Pole Position (8 page)

Danny finally staggered home on Sunday morning. He was unshaven, still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, and badly hung-over. Dropping into a chair at the kitchen table, he looked at me with bleary eyes.

“Don’t ask,” he rasped. “My bloody sister is a pain in the arse sometimes.”

I made him a coffee. Then, while he sat staring into space, I made him some toast to go with it. I’d no idea where he slept last night and more to the point, with whom.

“You know”—he was thoughtful as he downed his coffee and devoured the toast—”Clare thinks it will be good for Anita to go out with that fuckwit. Can you believe it?”

I hesitated. “She spent last night with him.” I forced a bright laugh. “I was here on my own.”

“She what?” Wide, shocked eyes met my own. “You’re joking.”

I shook my head.

“I didn’t think she would.” He spoke as though to himself.

“Where were you, Danny? I was worried about you, babe.” I tried to keep my voice light and curious, rather than nagging.

He stared at the table as though he was looking miles away. I sat down and took his hand, leaning into him and searching for his lips. He turned to me, and kissed me back. “You’re still here,” he murmured, sliding his hand inside my bathrobe. I moaned as he caressed my breast and fingered my nipple, then gasped in surprise as he picked me up and carried me into my bedroom.

Apart from his breath stinking of whisky, it was amazing again. There it was, that impressive cock, straining and ready for me. We fucked fast and hard, and then collapsed in a heap to catch our breath.

“I need a piss.” He pulled on his boxers and set off for the bathroom.

“Brush your teeth while you’re there,” I called out, and giggled to myself. He had all the social graces of a polar bear. How very decadent to spend Sunday afternoon shagging. I stretched happily under the duvet, then I heard Anita’s car pull up. Grabbing my bathrobe, I dashed out to meet her.

My clothes stunk after being at the stables all morning, and I needed to shower and change before I went to the racetrack. I drove home and ran up the path, practically tripping over Colette in the hallway. She looked equally startled by me bursting into the house, and she pulled the front of her bathrobe together to cover herself.

“Got to dash. I’m off to Oulton Park to watch Jon race, and I’m ridiculously late already. Is the bathroom free?”

“Ah, no. Danny’s just gone in there.”

“Bugger.” I riffled through the clean laundry pile for a fresh T-shirt, and grabbed the first one that came to hand.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“I want a shower,” I wailed in despair. I glared at the clock as Colette brewed some coffee, singing to herself.

“You’re in a good mood,” I observed idly.

She smiled back at me over her shoulder. “Am I?”

I remembered Danny’s absence again. “You’ll have to have a night alone again. You can be completely uninhibited without us here. So where was he last night? Danny, I mean. Does he have a new girlfriend we’ve not met yet?”

Colette paused, and then turned back to me. “He said he’d rowed with Clare, nothing new there, but I’ve no idea where he spent the night. Judging by the state of his breath, he found a whisky bottle.” She blushed. “I’ll go and tell him to hurry up.”

I had my quickest ever shower, put on clean jeans and a T-shirt, and grabbed a hooded sweatshirt. Thankfully, the traffic was light, and I finally arrived at Oulton Park. It was nearly four. Jon’s race would be well underway. The anxious ball inside my chest tightened further.

Finding a parking space was another nightmare, and then I had to find the Competitors’ Enclosure. It was easy to figure out where the race was being held. Engines roared, the PA system blared, and the crowd cheered. I pushed through hordes of people, getting even more panicky. The race must surely be about to finish.
He’ll think I didn’t come.

Finally, I squeezed through a gap in the crowd and saw my goal in front of me, the Competitors’ Enclosure, with a bored looking youth on the gate. I stopped in front of him and gave him my best hundred-watt smile.

“Hi there, I’m here to see Jon Craigowan. My name’s Anita.”

“You and half this crowd. You want to see him, go find a space in the stand. He’s car number six, the blue one.”

“No, you don’t understand, he told me to come here. He said to ask for Tom.” I struggled to remember the name Jon gave me. “
Tom McNally
. I’m to ask for Tom McNally.”

I stood beaming, waiting for him to let me in, but he just scratched his head. I watched as dandruff flakes drifted down onto the papers in front of him. With painful slowness, he looked through the sheaf of documents, as though trying to find something.

“Oh please.” I was close to tears. “I’m so late already, and I was supposed to be here for the start. Will you please ask Tom McNally to let me in?”

“Your name has to be on the list. And Tom is watching the race, he won’t leave it until it’s finished.”

“But he’s expecting me,” I wailed. I really thought I’d just turn up and be let straight in. No such luck.

He gazed back at me, stony-faced. I had a burst of inspiration.

“If I give you a note, would you please pass it on? Now, before the race finishes?”

I should have been expecting his reply. “Sorry, but I can’t leave the gate, otherwise anyone could walk in.”

I felt like screaming. Then I spotted my name on the list. “Look,
there
I am—Annie Cartwright.”

“You said your name was Anita, not Annie.”

I closed my eyes a moment, summoned every ounce of patience, and then spoke slowly and clearly to him. “My name is Anita Cartwright, they must have written it down wrong. Look, there’s my name against visitors for Tom McNally. Like I told you.”

He glared at me. “Identification?”

Oh for fuck’s sake
. I rummaged in my purse. “Bank card and photo-ID driving license.” I held them out triumphantly.

He slowly examined them, cross checked them against the list, then with a final scathing look mumbled something unintelligible into his walkie-talkie and gave me back my cards.

“Well? What happens now? Can I please go in?”

“Nope.” He gave me an insolent grin. “You wait for someone to come and collect you.”

“And how long will that take?”

He shrugged. “Might be after the race has finished, they’re all a bit busy at the moment.” He turned back to his papers and ignored me. I paced up and down as I waited with increasing frustration.

It was actually only a couple of minutes later that a young lad came running up to the gate. “Annie Cartwright?”

“That’s me!” I hurried to the gate and was finally—thank God—admitted.

“Hiya. I’m Mikey, I was told to watch out for you. We’ll have to be quick, the race is almost over.”

“I got held up, and couldn’t get here in time. Was Jon disappointed I wasn’t here at the start?”

“Dunno, sorry.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the front of a small knot of people. “There you are, he’s taking the final curve now.”

I gazed at the blue car flashing across the finish line, the marshal waving a checkered flag as he did so. The crowd went wild. I’d missed the race, but I was here now.

“How can I get down there?” I had to shout over the engine noises for the young lad to hear me.

“This way.” He spoke into my ear and disappeared into the surging crowd heading for the pits. I had to push and wriggle to get through. By the time I got close, Jon’s car had returned and stopped, and he was climbing out. I watched, entranced, as he pulled off his helmet, then a balaclava, and looked around the massed people pouring forward to congratulate him. A stocky man in overalls was already by his side, talking to him, and Jon listened intently. I wanted to shout, but I knew he wouldn’t hear me. The noise was incredible.

It all happened as though in slow motion. Jon looked away from me, but I could see he was talking to this man, then he turned to wave to the crowd. I watched helpless as a tall, curvy blonde uncoiled herself from a stool and walked right up to him, slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. I stopped. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. If it was just a groupie, then Jon would push her away, but he didn’t seem to be complaining. I caught a glimpse of his face. He looked tired—exhausted—and fed up, but he kept the blonde by his side, and they posed together for the press.

I stood still, my hand to my mouth. I contemplated being sick, there on the ground in front of me, but managed to hold it in. What was all that crap about trusting him? I wanted to be angry, but right then, I just wanted to go home. With a sob, I turned and ran, as best as I could, back to the gate and out to my car.

So much for trust, he was no better than Rob.

After she left to meet Jon, Danny and I finally shared the bath I’d offered him. And fucked. Like rabbits. We were at it all afternoon; I probably wouldn’t be able to walk the day after. We were in Danny’s room this time, when I realized there were sounds from downstairs.

“Shh,” I whispered. “That might be Anita.”

He lay back on his bed and grinned at me. “Go and see, then hurry back.” I staggered downstairs—my thighs were already protesting—and found her sitting at the table.

Our kitchen table had been the scene of many dramas, from celebrations to drunken upsets. We used it as the central gathering point so I wasn’t surprised to see her there. What worried me though, was her expression. She looked vacant, as though she’d wandered off and left her body behind.

“Anita?”

She turned to face me. Her lovely eyes were dull and red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying. They flicked over me, and she asked, puzzled, “Have you just got up?”

“Just had a bath,” I improvised, hearing Danny clumping downstairs. He at least had put on some clothes. I blew him a kiss. Anita didn’t notice.

It seemed the lazy Sunday shag was over for now. I pulled my robe tight and sat next to her, Danny taking the chair opposite.

Anita looked across at him, and sighed. “Okay, you were right. I should have listened. I went to the races to see Jon.” She took a deep breath and I didn’t think she was far from tears. “And I saw him, snogging some Barbie doll at the track.” She stared down at the table and examined her fingernails. “As far as I’m concerned, he can get stuffed.”

“No. Are you sure?” I put an arm around her shoulders and looked across at Danny for support. He watched her intently, his lips curving up at the corners. I glared at him and the smile vanished.

Anita took a shuddering breath. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.” She made her way upstairs while I stared in appalled silence at Danny.

“I told you.” He looked very pleased with himself. “He’s a fuckwit, and the sooner she realizes, the better.”

“
Danny
. She’s our friend. She’s hurting. Couldn’t you have a little compassion?”

“I’ve got plenty of compassion. And I’ve mopped up plenty of tears in my time. It’s best it ends this way, Colette, before she gets really hurt.” He tugged me closer, and eased the front of my robe open. “Now then. Where did we get up to?”

****

Several hours later, I found myself poking through the meager contents of the fridge, contemplating what I could rustle up for supper. I’d become the unofficial cook of the house, and thanks to my mum’s skills in the kitchen, capable of producing a decent meal out of slim pickings.

I glanced over my shoulder at Danny. “Spanish omelet okay, babe?”

“Yep. And pass me a beer while you’re there.”

“What happened to please?”

“Yes, it would please me.” While shagging made me ravenous, it put Danny in a brilliant mood. I’d never seen him so playful before. He shucked up behind me, feeling my bottom as I chopped onions and potatoes. I was dressed again, so he couldn’t get access to me quite as easily.

I pretended to be cross, but really, I was enjoying the attention. “Babe, if it’s not too much trouble, would you go and tell Anita the food will be ready soon?”

He just grunted and nibbled on the back of my neck. He would probably have stayed there if the phone hadn’t rung. He grabbed the handset and walked into the hallway, pulling the kitchen door closed behind him. I stopped chopping to listen more closely. It was a short call, and moments later he was bugging me in the kitchen again.

“Who was that?”

“Dunno. Wrong number.”

“That was a lot of talk for a wrong number.”

“Was it?” He gave me an innocent look and made himself busy laying the table.

I turned down the heat under the omelet and slipped upstairs to Anita’s room, knocking before I went in. She sat on the bed, knees tucked to her chin, gazing out through the window at the darkening sky.

“I’ve made some supper, hun, would you like to join us?”

She glanced at me as though surprised to see me. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” She picked at the quilt cover and looked at me again. “Was that the phone?” Her eyes were huge, her expression hopeful.

“It was a wrong number.”

“Oh.”

I hovered in the doorway, uncertain what to do.

She dropped her head. “Go and eat. I’ll be down later.”