Thrills and Spills (Not Quite Eden Book 3)

by Dominique Kyle

  We had another day of racing at Coventry on Sunday so were staying over in the Beast. Jo was with us as an extra pair of hands in case either of us had a disastrous race on the Saturday and we needed all hands on deck to repair the car by the Sunday.

  I’d warned Pete not to lay a finger on me in the Beast, with his Dad and sister only feet away, but of course as soon as everything fell quiet he was immediately slipping a hand somewhere that he shouldn’t.

  “Stop it!” I hissed.

  He didn’t stop it.

  “You’ll get a right good slapping!” I warned and a bit of a scuffle followed.

  “Leave the girl alone,” Paul said severely.

  “Some of us want to get some bloody sleep,” Jo grumped.

  We all fell quiet again. As soon as Paul’s breathing changed into a deeper sleep pattern Pete hand crept round again. Finally we settled for falling asleep with him pressed up close around my back with an arm around me and a hand on my tit.

  A fairly similar re-run of results the following day. On the way home, Jo said to the two men. “You haven’t really thought out a strategy for Eve, have you?”

  “What do you mean?” Pete asked.

  “Well, you’re just dragging her around after your own schedule, putting her in for everything, but if we want her to start winning some races and keep that red roof then we need to get her away from Tyler and all the other Champions.”

  There was a short silence while they digested that. Paul spoke first. “She’s right you know Pete, we’re taking you around all the world qualifiers and all the superstars are there, and it stands to reason that Tyler will be in an upgraded version of the car she’s got now and that combined with his driving and a field of champions means she’s going to find it hard to get to the front. We need to study the schedules and look for some dates where the top stars won’t be, there’s bound to be some which don’t impact on your own campaign.”

  “You have another car and trailer, right?” I said suddenly.

  Paul frowned, “Yes.”

  “That Jo’s insured to drive?”

  “Yes, we insure all our vehicles for all of us…”

  “Well then I don’t see that it’s too much of a problem,” I said. “Me and Jo can go off to some other venue whilst you and Pete are at something that he needs to go to…”

  There was another sharp silence.

  “Actually,” Paul said at last, “that’s the obvious solution. I can’t think why it didn’t occur to us before…”

  Jo said nothing, but I reached over and squeezed her hand. After a long moment she squeezed it back, and then I knew she was on board.

  On the long drive over to the raceway next weekend, carefully picked to clash with something more important at the other end of the country, Jo finally said, “When you first suggested this last weekend I was overwhelmed with a sense of panic. But I didn’t say anything, because I could see it was the right thing to do. But afterwards I realised that I’d never ever been to a race without my Dad or my brother along and that seemed a bit ridiculous really.”

  I listened with what I hoped was an encouraging look on my face.

  “And I realised I had to take the plunge. Even though I’m finding it a lot bloody scarier than I ought to be…”

  I knew what she meant. It was as though a big protective wall that had been wrapped around us had suddenly been removed allowing the cold wind to whistle through. We’d have to make all our own decisions about the car, and decide what to do with it to repair any damage between races.

  “We’ve got to make the break sometime Jo…” I said.

  She nodded.

  “In fact Jo, I’ve had this idea. We could set up a side-line business, the two of us, maintaining women’s Stock cars for them…”

  “What women?” Jo said derisively.

  “Thing is, Jo,” I pointed out, “there aren’t that many right now, but in a year’s time after all the Thrills and Spills publicity, I’m betting there’ll be quite a few girls lining up to get into it… and we could be on hand to give them a leg up.”

  She said nothing, just changed gear a bit sharply.

  “I know I’m really lucky, Jo – if it hadn’t been for you having the grit and determination to hang on in there instead of taking all the hints to retire to the ladies charity races, I’d have never been able to approach your team, and your Dad and brother wouldn’t have looked twice at me if you hadn’t brought me home with you and made the introduction. But the fact remains that I’ve been relying on your menfolk to launch me, and it would be a brilliant thing if there was somewhere for other women to look to who want to get into the sport but don’t have a family dynasty behind them…”

  “Hmmm,” she said, not giving anything away.

  “And your Satterthwaite name is respected, Jo. Everyone knows that you’ve had a long apprenticeship on the track, so you’d start with good credentials…”

  A couple of times down the pits, some bloke or other leant over and asked if Paul was about. Jo would glance up and say no, he and Pete were at the World Qualifier, and the man would wander off clearly thinking nothing of it.

  “See, they’re so used to you Satterthwaites, it’s not causing any comment at all us being here on our own.”

  “Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “I expected to get the odd heckle, but nobody’s said a word…”

  On the way home she said suddenly, “I know Pete was angry at me telling you about the rape threats, but when I saw you and Quinn discussing how you could keep safe, I thought, ‘no, I was right to tell her’. I mean, you needed to be warned - you can’t be running around on your own in the dark with that sort of vile stuff being directed at you. I know it’s a fact of life for us women, that we have to always be on the alert, but I’d never have forgiven myself if something had happened and I’d never even told you to be extra careful…”

  “No, it’s alright, Jo,” I reassured her. “You were right. It was just a shock that’s all. Even Entwistle called me into the office this week and told me to make sure I was never the last one on the premises…”

  And I stared out into the dark in silence for a bit.

  Pete and Paul were already home, just. They were unloading the Beast. We went over to help them.

  “Well?” Paul prompted with raised eyebrows. “We’re waiting…”

  Jo’s face broke into a rare broad grin. “She’s bloody superb she is! She wiped the floor with them. They didn’t know what hit them! Second in the heat while she sussed out the track, then first in the Final and first in the Grand National!”

  Pete hugged me and Paul said, “Well...!” In a slightly flummoxed kind of way even though that’s precisely why they’d sent me over there.

  “Wish I’d seen it,” Pete said regretfully.

  Jo went back to my own car to start unloading it off the trailer. “Right Eve, you and me tonight are going through that schedule with a calendar in hand and we’re going to hand-pick every race for you.” She sounded unusually enthusiastic. “And by the time we let you back at Tyler, maybe he’ll see a snarling Doberman in his rear view mirror!”

  Paul and Pete exchanged glances and I felt excited. Something had just changed in the dynamic between us all, and it seemed promising.

  A camera was being thrust in Quinn’s face as he sat at the table back at the flat. “So what will you be doing to celebrate your eighteenth?” Tanya was asking him.

  “We’ll be playing a gig at a local venue, then those of us who are eighteen, including anyone in the audience who wants to come along will go on to make a mass invasion of a nightclub afterwards.” He looked into the lens and waved an admonishing finger, “And don’t be thinking I’m going to tell you which one because ever since I told you all about the bum pinching I was getting, instead of all you ladies behaving yourselves, it seems to have become a national sport and I’m black and blue…”

  “Really?” I said incredulously, taking off my dirty jacket and going to the kett
le. “I think that’s disgusting!”

  The camera turned on me now, which I wasn’t that thrilled about since I’d come straight from the Satterthwaites’ workshop and needed a shower.

  “Initially I thought it was about time he got a taste of his own medicine,” I declared, “but now I don’t think it’s so hilarious. I mean, if anyone pinches my bum I could turn round and slap them really hard round the face and everyone would just laugh, but if Quinn did that to some woman he’d be up for assault. And I know us females suffer from the tired old insults of ‘frigid cow’ or ‘humourless bitch’ if we get pissed off at getting handled, but think of poor Quinn here, being obliged to laugh it off when really he’s getting absolutely fed up with it…” I came up behind him and put my arms around his neck and looked into the camera with him. “Shame on you ladies, give him a break will you? It’s sexual harassment and it’s not funny!”

  “So Eve,” Tanya said, “have you anything to tell us?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’m going for a shower, I’ve been working on the cars all day.” I lifted my grubby oily hands to the camera.

  As I walked away, Tanya needled, “A little bird told me you had something under your bed that might surprise us…”

  “You’ve got a right aviary of these little birds, haven’t you?” I said with disfavour. I glanced across at Quinn, “I suppose this was you was it?”

  “Oh go on,” Quinn urged, “Just show them!”

  I sighed and they filmed me kneeling down by my bed and pulling a large rectangle out. I held it up to the camera and said in an expressionless voice, “When my Dad’s girlfriend heard last year that I’d never possessed a dollshouse she made me this for Christmas.”

  The camera man was busy turning the lens presumably to get a close-up, so I held it as steady as I could.

  “You don’t look that happy about it,” Tanya commented.

  I looked down at it conflicted. “Well there’s loads of work in it, and it was very kind of her, and if I’d been eight…” I looked back up in a militant fashion. “So why don’t you look under Quinn’s bed then?” I put the garage down and leapt up and headed at speed to his room.

  “Oh no you don’t!” Quinn said, heading for me in a rugby tackle.

  “I don’t think it’s that great an idea to look under a teenage boy’s bed…” Tanya vetoed worriedly.

  But I had wriggled from Quinn’s grasp and got under his bed before he managed to haul me out again by my ankles. I sat up triumphantly, holding the prize – a dirty old teddy bear dressed in 18th century Russian soldier’s costume.

  Kes peered round the edge of the door. “You told me you hadn’t brought Dubetskoi!” He said accusingly.

  Quinn looked a bit shamefaced. “I was worried Mum would give him away to a church jumble sale.”

  “What? You think someone would actually pay money for that dirty insanitary object?” I scorned.

  “Ssssh!” Quinn said, covering Dubetskoi’s ears. “Don’t listen to the nasty rude lady Dubetskoi!” He lifted him up to the camera and waved a paw. “Say hello to the nice people out there.” He lifted him to his ear. “What’s that Dubetskoi, you’ve gone a bit shy?”

  Kes rolled his eyes. “Pity us! We have to live with this!”

  “By the way, Quinn,” I intervened, still sitting cross legged on the floor by the bed, “are you aware that Mariah is also under your bed?”

  “Oh shit, is she? I forgot she was here!” Quinn looked horrified. Then he looked at the camera, “Sorry Mum, I have been keeping an eye on her, honest!”

  “She seems quite happy,” I observed, “fast asleep.”

  Quinn knelt down and looked under, and then so did the cameraman, and in the footage the following Wednesday there was the cutest little cameo of the gorgeous Mariah all curled up in an old duvet jacket with her thumb in her mouth.

  Toby rang me up to tell me that a woman’s magazine wanted to do a fashion photo shoot featuring myself.

  “They’re mental!” I exclaimed. “Why me?”

  “You’re getting loads of coverage in the red tops,” Toby said. “Haven’t you noticed? If you got yourself an agent you could do quite a few interviews about the place…”

  “What are ‘red tops’?” I asked puzzled. I thought he must be talking about my recent hoick up the gradings.

  “The trashy newspapers,” he explained. “Anyway, the magazine editors saw you in that 1960’s outfit you wore for your birthday and think your look would fit a feature they’re doing soon.”

  “I don’t think it’s my scene,” I dismissed.

  “They’re paying Eve…” He named a sum that made my head reel. “That could pay for a fair few tyres couldn’t it?”

  It would pay off the majority of the purchase of my new car I calculated.

  “Ok,” I said on the spur of the moment, “I’ll do it.”

  “Shit,” I said to Jo at work the next day. “What have I gone and done? They rang straight back and the date’s all set. They were asking really personal questions straight off like when my next period was due so they could avoid that week, and was I prone to acne when I was pre-menstrual? And telling me not to have any accidents on the track in the lead up to the shoot!”

  Jo pulled a face.

  “I’m only doing it to pay off the car,” I defended. I whispered in her ear how much they were offering. Her eyes popped.

  “Beggars can’t be choosers, Eve,” she responded prosaically. “I think even I might have considered it for that fee!”

  They weren’t hanging about, so I had to go straight into Entwistle and book the day off. I avoided his eyes as I muttered the words ‘fashion shoot.’ I saw his expression and said, “Oh shut-up! I wish I’d never agreed to it now!”

  “Didn’t say a word, Eve,” he said straight faced.

  I glared at him combatively and his lips curved slightly. “Guess we’ll see how it went on TV in a couple of weeks’ time?” He hazarded.

  Oh God, yes, even worse. It wasn’t just a matter of being able to do it privately with the only thing that mattered being the air brushed end results, everyone would get to see the whole humiliating process from beginning to end! It’s all about the car, I muttered to myself gritting my teeth. I’m doing it for the car…

  Dad rang up. “Pauline’s gone into hospital.”

  “Is it serious?” I asked.

  “Sort of yes and sort of no,” he said. “Her blood pressure is up so much that they’re taking her in to monitor her. They’ll try and get her through to as near full term as possible, but the second the pressure gets dangerous they’ll whip her into theatre for an emergency caesarean.”

  “You will text me when she goes into labour will you?” I urged. “Don’t just ring me up and tell me he’s arrived, I want to know as it’s happening…”

  He promised he would.

  The day of the photo shoot arrived. They sent Roger with me. Thank goodness. They didn’t bother with an interviewer. I think they must have told Roger he was allowed to interact with me, or else he took the executive decision to do so. He didn’t come in to the initial dressing phase for modesty reasons, but as soon as I emerged out of the costume and make up room he lifted his camera. They’d got me in a barely bum covering ‘A’line mini dress with large concentric circles in purple, orange and pink, high heeled leather boots, torc necklace, torc bracelet and large hoop earrings, with my hair piled high with purple, orange and pink daisies in it. I had prominent eye make-up, contoured cheeks and pale pearly pink lipstick and nail varnish.

  “This is awful,” I said in a flat panic. “I don’t want to do this. Please let me go home.”

  He said nothing, just pointed the lens at me.

  “Stop it!” I said sharply. “I want to go home. Please…”

  “What have you done so far?” He asked, maybe just to calm me down by speaking to me.

  “I’ve had to stand still for hours with my arms stuck out while they dress and undress me and put my hair
up, and pull my hair down again and talk about me like I’m not there. Now I know how a Barbie doll feels! This is so not my scene!”

  “I think you should go through to the studio,” Roger said slyly. “They have a car waiting for you there…”

  I hesitated. “What sort of car?” I interrogated, like a child asking what sort of sweets might be on offer.

  “A nice sort of car…” He said mysteriously. “A car you wouldn’t want to miss…”

  “Ok,” I said, calming down. “I’ll just wait to see the car then…”

  He went ahead of me through the double swing doors because he clearly wanted to capture my expression when I saw the car, which I figured was promising. I followed him through and stopped short.

  I smiled delightedly. “A 1965 Aston Martin DB5! Just like the one in Skyfall!”

  Roger smiled at me. “It is the one from Skyfall – well the original one used in the Bond films anyway.”

  I stared at him. “You’re kidding me!”

  “No straight up,” he promised. “This is the actual car. The ones used in Skyfall itself were scale models of this one because this one was too valuable to risk damaging in the action sequences.”

  I went straight over to it and stalked around it, trailing a finger over its pristine, immaculate, bonnet and roof. I got back round to the front again and glanced over the top of the roof at the huddle of magazine staff at the far end of the room.

  “Do you think they’d notice if I...?” I felt for the catch that held the bonnet, unlatched it and lifted it up to look at the engine. I smiled lovingly down at it. “Great!” I commented. “This has been really well cared for…” I bent over to take a closer look inside.