The Way Back (Not Quite Eden Book 6)

by Dominique Kyle

  He wasn’t going to undermine Alan with me. But I got the impression he’d be up for letting me spread my wings a bit later on. After all, you have to be seen to serve your apprenticeship, don’t you?

  Spain – mid May. Barcelona. Nish turned up at the race track garage at the end of the test drive day with a female. He’d finished all his duties, showered and changed and gone away. But now he was back with a small, smiling, very shy girl in tow. He had his arm around her shoulders and she was half hiding behind him and peeping out round him at me.

  “Eve, meet Miriam,” Nish said with a smile.

  I looked her over. One of those petite, cutely dressed, big eyed, submissive Japanese girls.

  “Hello, Miriam, nice to meet you,” I responded dutifully. She bobbed her head at me. I glanced at Nish for confirmation of her status.

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Miriam and I are now an item,” he explained.

  I looked back at her. “Are you a musician?” I asked.

  She nodded. That made sense.

  “What instrument?” I inquired.

  “Violin,” Nish supplied on her behalf as she looked like fainting away at the stress of having to speak to me.

  I nodded. Not a surprise. “Playing in an orchestra?” I pursued.

  “Royal Philharmonic,” Nish announced proudly.

  I raised my eyebrows. Top notch then. No wonder Nish was smitten. She must be really good at what she did. Well, she’d do fine, I decided. It would be good for Nish to have someone from completely outside Motorsport circles as his love interest. And she would be relating to the side of him that I couldn’t – the music that coursed through him. She’d be busy with her own tour schedule, thereby keeping out of our hair most of the time, and she was far too meek and drippy to get arsey with me.

  “Watch out then,” I warned. “Or Jamie and Quinn will be after recruiting you for a recording. They’re right musical pimps, and they’ll pounce on you the minute they meet you…”

  She looked a bit worried, but Nish just grinned. It seemed as though the idea had already occurred to him. I looked him in the eye. “See you tomorrow for Qually then,” I dismissed. “Have a good evening,” and I turned away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them wandering off, Nish being occasionally stopped by a stray fan still lingering in the hopes of catching one of the drivers off duty. It was quite a similar life to being a rock star, I thought. No wonder Nish and Quinn understood each other. Nish glanced back only once, but I’d made sure I was standing so it wouldn’t look like I was looking. I’d needed that glance back from him though, it made me feel better.

  We were clearing up after the race on Sunday when Nish wandered up on my right hand side. I glanced sideways at him. “No Miriam today?”

  He shook his head. “She was just passing through for twenty four hours on her way to a performance in Madrid.”

  I nodded abstractedly, then felt I ought to pay a bit more attention to his rare lone approach. I looked naughtily at him. “So did you do the business then?”

  His eyes lashed momentarily then met my gaze straight on. “Oh, honestly!” He began to laugh. “Since you ask – yes I did… And it was a lot easier than with you, I can tell you!”

  “That’s because she’s in love with you,” I surmised.

  He glanced quickly at me.

  “Was she impressed?” I teased.

  “Don’t think she has anything to compare it to…” He said, looking briefly away. “It was first time for everything for her…”

  I raised my eyebrows and smiled. “That’s nice…” I figured it was time to lay off the subject now and started to gather up my things.

  “So how was your first time?” He suddenly asked.

  I glanced swiftly around to see who was nearby and checked the switches on the microphones and radio to make sure they were off.

  “Why d’you want to know?” I asked.

  He was silent.

  “Shall we go for a drink?” I suggested.

  We sat in the back of the darkest corner possible in a town tapas bar, Nish clutching his ubiquitous apple juice, I, with a glass of fruity sangria in front of me, with a tiny decorative dish of calamari and stuffed figs between us.

  “So what’s happened then?” I asked.

  He avoided my eyes.

  “Was it painful for her?” I guessed. “It was bloody painful for me… I was tense as anything and burst into tears afterwards. And poor Pete was mortified.”

  He glanced swiftly at me, relief in his face. “Thing is,” he admitted, looking quickly around the room to make sure no-one remotely English speaking was nearby, “we’ve had a go at it five, no, six times now, and we’ve not managed the final step if you know what I mean?”

  I frowned. “So you’re both getting really stressed over it?”

  He sighed. “She tenses and screws up her face even before we start now. And after how much I was hurting you that first time, I was getting a bit paranoid it was my fault…”

  I sat back in my chair and thought about it. “I dunno,” I said unhelpfully. “What’s stopping it going in?”

  He shook his head looking miserable.

  “Has there been any blood?” I asked.

  He shook his head again, staring down at the glass he was clutching tightly. Then he glanced swiftly across at me. “Is that a good sign or a bad sign? Aren’t virgins meant to bleed?”

  I frowned as I tried to decide whether what I’d assumed I knew about the subject was definitively true, or just myth and conjecture, and then I shrugged as I realised I had no idea what was true or not.

  “I’m at my wits end,” he groaned. “Where do I go from here? I thought I was doing all the right things…” He darted a sideways glance at me. “You built up my confidence no end and now with Miriam I’ve just been thinking I must be a complete monster or something! And…” he added, looking worried, “I can’t help thinking about what you said about ‘kiss and tell’ stories. What if she went and told someone that I was useless in bed, or a complete brute or something?”

  I bit my lip. It must be such a pressure to be so much in the public eye. Before Miriam came on the scene, the OK magazine set had been trumpeting headlines such as ‘is this the most eligible bachelor on the scene?’ with sizzling sexy photos of him and speculations about how much he earned.

  “I can’t imagine Miriam ever doing such an awful thing to you,” I comforted him. “She’s obviously a little sweetheart and she adores you. But she’s not going to take any of the initiative so it’s all up to you.”

  He pulled a face. “I used to think you were hard work because you told me what to do all the time! And now I’m faced with a girl who just lies there all doe-eyed and vulnerable and like she wants me to be all…” he stopped short, searching for what he meant.

  “All big and bwave and stwong and in charge,” I teased in a silly lisping voice. I laughed. “You wanted submissive – now you’ve got it!”

  He allowed himself a wry grin. “So it serves me right?”

  “Just pretend to be big and bwave and stwong,” I advised. “She won’t know any different.”

  He eyed me ambivalently, “Because you don’t think I really am?”

  I grinned. “Do I sound like I do?” I enquired sarcastically.

  He threw a beermat at me.

  I laughed.

  “Don’t just sit there laughing at me!” He exclaimed. “Help me out here!”

  “I’ve never been a devotee of women’s magazines,” I informed him with a grimace. “I’m really not an expert in all this girly first time sex stuff you know, but I’ll ask around,” I offered.

  He looked a bit worried.

  “Discreetly…” I added. “I promise…”

  Back in Grove some days later, I texted Nish to find out when it would be suitable for me to go round. His social life had morphed from almost monk-like to a constant whirl, so if he wasn’t on the simulator in the factory practicing the next track, I didn’t expect t
o bump into him at work, and I’d be unlikely to ever catch him on the off chance hanging around at a loose end at his flat. He texted back NOW so I figured he must be getting really anxious.

  When I walked through the door he turned round and exclaimed, “Thank God for that! She’s coming on Friday for the whole weekend…”

  “I’m not a magician!” I said quickly. “I don’t necessarily have the answer, but I’ve got some interesting results from my research…”

  Then he started to laugh. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation!”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Get us a cup of tea then…”

  He came back out of the kitchen with a mug of tea for me and an apple juice for himself.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t turned a funny shade of pale green by now with all that apple juice you put away,” I sniped.

  “I’m surprised you’ve not turned the same colour as me with all that tea you endlessly slurp down,” he retorted.

  I glanced around the flat. It looked just the same, until I spotted a guitar in the corner. “Taken up the guitar?” I enquired.

  He shook his head. “Nah, that’s just there for when Quinn drops by with some composition ideas…”

  I felt like I’d just been punched. I felt sick. “Does he often drop by?” I asked in a controlled tone.

  Nish tipped his head while he assessed it. “Occasionally, when he’s passing on his way to London. About once a month I’d say.” Then he saw my face. “Doesn’t he drop in on you as well? I assumed he was doing the rounds…” He interpreted the answer correctly from my expression that I suspect wasn’t hiding my feelings as much as I’d hoped it was. “God, Eve, you two need to sort yourself out! What’s the problem?”

  I shrugged. “There’s no problem,” I denied. “A while back we spent a whole year when I never saw him and I didn’t even know where he was living. He’s not obliged to come and see me. We’re not related or anything. He was just my next door neighbour.”

  Nish looked piercingly at me. “Next door neighbour and then flatmate for a couple of years, and then flatmate again for another six months, and currently in a band with your brother. No, you’re right to be angry, Eve. He should at least be dropping by occasionally if he’s in the area…”

  I pulled myself together. Nish had made me feel a bit better by indicating that it was ok to feel hurt that an old friend was boycotting my company. “But, we’re not here to talk about me are we?” I robustly turned the subject around. “Ok, so here goes…” I plunged straight in. “I rang Pete-”

  “Oh, God, you didn’t?” He groaned.

  “I didn’t tell anyone it was about you,” I said impatiently. “And I warned him to make sure that Peggy-Sue wasn’t earwigging…”

  “You never call her that did you?” He exclaimed. “I thought he was going to throttle you when you made that remark about her…”

  “Course not!” I said with a roll of the eyes. “Just listen will you?”

  He flopped back in the sofa.

  “I rang him because of something he said to me when we first had sex – he’d commented that I didn’t have a barrier there like his first girlfriend had – so I figured he must have had to push through the hymen with his first. But when I rang him the other night, he back-tracked on me and suggested that they might both have just been tense and since it was his first time too, maybe he hadn’t known how to get it in there properly. Anyway he says he ended up having to shove hard and there was a bit of blood.” Nish listened attentively. “So then I rang his mother,” I continued, “because Sue knows everything. And she said that Jo had obviously torn her hymen when she was seven when a big horse bolted with her and she got really jolted about and she bled a bit down there after…” I took a deep breath. “And she seemed to think that girls didn’t always bleed because the hymen is often barely there anymore by adulthood.”

  Nish wrinkled his nose. “So how does all this apply to me and Miriam?”

  I shrugged. “I just figured it was worth wondering if there was a problem with you getting through the hymen or something, but I did a whole lot of research and it turns out that the hymen isn’t some sort of big blanket covering that needs to be shoved through like everyone seems to make out…”

  Nish frowned. “I thought it was? I mean, that’s how the boys at school always talked about it – boasting about popping her cherry and suchlike. What is it then?”

  “Apparently,” I reported, “it’s just a half moon shaped fringe around the edge that has a big gap to let the menstrual blood out, and there’s no nerve endings in it so can’t possibly cause any pain. Although it has got a blood supply so it can sometimes bleed a fair bit-”

  He pulled a face.

  “So the general consensus seems to be,” I summed up, “that if there’s any pain, it has nothing to do with the whole hymen malarkey – and everything to do with being too tense and not wet enough.”

  Nish wrinkled his nose assessingly. “I thought I was doing ok on that score what with…” he paused and grinned at me, “…doing the business successfully first. And I’ve tried every which way, I promise you, so as not to hurt her.”

  I frowned. “Apparently it’s got a name – ‘vaginismus’ and it’s really, really common. Anxiety causes all the internal muscles to tense up in a protective reflex so tight that nothing can get in. Are you sure she really wants to do it?”

  He bit his lip. “It seems that in Japan they’re still pretty uptight about sex outside of marriage. Apparently there’re lots of thirty year old virgins and no-one thinks anything of it.”

  “If she brought that up with you, do you think she was giving you a hint about how she feels?” I suggested. “Have you asked her outright? Maybe she’d rather keep it non-penetrative and keep her notional virginity?”

  He looked worried. “Now you’re making me feel really guilty.” His expression morphed into dismay. “I hope that isn’t what she wants,” he said abruptly. “Because I can’t cope with that for months on end…”

  There was a long silence between us.

  “And have you agreed what contraception you’ll be using?” I added. “If she’s scared of getting pregnant, that’s not going to help her relax.” I looked sideways at him. “You did check about contraception?”

  He looked a bit embarrassed, “Well…”

  “Yes?” I menaced in severe tones.

  “I asked her if she was sorted… and she kind of nodded.”

  “But she didn’t answer how?” I rolled my eyes. “Nish, you have to have the conversation…”

  He pulled a face and sighed. “Ok. So invest in some KY Gel and some precautionary condoms, and…” He stopped short and looked despairing. “But I don’t see what else can change! I mean, I’ve been really nice and patient and gentle and tried to make it good for her. What else can I possibly do?”

  I thought about it. “She’s got to really trust you,” I advised, thinking about myself and Pete. That’s why I’d let him close. And that’s why Quinn had never got further than my waistband. “Lock the doors, switch off the phone and don’t see anyone else for the whole weekend. Listen to music together and take her out for long romantic walks on the downs. Ask her lots about herself. Listen all the time to her, don’t interrupt. When you ask her what she likes, don’t tell her first about your own preferences or beliefs, because she’ll just parrot yours back to you in order to please you. If she asks you a question about yourself, don’t brush it away – answer honestly. Let her know that she can trust you by letting her talk to you without you rubbishing her opinions. Stroke her and touch her all the time. When she was clinging to you in Barcelona, that meant she needed more physical comfort from you. Tell her you think she’s wonderful, precious, gorgeous, lovely, beautiful… so she feels confident of your feelings for her. Encourage her to share what she’s scared of with you and reassure her without poo-pooing it. Then she’ll trust that you’ll listen to her. Reassure her that it’s ok to say ‘no’, eve
n at the last minute, and promise you’ll respect her wishes.”

  “My God…” He complained, pulling a face at me. “This sounds like even harder work than you ever were! Why don’t you just suggest I go the whole hog and get beatified or deified?

  I laughed at him. “For once it’s not all about you, Nish!” I informed him hard heartedly. “If you want a proper relationship with a girl and not just a convenient shag, then you’re going to have to put some time and effort in and put her first outside of work-time. Girls need you to listen to them and show lots of affection. They value that and kindness far above a successful screw.”

  He glanced at me. He knew perfectly well that he’d never ever asked me anything about myself and had never done with me a single one of those things I was suggesting. But then he wasn’t the least bit in love with me, I thought. So I never expected it. I got up, stretched and yawned. “I’m off now, good luck!” I tossed at him, and headed for the door.

  “Eve?” He said suddenly in a certain tone of voice.

  “No, Nish, absolutely not,” I refused firmly. I looked severely back at him. “You’ve got a girlfriend now Nish, act like it…”

  Monday the week after, and just before lunch, Nish popped his head through the mechanic’s door and looked meaningfully at me. I nodded, and he disappeared. When I turned round the guys were looking fixedly at me.

  “What?” I demanded defensively.

  They raised their eyebrows.

  “What’s wrong with having lunch at the canteen with him?” I asked them. The rumours had gradually died down once I stopped training with him, petered out even more after my appointment as his trainee race engineer, and now that he’d acquired Miriam they’d finally died a complete death.

  “Chris won’t like it, he’ll think you’re hatching plans together…” Sam warned.

  I stared at him. “You’re exaggerating surely?”

  Ben shook his head. “You need to watch Chris, he’s still actively ballistic about you…”

  I walked slowly towards them. “Are you serious? I knew he was a bit miffed when I was given the job, but I figured he’d have been moving on anyway now Bottas has left.”