This Love

by Anna Bloom

  I keep my expression neutral to hide my surprise at how much older his dad is than I was expecting. “Hi, nice to meet you, Sir.” I say, holding out my hand as he wipes his own on a rag and then clasps them around mine.

  “Any good at making tea, love? These boys of mine are rubbish, and I’m gasping for a cuppa.”

  Okay, this is so not the person I was expecting. I was expecting some smooth, wealthy, local businessman, not a man in his sixties, dressed in overalls. It’s been years since I have seen him, not since I was ten and dad took me to a boring car rally that I sulked through. The Bales were there racing, I remember the car because it was a beautiful blue, and I remember the dad because he was shaking everyone’s hands after they won.

  What on earth has happened in the last eight years for him to age that way?

  “I can make tea,” I lie with a smile, which I hope doesn’t obviously say, please like me. “I’d love to see the car you’re making though, if you’ve got time.”

  “Oh, this is a cracker right here, Freddy,” he laughs. His dad turns to Freddy, who has already walked over to the car and I watch as his eyes light up and dance when they rest on his son. “Come on then, young lady, let me show you and then I’ve got some jobs for you to do.”

  ‘What? Sorry, I mean pardon?” I follow him to the car and ignore Freddy, who’s laughing as he slides underneath it.

  “Invoicing, a smart young girl like you can do that, right?”

  No. Not sure I can. “Yeah, I can try.”

  “Right then, let me give you the tour.” He takes my elbow in his hand and walks me over the far side of the garage where a car is hidden beneath a dirty sheet. “So this is our racer at the moment.” He slides the cover back and I take in the gleaming paintwork and chrome of the classic car.

  “Nice.”

  “Yep, Freddy’s gonna be racing her tomorrow.”

  I stare at him for a long moment while I process what he’s saying. “Freddy?”

  “Yeah, Freddy’s our driver, hasn’t he told you?” he questions before shouting, “Fred!” across to wherever Freddy is hiding beneath the other car.

  “Well done, Dad,” Calls Freddy's voice from under the car. “I hadn’t got to that bit yet.”

  “You hadn’t got to that bit?” I call over before turning my attention back to the elder Bale. “But Freddy’s not allowed to drive, what happens if he gets hurt?”

  “Rubbish, he’s a master. He’s also the only one of my boys who understands an engine at all.”

  The man himself slides out and grins across the floor. “Master,” he confirms before scooting back under again.

  “Hm,” is my only reply as my understanding about Freddy’s role in the business and within his family grows exponentially. I turn and look at the lines of pictures along the walls, sure enough, there is Freddy in all his golden glory, trophies in hand. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me this. It’s a big part of himself to accidentally forget to mention. The fact he has a race tomorrow is an even larger piece of information to share. I cast a cautious eye over the car again as his dad starts to re-cover it, it looks suspiciously fragile and easy to crumple now I know Freddy is the one to drive it at great speed.

  I file the information away, ready to discuss in great detail later when we haven’t got an audience.

  “Right, tea?” I prompt.

  “Kitchen’s through there.” I am directed through to a small grimy kitchenette area that looks like monkeys may eat in. While I wait for the ancient kettle to boil, I find a bottle of bleach under the sink and start to squirt it over every surface I can find. The kettle has been flicked on and boiled twice by the time I have got the cupboards and work surface even resembling hygienic, and I wouldn’t want anyone to walk in with one of the ultra violet germ detecting lights because I’m sure the nasties are still having a party along the tiles. Dragging a handful of chipped mugs from a cupboard, I find an old Tetley metal tray and balance the mugs and a bowl of sugar. Giving a carton of milk a dubious sniff, I load it all up and walk back into the workshop.

  “Here you go,” I holler over the clang of tools banging and Freddy arguing with his Dickwad brother. I can’t hear what they are saying, and nor do I really want to, because basically I have a bad feeling it may involve me, the only word I can catch is “distracted.” And as that’s the word my mother uses in relation to Freddy, it only confirms my suspicion. Ignoring them, I clatter the tray onto the floor and head over to the desk hiding under a mountain of crap.

  After ten minutes of just straightening paper into piles, I look up and see the workshop a hub of activity, I’ve been so absorbed by the papers on the desk, most of which are bills and final demands, that I haven’t noticed the mugs of tea get drunk, nor Freddy and his family settle into a tight organised machine of activity. It’s a shame they don’t put the same effort into their filing system.

  “Don’t you have someone to help with the paperwork?” I call out to the room but I’m met by silence. Trying a different tact I call “So, who am I invoicing then, and how much?” This quickly gets Freddy’s dad up off his knees and over to the desk.

  “Mrs Bedlington, her address is in the pile somewhere, and you're charging her for a Roadster 140. She’s paid a deposit somewhere, I can’t remember how much though.” He shrugs ruefully and runs a hand through his silver streaked hair.

  I mutter under my breath about this being no way to run a business, but he doesn’t hear and walks off instead to watch as Freddy completes some essential task they are all holding their breath over. I take an entirely pleasurable moment checking out his grease covered, arm bulging, vest wearing form before turning my attention back to the paperwork from hell and the elusive Mrs Bedlington.

  “How much is this car again? The Roadstar 140?”

  “Twenty nine thousand five hundred and fifty,” they all chant at once.

  Not quite a Ford Focus then.

  It’s pitch black outside and I’m sure the shops are closed when I finally manage to print off the invoice. “I’ve done it, I’ve bloody done it!” I shout before I can stop myself and keep my very uncool enthusiasm in check. I look up and find them all standing in various poses watching me. Even Dickwad is smirking in my direction. Freddy is grinning and his dad just looks mighty relieved to be able to get someone to pay for the car that’s sat gleaming in the middle of the garage. It’s pillar-box red and looks outstanding.

  “Did you do all this?” I ask Freddy, as he snatches his discarded shirt off the floor.

  “Meh, it was a team effort.” He plants himself squarely in front of me and wraps his arms tight around my shoulders and I breathe in the warm sent of chemicals and oil lifting off his skin. It’s just too much hot all at once; a flush burns deep inside me at the mere touch of his skin against mine.

  “Thanks for helping with the paperwork.” His lips skim the skin under my ear and a shudder runs through me.

  “Okay can we go now?” I’m not trying to be rude, but seeing him here at work, seeing what he’s capable of, combined with the way he looks and smells is having a jelly wobble effect on my legs and well, most of my extremities. Who knew watching a guy perform some manual labour could be such an outrageous turn on? For a split second I realise meeting Freddy, and being with Freddy, has put me on a totally different path. I always figured I would train to be a doctor and then when the time was right I would meet a doctor, all suave and clean and we would go on to have little perfect babies. Standing in this grimy garage, with a man covered in dirt and sweat but watching his beautiful smile light the room, I know that path will never be one I want now. Not now I’ve felt this. Seen this.

  The realisation makes my legs give a distinct wobble and Freddy tightens his arms around me and lowers down to cast his concerned dark blues over me. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, just hungry I guess,” I quickly fib.

  “Food! Shit! Okay, I’m a terrible boyfriend, you should look for an upgrade.” He smiles at me and I grin back at the
irony he thinks he’s a terrible boyfriend when I’ve just come to the understanding he may be the only boyfriend I will ever want. Not that I’d tell him that, yet. That would not be cool.

  “Well I wouldn’t say terrible,” I tease.

  Mr. Bale walks over and shakes Freddy’s hand, which I find endearingly gentlemanly. “Don’t be late for the track tomorrow.” He winks knowingly at Freddy, and I flush all over again. He turns his attention to me and catches me burning. “Will you be joining us for the race?”

  I open my mouth to answer but don’t need to because Henry buts in from across the room. “No, she won’t. Freddy has to concentrate.”

  Freddy smooth’s over the awkward moment by leaning in and kissing under my ear. “Its true, you are very distracting.” His voice is low and the soft knowing tone is meant just for me.

  “Here you go, Fred. I hope you guys enjoy your holiday.” Mr. Bale hands Freddy an envelope and a set of keys before turning to me. “Thank you, Miss. French for helping us today, you’re an asset I think we should keep hold of.” He gives Freddy a wink, which makes me giggle. I’m a great asset. Please keep me.

  Freddy links his fingers through mine and guides me towards the door. “What holiday?” I ask.

  “I’m taking a holiday.” He grins at me.

  My heart sinks to my stomach. This must be what his time off if for. “Oh.”

  “Hope you are free for a few days, Amber French?”

  “What?” My feet stop.

  “I’ve taken the school break off to spend with you. Assuming that's okay?”

  Okay? He hopes that’s okay?

  I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know, I had some pretty important plans.”

  “So you don’t want to come away with me?”

  My mouth falls open and stays open. “When?”

  “After your birthday?” He raises an eyebrow.

  There's no chance my parents will let me, but then I understand what Freddy is saying. After my birthday I will be eighteen, and there is nothing they can do about it. Nothing at all. Cue evil laugh. Mwahahahahahaha.

  “You’re right, you are a truly terrible boyfriend.”

  I giggle my way out of the old building, giving a wave to his dad and his Dickwad brother who is looking at us in part amusement, part annoyance.

  We are outside and getting in the car when I blurt out my burning question. “So can I call you Fred?”

  He roars with laughter, making the car boom with the sound. “Is that all you have to say right now?”

  I think, drumming my fingers on my knees. “Yep, pretty much.”

  Freddy laughs again and hits the ignition button. “Amber French, you’re going to be the end of me.”

  That’s a shame, because I was kind of hoping this was just the beginning.

  ‘Actually I do have something else to say, two words. Racing? Why?”

  Grinning he sweeps in for a kiss. “I told you I’m a man of many talents.”

  There’s talents and then there’s racing at high speeds in cars made of tin cans. I’m not sure that’s a talent I’m comfortable with.

  “It’ll be okay, I race all the time,” he assures me.

  “Yeah, but you never had me as a distraction before.”

  “I’ll be at yours by late afternoon tomorrow and you will never know the difference.”

  “You were going to tell me, weren’t you, Freddy?”

  He clutches me by the elbows, pulling me in closer. “Yes. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Well now I’m worrying.”

  He smiles against my mouth. “No need. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon and then our holiday can start in earnest.”

  “You better.”

  “I will.”

  GETAWAY

  Christmas sucked, much as I thought it would. Mum turned all the food sour with her face, and dad tried to act like nothing was wrong, just like he always does. He didn’t even comment that she was still wearing her patched dressing gown while she cooked Christmas dinner. The thing is, Freddy’s arrival on the scene has effected mum pretty bad, like it’s reminded her of something, something maybe she had forgotten until Freddy turned up and pulled it all to the surface. The whole of Christmas day was spent dodging her snide comments and trying to go unnoticed. Our house was filled with silence until Danni turned up on Christmas evening, just like she’s always done, and we hid in my room stuffing chocolate and arguing over book boyfriends and swooning over paused moments of The Vampire Diaries. Danni quizzed me about the planned few days away, but in truth, I had nothing to say.

  Now it’s the day after Boxing Day and I am stood on the front step waiting for Freddy with a small bag of randomly packed clothes at my feet. I could have waited inside but Mum pushed me over the edge by telling me I needed to pack some ‘protection’ so I didn’t come back with a mistake.

  Dad flipped, for the first time ever he went totally crazy at her. He turned to me briefly, wished me a nice break and then slammed the lounge door shut as he went for it. The last thing I heard was, “How very dare you use the word mistake!” I ran out of the front door at that point. Now I can’t feel my toes or fingers.

  Finally after what feels like a week of waiting, I spot Freddy’s familiar silver truck coming along the road. “Eager?” he asks, as he jumps down and comes around to help with my bag and door.

  “Don’t even ask,” I tell him with a warning look.

  He doesn’t, he pulls me in tight and nuzzles his warm nose against my cold one in an Eskimo kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I haven’t missed you,” I tease.

  “Really, not even a little bit?”

  “Nah, I’ve hardly thought of you at all.” In truth my phone obsession has been seriously out of control. Luckily our text conversations have lasted from the moment we’ve woken up, until sleep has prevented any further communication. It’s going to be a phone-bill of epic proportions.

  “Come on, buckle up, and let’s get going.”

  I jump in and buckle up as instructed. “Where are we going anyway?”

  “Somewhere special.”

  ‘Special?” I grin so wide my cheeks actually hurt.

  ‘Yep, just for you.” And with a laugh, he pulls away and I hope to god I remembered to pack clean knickers and some serious resolve, because right now I’m feeling so nervous I could probably just spin into a flat out panic.

  Forty minutes later, we are pulling into Lowestoft, a seaside village, currently hibernating through the winter months. There is minimal traffic on the streets as Freddy guides the car through numerous back roads until he pulls up outside a weather-beaten town house. It’s faded pink walls and roof with tiles missing makes me think it’s not regularly lived in. “What is this place?” I ask, as we unload our bags.

  “It belongs in the family, but no one has been out here for years. You’ll have to excuse the mess we walk into, I haven’t had time to come along and give it a clean.” He frowns at himself but I tug his hand and pull one of my special “Duh” faces.

  “Who cares if it’s dirty or not? You did after all promise me a dirty weekend!” Go girl.

  “That’s true, I did.” He winks and grabs my hand as we walk up to the door. It’s one of those traditional seaside houses that line the pavements. There is no pathway or garden, it’s simply pavement then house.

  A cloud of dust lifts of the floor when the front door opens, and Freddy gives a chuckle. “Shit, I should have come and cleaned.”

  I ignore him and walk in, looking up at the shabby chic decor. A dusty chandelier hangs from the ceiling mismatched with a bizarre deck chair striped sofa that fills the room. The main feature of the living area is a wrought iron fire-place, the ornate carvings remind me of the locket hanging around my neck. “This place is amazing,” I gush.

  Turning, I find Freddy watching me, his hands in his pockets, an amused look on his beautiful face. “Is this okay? It’s not quite a posh hotel.”

  “Are you
kidding?” I throw my hands up in the air. “This place is perfect.” In one long stride he is across the space separating us and has his mouth on mine. His hands in my hair. His thumbs tilt my face towards his and his body edges closer and closer until I can feel all of him meshed against me

  ‘So, I’m thinking: walk, dinner, fire.” He talks against my mouth and my entire body sings with pleasure.

  “I think I’ve got the fire down.” I speak before thinking. What is wrong with me?

  “What do you mean?” He pulls back a little to look at me.

  “Uh, nothing.” I burn with a blush more intense then any I’ve ever felt before. It starts at my toes and works it’s way up my body like a rash.

  “Amber French, are you making some form of sexual reference?”

  “No! Maybe. I’ve forgotten what I said.”

  Freddy’s lips curve into a slow sexy smile. “Let me remind you then.” He pulls me back in for another scorching kiss and the burn flaming over my body intensifies with every moment he holds me close.

  I won’t be able to walk soon.

  “Come,” he says, his voice deliciously low. “Let’s go for that walk.”

  Once we’ve wrapped up, we walk the couple of streets to the beach. It’s deserted, just a few dog walkers and crazy Jack Russell’s running along the sand. The tide is rolling up the sand, churning the murky depths into a scummy froth. With our fingers linked and our hands swinging, we amble along making small talk. I’m pleased to be out in the freezing air, it’s helping to cool down the crazy heat I felt in the house. I need to get a handle on that. I mean, I don’t even know if he wants us to go there yet.

  One.

  The word taunts me again and I so want to ask for more details, but I know if he wanted to tell me what he was waiting for then he would. Instead, I ask about his mum, I just come out there blurt it out. “So tell me about your mum.”