by Fleur Beale
Josh trotted off, looking hopeful.
Craig pushed his kart on to pole and ignored me. I was starting on eight, right at the back of the field now that Josh was out — for this race anyway. I was busting to race Craig, to beat him, to make him humble. Save it for next week. Save it for when it matters. Stick to the game plan.
The game plan was to try to shave a fraction of a second off every corner. It was to practise my overtaking. To focus on smoothness and consistency.
The starter let us go. There were no surprises. Craig led for the entire race. I let him go and I shaved a hundredth of a second off the S, and another off the left-hander. I went off at the hairpin, but I’d found the limits for it.
I didn’t improve my time for the fast lap. That was a worry. It should have been two-hundredths of a second faster. Try harder next time.
But Dad said, ‘You’re shifting your weight slightly in the left-handers. You’re not so used to the anti-clockwise track. Could just be the difference.’
‘Come off it, Dad. I know not to shift about in the kart.’
‘Think about it, Archie. No harm done if I’m wrong.’
Which meant he knew damn well he was right. ‘Okay. Did Grandad solve Josh’s problem?’
Dad laughed. ‘You should have seen Josh’s face. He answered the phone, and apparently all the old bugger said was Bent carby needle and hung up.’
‘And that’s what it was?’
He gave me a look. ‘What do you think?’
I thought Josh and his dad would be stoked, even if Craig wasn’t. Although, scratch that. He’d beaten me again. He’d be very happy.
It nearly killed me to stick to our game plan, but I had work to do. I went into the next race absolutely certain I’d been keeping my body still going into those corners. But this time when we checked the data logger read-out after the race, I’d shaved the time back.
‘Okay. You were right,’ I said, disgusted with myself for making such a basic mistake.
‘You could do with more practice,’ Dad said. ‘That position needs to be automatic.’
By the time we lined up for the final, I reckoned I had it sorted — I was steady as a statue when I drove those corners.
Because the final grid positions were allocated according to placings in the heats, Craig was on pole and I was on two. I was desperate to beat him, to sneak past, take the lead and keep it. But I thought about next weekend, and I drove to improve, striving for speed, smoothness and consistency. I drove a good race and came in half a kart length behind him.
He wasn’t bothered — well, why would he be? He wouldn’t have been quite so cocky if he’d known I’d knocked a whole second off my lap times during the day.
He didn’t quite strut to the podium back in the clubhouse at prize-giving — not quite. His speech was pure Craig: ‘Thank you to the Manawatu Club for an awesome day. I’d like to thank my dad for finding me the best mechanic in the business. Thanks, Gary. And finally a big thank you to Archie Barrington for being such a worthy competitor, as always.’
‘That’s putting me in my place,’ I whispered to Dad.
‘He’s got balls, all right.’
We were packing up the trailer when Craig came to say goodbye. ‘See you next week. Your sponsors will be interested in today’s results.’
And off he went, walking cocky, looking cocky, feeling bloody pleased with himself.
Dad said, ‘We drive our own race, Archie. Those guys will know what you were doing.’
I hoped so, but Craig was the winner on the day and that’s what the sponsors liked.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WE’D BEEN ON the road home for around half an hour before Dad said, ‘Happy with the day?’
‘Sure am.’
He shifted in the seat, a smile on his face. ‘ Thought you would be. Craig’s happy too.’
I stretched my right arm, flexing the cramping out of it. It ached a bit more than normal thanks to my little encounter with the rocks. But my whole body was sore — it always was after a day’s racing. ‘I like to make him happy,’ I said. Because when he was pumped, he got overconfident, and then he got cocky and that’s when he wasn’t quite as sharp as he needed to be.
‘Got each corner sussed?’ Dad asked.
‘I reckon. That Two Tree was real mean though. It took me four laps before I found the ideal braking point.’
More kilometres passed in silence. Around Levin, Dad sighed and said, ‘Out with it. What’s biting you?’
‘What if I can’t beat him? He’s good. He could win the extra sponsorship and the whole Challenge. Or Lewis could.’
‘Or somebody else could. Archie, all you can do is your best. Give it everything. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll know you put your heart out there.’
‘Yeah. I know.’
Dad took a hand off the wheel to flick my ear. ‘You’re a bloody good driver, son. You’ve got the smarts to win. But things can happen. You know that. So quit thinking about Europe. Stop worrying about nailing the rest of the sponsorship. Take each race as it comes.’ This time, he gave me a clip over the head. ‘How many times have I told you that?’
‘First time this year,’ I said. ‘I know you’re right. I hear you. From now on I’ll be Mr Philosophical.’ Focus. That’s what this year was going to be all about. And staying in the moment.
I spent the time between Porirua and home facing the fact that I mightn’t win the chance to race overseas. I looked it square in the eye. I’d never done that before. I’d never truly believed I wouldn’t win, that I wouldn’t go to Europe. The rest of that dream involved some race team signing me up — but none of it might happen. Bugger it! I didn’t want to be philosophical. I wanted to win.
There wouldn’t be another chance at the Challenge. We’d decided to go all out for it this year, but that would be it, win or lose. It was too expensive to try again, and Dad seemed to think Year 12 would pile me up with mountains of work and I wouldn’t have as much time to put into racing. You can’t set your sights on a career in motor racing was one of his regular lectures.
We were still ten minutes from home before I turned my mind to the other career that was an option if I really couldn’t race. It had sounded good last year when the careers counsellor helped us with our subject choices.
What do you want to do, Archie?
Colin jumped in with: Formula 1 race driver.
Ms Arawa ignored him and just kept looking at me, her eyebrows up.
Engineering. I want to design engines.
Colin sat shaking his head. Mate!
So this year I was studying subjects that would help me get into engineering at uni. It would be okay. I liked engines and I liked designing things.
I sighed.
Dad said, ‘Okay there, son?’
‘Yeah.’
He pulled to a stop a street short of our place. ‘Listen, Archie. Go out there and have fun. Enjoy it. This is going to be an all-out competitive year. But don’t forget that you’ll be doing a sport you love. Lose that, and we might as well pack up and stay home.’
I let that sink in. I had an uncomfortable feeling I hadn’t taken much notice of that particular lecture before now.
Dad had a range of lectures and I’d taken most of them on board.
Eat well. No problem.
Keep your temper. Again, I’d got that one under control when I was six. I’d got bumped off the track and it wasn’t fair. I should have won and I was pretty noisy about it. Dad just said, ‘I warned you, Archie. Lose your temper and you lose your kart.’ He took it away for three months. Next time, he told me, it’d be for a year.
I made damn sure not to give him any reason to think that I’d forgotten. Strangely, it wasn’t a problem now to keep my temper. Win some, lose some. Shrug and drive the next race.
The one lecture that seemed just to have scraped across the surface was the one about handling real, deep disappointment. It went along with the one about accepting that some st
uff was going to be out of my control — engine failure, the state of the track, the behaviour of other drivers.
I said, ‘Winning’s never really mattered before. Not like this. Last year — Craig beat me in the Secondary Schools Champs. I was disappointed but I wasn’t gutted.’ I stopped to sort out my thoughts.
Dad sat all relaxed, his right arm propped on the steering wheel.
I thumped the dashboard. ‘Bugger it, Dad! I want to win this year. I want to be the driver going to Europe.’
‘You don’t say!’ said my father the clown. Then he got serious. ‘What’s the game plan, then? You need to get your head around the real possibility of failing. And you need to drive your heart out.’ He started the engine, but left it idling. ‘Wednesday,’ he said. ‘We’ll go over your game plan then. And by the way, Erica’s at home. She said she’d have dinner ready.’
A game plan by Wednesday, and be nice to Erica and Felix tonight. She’d better be able to cook. My gut was bouncing off my backbone.
As usual, Dad let me sharpen my reversing skills by backing the trailer into the garage when we got home. Erica’s Toyota was parked on the road.
He helped me uncouple the trailer and I said, ‘Give me a hand with the kart. I’ll do the rest. You go in and talk to Erica.’ And get the kissing over with before I come in.
I STARTED ON the usual post-race routine. I’d taken off the wheels and bodywork, and was unbolting the engine when I felt eyes watching me. Felix, looking scared as usual. He dropped his head and examined the floor the second I noticed him.
Before I even thought what I was doing, I grabbed a rag and threw it to him. ‘Catch, Felix. I could do with a hand here. You any good at cleaning?’
He kept his head down but picked up the rag from where it had landed and crept over to the kart.
I pointed at the floor tray. ‘Can you have a go at that?’
He dabbed at the mud. It stayed where it was.
Hell. What do you say to a kid as timid as this? Nothing, I decided. I took another rag and rubbed at the nose cone. Felix tilted his head so he could watch me without being obvious about it. After a bit, he put some pressure into the job.
Together, we went over everything. I stood up. ‘Good work, buddy. There’s still stuff to check, but I reckon we deserve a feed first.’
But Felix stayed squatting on the floor. He didn’t say anything, just set to work cleaning the tyres.
‘Only the wheels, mate. We don’t touch the tyres. But you’re right, we should get these done.’
Talk about feeling stupid, cocky, dumb. I was doing it again — taking it for granted that I’d win in the weekend, that I’d beat Craig for the extra sets of tyres and that I’d be the driver going to Europe.
One thing about Felix, he didn’t fill your head up with chatter when you needed to think. I needed to think hard. I needed to work out how to keep the dream alive without letting it wreck the entire year. Craig’s parting comment about the sponsors hovered in my mind. He was right. They wouldn’t be too impressed with the results from today.
Let ’em sweat. I knew what I was doing. To hell with Craig, too. And Lewis was welcome to try and beat me. Ollie and Josh were in with a chance. Maybe Tama as well. I’d get on the track and fight, just like I always did.
I pulled Felix to his feet. ‘One race at a time, Felix, my friend. That’s my game plan. Okay, you reckon?’
Poor kid, he looked bewildered. I took the rag from him. ‘Thanks, mate. That was a big help.’ I flicked my head in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Much hugging and kissing going down in there?’
He gave a spluttery sort of giggle.
‘Yuck.’ I screwed up my face. ‘Oh well, I guess we have to face them sooner or later. Don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Hungry enough to eat a wheel.’
Erica greeted me with a smile that I translated as Thank you for being a kind, caring older brother, but thank god she didn’t say anything. She didn’t go ape about him being around the kart either. But possibly she hadn’t joined those particular dots yet.
She turned out to be a good cook. We had a fancy casserole and she’d made a cheesecake.
Dad spoiled the moment by saying, ‘You’ll need to mow a dozen lawns to work those calories off, Archie.’
‘Worth it,’ I muttered round a mouthful of my second helping.
‘He doesn’t need to worry.’ She smiled at me. ‘Ignore him, Archie. You’re young, you’re growing and you’re lean enough that an extra kilogram or two wouldn’t hurt.’
‘Power to weight ratios,’ Dad said. ‘You don’t want to be heavier in a kart than the rules say you have to be.’
Erica’s face turned to stone. She sent a quick glance in Felix’s direction, but he still had his eyes on his plate — not that he’d eaten much.
Oops, Dad — wash your mouth out.
He did a swift direction change. ‘But I guess a cheesecake every now and then won’t hurt.’
I helped out by saying, ‘Could I have another slice, Erica? This leaves those packet ones for dead.’
It looked like we were going to have to be mighty careful about what we said when she was around. And I couldn’t see any positives to having Felix around either. Sure, he was quiet. But nobody’d asked me if I wanted to be big brother to a kid who wouldn’t utter a word unless it was ripped out of him.
Oh well, I owed him. Thanks to him I had my Wednesday game plan. Just thinking about it made all the usual excitement and sheer fun of racing surge back into my system.
Fighting mongrel with a smart edge, that was me.
CHAPTER NINE
AS ALWAYS AFTER a race weekend, I talked to Grandad before I skyped any of my karting buddies. His weathered face filled my screen. My grandmother leaned over his shoulder.
‘How are you, Archie? Good? And that son of ours?’
‘Bouncing off the ceiling,’ I said. ‘Has he told you about Erica?’
They looked at each other, then Grandad said, ‘No. But I think we’d rather like to hear about Erica.’
I filled them in, but when Gran tried asking for more details, Grandad shooed her away. ‘I’ve got business to discuss with Archie. Give Bill a call and grill him yourself.’
She waved at me and disappeared. ‘Right,’ said Grandad. ‘Talk me through the day.’
I went over each race, talking tactics and engine setup. We reviewed the analysis chart we’d done after each race. ‘Good. Good,’ he said every few minutes. ‘And Archie, don’t bother bringing food when you come up to Hamilton. Your gran’s got it all under control.’
I sat up straighter. ‘You’ll be there? Cool!’
‘We’re coming to the whole series, except Manawatu. Got a bloody wedding to go to,’ he said. ‘But we’ll be there for the rest. Have to keep your dad on his toes.’
Yes! I was the third generation of karters in our family, and if the grandparents hadn’t taken themselves off to live in Tauranga, Grandad would have made a point of coming to more of my races. He’d taught Dad, the same as Dad was teaching me. I was lucky, I knew that, but on the downside I’d always thought it was me getting into karting that killed Mum and Dad’s marriage.
When I’d asked Mum about it, she said, ‘It wasn’t that, Archie. In the end, we were just too different.’ But she’d left when I was six — the year I started karting. Even now, the thought still lurked at the back of my mind that I should have said I didn’t want to race.
Erica would probably get fed up too, and walk out. Poor old Dad. The race programme wouldn’t be so intense next year but, even so, I didn’t want to think about that — about not racing all over the country, or about Dad getting pulled between me and Erica.
I rang Mum next. She asked me about school and I asked her about their organic market garden. Then she surprised me.
‘Good luck on the track this year, Archie. Please … be careful.’
‘Sure, Mum. Course I will. Don’t worry.’
But she would worry, and I wou
ldn’t be careful — not in the way she meant, anyway. I was pleased she’d said it, though. She never mentioned my driving if she could help it.
Kyla was my last call. She was on the computer and waiting, a sticking plaster round her left thumb. ‘Before you ask,’ she said, ‘this is the result of an argument with a barbed-wire fence.’
‘Ouch. Does it mess up your grip?’
‘Not much. Today was a write-off anyway, thanks to Silver Adams. Honestly, Archie, she’s big trouble. A real menace. The stewards had a go at her but it only calmed her down for a couple of races.’
‘But she used to be good.’ I had a clear memory of a girl with long dark hair, a big laugh and a feel for the kart.
Kyla shook her head. ‘She’s all thump and bust now. She drives like she wants to clear the track.’
‘She’ll get herself banned if she’s not careful.’
‘I don’t think they’ll ban her. The stewards were pretty lenient with her. People weren’t happy about it. But I think there must be a reason. She’s changed. She didn’t talk to any of us.’
‘Well, if you find out anything, let me know. She’ll be at Manawatu next weekend, and I could do without having to deal with a crazy driver.’
We talked then about the Nationals coming up at Easter. We’d both be competing, Kyla driving up from Wyndham with her family, and Dad and me taking the ferry to Picton and driving from there.
I took a deep breath. ‘We both get there on Thursday, so let’s go out that night. Just you and me.’
Her smile beamed from the screen. ‘That is a perfect idea.’
DAD LEFT HIS workers to lock up on Wednesday, picked me up from school and drove me to my sponsors to collect the sets of tyres.
Dad shook hands with Brendon and had a man-to-man chat with him. Then Brendon looked at me. ‘Craig did well on Sunday.’
