Yes, I knew which mean look he was referring to. “Well I can’t be seen going in buying up a whole store worth of pictures of myself, can I?” I pointed out.
“Huh, yeah, see what you mean…” He looked defeated.
I had an inspiration. “We’ll send Jaimi out to buy a whole pile,” I suggested. “No-one will recognise her.”
“Good job!” He congratulated.
On Saturday at Belle Vue I figured that magazine had known what they were doing – their circulation must be through the roof. I couldn’t get anywhere across the grounds without one of the pictures of myself being shoved under my nose for an autograph, either torn out of the magazine, or still attached.
“My God, Jo, I can’t even get to the toilet!” I complained. “Will you come and be my body guard?”
“It’s your own fault for being such a glamorous cow,” she said unsympathetically. But she guarded the toilet door and by the time I emerged, she was standing there holding three copies of the magazine thrust into her hands for me to sign when I got out.
We were completely under siege at the pits.
“They knew the whole cast of Thrills and Spills were bound to be here I guess,” Paul hazarded.
I had to practically force my car through the crush. A steward came and made them all move out of the way. The races were oversubscribed with a waiting list, so there were three full heats. Quinn was in mine but not Pete or Tyler. Quinn had finally scraped a red roof, so was back near me again. We leant out the window exchanging a word before the race.
“Was it mental at your end too?” He asked, grimacing. “I’ve never signed my name so much in my life since I had to do punishment lines at school! And they’re mostly asking me to write it on across a picture of you…”
“You should get a photo shoot with a lad’s fitness magazine and then you can sign your own photos,” I suggested.
After we set off I gave him a right good bash up the arse to get by, then he came back on me at the next bend, and then I caught up with him and shoved him out the way the lap after that. Sixteen laps and about fifteen thumps between us. It was quite like old times. We both qualified for the Final without much caring which position we were in.
A few minutes after we’d driven back to the pits, Quinn forced his way through the crowds towards us. He appeared at my side as I was tracking the progress of Tyler who was walking across to a stand.
“What are you thinking?” Quinn asked, following my eye gaze with his own.
“Actually,” I realised, “I’m thinking that I want to be like him – driving-wise I mean.”
Quinn grinned and broke into the song from the jungle book. He started dancing around singing, “Ooh-bi-doo, I wan'na be like you-hoo-hoo, I want to walk like you, talk like you, too-oo-oo!” He started to dance wildly around me.
The onlookers cheered, and Pete and Paul glanced over to see what the hell was going on.
Quinn never needed much encouragement. “Now I'm the king of the swingers, the jungle V.I.P,” he continued with a cheeky grin in my direction, “I reached the top and had to stop, and that’s what bothering me! I want to be a man, man-cub, and stroll right into town, and be just like those other men - I'm tired of monkeying around!”
But I had to agree, that even when he was monkeying around, he had a bloody amazing voice.
“Sing us a song Adam!” Someone yelled from the crowd. People were pushing in to see what was going on.
“Oh don’t encourage him!” I shouted back.
But he’d got that naughty look in his eyes. “Do you want a song?” He yelled like he was on stage whipping up the audience.
“Yes!” They chorused back.
“Are you sure?” He shouted with his arms in the air. “Give me a cheer if you want a song!”
They cheered enough to vibrate the eardrums, drowning out the engines of the next race that was being run.
He turned to me and looked mischievously down at me and I had that heart sinking moment as he broke into that dratted John Denver song.
“You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,” he began in perfect resonant tune, and the crowd started cheering. “Like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,” he took hold of my hands and began to waltz me round, “like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean. You fill up my senses, come fill me again!”
He smiled down at me, his eyes sparkling, daring me not to spoil it by getting all po-faced. He span me around in his arms and then twirled me around at arm’s length, “Come let me love you, let me give my life to you, let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms,” he dramatically dropped me back over his arm, then brought me back up again, “let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you. Come let me love you, come love me again!”
People were clapping and urging him on. “Oh gawd – how many more verses are there?” I groaned.
“You fill up my senses like a night in the forest,” he took up again, tangoing me along one side of my car, “like the mountains in springtime, like a walk in the rain,” he twirled me up the other side. “Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean.” He picked me up by the waist and spun us both around while he looked into my eyes, “You fill up my senses, come fill me again!” His last pitch perfect note hung in the air and then all the crowd clapped, and stomped and cheered.
He was still holding me up there with my hands braced on his shoulder and our gazes locked. “You can put me down now Quinn,” I reminded him acerbically.
He shook his head, seeming a bit spaced out, and then abruptly put me down. He frowned. “Now originally I came over to ask you something and I can’t for the life of me remember what it was.” He glanced at his watch. “Fifteen to the Final…”
He walked away, got as far as the barrier then turned back, “Oh yes, I know what it was… Have you seen-”
I reached into my pocket and tossed him his flat keys which he caught mid-air with the overhand snatch that blokes use. “You left them in my bike helmet for some reason!”
He rolled his eyes and went off.
When I got back to Pete and Paul they were standing with their arms folded with identical expressions on their faces.
“Hey!” I defended putting both hands out. “Don’t blame me! He’s a right soppy git sometimes – and an inveterate show-off. What tactics do you think I ought to be taking for the Final do you think?”
Later in the footage that was shown on the Wednesday show, I spotted Siân in the crowd watching the song and dance performance. I hadn’t realised she was there. And she had that right mean look in her eyes, just like Quinn had predicted.
In the Final there were that many superstars it looked like a Christmas parade of flashing lights behind me. I didn’t expect to get very far in this one. But my couple of weekends away from the public eye had strengthened me more than I realised and I just ploughed through anyone in my way. Just near the end I even hoofed Pete to one side, meaning I came in seventh and he eighth.
“Well I can see what Jo meant about you becoming ruthless,” Pete said ruefully as he drew up beside me in the pits.
“How does it feel to have your girlfriend ramming you into the position behind her?” An interviewer asked shoving the camera in his face.
“I’m not sure,” Pete said with a slight laugh. He hauled himself out of the driver’s seat, pulled off his helmet and balaclava and tried to wipe some of the filth off the central panel of his face. “Clearly I’m going to have to watch my back from now on!”
The camera was now thrust at me. “Should we draw any conclusions from the fact that you and your boyfriend Pete have been racing separately recently?”
I shook my head. “I’ve set myself the challenge of getting round at least once to all the tracks in Britain to gain experience of all the different conditions. And Pete needs to get to particular qualifying races, so sometimes we need to go our separate ways…”
It was such an outright porky pie, but I w
as finding it conveniently convincing. “So Jo’s helping me now,” I dragged her over to the camera and put my arm around her. “Because she knows just as much as her brother, don’t you Jo?”
She looked momentarily conflicted then said, “Actually, yes, I probably do-”
Afterwards she said to me, “That was a blatant piece of advertising in advance for your little business plan wasn’t it?”
“Sssh!” I put my finger to my lips. “We’re keeping that up our sleeve right now. Don’t even tell Pete or your Dad will you?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t even agreed to it yet!” She reminded me.
Sasha had been moithering me to find something else to do with my ‘ethnic minority’ friends. Preferably something girly.
I rang Chetsi up and made a suggestion. “You can say ‘no’,” I said, “But Naz and I are genuine about wanting you to teach us to cook, and the cameras might as well come along…”
She agreed to it. No doubt she thought it would put more pressure on the various parental parties to come up to scratch if we discussed it on air.
I knew that Naz would have her legs covered, so it wasn’t the time to get my own out, so I went in some baggy flowing silk trousers and a simple cotton ‘v’ necked top and made a big effort with my hair instead, with some complicated French plaits courtesy of Lisa. (She also did some nice natural make-up for me again).
Naz, Chetsi and I hugged and kissed and Chetsi asked what we wanted to learn. I had a list drawn from the time I had tea with her, the tapioca and potato patty things and the chickpea flour things. And Naz wanted to have a show piece main meal in case she wanted to impress anyone.
“I need to learn to be a good cook to be a good wife to Rajesh,” Naz said with big dark earnest eyes.
Chetsi and I exchanged glances and I rolled my eyes impatiently. “Or maybe he should learn to be a good cook to be a good husband to you!” I pointed out. “You’re going to be really busy with your law degree.”
They’d sent the camerawoman I noticed. Clever, I thought. Make it all women together so we let our guard down and have a bit of a gossip. Her name was Kay. “Just get on with it as though I’m not here,” she instructed. “Don’t glance across if I start waving some lights about or something. Just completely ignore me. I’m just furniture.”
We started out mostly concentrating on the cooking instructions but eventually Naz turned to me and said, “Why do you keep calling her Chetsi? She’s Suki!”
I glanced enquiringly at Sucheta/Chetsi/Suki. She sighed. “I’m Suki in the family and I took to using Chetsi outside, but I answer to either. I guess Nasim’s going to take the family line, so I don’t mind what you call me, Eve…”
“I like Chetsi,” I said loyally. I was happy to help anyone break away from family restrictions.
“So Naz,” I asked later. “How are the parental negotiations going?”
She ducked her head. “They’re talking dowries at the moment.”
I glanced at Chetsi. “Have I dropped back into Victorian times?”
Chetsi pulled a face. “If we want to smooth the path of true love, we have to make some compromises.”
“Yes but what sort of compromises?” I argued. “Will Raj have to promise that the children will be brought up as Muslims? Or will they go one week to the Mosque and next week to the Temple? What kind of wedding will they have? A bit of both, or do you have some practices in common? Will Raj be welcome in Pakistan if they go out to visit Naz’s relatives, and vice versa?”
Naz looked at Chetsi’s taken aback expression and said with a slight smile. “Eve’s not one to leave elephants wandering round the room.”
I glanced quickly around and Chetsi suppressed a smile. “What are you looking for Eve?”
“Ganesh,” I said. “Or have you covered him up?”
Chetsi smothered a laugh. “It’s a figure of speech, Eve…”
I frowned at her.
Naz stared at me. “Oh honestly Eve! Don’t you know about the elephant in the room?”
“What ruddy elephant?” I snapped looking worriedly around again.
Chetsi began to get the giggles. “There isn’t an elephant!”
Naz frowned. “No Suki,” she argued, “that’s the whole point – there is an elephant and everyone is pretending there isn’t!”
I stared at her, and then round the room. “For goodness sake! Is there an elephant or isn’t there? Because I can’t see one!”
“It’s a metaphorical elephant, Eve,” Chetsi tried to unravel it for me. “There is one, but no-one’s talking about it.”
I folded my arms mutinously. “But we seem to be talking continuously about it!”
Naz and Chetsi met each other’s gaze and simultaneously cracked up while I glared huffily at them.
Naz finally wheezed to a halt and wiped her eyes. “I’m hoping that if we take it step by step,” she got back to the subject in hand at last, “it’ll all work out in the wash – you know, by the time children have arrived we’ll have worked out our individual and joint beliefs and found some mutual middle way.”
“That’s very mature of you,” I observed. I didn’t think I was anywhere near that level of emotional literacy myself.
“I’m wondering,” Chetsi said, “if we shouldn’t have another cooking session with us and the mothers. I’m sure my mother would be up for it, how about yours, Nasim?”
Nasim looked thoughtful.
“You could translate for her, couldn’t you Naz?” I prompted.
Nasim nodded. None of us said it aloud, but we were all thinking that it would be a good idea to get all the women alone together without the husbands around and then some real progress would be made.
Kay waited to film the dinner being dished up to our three men, Chetsi’s husband, Raj and my Pete who’d all been invited to turn up, then she left.
“Sorry, it must have been really boring for you,” I said to her as I saw her out.
“On the contrary,” she remarked, “I’m going to go straight home and see if I can replicate some of those dishes – lots of handy hints she was giving us there!”
Back at the table, everyone seemed to be getting along fine. I’d wondered how Pete would fit in, but of course everyone had been avidly following Thrills and Spills and Chetsi’s husband, Taib, who was a doctor, was quizzing Pete curiously on the kind of injuries the drivers received, given that the format was full contact but with so many bumpers, rails and roll bars as protection. Then he and Raj started trying to get a handle on the rules and the way the grading system and points worked, and before long the evening was over. Us women had barely said a word.
Chetsi drove Naz home, Raj stayed on to watch the test match cricket highlights with Taib, and Pete drove me back to the flat. “Thanks for that,” I said. “It’s just for the cameras really. Us girls would have just had a natter on our own apart from that.”
“No, I really enjoyed myself,” Pete said, sounding sincere.
“Do you want to come up?”
He hesitated and I wasn’t sure why. Then said, “Might as well.”
Quinn was sitting at the table with Mariah on his lap, feeding her baby food out of a jar with a spoon. He smiled rather vaguely at us. “Open up,” he said to Mariah, “look here comes the racing car vrum, vrum, into the tunnel, meeeeeow!” She stared at him for a moment, then opened her mouth for the spoon to be shoved in. “Yum, yum,” he commentated. “Now the train wants to go in the tunnel, psht-i-ku, psht-i-ku!”
I threw myself down in the settee and Pete joined me. “Remind me not to have kids,” I said to him. “I’ll have gone completely mental by the time they’re five!”
There was someone in the shower. It switched off and a few minutes later a naked Siân emerged. She saw Pete straight away but she made little attempt to cover herself, the small towel wrapped around her waist barely covering her bum cheeks. She disappeared into Kes’ room. Pete raised his eyebrows at me. I wanted to mouth ‘no shame’ to him,
but there’s nothing more unpleasant than one woman bitching about another to a bloke, so I said nothing.
“Shall we go to my room?”
“No, let’s go for a quick drive,” Pete said.
Outside he told me he felt weird about having sex in my room with Quinn and a baby outside and Kes and Siân clearly at it next door. We drove out onto a well-known canoodling park-up spot on the moors and giggled about having to do it in the car.
“I feel like a teenager,” I exclaimed.
“You are a teenager!” He reminded me.
“Oh yes, so I am…”
He took my clothes off bit by bit and I wriggled into a more comfortable position on the back seat. “God I hope PC Holt doesn’t come along to move us along!” I worried aloud. Every time Pete nearly brought me to a climax I’d get anxious that some headlights were approaching.
“You’re going to have to relax,” he instructed me, “Or we’ll be here all night!”
Finally I just couldn’t help it and I let go, and he entered me straight away while I was still panting and clinging to him. “Phew, let’s not try this again,” he said after. “That was really stressful!”
I was pulling my top back on without bothering with the bra. “Well, it was a really good one in the end…” I told him with a shy smile.
“I should hope so, it was bloody hard work!”
“But you like doing it really, don’t you?”
He smiled sideways at me then gave me a kiss. “I always like making you come.” He sat at the wheel and switched the engine on. “Phew, I feel useless now. We should have just gone back to my place…”
“We still could…” I said. “We’re nearer to yours now, and Jo’ll give me a lift in to work in the morning.”
He put the car into gear. “Well don’t you jump me again the minute we get into bed, because I need some energy for work tomorrow.”
I gave him a naughty look and he grinned. I knew exactly what was going to happen when we got into his room. He couldn’t help himself.
Jo and I returned to doing our rounds of the less popular meets and Jo said there was a growing information black market amongst the general public to find out where I’d be racing next. Rather than do me a disservice in the eyes of my fellow F2ers, they seemed to be pleased that I was bothering to travel all over – it was increasing the profile of each oval I visited, and enough of the public seemed to be finding out somehow where I was going to be to swell the gate sales. Apparently the minute someone spotted me they’d be tweeting it, and loads of local people who’d never set foot in the raceways before were coming down to catch a glimpse. The organisers were now asking me to do short interviews, or have my photo taken at the track for publicity purposes.
Thrills and Spills (Not Quite Eden Book 3) Page 19
