrevocably tainted by our experiences last year with the grooming gang scandal in our town. “I felt the same way, Quinn,” I admitted. “But now I’ve decided that he’s decent enough, so I’m not so on edge anymore.”

  “You must come with me to visit him tomorrow,” Quinn said. “I thought you’d drop by last time but you just disappeared.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me around,” I reported. “So I went for a run.”

  “And you didn’t answer my text,” he said sounding heartrendingly bereft.

  I was unexpectedly touched. “I was angry with you,” I explained. “And hurt that you’d gone off with Nish. Sorry.”

  He kissed the back of my neck. “That’s ok, Ginty, you can come with me to Nish tomorrow to make up for last time…”

  Several times in the night I woke up in a panic thinking, oh my God there’s a man in my bed! My heart would be pounding. But then I realised it was only Quinn, and he’d reach out sleepily and pull me into him again and my heart rate would calm back down.

  We woke up at half seven. “Nish isn’t half way human until about ten,” I warned.

  “Let’s go for a run then,” Quinn suggested. “I’m not getting out half as much as I should…”

  We ran in the cool refreshing morning air and went back to my flat for a shower.

  “I’m struggling to get work,” Quinn said. “It’s because I have to be free to go to gigs all over the country, or PR work like those photo shoots, or be seen at the right parties in London… So I can’t do anything regular, and I’m only just scraping by financially.”

  “Go to Entwistle,” I suggested. “He’ll have you like a shot, I bet. I’ll ring him up if you like. I feel guilty that I’ve abandoned them, and you’ll be a bit of an attraction to the customers – you know Thrills and Spills and now Full Frontal. It’ll make up for the fact that he’s lost all the publicity of having the World Champion working there.”

  Q
uinn looked hopeful. “You think?”

  “I do think,” I said positively. “In fact I’ll ring him right now.”

  Quinn was listening intently to my side of the phone call. Entwistle sounded pleased to hear from me. “The men say they spotted you at Hockenheim,” he told me.

  “Aye, they’re giving me lots of great opportunities here,” I agreed.

  “So you made the right move then?” Entwistle affirmed.

  “I guess…”

  When I came off the phone I gave Quinn the thumbs up. “He’s going to put you on a zero hours contract and you can just turn up whenever you’re available as they’re always short of staff because they’ve never replaced me and everyone’s getting pissed off with him for not managing to find anyone suitable.”

  Quinn smiled broadly. “That’s brilliant, Ginty! You’re full of bright ideas as ever…!”

  “Still sorting your life out for you,” I agreed dryly. But I guess we were getting a bit more reciprocal these days. He often seemed the strong one now. If he hadn’t come to Italy with me to help me settle in I’d have never coped with the internship at Ferrari. He could see how scared I was and had stepped up to the mark. And last night I was bursting into tears in his arms. I guess boys just take longer to mature, I thought.

  Quinn had texted Nish last night to ask if he could come over and run some of the new songs past him before they went to record them, so Nish knew we were coming. But still his face lit up when he saw Quinn standing there.

  But half an hour later it was my own face lighting up. The doorbell rang and Quinn went to open it. Kes and Jamie were standing there! I gave a shriek of delight and ran at them. Kes hugged me and picked me up off my feet and Jamie actually smiled.

  “Oh my God!” I kept saying giddily, running between them.

  Quinn couldn’t stop smiling. Nish looked a bit bemused.

  “How’s life treating you little bro?” I asked at last. “I hear the new girlfriend is re-modelling you from scratch! Let’s look at you and see what sort of job she’s done!”