Pole Position (9 page)

I really thought Anita would be there. There was always a chance she’d come late and missed seeing me before the race, but I was convinced she’d be waiting when I finished. And knowing she was watching, or so I thought, I pulled on every last ounce of energy to make it a damned fine race. I soared across the finish line, seconds ahead of Daniel Jerman, my nearest rival, and cruised around on the victory lap. I grinned and punched the air.

Not only had I almost certainly confirmed my championship win—with only four races to go, I would be difficult to beat—but she’d celebrate with me. As I pulled into the pit lane I looked, but there was no sign of her.

When Tom broke the news Anita hadn’t turned up, I felt as though I’d been punched in the stomach.

“Are you sure? She’s not just late?”

He shook his head. I could tell he was embarrassed for me. “Not unless she arrived in the last couple of minutes, and that’s unlikely.” I sagged, unwilling to think about why she hadn’t bothered to come. “The press are here, lad. Give them a big smile. You’re a pro, remember? Give ‘em what they want. You can worry about your girl later.”

He was right, as always. I plastered a grin on my face, accepted the embrace of the nearest track girl and posed for some pictures. I did some more air punching, gave a few sound bites, then allowed myself to be swept away by the promoters to accept my trophy, and to get royally pissed. If she couldn’t make the effort, why should I bother to go chasing after her?

****

Hours later, I was about to get a ride home, when the young apprentice from the pits spoke to me. “Excuse me, did you see that young blonde asking for you? I lost her in the crowd and figured she must have found you.”

I just scowled at him. If he was trying to fix me up with yet another nameless bimbo, I wasn’t interested. I had a stinking headache, had drunk far more than was good for me, and wanted to go home and sleep.

“Annie,” he persisted. “Annie Cartwright.”

My sleepy brain cells ticked round, once, twice. “You mean
Anita
Cartwright? Tall, slim, brown eyes?”

He nodded. “Pretty too.”

I hauled him to one side in the crowded room. “She was here? You spoke to her?”

“Yes. She arrived late. I went to fetch her from the gate just as the race was finishing. Took her down to the pits, but then I lost her. I’d assumed she’d found you.” He looked a little wary.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or swear. She
had
been there, and probably seen me with the track girl. Tom said she hadn’t arrived, and I never thought to check for myself. Bloody hell.

I dug in my pocket for my mobile, then pushed my way outside, took a few deep breaths, and called her home number. After an agonizing wait, a familiar bloke answered.
Shit
, it was him again.

“I want to speak to Anita, please.”

There was a pause, and then the guy cleared his throat. “She doesn’t want to talk to you.” He sounded bored.

I gripped the phone tightly. I imagined I was squeezing my hand round his neck instead. “There was a misunderstanding, I only just found out she was here. Will you get her for me,
please
?” I had an intense dislike for this man. It had to be the
Danny
that Anita and Colette had spoken of.

“What misunderstanding was that?” He was smirking, I could tell. “She said, and I quote, ‘he was snogging some Barbie doll. As far as I’m concerned he can get stuffed.’ I think that’s pretty clear actually, mate.”

“Well,
mate
, would you please give her a message from me? Tell her I’m sorry, and it wasn’t what she thought—”

“I’m not your bloody secretary.”

I took a deep breath. I was in no state to drive round to her house so I’d have to ask someone to give me a lift there. “Please tell her I called. Will you do that?”

“What I will do is give you some advice. I warned her not to get involved with you, and now she understands why. She’s not your type, so why don’t you just fuck off and leave her alone.”

He hung up on me. I hurled the phone to the floor and shouted a few obscenities of my own.

My parents had come to the race, and they were both celebrating as Dad drove away from the racetrack. There was talk of going on to a party, or a restaurant, but I couldn’t face it. Dad glanced across at Mum in the passenger seat of his Mercedes, and she turned round in her seat to speak to me.

“Jon, darling, what’s wrong? We thought you’d be so pleased to win today. Is it something to do with Susie?”

My eyes felt tired and gritty when I rubbed them. “No, nothing to do with Susie. I met a girl, and there’s been a misunderstanding. I was hoping to see her today, but I don’t know if she wants to see me.”

I must have sounded desolate, and Mum looked worried. “It’s only eight, why don’t you go round and see her? Is she local?”

I considered this option, but I couldn’t bear the thought of having my parents sitting outside, watching me try to make up with her. “She lives in Cumberley. If you drop me off at the end of her street, I’ll get a taxi home.”

I dozed. It was easier than staying awake and reliving that moment over and over. When I awoke with a start, it was dark outside, and I heard raised voices—an argument. Bloody Danny, probably having another fight with Colette or Clare. I groaned and reached for a pillow, only to pause. That sounded like Jon.

I put the pillow down, hurried to the bedroom door, and listened down the stairs.

“I just want to talk to her.”

It
was
Jon. What the hell was he doing here? I crept halfway down the stairs and peered through the banisters. There was Danny in the doorway, Jon on the step and Colette lurking in the kitchen.

“Fuck off, Pretty Boy. I’ve already told you, she doesn’t want to see you.”

“Then I’ll wait until she does.”

“She’s not even here.”

“Her car’s here. I
know
she’s here.”

I realized he was drunk from the slight slurring in his words. But he was here. He’d come for me. My chest warmed at the thought.

I don’t know who moved first, but Danny and Jon were brawling and rolling on the gravel path, a wriggling, struggling mass of fists and feet. They were a similar height but Danny was solid and stocky, while Jon was thin and wiry.

“Danny!” Colette launched into the fray and tried to haul him back while I tried to put myself between the two of them. It was useless, they didn’t even see me. Jon was flat on his back. Danny knelt over him and tried to punch his face.

“
Stop
.” I yelled. I was as pathetic as a gnat buzzing around them.

Colette was more practical. She sprinted back to the kitchen, returned seconds later with the washing up bowl, and dumped the contents over the pair of them.

“You’re like a pair of feckin’ dogs,” she shouted, followed by a string of abuse—such a loud, strong voice for her tiny frame. The men spluttered, distracted by the soapy water cascading over them. Colette grabbed Danny’s collar and yanked him backward. As he toppled over, landing roughly on his stomach, she sat down on his back and started scolding him.

I struggled forward, my knees shaking, and dropped to the ground next to Jon. “Jon?” I whispered. His eyes were closed, his face wet and soapy. He convulsed, spat out a mouthful of dirty water and spluttered, before pushing himself to a sitting position.

Danny continued cursing and muttering, Colette still sitting on him, thumping him round the head when he resisted.

I helped Jon stand, but then he saw Danny on the ground and lurched forward.

“You arsehole,” he shouted, his fury still evident. “What the fuck was all that for?”

“Oh no you don’t.” I placed myself between the pair of them. Danny was trying his hardest to get up but Colette was firmly in position.

“Anita, get Jon into the kitchen. I’ll sort out this great lummox.”

Jon stared down at Danny, and breathed heavily. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand—then lunged toward his enemy again.

“
No
.” Colette reacted with a speed that amazed me. She swung out with the plastic washing up bowl, striking Jon, cracking against his shins. The dull thud was echoed by his howl of pain.

“Inside.
Now
.” She pointed the bowl toward the house, and stunned, Jon complied.

Leaning on me, he hobbled into the house where I pushed him down into one of the kitchen chairs.

“
Anita
.” Jon’s face lit up, and he held out his arms to me.

I gazed back at him. His hair was wet, soapsuds dripping over his face. Danny had scored some hits; Jon had a graze on his cheekbone and an angry-looking bruise on his chin. His shirt was dirty and torn, there were bits of gravel stuck to him, and a trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his mouth. Was he still drunk?

“Sweetheart?” His voice was gentle, and he tried to coax me into his arms. “I really need to talk to you.”

Doubt and confusion raged through me. I sat a safe distance away, where I couldn’t touch him. “Go on then.” My voice was wobbly.

Jon groaned and wiped his mouth again, pulling a face at the smear of blood on his hand. “I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?”

His knuckles were grazed and bleeding too. He was a mess, at the hands of one of my best friends. I shrugged, unable to take my eyes off him. I desperately wanted to hold and kiss him.

“I saw you winning,” I said. “There was an accident at the stables, and I was horribly late leaving, but I got there to see you win.”

“I
know
. But I didn’t find out until much later. Tom said you hadn’t come. I was gutted; I really thought you’d be there.”

“Who was the blonde?”

“I don’t know. One of the track girls. It was just for the photos, and then she buggered off. I swear it, Anita. I’m just so sorry it all happened like that, and you had to see it.”

I took a deep breath, it sounded plausible.

“So, why are you fighting with Danny? What has he done to you?”

Jon’s eyes opened wide, as though astounded at my question. “He’s like your fucking Rottweiler; do you pay him protection money or something? I rang you, he said you refused to talk to me and hung up. That’s twice he’s cut me off.” He rubbed his eyes and picked some gravel out of his cheek, wincing as he did so. “Ouch.” Gazing back at me, he tried again.

“I thought if I came round I might be able to speak to you, but he told me to fuck off.” He held out his hands, palms up. “Tell me the truth, Anita. If you want me to go, I will. And I promise you’ll never see me again.” He paused, his voice uneven. “Is that what you really want? It’s not what I hoped for.”

I flew into his arms and buried my face in his chest.

He gave a muffled grunt, and then wrapped his arms around me and held me tight. We were still there when Colette led Danny back in and parked him at the other end of the table.

Jon and Danny snarled at each other. The tension levels in the room rocketed up another few notches.

“Now then.” Colette was red-eyed but calm. “We’re all adults. We’ll talk about this like adults, okay?”

Nobody replied at first. Then Danny, sporting a black eye and a split lip, growled in reply. “Get Pretty Boy out of my house. I didn’t invite him in.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” snapped Colette.

Jon half-rose from the chair. He kept his arm around me as he leaned forward and hissed across at Danny.

“I’ve no intention of staying.”

“
Boys
.” Colette screeched.

It was loud enough to make me wince.

Jon and Danny both scowled at her.

I stood up, wriggled out of Jon’s embrace, and went to grab my purse and car keys. “I’m staying at Jon’s tonight,” I announced to the room at large. You could have heard a pin drop.

Jon gazed at me, dumbstruck.

Colette gaped.

Danny made a disgusted noise in his throat and narrowed his eyes, flashing hatred at Jon. If looks could kill, my darling Jon would have been gasping his final breath. As it was, he recovered pretty quickly.

“Yeah, no problem.” Standing up, he threw Danny a triumphant grin, and held his hand out to me. “Do you want to bring some overnight stuff?”

I nodded, and he followed me to my room and waited, leaning against the door while I tossed a few clothes into my backpack. “It’s Monday tomorrow,” I murmured, thinking aloud. I added my black work trousers and a shirt, then my basic toiletries. It took all of two minutes.

Meanwhile Jon watched my every move, as though he were a starving man who’d spotted food. I hoisted my bag onto my shoulder and went to him, taking his hand and smiling fully at him.

“Is it okay? To come and stay the night?” I was confident of his answer.

“You know it is.” He sounded guarded.

I took a deep breath, plucked up all my courage and kissed him. Pulling back slightly, I stared into his eyes and mentally crossing my fingers for luck, I spoke again.

“I don’t mean in the spare room. Will your parents say anything?”

He looked confused for a moment, then wary, as though I was playing a trick on him. I waited. Had I read this wrong? His free hand came up to cup my face, and he looked intently at me.

“This isn’t just to prove a point, is it? You can always have the spare room.” He smiled weakly. “You already know how comfortable the bed is.”

“No Jon, this isn’t about scoring points. You said I could trust you.” I held his gaze and waited.

Next thing, he was kissing me with an intensity I could never have imagined.