“Thought I might stay here with you?” He suggested, his tone confident.
“No way!” I slapped him down tersely. “I’m working. I want to stay fresh, and I want my own headspace. So, no, you can’t. Get your own room, and if I tell you that I need you to go, then you need to go without argument – get it?” I glared combatively at him.
“Get it,” he said finally, after a short reluctant pause.
“Ok, so bugger off now will you? I’ve got some stats to study.”
I wasn’t sure if I really did. I mean, I did, but I didn’t have to do them right then and there. But I was testing him out.
He hesitated, his eyes flickering, seeming on the verge of trying it on. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and walked towards the door. “When will you be free?” He asked in a carefully controlled tone.
I thought about it. “After three tomorrow,” I said.
He picked me up at five past three and took me down to the shore of a lake. The sun was full in a cloudless sky, so it was warm enough, despite the lateness of the season, to head out in a light top, shorts and sandals. He took hold of my hand and chivalrously helped me down a steep slope via some rugged limestone steps. All along the shore there were people lying around naked and people splashing around in their birthday suit in the clear water. I turned and raised my eyebrows suspiciously at him.
He grinned naughtily. “Hippie Hollow Park,” he explained, “ – the only officially sanctioned ‘clothing-optional’ public park and bathing spot in Texas.”
I folded my arms and glared at him. “Well, mine are staying on!” I declared militantly.
He smiled. “It isn’t some sleazy ruse,” he defended, “it’s just a fun place that’s all. And look –” he pointed at some still fully clothed groups, “– it’s ok to keep them on too.”
“And how about you?” I asked. “What will you be doing?” I pretty much knew what the answer would be.
“Oh I might just take a quick skinny dip,” he said casually. He never minded getting his kit off, did Quinn. Drop of a hat…
I sat on the warm white rock and watched him splashing about. To give him his due, he never expected me to come in. He emerged dripping from the water and deliberately shook his head over me like a dog. I squealed and closed my eyes as sparkling droplets flew all over me. He laughed and pulled his shorts on and sat down beside me to dry out in the sun. I studied his broad shouldered back and realised I was surprised at how white it was. I must have got really used to seeing Nish. Quinn’s chest was hairy. I’d always known that, but again, it seemed odd. Nish’s had been smooth. Quinn had obviously kept up the work down at the gym as he was respectably lean and muscled. But so very lily white. And much taller and broader than Nish. Formula One drivers couldn’t be too tall or heavy because they had to have their heads lower than the top of the back half of the car for both aerodynamic and safety purposes. I began to wonder if I’d feel too physically overwhelmed with Quinn. It couldn’t ever feel equal, could it?
“You’re assessing me very carefully,” Quinn observed at last, his green eyes flickering slightly.
“Am I?” I said. “Nish complains that I do that to him too.”
“Does he?” Quinn sounded displeased.
“Yep, says he never knows if he’s passed the grade with me or not…”
“And does he?” Quinn asked jealously.
“Does he what?”
“Pass the grade with you?”
I shrugged. “Depends what I’m grading him on, I guess…” I wasn’t going to be drawn.
Quinn eyed me indecisively for a moment then tactically dropped the dicey subject of Nish. He sighed and lay down beside me, propping his head up on one hand and looking up at my face. He rested one hand still cool from the water, on my bare thigh. “Do you like my body, Eve?” He asked diffidently.
I frowned. “Bodies are just bodies, aren’t they?” I dismissed. “It’s the person inside the wrapping that counts.”
He bit his lip. Then he smiled and lowered his lashes over his gaze for a moment. “I like your body, Eve,” he ventured. “I like it very much.” He stroked my thigh gently.
“Do you now?” I said in a very dry tone. “This better not be a crass way of trying to introduce the subject of me having sex with you.”
He emitted an annoyed sigh and flopped back. “There’s no pleasing you, is there, Eve? I can’t even compliment you about something I love about you without you suspecting I’m after a quick legover!”
“I’d rather you complimented me about something to do with my talents or personality,” I said abruptly. “We can take it as a given that your sexual proclivities are legendary. As far as I can see, you seem to be attracted to any body that contains a double X chromosome and a conveniently available orifice between the legs.”
He grimaced and looked upset. “Is that how you see me?”
“Yes,” I said brutally. “And believe me, it’s not an attractive trait in a prospective partner, and it doesn’t make me feel the least bit flattered if you announce you fancy me – because I bet you could honestly say that about half the female population between the ages of fifteen and fifty!”
He lay with his eyes closed.
“And I bet you’ve slept with at least three different girls a week since you left Daisy,” I pointed out coldly. “And it doesn’t make me feel flattered that you want to add me to that list. And it doesn’t make me feel at all certain that once you’ve added my notch to the bed post you won’t suddenly find that you’re not so attracted to me anymore. It might turn out that you can’t get me out of your head right now because I’m the only female that’s consistently turned you down. Once you’ve had me, you’ll just get bored and move on…”
He turned over on to his front and buried his head into his forearms. Well, say something, I thought. Defend yourself. At least deny the three girls a week accusation! But he didn’t. I felt like bursting into tears. I wiped roughly at my eyes and looked sideways down at him, my arms clutched tightly round my bent knees for comfort. There was a dark damp patch on the pale limestone rock under his arms which I’d assumed was his dripping hair, but as a little sniffle escaped from him, I realised he was actually crying.
“Why are you crying?” I demanded crossly. Surely I was the injured party here? This was just typical of him. Crying for attention. Crying for the sympathy vote. Such a complete prima donna! “You are so fucking immature, Quinn!” I hissed at him. “Just grow up and take responsibility for your own actions for once!”
He rolled over and rubbed his palms across his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Eve. I’ve really hurt you, haven’t I?” His green eyes swam all wet. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you. That I really mean it when I say that I love you and that I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you!”
“Four year olds can’t fall in love,” I snapped defensively.
“Yes, they can,” he said simply, his gaze steady on my face. “But with most of them it’ll only last a week or two, whereas with me it’s turned out to be my whole life-time…”
“But you were always so horrible to me!” I accused, disbelievingly.
Quinn gave a slight laugh with a catch in it. “I was just a stupid boy. Boys don’t know how to get someone’s attention without being cruel and idiotic,” he admitted. “Boys live in a world of physical violence and teasing and verbal insults. It’s just how they are. All rough and tumble, argy-bargy, showing off, jostling for position, and poking fun. Girls and boys are just a different species at that age, really they are.”
I thought of Mr. Heskett’s clashing of antlers analogy. I could never be accused of being a typical girl, but nevertheless, I was female. And every now and again I ran up against that fact. Sometimes I didn’t think, or feel, or react like a male would, even if my talents and interests were more from their accepted sphere than from my own gender’s.
“And now you just can’t seem to trust me to be nice to you,” he concluded sadly.
>
“Because you very rarely are!” I exploded. “Even now! One minute you’re being my rock and tower of strength when I’m under pressure, and the next minute you’ve abandoned me and disappear off without apparently a second thought.”
“Have I really been your rock?” He pounced on that part of the sentence. He looked intently at me.
“Yes, of course,” I said irritably. “You stood by me when I got you into trouble by stabbing Tino with your knife. You backed me up against Trev. You took my side instead of your sister’s over the Pete and Kes thing. You looked after me when Tyler died. You backed me up when I was going undercover with the gang. You came to Italy with me to help me start my internship with Ferrari when I was too scared to go on my own. And you hot footed it down to Wantage when I needed you when Nish disappeared…”
His eyes were fixed painfully on my face.
“But then you damn well went off with Daisy while you were still supposed to be going out with me…slapped me for trying to take care of your little sister when you knew perfectly well that your mother had asked me too, and buggered off with Daisy without even telling me that we’d received notice on the flat and didn’t contact me for a whole year! Then you left me in Italy to go on your tour – which would have been fine as it had been planned forever except for the fact you didn’t contact me again for at least six months. And then after being totally great and rushing straight down to be by my side, you abandoned me again for another year and left me to go through the fallout from the terrorists by myself, and then that vile abuse trial by myself! So how can I ever trust you? Sometimes when I really need you, you appear at my side, and then other times you completely let me down!”
Tears were rolling down my own face now. And Quinn was swiping at his nose with the back of his hand. I felt for a tissue but couldn’t find one. Damn! I began to sniff back.
“Can’t we set the clock at zero from now?” Quinn pleaded at last, his voice husky and choked. “And forget what’s gone before? Can’t you judge me on everything I do from this moment on?”
I wiped roughly at my eyes and said nothing.
“Please, Eve,” he begged. “I love you so much and I want to start again, please. This time I’ll do it right, I promise!”
I glanced cautiously at his face. He looked utterly sincere, pale and desperate.
“Maybe,” I murmured at last. I paused and met his gaze. “But it might not be that simple. We’re going to have to undo years of behaviour triggers in each other…”
The colour suffused back into his face. “Yes, I understand what you’re saying…” He agreed. He absentmindedly fingered my thigh, and looked rather vaguely down at his hand resting there. “But if we keep consciously re-calibrating as we go along, and engage to not to bite each other’s heads off if we have to point out to each other that we’re living in our old reactions, then we stand a chance, don’t we?”
I looked long and hard at him, studying the wild hope and sober intent that swept in waves across his face, and then I nodded abruptly. “Ok, Quinn, let’s give it a go,” I agreed.
His face lit up, like the sun had just come out, and he leaned forward to kiss me.
I pulled away. “No, Quinn!” I corrected sharply. “Way too early for that!”
He straightened up, a sort of frozen look on his face.
I tried to make my tone sound a bit kinder. “If we’re setting the clock to zero, then you need to treat me like I’m someone you’ve only just met and who you need to persuade from scratch to want to be in a relationship with you.”
I could see he got it. He nodded slowly.
“And if I hear that you’ve slept with anyone else but me from now on,” I threatened in fierce tones, “Even if I don’t agree to sleep with you for six months and you’re having to take cold showers every night to control yourself, then the deal’s off for good.” I glared at him. “Do you understand me? And this time I’ll never give you a second chance.”
I could see a slight sensation of panic flickering at the back of his eyes. He hadn’t expected that ultimatum. I bet he’d thought he could just carry on having convenient hook-ups while he waited for me to let down the drawbridge.
“That’s the deal breaker,” I said coldly, holding his gaze. “Do you understand me?”
He cleared his throat. “Message received loud and clear,” he said with his green gaze holding steady at last on mine.
“Ok,” I said more mildly. “Let’s give it a go then…”
In Brazil, after qualifying, Nish wandered over to me. “I see Quinn’s still floating around.”
I rolled my eyes and said nothing.
“He seems a bit unnaturally quiet,” Nish observed.
“I told him to stay away from you until Sunday evening,” I explained.
Nish frowned. “I suppose I meant subdued.”
“I reckon he’s just digesting the ultimatum I gave him,” I interpreted cynically, “and wondering whether he can manage it.”
Nish eyed me curiously, but I kept my lips firmly compressed and he was left wondering.
Nish was never going to be on the podium for this one. And realistically, now driving for Williams, neither was Massa, despite being historically the only Brazilian driver to win the Brazilian Grand Prix since Ayrton Senna. But his home crowd was completely loyal and went wild every time his car turned out on the track. Quinn had remarked to me that Williams was like the venue that all the bands joked about, ‘you play here twice, once on the way up and once again on the way down’. Because, despite their nine Constructors’ Championships, and their seven Drivers’ Championships, Williams hadn’t won either since 1997, and in this modern era of mega-millions being needed to design and construct the winning cars, they just couldn’t compete with the massive funding that the rival Mercedes, Ferrari, Red Bull and Maclaren teams could command. So these days Williams never got the drivers at the absolute peak of their careers. They took calculated bets on fostering talented rookies whose wage bill would be cheap, and took on experienced ex-World Champions who were able to get the best out of the cars, and who although they could still command eye-watering sums for wages, were never going to be at the top of the tree again, and basically knew it, so were happy to settle for continuing to race in competitive cars, even though podiums would now be rare for them.
Today, towards the end of the race, Nish was several places ahead of Massa as usual, when he started to imperceptibly slow down. I glanced at the various data sources. I couldn’t see anything wrong. Brakes ok, engine fine, no particularly excessive graining on the tyres. Massa started catching up and Nish steadily held his line without speeding up or defending. Massa did a showy overtake and the home crowds exploded with joy. Hugh glanced sideways at me. I smiled sphinx-like, and said nothing.
Afterwards, nobody said anything.
“You booked for any interviews?” I asked Nish.
He shook his head. “Decided to knock them on the head…”
I smiled slightly and walked away. Inside the garage, Sam was celebrating. The Williams Team Tattoo Championship had just been decided. He was twenty points ahead now, and Kielty couldn’t possibly catch up with only one more race event left in the season. The men were surfing him around their heads and when they put him down he leapt in the air and pumped the now famous arm in Driver Championship winning mimicry. He turned round to find Nish standing just behind him, his eyebrows raised enquiringly. Sam looked a trifle embarrassed lest Nish thought he was taking the piss, but Nish pleased me by seeming to dredge up the conversation that I’d had with him all that time ago when I hadn’t thought he was paying attention, and stuck out his hand.
“Congratulations, Mate,” he said cheerfully. “What’s the prize?”
Sam grinned as he shook Nish’s hand. “Another tattoo of course – what would you say to your own physog getting inked for posterity on the other arm?”
Nish looked frankly appalled. He was clearly searching desperately for something polite to
say when Sam couldn’t keep a straight face any longer, cracked up and let him off the hook. “Just pulling your leg! I’m thinking the last Adrian Newey designed car from 1996…”
Nish laughed in sheer relief.
Quinn and Nish persuaded me to come with them to some Samba nightclub place. I had nothing at all to wear, but they told me that jeans would be fine.
In the taxi, I ribbed Nish. “And you once looked at me as though you didn’t understand the concept of allowing someone else to win because they needed it more!”
Nish glanced at me. “There was nothing at stake so I couldn’t see any reason to bust a gut..”
“I know,” I said. “But I hope it was subtle enough.”
“I shall say I was holding back on the revs to keep the engine in good nick for our last race of the season once I realised I was out of the first four placings.” He announced. “We don’t want a pay a points penalty to have to replace an engine for the last race do we?”
I tipped my head assessingly. “Sounds plausible,” I agreed.
“Just seemed politic,” Nish said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. I figured he was maturing no end. “There are more to tactics than tyre choice, and more to being a driver than merely exhibiting pure speed on the track.”
Quinn sat quietly listening in to us, one hand resting on my thigh. Nish was right. He was unnaturally subdued.
In the club he brightened up and after attempting to drag me out on the dance floor a few times which I allowed only briefly each time before retreating, he was soon hanging out with the live samba band. I was completely knackered and found a discreet corner to curl up in.
Sometime later I was woken by a shake to the shoulder. Nish was a strange combination of crossness and laughter with me. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Eve! I was worried you’d been kidnapped! South America’s not the place to let your guard down… But I might have known you were just a party light-weight like me.”
The Way Back (Not Quite Eden Book 6) Page 39
