The Way Barred

by Dominique Kyle

  “Quinn’s off their hands, Siân nearly is, Liam’s old enough to get by, but Con’s going to be left with Declan who’s only just started school, and a baby. How the hell is he going to manage it?” Dad sounded angry and despairing.

  “How did you manage it?” I said.

  He said nothing. Just watched Pauline’s spaniel go rushing up to the little podge and push him over backwards with his nose. The lazy brat just lay there like a stunned mullet.

  Con’s the sort to get married again, I thought. But I didn’t want to say that aloud.

  Tyler brought the engine up to the Satterthwaites’ barn. Jo and I were there working on my old car to sell on to Fay.

  “That’ll keep you busy for a while,” he said, hand on hips, eyeing up the trashed chassis.

  “Tell me about it,” I sighed. “We’ve decided to resurrect it…”

  While Jo had her head down staring at something right at the base, I gave Tyler a little smile and he smiled back, his eyes going all soft.

  “So what have you brought us?” I said in business like tones, wiping my hands down my jeans.

  Jo followed us over to my current car we had an animated discussion about it and the new engine.

  “How much was it?” I asked. “Goodness knows how I’m going to pay for it. Though I should get some money back on that other car if we can sell it…”

  Apparently the seller of the engine was willing to wait till I had the money. I really needed to have that discussion with Paul about money and sponsorship. I was just being a coward.

  After about an hour of helping us, Tyler said he needed to get on. “Can I give you a lift anywhere, Eve?”

  I pretended to hesitate. “I’ve got my bike here…”

  “It’s raining cats and dogs, you can put the bike in the back of the van if you like, save you a soaking…”

  “Oh, well ok then. I do need to get back tonight,” I agreed. “I’ll come back tomorrow Jo to carry on with this.”

  Jo didn’t look bothered. “It’s nearly teatime now,” she said. “I think I’ll call it a day myself.”

  Tyler helped load my bike into his van and Jo waved us off. She obviously didn’t suspect a thing. Tyler drove us across the moors towards town.

  “So what was it you have to get back for?” Tyler asked casually.

  “I need to get back tonight to give you a good shag,” I said with a subversive grin.

  He drew the van sharply over into a layby, undid his seatbelt, undid mine, and grabbed me to him. As I withdrew breathlessly some minutes later, I joked, “Save something for tonight, Tyler!”

  But he seemed to think it wasn’t a matter of either/or. And it turned out he was right about that.

  We had meetings with Fay, sorting out what kit she needed. Some of which she already had for her Autocross, but we had to check it complied with Orci/BriSCA rules, otherwise she had to buy new. It helped that she had already been in Autocross, a time trial format on grass or rough ground where you aren’t directly racing each other, although other cars may be on the track at the same time, which is good for teaching control of the car on tight corners at speed. She’d come across Thrills and Spills from a couple of episodes in, and had picked up a good idea of the issues and rules from watching it. We told her how to apply for a licence and a number. We coached her on all the flags, the rules, the things to think about. We rebuilt my car and gave her some trials in it on the Satterthwaite practice track and she decided to buy it. (Phew, I could pay Tyler for the engine now). We got all our cars out, which with Pete’s two, one set up for each surface, and my own two, meant Paul, Pete, Jo and I could all join Fay on the practice track and have some mini races, beginning to give her some little taps and bumps to get her used to it. She got out flushed with happiness, and I knew she was going to be ok. She decided she wanted to do one meet every weekend, three weekends out of four. She had holidays booked in the summer and the autumn. Jo and I spent ages looking at the various dates, deciding which ones to take her to that would go with my own schedule, especially where I was trying to get to two meets in one weekend and to also make sure she qualified for one or more White and Yellow Grade Series Finals at the end of the year.

  And then the season started. Kings Lynn, Norfolk, Shale. Bit cool but dry conditions and sunny. There was a Whites and Yellows race for Fay, who was anyway starting at the back with her ‘don’t bump me’ novice black cross up, and there was the first World Qualifier of the year, meaning you got 5 points just for attending it.

  I liked Kings Lynn. And absolutely everyone was there. I swung casually past Tyler’s little corner of the pits. He glanced up and his eyes lit up. He’d been coming over about once every ten days. We’d have a meal together where we’d both make a bit of a sartorial effort and discuss cars/engines/the forthcoming season, and then we’d retire to the Travelodge. He didn’t come up to the Satterthwaites’ again. I thought it would look too particular if he did. I didn’t let on to him, but I’d called in my dress consultants, Jaimi and Lisa, and begged them to take me shopping for some more attractive but not too dressy outfits to wear to ordinary restaurants, so I could keep turning up in something new. They’d done me proud, and I’d always see Tyler’s eyes appreciatively seeking me across the room when I walked in.

  Now he stood up and came over. We stood close but didn’t touch.

  “This is agonising,” Tyler said. “I wish we could come clean about it.”

  “Not at the beginning of the season,” I said firmly. “You know the sort of things that would be said. And who knows how long we’ll keep this up? If we’re still seeing each other in a couple of months’ time we can think about going public...”

  I saw a shadow cross his face at the ‘how long will we keep this up?’ remark. He was the one who didn’t want a long term relationship, I thought, and now he was looking like a dog who’d been kicked when I reminded him of it.

  “Don’t go all soppy on me,” I said tersely. “You know that everyone knows that we fight and jostle all the time, so don’t let it affect the driving. Ok?”

  He nodded. A shutter came down over his expression and I thought I’d really upset him, but as he glanced meaningfully behind me, I realised that Paul was approaching. Paul and he shook hands and I moved out of their space. “See you on the track, Tyler,” I said in a prickly tone as though we’d just been having our usual jousting session and walked away.

  Fay did good. Good as in ‘got round in one piece and came off the track smiling’. “Do we have a convert?” I asked cheerfully. It seemed we did. She continued to pootle round the other races she was in, getting faster in each one and she was still enjoying herself by the end which was all you could hope for on a first day. I waved each time I shot by her and she waved back.

  My results were fourth in the heat, third in the Final, second in the Grand National. Tyler was always placed somewhere above me, and Pete at least one or two places below me. But this was shale. The test between me and Pete would come on our first tarmac appointment, with his new car and my new engine. Paul seemed pleased with us both. “A good start to the season,” he congratulated us even handedly. But I saw Pete turn away. He was really cross at my already being ahead of him, I could tell. Paul smiled. This was just what he wanted, that I could also tell.

  Next weekend, Birmingham, 6.30 pm. Our first tarmac head to head of the season. We’d gone down all together in the Beast. It was drizzling.

  “I’m really nervous,” I whispered to Jo. My stomach was churning over so much it almost hurt. How would our two cars compare?

  She nodded. She looked tense herself.

  “Is it awful for you, being between me and Pete?” I asked. She said nothing. “You do know that I’d give anything for him to get the Gold roof, don’t you?” I said. “That’s why I’m keeping out of it. Because whenever I’m in a race with him I just have to win…”

  “That’s healthy,” she said neutrally.

  “But I’m rooting for him all the t
ime otherwise,” I assured her, looking anxiously at her.

  She nodded, but I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “I hope we’ve got your engine tuned right, and we’ve sussed the conditions ok.” She commented.

  “Do you feel like you’re competing with your Dad now?” I asked. We’d conspicuously not asked Paul to come and do a last minute check over the car with us.

  She bit her lip. “I try not to, but I know I am really. But we mustn’t leave him out of the big stuff…”

  My heart was thumping so loud as we lined up for the start I felt it was echoing back at me off the metal roof. Pete and I were in the same second heat. Tyler had already won the first one. I was behind Pete in the line up so I’d have to catch up first before even trying to overtake him. We were off. The engine notes rose and rose and merged into one deafening roar. The track was just slippery enough to need caution. The floodlighting cut through the misty mizzle. I nipped in and out of the competition, bashed a couple. Finally I was up with Pete, he skidded round the corner ahead of me keeping the line really tight. I waited until a millisecond before the next corner then made my first tactical lunge, knocking him off line just enough to get through on the inside. A minute or so later and he was back behind me and giving me a dose of my own medicine. Our tussle became the whole race long. Teeth gritted and obsessive and ignoring all the others. I had no idea where we were in the order. We were just all out, full throttle, slamming each other whenever we could legitimately do so and swerving around back markers. On the final straight, someone behind us tried to take us both out in one go by cannoning Pete into me, but it came to nothing. I was just pushed further ahead and Pete recovered just in time to block the way to the guy behind, and I flashed under the chequered flag before Pete. Apparently we came second and third.

  Jo came to meet me. “I’m a nervous wreck. The only reason I’m not hoarse is because I didn’t know who to shout for, so was completely silent.”

  “God yes, Jo. I’m as limp as a dishcloth now, and we’ve got two more races to go. Who did your Dad shout for?”

  “Neither,” she said. “He was just grinning his head off.”

  By mutual unspoken consent, we kept away from the men. We were sitting on a low concrete wall together when Tyler came over.

  “That looked vicious,” he commented.

  “Tell me about it,” I said tensely.

  “What’s going on?” Tyler pried.

  Jo glanced up at him. “Eve’s got too much pride to let Pete win, and Dad’s finally managed to get a firework up Pete’s arse and now he’s determined not to let her win, so we’re in for a lot more of this…”

  “Well don’t win the battle and lose the war,” Tyler advised. “At this rate, you’ll be putting each other into the fence in every race and neither of you will ever get placed.”

  “He’s right you know,” Jo said to me.

  “I think I’m going to have to not worry about that today,” I said. “If I cravenly cave in today then that sets a precedent doesn’t it? We just have to hope that ultimately Pete shows some common sense.”

  “Well I can see that I don’t have to worry about you two today,” Tyler commented cheerfully. “I’ll swan on by and leave you two to your infighting.”

  I eyed him with a fulminating gaze. “It’s not always about you, you know Tyler,” I snapped.

  He laughed. “Well that’s told me hasn’t it?” He exchanged an amused glance with Jo. The he turned to go.

  “Hey! Tyler!” I said suddenly. He half turned back, his eyebrows raised.

  “That reminds me… What do you say to a woman with two black eyes?”

  He looked taken aback and a bit blank. “I don’t know.”

  Jo groaned. She knew what was coming.

  “Nothing,” I said triumphantly. “You’ve told her twice already!”

  Tyler emitted a sharp crack of laughter. “That is the most un-PC…”

  I was cackling to myself. Jo grimaced at him. “One of our most misogynistic customers told her that one and instead of getting up a head of steam she just thought it was the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard and has been wetting herself every time she tells it.”

  I wiped the tears of laughter away from my eyes. “I’m just dying to have someone think it’s funny too, but mostly everyone just looks horrified.” I tipped my head on one side. “Although their shocked expressions are nearly as funny I suppose. He was Australian, the guy who told me.”

  “That figures,” Tyler said dryly.

  “This is what we have to put up with at work every day,” Jo sighed. “Pity us!”

  The Final. Pete and I fought it out with grim determination. Conditions were a bit drier. Jo and I hadn’t changed my tyres. Pete had put his dry weather ones on. He seemed to have the edge. At one point he went at me with such a crack I could almost hear his metalwork dinting. It threw me right out and by the time I got back in, he and another had gone by. I got by the other again, but not in time to get back up to Pete. We were third and fourth.

  The Grand National. We eyed the sky. It was really overcast. What to do? Jo eyed her brother and father surreptitiously. They were sticking with the dry weather tyres. We changed mine to match his. A monumental battle ensued. No holds barred. On the penultimate lap, Pete ended up in the fence, with his bonnet in a fence post. My doing. I finished second.

  Tyler pulled up beside me and eyed me ironically from his cab. “I’m saying nothing,” he said.

  “Oh God, I hope it’s not going to be like this all season,” I groaned. “It’ll be so stressful.”

  “That’s the Stocks for you,” Tyler said. “Things can get personal.”

  Which was exactly the words used to report the proceedings in the blog written by the commentator and sports journalist who had interviewed us on the stage at the NEC.

  ‘Things just got personal between 768 Eve McGinty and 103 Pete Satterthwaite at Birmingham on Saturday. Having studiously ignored each other on the track for the past year, the pair of them headed into each other at every opportunity tonight, ending up with 103 wrapped around a fence post with a definite ouch factor. Pent up personal frustrations from last year, or professional rivalries being revived? We’ll have to wait and see how this new war on wheels pans out over the season.’

  After the silent journey home from Birmingham, Jo and I elected to travel separately to Belle Vue the following afternoon and met up there with Fay. This being what passed for our ‘local’ track we wanted her to race there regularly enough to qualify for the Whites and Yellows Series Final here at the end of the year. It also meant she had two meets in a row on shale. Mindful of her learning curve, and also of the huge amount of work it involved to swop the car over between surfaces, Jo and I had tactically tried to book her into two or more of the same surface in a row wherever we could.

  Back on shale, Pete and I were both in our original older cars and left each other alone a bit more. It was another World Champion Qualifier. We both made a good showing and started mounting up the points. However I was still well ahead of Pete in the National Points Table. Not that meant much so early in the season. Anything could happen. It was lucky for Pete that this was shale, because he’d not have been able to turn his tarmac car around in a single morning in time for the meet. I had no idea if my instinct to hit back hard yesterday evening would mean he was willing to back off, or whether it had just made things a whole lot worse.

  On Tuesday I was in the barn at the Satterthwaites’ working on fettling my cars for next weekend when Paul called me over. Jo was working on Fay’s car. Fay wasn’t putting it through much stress yet and she’d had her ‘treat me gently’ cross up again, so it was more a matter of checking it over, cleaning it up and getting all the loose shale out of it. Pete had clearly started work yesterday on his car but wasn’t in here right now, maybe because he knew I was here.

  I assumed Paul was going to talk to me about what happened at Birmingham. He had his ‘Team Captain’ face on. Aust
ere and disciplinarian.

  “Come here, Eve, I want to talk to you,” he said. It’s what he did. Called you over to stand in front of him. I used to watch his children stand in front of him, faces set, hands behind their back and wonder why at the age of twenty four and twenty six they put up with it. Now I found that I responded in exactly the same way. You had to go. You had to stand there. And if you crossed your hands in front of your chest you came across as defensive. So you put your hands behind you and held them tightly there in a kind of subtle defiance.

  He glanced very briefly at Jo, over in the far corner, humming along to the radio she had playing beside her. I figured he didn’t want her to hear what he had to say. I braced myself for a ticking off about putting Pete into the fence.

  “Are you in a relationship with Tyler?” Paul asked, his eyes gimlet on my face.

  I was so taken aback, I just stared wordlessly at him. Then I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. “What makes you ask that?” I responded in shock.

  He smiled slightly, his eyes still not leaving my face. “Well for one, whenever you smile at him he looks like he suddenly can’t breathe…”

  “Does he?” I said surprised. “Well maybe he’s just developing asthma?” I suggested facetiously.

  Paul smiled again. “You have an answer for everything don’t you?” He raised his eyebrows. “Well try explaining this one… When he came over to you at Belle Vue and you’d removed your race overalls at the end of the day and were bending over your car with your short top riding up to show your midriff, he rested his hand on your bare back and you didn’t notice.”

  “Oh,” I said. I blinked a few times defensively. “I agree that’s pretty damning.”

  “So how about you come clean to me about what’s going on?” He suggested severely.

  “We’re not in a proper relationship,” I said abruptly. “Because neither of us want that. We just have sex occasionally. Sex and cars. That’s what we restrict it to.”