Thrills and Spills

by Dominique Kyle

  I sniffled, but I was listening.

  “I’m serious, Eve. There’ll be thousands of women watching that programme tonight that the same thing has happened to. You’re not on your own. It’s just that women are too ashamed to talk about it. I’m not suggesting you need to feel obliged to talk about it, everything that needs to be said has already been said on your behalf. But I think you owe it to them to come back and show that you won’t let this define you. That there is life after rape and male abuse. They’ll all be watching on and cheering you! And I’m telling you that not all men are like this at all. There’ll also be thousands of men watching this feeling profoundly ashamed of their sex.”

  I sat motionless.

  “So are we agreed? You’re going to explode back on the scene and knock them dead?”

  I nodded.

  “Good,” she said, and gave my shoulders a squeeze. She glanced at her watch. “Taib’s due back so maybe you want to go to bed before he arrives?”

  I did.

  Chetsi had obviously decided that I needed to be occupied all day so that I wouldn’t sit around brooding on media reaction and googling myself. She led me to the kitchen, put a number of cook books in front of me, and told me to have a go at making them the evening meal. Then she went to work.

  I sat down and carefully studied the recipes with the most interesting glossy pictures beside them, and then went through her cupboards. I’d never seen so many different types of spices and flours in my life. And I didn’t even know what some of the vegetables were in the rack and fridge.

  I started systematically by preparing the things she’d taught us in that lesson, putting them aside to be cooked just before the meal. About lunch time I had just started chopping an onion to fry off as the base to the main course, when I heard the key turning in the door. I looked up expecting to see Chetsi or Taib, and came face to face with the completely shocked face of Rajesh.

  “Oh shit,” I said. “You have to promise that you won’t tell anyone that you’ve seen me!”

  He stared at me from the other side of the kitchen surface and said, “You haven’t broken in like Goldilocks just to use the kitchen have you?”

  “Of course not!” I said impatiently. “I’m hiding out here with your sister and her husband until the media circus goes away, you idiot!”

  “No need to be offensive,” he said, drawing himself up like an offended cat.

  “I just need you to promise not to say anything to anyone!” I urged.

  “Fine!” He said irritably. He looked around.

  “They’re not in,” I informed him.

  “I’d been going to ask if Nasim and I could meet here tonight,” he said. He looked sideways at me. “You know Nasim’s completely loyal. She’d never tell anyone, I promise she wouldn’t.”

  “I suppose I could make enough for five…” I mused.

  “Oh, you’re making it are you?” He sounded unenthusiastic.

  I glared at him. “So?”

  He sniffed and said nothing.

  I turned away. “So did you watch the programme last night?”

  “Yes.”

  I turned back and glanced at him. This was my first interaction with someone who’d seen the programme and hadn’t known what its contents were going to be.

  “And?” I demanded.

  “The guy’s a complete shit,” he said immediately. “I never liked him.”

  He didn’t avoid my eyes and I found I didn’t need to avoid his.

  “Ok,” I said turning back to onion. “What time are you two coming?”

  Naz was a bit more difficult to deal with, mainly because she burst into tears and threw her arms about her neck and said, “You poor thing!” Over and over again. So I set her to work frying the patties and bhajis and that kept her quiet.

  Over the meal, Rajesh said. “I’m decided that I’m determined to marry Naz between her finishing her ‘A’ levels and starting Uni. I don’t trust her father. If I marry her, then it’s my decision if I want my wife to study for a degree, and I do.”

  Chetsi gave me a warning glance as I opened my mouth to argue that I didn’t think it was his decision to take either.

  “I thought we were making progress, didn’t you Suki? With the parental meeting? But now Nasim’s father’s been got at by the Imam and is saying that although it’s considered ok in Islam for a man to marry a woman of a different Abrahamic faith it’s still completely forbidden for them to marry a polytheist unless the pagan agrees to convert. And that it’s never ok for a female Muslim to marry a man from any of the different religions unless the man converts! And there’s no chance apparently of us combining some elements of the two different marriage traditions as the Nikaah is a marriage contract that binds the couple into obeying Allah, whereas ours is just a sacrament of marriage!”

  I was staring open mouthed at them. “That’s completely ridiculous! Why can’t you both just follow your own religions? Chetsi, tell me your family are prepared to support Raj and Naz if they go ahead, and wouldn’t mind if she carried on as a Muslim?”

  Chetsi sighed. “Mum’s come around to it. She thinks Nasim’s very sweet. She just thinks the tensions with Nasim’s parents could be insurmountable, especially when children come along…”

  Nasim burst into tears.

  I ignored her. “So does that mean we’re back to square one? They’ll have to run off to Gretna and have a civil ceremony and put up with Nasim being cut off by her family? When are you eighteen Nasim?”

  Nasim carried on sobbing harder and didn’t answer.

  “Her last ‘A’ level is next Tuesday, and then she turns eighteen the week after and I’m scared her father might pack her off to Pakistan, because from that point on they know she could legally marry without parental consent…”

  More weeping from Nasim. I frowned. “But she’s still being allowed to come here to visit you? And they told the headmaster he could help her apply for Oxford.”

  “I’m not saying they didn’t have a temporary change of heart a few months ago, but I think they’ve had second thoughts now the realities are hitting home. Nasim’s seen her father putting some plane tickets away in a locked draw. We can’t be sure that allowing things to go on as normal just for now might just be a cover to keep her on board until after she’s eighteen.”

  “Oh Nasim, do shut up!” I said irritably. “Tears aren’t going to solve anything!”

  Chetsi glanced at Taib, but Taib was allowing us to just get on with it.

  “So what paperwork do you need to get married?” I established as Nasim hiccoughed and sniffled into silence. “You need to secretly get hold of your paperwork, Nasim. Anything you can lay your hands on. And then after your last ‘A’ level you need to run away. You could wait until your eighteenth if there’s a party arranged I suppose, but I don’t trust them – I’m betting the tickets are booked for straight after. You can come and live at mine if you want. And there’s no Tariq around to fire-bomb us this time. And we’ll put in an application for marriage straight away at the local registry office and we’ll get you two married. And then you can always have some other ceremony later to make you feel better, but in the meantime you’ll be legally hitched.”

  Chetsi was looking a bit worried, but Taib was smiling slightly.

  Rajesh looked at Nasim. “Seriously Naz, I think it’s the only way…”

  “Your Mum will sneak round to see you, I’m sure of that Naz,” I reassured her. “And either the beastly little blackmailer will grow up into a normal human being and keep in contact, or he’ll go the way of Tariq and be no loss. And who knows, once he’s got grandchildren, even your Dad may come around. And you can change mosques and keep up with your faith…”

  Naz’s big dark, slightly swollen eyes, looked round each of our faces in turn. Then she sniffed.

  Chetsi’s eyes sought Taib’s for confirmation. “She might do better to come here?” Then she frowned. “Or maybe the absolute safest would be to go to my p
arents. Mum would sort the wedding out for you and help you get ready for college.”

  Raj looked gratefully at his sister. “Will you talk to her about it?”

  Chetsi nodded.

  Naz looked scared.

  “It’s now or never,” I told her firmly. “Time to be decisive…”

  After they’d gone, Taib and Chetsi washed up. I could hear them discussing the Rajesh/Nasim situation in low voices. I ear-wigged to see if they mentioned me at all but the only thing said was a wry comment from Taib that it looked like I’d got the pair of them firmly in hand.

  As Taib walked back into the living area I snaffled him, “You’re a Doctor aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “Could you write me a note to say I’m fit to race again?”

  “I’m not a neurologist,” he cavilled, “and I don’t know if you are.”

  “It doesn’t matter what sort of doctor,” I dismissed. “I’d go back to my GP but everyone at the surgery will stare and tweet about me being seen and stuff. I want to race this weekend, I need the points.”

  “How are your headaches?” He asked.

  “Gone,” I lied confidently.

  He glanced at Chetsi. “I think she’s ok now actually,” Chetsi confirmed.

  He made me sit down and did some cursory checks on me, testing some reactions and making me move my eyes around and stuff.

  “Are you absolutely sure you’re ready?” He asked me.

  “I’ve got a vested interested in not killing myself you know,” I pointed out. “I promise that if I have any concern about my driving abilities or reactions or I feel the slightest bit weird I’ll pull over into the infield. You’re allowed to pull out at any time you know…”

  He sat and frowned at me for a minute or two, then went and wrote me the necessary letter.

  I retreated to my room, switched on my phone for the first time for four days and ignored the thirty-three voicemails it told me I had, and I rang Jo. I’d have rather left it until Friday, but I didn’t want her to have made alternative plans for the weekend, and I didn’t want to be ringing her at work.

  “Eve!” She hissed at me. “Christ Eve! What have you been playing at? Mum keeps bursting into tears because she thinks you’re dead! Why the hell couldn’t you contact us?”

  “The production team told me to disappear. They banned me from contacting anyone. It was to save me from the media attention.”

  “Fuck it Eve! We’ve been so fucking worried!”

  I said nothing. Thought it was best.

  There was a long silence.

  “Mum sobbed her way through that programme,” Jo said at last. “And I just felt like a real bitch. I was a cow to you when it happened wasn’t I? And then I went and slapped those rape threats on you without warning, no wonder Pete went ballistic!”

  “Oh well, never mind,” I said. “Thing is Jo. I’ve got my doctor’s note so I can race this weekend. And I know we’ve got two on, so I could really do with getting to them. Are you willing to take me?”

  “Of course I am, you idiot,” she said. “Happy to…”

  “I just want to take everyone by surprise – explode on the scene to avoid all the questions. So you can tell your family you’ve heard from me but tell them not to pass it on – I don’t want it getting into the media. And don’t mention it at work. I’m ringing Entwistle tomorrow, so he’ll decide how to manage it at work, ok?”

  “Ok,” she agreed.

  “Thanks for speaking up for me on the TV,” I said to Mr. Entwistle having rung him at home on his mobile again. “I’ll be back in as usual on Monday and it would be helpful if you’d speak to the men for me please and say it’s all water under the bridge and can we just carry on as though nothing has happened please? And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Fair enough,” Mr Entwistle said. “I’ll sort it out.”

  Then I rang my Dad.

  “Nice to hear from you, blossom,” he said.

  I figured he’d picked that expression up from Pauline. He’d never called me that before.

  “Just to say that I’m completely fine, just keeping out of the way of the media for a bit. But I’m back to racing at the weekend.”

  “Oh good for you,” he said.

  He sounded so normal and laid back I wondered if he’d even watched the programme. I wondered what to do if he hadn’t. In the background Ethan was crying noisily. I didn’t know how to bring the subject up. The silence lengthened.

  “So I guess you’re wondering about how I feel about all the revelations on the telly,” he said at last.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it, Dad. But maybe you do?”

  He sighed. “Would you like me to forget I ever heard it?”

  “Can you do that?” I asked.

  “No,” he said heavily. “But we can both pretend if you like.”

  “Yes, let’s do that for now,” I said, relieved.

  “Ok blossom,” he said. “Whatever’s best for you.”

  At seven am on Saturday morning, Jo picked me up at Chetsi’s and I crept out quietly leaving a note that said, “Thanks!”

  We drove and drove and chatted a bit.

  “At least Mum’s speaking to Pete again. She had to interrogate him about what he’d known about what happened to you, and then she forgot to stop talking again afterwards.”

  “Did your Dad talk to Pete about Siân?”

  “Well he did, I believe. But neither of my parents are forthcoming about what the outcome was. I don’t know if he’s still seeing her. He’s walking around with a bit of a hangdog chip on his shoulder look and not speaking much.”

  I took my Doctor’s note into the raceway office and the man looked shocked when he looked up and saw who I was. He went a bit red and took the letter and read it carefully, then nodded and said I could drive. Jo and I went straight to scrutineering with the tarmac car. All the men there did a double take too, but then got on with the business with some embarrassed throat clearing. I drove the car back to our assigned pit. We had nothing much to do to it, but I was in the first heat so we weren’t going to have to wait too long. No-one came near us. I walked to the loo and people glanced as I passed, looked away quickly, then glanced again after I’d gone by. I came back and drank a glass of cold water and ate a bag of crisps and a mars bar. “This is fun, crisps and mars bars as a matter of Doctor’s orders!”

  “Are you sure you’re ok for this?” Jo said anxiously.

  I shrugged. “Got to find out sometime.”

  “I wish Dad was here,” she said suddenly.

  I drove out onto the track. I could hear the commentator saying ‘768, Eve McGinty’. I stared straight ahead of me. Then I drove. It was a new track to me, the odd tricky point. I came third. I noticed that almost no-one bumped me. And then, not very hard.

  While waiting for the Final I said to Jo, “Ever felt like a leper?”

  She pulled a face. “Better than lots of nosy questions I guess…”

  The wait for the Final seemed suddenly very long and boring. I’d got used to my time being taken up by chatty members of the public and autograph hunters, photos, or requests for selfies.

  “I should have brought a magazine,” I said.

  “Just sunbathe!” Jo suggested.

  So we both lay down, unzipped as much as we could and soaked up a bit of the summer.

  I was second in the Final and second in the Grand National.

  “Good results,” Jo observed as we loaded up.

  “I’ll do better next time I’m here – I kept slowing down on that far corner and the local guy was just shooting round it! Slightly strange camber there I thought…”

  We drove back to the Satterthwaites, where I stayed over in the spare room despite the presence of Pete in the house, because tomorrow’s race was in completely the opposite direction and needed my other car, so it made sense. Pete and Paul were sitting in the kitchen having just got back themselves. Paul
got up and kissed me on the cheek.

  “Nice to have you back with us again,” he said.

  When Sue came in from a late night check of the horses she exclaimed aloud and gave me a big hug.

  “How’d it go?” Paul asked.

  “Third, second, second,” Jo summed up succinctly.

  “I’ll do better there next time,” I said coolly.

  “And your reception?” Sue asked.

  “Um…” Me and Jo exchanged glances. “Think I know now how it feels to be a leper,” I said.

  “Oh dear…” Sue said looking worried.

  I shrugged. “They’ll get over it.”

  We drank our tea in silence for a bit.

  “So how’s your own driving campaign going at the moment?” I asked Pete, allowing our eyes to meet for a brief second.

  As he reported back in neutral tones I could sense a wave of relief washing round the rest of the family.

  Sunday was a repeat experience, but on Sheffield shale. An old stamping ground. I made blistering pace and was second in the heat, first in the Final and second in the Grand National. My red roof was now secure for another month.

  “Thank goodness the engine wasn’t damaged by the crash,” I said to Jo.

  “Just everything else,” she said morosely.

  Suddenly a reporter from a local newspaper galloped up. Out of breath. Someone must have called them and told them to dash straight up here. I felt torn. If it had been a national I’d have told them to piss off, but the racetracks relied on their local paper for publicity and if the local raceway generated some real news for once, it would go down well.

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?” She said trying to catch her breath enough to speak.

  Yes I did mind, but I would give it a go for the sake of the Brisca F2. “Depends what they are,” I said tersely.

  I could see her getting a bit nervous. She was quite young. “Um…the TV show on Wednesday night made upsetting viewing…have you experienced any sexism in the world of Stock Car racing?”

  “Not explicitly,” I said.

  “I think you’re very brave,” she blurted out.