Nish pulled an apologetic face. “Afterwards it did occur to me that she might not realise what a limited budget you were on. But at least now you’ve now got something you can attend some of our high level Race Weekend receptions in, you look a bit out of place in Topshop stuff…”
I momentarily slowed down feeling stung by that remark and I felt like arguing the toss, but as his stride never broke at all, I had to take a couple of long strides myself to get back into synch. “I can’t go getting dressed up all fancy like all the time Nish, you know I can’t…” I protested.
“Look, I do understand that most of the time you have to be perceived as one of the lads,” he accepted, “and you don’t want to stand out too much. But there’s the occasional time, like when we went to that party in Monaco, when you really need to be seen in something fit for that society set. And if you take up with Quinn, I’m warning you, you’ll be needing to mix with celebrity types as well, and they’re really shallow and judgemental some of them…”
That wasn’t the least bit reassuring. I decided to change the subject. “Quinn and I are going climbing,” I announced.
“I’ve never been climbing…” Nish mused.
“I’ll take some time you if you like,” I offered.
“No thanks!” He rejected with some feeling in his voice.
“Why not?” I enquired, glancing sideways. “I thought you were an adrenaline junkie!”
Nish pulled a face and then said with a slight laugh, “I’ll let you in on a secret, Eve – the only reason I’m not a fighter jet pilot is that I’m a complete wuz at anything higher than two metres off the ground!”
“So joining the Space Programme is a complete no-no?” I established, grinning.
He laughed again. “Strictly horizontal speed only,” he declared. “Vertical? No way!”
We pulled up and did a few stretches with lungs that burned and stung deep inside with the cold air, before swiftly starting back the way we’d come before our sweat turned cold on us.
“Where’s Miriam by the way?” I asked, once we’d got going. “Didn’t she want to witness your debut?”
“On tour,” he explained economically.
I glanced at him. “With your combined schedules you’re going to find it a challenge to get time together…”
“I like it that way,” he admitted. He sighed. “I know that doesn’t sound good, but it means that when she’s here I can give her my undivided attention, and when she isn’t I can just get on with everything else I want to do.” A moment later he added, “She’s been officially invited to Christmas by my mother now. Miriam’ll love that. They don’t do Christmas, her family.”
“I’m surprised your Mother does,” I said with a frown. “Surely she’s a Muslim?”
Nish looked a bit shocked, and this time it was his own stride that momentarily checked.
“She must be, surely? If she grew up in Pakistan?” I reasoned.
Nish was silent for a moment as we ran steadily down the incline of an undulation. “I never really thought about it. She always came to the Cathedral with us to all the services and did everything like every other family did…”
I thought about it as we laboured up the other side again. “Once her family cast her off I guess she felt she’d made her bed and might as well embrace all that it entailed…”
Nish unconsciously slowed up as he processed what I’d just said. Then he sighed. “I just daren’t ask her what she really believes. She’s not that sort of mother…”
“She’ll be all at sea without your father,” I said. I imagined Nasim trying to square the circle if Rajesh died. Once the reason for her rebellion no longer existed, would it all seem empty? A few of Nasim’s family had kept in contact so it might not be so bad for her, but it sounded like Nish’s mother doing the same thing a whole generation earlier had been totally cut loose.
“We’re all a bit lost,” he said abruptly. “Dad was our family. Now he’s gone we don’t know how to relate to each other, nor to all our family connections. It suddenly feels as though the connections were Dad’s not ours.”
“Having Miriam there for Christmas will be good for you,” I suggested. “You’ll all have to be jolly and do it properly for her sake…and she’s so sweet she’ll be oohing and aahing at everything and it’ll spur you all on to please her…”
He smiled and said nothing.
“As for you, Nish, you just have to forge your own path. It’s in your own hands now…”
“Do you want to come skiing with me?” He asked suddenly.
“Love to,” I agreed. “But only if you make a jolly party of it and bring Miriam and a few others.”
He glanced swiftly sideways at me.
“Because I don’t trust us to be alone for a whole week given what happened last time…” I suggested.
He grinned. “Shy?” He teased. “Really?”
I skidded to a halt and grinned back at him. “No wonder he could tell instantly!” I exclaimed accusingly. “That is the wickedest, filthiest, knowingest grin I’ve ever seen, Nish, mate! Just stop it!”
Back at work, half way through the following week, Ben and Sam approached me in the canteen and sat down beside me, shaking out a local newspaper.
“That looks ominous,” I said, my fork poised suspended half way to my mouth. I put it back down on my plate and sighed. “Go on then, hit me with it…”
They showed me the picture in the ‘Leisure’ section. Full colour. Nish, me and Quinn on stage. Nish had his sax to his lips, I was turning sideways and laughing at something and Quinn had an arm round me. I was relieved to see that it was a reasonably flattering image of me.
They raised their eyebrows significantly. “That’s some outfit,” they observed.
I pulled a face.
“Shall I read it to you?” Ben offered with a grin.
“Do I have a choice?” I queried in resigned tones.
“Oxford was exposed to the Full Frontal treatment this Saturday, as the latest ‘must see’ boy band hit the stage on the first date of their autumn tour. Gig goers were introduced to the multi-talented, society darling, Anish Gilbraith, Oxfordshire’s rising star of the Formula One Circuit, who composes and plays for the band outside of his race season. As an added treat, the audience was able to experience the original ‘Squawk’ in person as lead singer Adam Quinn dragged her up on stage. A fact that seems to have gone under the radar in the Formula One world is that Anish Gilbraith’s striking new Race Engineer, is the sister of Full Frontal founder, musical Svengali and general puppet-meister, James McGinty and it was she who first brought Gilbraith to the attention of the band. The voluble siblings proceeded to abuse each other roundly before self-confessed tone deaf Ms. McGinty was persuaded to make some terrible sounds for the entertainment of the crowd while Quinn made increasingly disparaging remarks to the delight of the onlookers, causing the otherwise extremely professional Gilbraith’s sax runs to become decidedly wobbly as he fought back his own laughter. Full Frontal proved themselves to be great live performers, with charismatic front-man Quinn engaging the audience with electric energy from the get-go, and Gilbraith, who could have turned out to have been a mere curiosity – a local publicity stunt – turning out to have a handy mastery of the sax, and the ability to add hauntingly beautiful vocal harmonies and background melodies to Quinn’s complex foreground. All in all, a good night out for the Oxford crowd.”
Ben lowered the paper and looked severely at me over it. “You never told us you were James McGinty’s sister.”
I tossed my head. “I’m not, he’s Eve McGinty’s brother. Boy Band?” I scoffed. “Honestly! And anyway – that should read: Eve McGinty, Race Engineer Extraordinaire and rising star of the Formula One circuit, introduced formerly unknown rookie race driver, Anish Gilbraith, to the band…”
Sam gave a sly grin. “Shall we write a letter in to the Editor, and correct him?” He suggested.
“You do that,” I said with a sharp b
ob of the head at him. “Preferably in red ink…”
Quinn and I lay flopped out, sunning ourselves on the white rock. Obviously it was winter in Sardinia too, but to us it felt more like our own late spring. We’d had a day of rain, but otherwise it had been a welcome break from the February cold back home. I’d had a brilliant skiing trip with Nish in January in the company of a bunch of his friends, none of whom I’d met before, plus Miriam who turned out to be a really good skier. She informed me of a fact that I’d had completely no idea about – that Japan was considered to have some of the best skiing in the world – deep pure powder. I’d nudged Nish. “Let’s go there next year.” His eyes had lit up. “Yes, let’s!”
“Ow,” I groaned to Quinn. “I really should have done a few sessions at the Oxford climbing wall before I came out here…” I’d been doing most of the leading, and finding out that you used muscles in a way that you just can’t prepare for in a conventional gym. Only climbing prepares you for climbing. I was now experiencing the three day effect.
“I think I’m completely clenched out,” I told him, experimentally opening and closing my hands. They’d barely grasp anything right now.
“Maybe you should fix up a finger board at your flat,” Quinn suggested helpfully.
“Not allowed to screw anything into the walls,” I demurred.
“Well let’s stop for today then,” he suggested even more helpfully. “Shall we retreat for a drink and I’ll give you a reet good massage later?”
“That sounds grand,” I rewarded him. “But we’ll skip the local delicacy shall we?”
He grinned and mimed maggots leaping out in all directions. We’d met an old bloke who’d told us about the traditional local cheese. Apparently they used maggots to ripen it, and when it came time to eat it, you either sprinkled salt on it and watched the maggots leaping out, or put it in a paper bag to suffocate them and listened to the sounds of maggots hitting the side of the bag like popcorn as they tried to escape, only opening the bag again when the percussion had stopped…
“Yeah, let’s give that one a miss, shall we?” He agreed. It was sold purely under the counter anyway these days, as thankfully, the EU regs no longer allowed it to go on public sale.
Quinn sat up and stretched, the muscles rippling across his shoulders and back. His pale Celtic skin never seemed to tan. He’d kept on with the cornrow plaits and the knot at the back. I’d seen some postcards recently of the Chinese Terracotta Army, and it kind of reminded me of that look. He seemed to have hit upon a style that I had to admit, really suited him. Made him look modern and cutting edge while classic and harking back at the same time which meant he could pair it with any fashion statement he liked. I’d made him shave off the designer stubble though, while here on Sardinia at least, where no-one would see him. When I pointed out that it hurt when he kissed me and made me sore, he’d very quickly come back out clean-shaven.
He kissed me now and laid me back down on the rock again for a moment. I stretched out and let him run his hands over me. He smiled down at me. “Your nipples always stick out, don’t they? Whatever you’re wearing I can always see them.”
I looked a bit dismayed at him. “Really? Is that true?”
He ran a light hand over them. “Yep.”
Maybe I should start wearing a padded bra to hide them? Just that bras really hurt. I was small enough to mostly get away with crop tops.
He pulled me up and we wandered back to the village with the winding uneven steps and picturesque topsy turvy pale stone houses. We stopped off for a drink at a bar.
“You looking forward to the new race season?” He asked as we perched on the bar stool.
“Yep,” I agreed economically. “And did you know that Rob has offered to pass his F1 cars on to me this year?”
Quinn’s eye brows raised sharply. He himself had once been Rob Rudd’s prodigy, in the F2 Stocks, when Rob was banned for a year in the F1 format. “You’re honoured!” He observed.
“Aye, I know,” I agreed. “He’s going to mechanic for me for a bit till I get the hang of it…”
Quinn smiled. “So are you going to make it to World Champion?”
“With Rob out of it, I guess I might,” I agreed, with no attempt at false modesty.
Quinn’s eyes narrowed on me. “You thoroughly intend to, don’t you?”
I smiled slowly at him. “So does Rob, or he wouldn’t be passing his precious Gold tops on to me… You can mechanic for me as well if you like,” I added graciously.
Quinn grinned. “Yeah, that might be rather fun. When I’m around that is. Just like old times…”
He’d worked with Rob for years at the RAC and I bet he hadn’t even seen him for at least a year now. Yeah, I thought. That’s what me and Quinn need. To feel normal again. Like we did at Christmas when we were just the big brother and sister of a noisy excited gang of kids, getting them to run around playing Shark while making the paper islands smaller and smaller whenever the admittedly weirdly futuristic electronic music stopped. Turned out Jamie didn’t do Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer… now there’s a surprise.
“What are your plans for the year?” I asked as we wended our way back to the small apartment Quinn had hired for us, with two bedrooms I’d immediately noticed. Good lad… he was getting the message.
“Well, we’ll be at those two festivals back in Austen of course,” he started his list.
“Of course,” I echoed dryly.
“Late spring tour of Europe – smallish venues – just ourselves this time. Summer tour of various British music festivals that have booked us. We’ve been invited to do a set on one of the secondary stages at Glastonbury. Autumn tour of the US supporting the Brothers again. Bits and pieces in between. Release a new EP some time…”
Right, so we weren’t going to be seeing much of each other, were we? I suddenly felt a pang at the fact that I’d wasted this off season break holding him at arm’s length. We wandered into the cool tiled kitchen and he raised his eyebrows. “Massage?”
I thought about it. “Shower first, then massage…”
I came out ten minutes later feeling relaxed and clean. Quinn decided to follow suit, and returned in just a pair of shorts, water droplets still sparkling on his shoulders. He came to find me in my bedroom. I was sitting cross legged on the bed in shorts and a short sleeved loose cotton top, texting one of the guys from Ferrari who was asking me how I liked the Italianate climbing in Sardinia. It was he who had recommended the place to me.
Quinn sat beside me and looked over my shoulder. “Who’s Gianluca?” He asked with a frown.
“Ferrari,” I said, tossing the phone to one side. “You remember? You met him out in Maranello. The guy with the ponytail and piercings?”
“Oh, aye, it rings a bell…”
He took one of my arms and began to work on it, especially the wrists and biceps, which felt great, then he started on my shoulders which made me groan with pleasure. “Lie down then,” he instructed, “so I can do it properly.”
I lay flat on the bed on my stomach and he sat straddled over me, and worked on my back, pushing the loose top up to get at it while I made encouraging pleasurable noises. Finally he rolled off me and lay down beside me. He lay propped up on his side and I turned over to face him. He ran his hand lightly up and down my bare arm and looked intensely at me. Then he smiled, his green eyes warm on my face. “Hello, lovely,” he greeted, somewhat randomly.
“Hello, handsome,” I returned politely, suppressing a smile.
He smiled and leaned forward to kiss me, very gently and sensuously on the lips.
“You said once,” I reminded him, “that if I were yours you’d tell me I was gorgeous, lovely and precious every day…”
He smiled. “Oh, you remember that do you? Well, I shall do, once you’re mine,” he promised.
He lowered his eyes briefly then looked back up. “It’s just that I thought that if I did that it might remind you of Tyler…”
I te
sted out my reactions, then sighed. “Forget Tyler,” I told him. “He’s not here now, and you are.”
“But you’d have gone off in the sunset with him, wouldn’t you?” He said, looking hurt.
I nodded.
“So I’m second best?” He established.
I hesitated. “You didn’t treat me right, Quinn. And he did. You had your chance to win me first – but you didn’t want me enough to last the course. You’ve matured now and you’ve got this second chance do it right.”
“I’ve wasted so much time, haven’t I?” He exclaimed suddenly. He frowningly worked it out on his fingers, while I watched in amusement. I’d never consciously noticed that before, but yeah, now I came to think about it, I realised he always used his fingers to count. “Nearly seven years…” He announced. “I’m such an idiot!” he berated himself. Then he glanced swiftly at me with a humorous glint in his eye. “Just saying it first, before you can get your own insult in there!”
“Surely not as long as that, Quinn?” I cavilled. “I can’t believe we’d have lasted the course when we were only sixteen. We were both still selfish, violently competitive, immature idiots back then! We’ve maybe missed out on a year, tops?” My tone invited discussion.
He narrowed his eyes. “Why’d you think it’s only a year?”
“Because if you’d swept me up in your arms when I got out of that armed siege and told me that you were never going to let me go again I’d have…”
He raised his eyebrows. “…melted into them?” He suggested.
I thought about it for a moment. “Burst into tears probably,” I admitted. “I needed you.”
He bit his lip. “I – I s’pose I just-” he broke off and sighed. “I’m such a muppet! Honestly, I know I let you down. I actually saw it in your eyes when you looked so disappointed and turned away. It was the first time you’d given me any hope I might be in with a chance. You practically offered an open invitation and I muffed it!”
There was a short silence.
“And after Pete?” He persisted. “Would you have accepted me if I’d made my move then?”
The Way Back (Not Quite Eden Book 6) Page 44
