“Right.” Choppy nodded back. “And this morning the roads are closed off to cars for an adult race later, so it’s safe, too.”
At least our two coaches are getting on today, Fergus thought, and he risked a quick glance at Daisy. And that’s when he saw her – looking straight back along the line at him, her eyebrows raised, mirroring his. “She gets it!” he thought to himself. “Beast!” And with that buoying thought, he turned back to the track ahead, and waited for the off.
“On your marks … ” called Choppy. “Get set … Go!”
The pack moved off as one, flying along the cinder track, then turning right uphill onto Napier Street. It felt like the Kierin again, all of them keeping pace, right-left, right-left on the pedals, their heads nodding slightly in time with the effort. They were a squad – and a great one, now – no matter who was in the final line-up. They crested the hill, and Fergus felt himself soar inside as they sailed down towards the Bruce’s Biscuits factory. There was nothing like that feeling, and he just knew Daisy was feeling it too.
“Come on!” he shouted, to her as much as himself, as they hit the flat for the final mile. “You can do it!”
At that, the whole team seemed to dig deeper, all of them pushing harder, pumping faster, pulling that extra shred of effort from somewhere deep inside. As they headed into Middlebank itself for the last four hundred metres, they began to separate: Wesley, Fergus and Daisy moving ahead, Minnie and Belinda taking the middle, and Calamity, Mikey and Dermot struggling slightly at the back. Sad though he was for his faltering friends, Fergus felt a flood of happiness gush through him at the knowledge that both he and Daisy would make it through.
And that’s when he saw it: the flash of a hand-painted sign bouncing up and down saying:
Sorcha’s smiling face was bouncing up and down behind it. She flipped the sign round as Fergus sailed past happily and across the finish line. “Daredevil Daisy!” read the other side.
And that’s when he heard it: the skid of wheels, and the crunch of a bike hitting the stands. “Daisy!” he yelled out loud, as he turned to see his friend sprawled on the tarmac, the rest of the riders sailing past without stopping, beating her across the finish line, and to a place on the team.
His heart sinking, Fergus dropped his bike, and ran over to help, but Daisy was already scrambling up.
“I’m fine!” she snapped, refusing the hand he’d offered.
But Daisy wasn’t fine. She wasn’t fine at all. She’d turned away quickly, making a big fuss of picking up her bike, but not before Fergus had seen the hot tears fill her eyes, and her cheeks redden with shame.
“Don’t worry, Daisy,” he said to her turned back. “Grandpa knows how well you’ve done. And –” he clutched at his trump card, the one thing that really mattered – “friends first and forever!” he urged her.
But Daisy said nothing. Not then, and not when Grandpa read out the final team line-up: Wesley, Fergus, Minnie and Belinda. Not when Choppy told her she was first reserve, with Calamity second. Not when Mikey and Dermot congratulated her when they themselves were off the team entirely. Not even when Sorcha tried to say sorry, and offered to walk Daisy’s bike home for her to save her sore leg.
Sorcha wrote on her pad:
Daisy shook her head and handed the paper back, then turned to go.
“Look, just wait,” Fergus blurted. “I’ll talk to Grandpa.”
That’s when Daisy finally opened her mouth. “If you’re going to plead for me, you can stop right now,” she said. “It wasn’t Sorcha’s fault, it was mine. I got distracted, and that’s no good. Not in a race. Imagine what it’ll be like in the Internationals – TV crews and people cheering. What if I get distracted then?”
Fergus shrugged.
“Then we’ll all lose, that’s what, and it’ll be down to me.”
“But –” began Fergus. Then he remembered what Daisy always said. “Butts are for sitting on,” he said, hoping to raise a smile.
But Daisy just rolled her eyes. “Whatever,” she said.
And with that, she was gone.
So as the rest of the team wheeled their bikes away and seemed to settle their scores – whooping over their places, tossing coins over shirt numbers, and arguing whether Chimp or Dermot should be team mascot – all Fergus could think about was Daisy: all the amazing times they’d had racing side by side; all the times they’d known just what each other was thinking. Now they were places and poles apart, and he realised he’d never felt so lost in his life.
Friends First and Forever
It was Saturday a week later and Fergus and Daisy still hadn’t made up. She’d ignored him at school, walking home with a new boy in their class, Will Schofield, who seemed really nice but who Daisy hadn’t even spoken to before that week. She’d ignored Fergus at practice, helping Wesley out instead. That had really hurt Fergus’s feelings. And she’d ignored the text he’d sent her that morning from Mum’s phone, asking if she wanted to come over for tea.
“What do you think?” Mum said, flicking through a cake catalogue on the sofa, Chimp drooling happily on her lap. “A Triple-filled Profiterole Tower or a Chocolate Cherry Extravaganza?”
“Whatever,” Fergus mumbled.
“Fergie!” Jambo warned. “I know it’s only cake, but … cake matters!”
“I’m sorry,” Fergus said, and he meant it. It was just so hard concentrating on the wedding, and even on the Internationals, without Daisy by his side. “Maybe the –”
But he didn’t finish his sentence because Mum’s phone beeped and he lunged to pick it up.
“From Daisy?” Mum asked hopefully.
Fergus clicked, scrolled through and sighed. “Sorcha,” he said. “She wants to know if I can go over and watch the Spokes race later.”
“Of course you can,” said Mum. “If you’d like to.”
Fergus thought. He would like to go over to Sorcha’s. But not without Daisy. He’d not seen a single Spokes race without her reeling off stats at his side, not celebrated a single Spokes win without Daisy cheering with him.
Then it came to him. “Maybe,” he replied, to Mum.
And to Sorcha he wrote: Thanks, but there’s something else I have to do today.
Fergus had never been as nervous as he was when he knocked on Daisy’s door that afternoon. “Daft,” he told himself. “It’s only Daisy.”
But Daisy wasn’t “only” anything. She was everything, and Fergus had realised he’d do anything to make sure she knew that. When she opened the door, he thrust the package into her hand before she could slam it or say a word. “Here,” he said. “Open it.”
To his astonishment, Daisy did as he’d asked, pulled the poster from its tube, and unrolled it. “I don’t believe it. Your signed Spokes poster?” she said in awe. “Hang on.” Then, to Fergus’s even greater astonishment, she handed him a package of her own from by the front door. “Here,” she said. “Your turn.”
Fergus unwrapped the oblong parcel carefully, running his finger along the tape so as not to tear the paper, then peeling it back to reveal his present. “Your Cycling Times signed by Spokes!” he exclaimed.
The pair looked at each other, smiles slowly spreading across their faces until Fergus felt his own stretch so wide it almost hurt. “Friends?” he said.
Daisy grinned back. “First and forever,” she finished. “And I’m sorry I nearly messed that up. I was just cross with myself and you being nice somehow made it worse. I was just about to head over to your house and bring you this to say sorry.”
At that, Fergus felt himself brim with relief. “So … ” he tried. “Fancy watching the race? If Mrs D doesn’t mind me staying, that is. I’ve brought crisps too!” And he held up a packet of cheese and onion – Daisy’s favourite.
Daisy shook her head. “Mum won’t let me eat on the sofa,” she said.
“Oh,” said Fergus, remembering. “It was just an idea.” And he turned to go.
“Well, I’ve got a better
one,” said Daisy.
Fergus swung back round.
“How about we go back to yours and get Sorcha over and we can all watch it together? Plus, I bet she has better taste in bridesmaids’ dresses than your mum. Maybe she can help make sure I’m not dressed like a lampshade?”
Fergus laughed. “Well, she certainly couldn’t make it worse! Brilliotic!”
That afternoon, as the three friends sat cross-legged on the sofa eating marmalade sandwiches, watching Spokes cycle to his fiftieth historic victory, Fergus felt he’d never been happier. He just hoped Daisy was as happy too.
“See how he slid out of that slipstream?” Daisy said. “That’s what you’ve got to do, Fergus. I’ve been watching you, and I really think you’re coming out too quick. Just hold on for that extra second and it’ll make all the difference.”
Fergus nudged her. “You know I can’t do this without you,” he said.
She nudged him back. “I know,” she said.
“How about these?” asked Mum, holding up a picture of a bright violet bow tie and bridesmaid’s sash.
Daisy shrugged worriedly. But Sorcha grabbed her pad and wrote in massive capital letters:
Daisy and Fergus grinned.
“Okay, okay, back to the drawing board,” said Mum, picking up the magazine and flicking again.
Fergus took the pad and pen. “And we couldn’t do this without you,” he wrote back. “Thanks, Sorcha.”
“Friends first and forever,” Daisy added in her own looped handwriting. And then, one by one, they signed it.
“Fits nicely, doesn’t it,” said Grandpa, coming to say goodnight and noticing the note Fergus had pinned up in the space where the Spokes poster had once taken pride of place.
“It’s perfect,” said Fergus. “Everything’s perfect.”
And even if perfect only lasted another few weeks, it was worth it for the way he felt now: like nothing could touch him. He had a place on the team, he had a fabulous family, and best of all, he had his friends. First and forever.
And that was better than any medal.
Sir Chris Hoy MBE, won his first Olympic gold medal in Athens 2004. Four years later in Beijing he became the first Briton since 1908 to win three gold medals in a single Olympic Games. In 2012, Chris won two gold medals at his home Olympics in London, becoming Britain’s most successful Olympian with six gold medals and one silver. Sir Chris also won eleven World titles and two Commonwealth Games gold medals. In December 2008, Chris was voted BBC Sports Personality of the Year, and he received a Knighthood in the 2009 New Year Honours List. Sir Chris retired as a professional competitive cyclist in early 2013; he still rides almost daily. He lives in Manchester with his family.
www.chrishoy.com
Joanna Nadin is an award-winning author of more than seventy books for children, including the bestselling Rachel Riley diaries, the Penny Dreadful series, and Joe All Alone, which is now being adapted for TV. She studied drama and politics at university in Hull and London, and has worked as a lifeguard, a newsreader and even a special adviser to the Prime Minister. She now teaches writing and lives in Bath, where she rides her rickety bicycle, but she never, ever back-pedals …
www.joannanadin.com
Clare Elsom is an illustrator of lots of lovely children’s books, including the Furry Friends series, the Spies in Disguise series, the Maisie Mae series, and many more. She studied Illustration at Falmouth University (lots of drawing) and Children’s Literature at Roehampton University (lots of writing). Clare lives in Devon, where she can be found doodling, tap dancing and drinking cinnamon lattes.
www.elsomillustration.co.uk
First published in Great Britain in 2018 by
Piccadilly Press
80-81 Wimpole Street, London, W1G 9RE
www.piccadillypress.co.uk
Text and illustrations copyright © Sir Chris Hoy, 2018
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication should be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
The right of Sir Chris Hoy to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-84812-636-7
Piccadilly Press is an imprint of Bonnier Zaffre,
a Bonnier Publishing Company
www.bonnierpublishing.com
Flying Fergus 8 Page 4
