Thrills and Spills (Not Quite Eden Book 3) Read online

  Somewhere from further along a screeching screaming chord raced up and down an electric fret.

  “What the hell’s that?” Pete asked, taken aback.

  I sighed, “Quinn getting his own back…just ignore it,” and I pulled his head back down for our lips to meet again.

  I used to stay over regularly on race nights in the Satterthwaites’ spare room, or when helping to work late into the evening on the cars. But all this week I was too embarrassed to stay over because it would mean making a point of going into Pete’s bedroom together in front of his parents and sister. On Friday night I was up at theirs to work on my car before our final weekend of the racing season and we ended up having some supper all together as a family in the kitchen. Now Pete stood up and took the decision firmly out of my hands by announcing, “Eve and I are going up now…”

  I stood up with him and ducked my head, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  Sue smiled and said, “Ok, sleep well.”

  Safely his room I protested, “I’m really embarrassed now – your parents are just up the corridor!”

  He smiled. “We’re not teenagers, Eve-” Then he stopped and corrected himself. “Well actually you are! But they know what adults get up to together and I’ve been bringing girlfriends home for eight years now so it’s not a novelty.”

  “How many girlfriends?” I asked jealously.

  “Only three,” he said. “All of them fairly long term. I’m not like that flatmate of yours – or was that Kes chap just joking?”

  “Are you talking about Quinn’s sexual proclivities?” I established. “No, Kes is right, Quinn’s just an alley cat.”

  “And you went out with him once?” Pete had clearly been dying to ask.

  “For a couple of months an age ago,” I dismissed. “And there was no way I was going to be another notch on his bedstead, so he pissed off with someone who wasn’t so fussy.”

  Pete relaxed a bit at my tone. He drew me over to him. I put my arms around his neck and looked up at him. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to sleep with,” I said completely truthfully.

  His hazel eyes smiled down at me. “Well that’s just as well as I’m about to take all your clothes off and take you to bed with me…”

  We had been shagging every night that he stayed over at mine, which was every night this week since Skeggie, and every morning when we had the time. And still, every time he touched me I’d go shivery and liquid inside and feel like an empty vessel needing to be filled. At work, I only had to think momentarily of something he’d done the night before and there’d be a visceral jolt inside me and my breathing would change.

  Finally Steve Bolton said to Jo, “Any idea what’s going on with Ginty? She’s been all moony and drifty for days now.”

  Jo rolled her eyes. “She’s been like this since she hooked up with my brother. He’s nearly as bad… Guess we just have to sit it out. They’ll have to come up for air eventually…”

  The Sunday of the second weekend in November, and we had made it down in the Beast to Stoke Stadium, Loomer Road, Chesterton. This was the last fixture in the F2 Stock car season where any points won would count towards the driver gradings and the National Points table and there were two knock-out fights for titles going on today. The two front runners for the National Points Championship were here to sort it out on the track and Quinn, Strickland and I were going head to head for the Novice of the Year title. I was told it was extremely rare for either title to go to the wire like this, so tensions were high amongst drivers and spectators alike. The National Points Champion had the right to paint their roof silver and came second only in ranking after the gold roofed World Champion.

  “It could be carnage,” Paul had warned at the beginning of the day. I had a heat and a Final to survive before Quinn, Strickland and I went on to the Whites and Yellows Series Final at the end of the day to sort out our own title hopes once and for all. “There’s a lot riding on it today for a number of different drivers. There could be pile-ups galore. You need to keep a cool head and just concentrate on getting in one piece to the finish. If you can get to the front quickly and stay there you might miss some of the scrum. There’s going to be a bit of luck involved in winning anything today as some people have a lot to lose, and others will be at the stage where they have nothing whatsoever to lose and are therefore just as dangerous. But one of the main things to do is to survive each race intact in order to be able to start the next one, or you can wave good-bye straight away to that title! It might just end up going to the only one of the three of you that manages to start that Series Final with a complete car…”

  Pete was on the fidget. Our outing to Skegness with his return to racing in Jo’s car had just rubbed it in how much he’d been missing by breaking his leg so early in the season. And I was uncomfortably aware of just how noble he had been to lend his car to me, as by now he could have been back behind the wheel if he hadn’t been so good about honouring his commitment to me. He had his arm across my shoulder for much of the time, and other times he’d be absentmindedly running his hand up and down the small of my back and I found it very calming. He kissed me off to the first heat. I qualified. Jo didn’t. She said she still felt off colour and couldn’t be bothered to go in for the Consolation. She was coughing a lot. I could see Pete looking irritably at her. I sensed that he was cross that if she felt she couldn’t be bothered she should have dropped out a while back, in time for him to borrow her car again for a shot at this meet.

  All three of us novices were in the same heat. We lined up together, these days at the back of the whites and the yellows. Josh Strickland, our fellow points rival, was starting just ahead of us. Quinn and I glanced at each other. We would fight to the death, but each of us would rather the other one won than allowing Strickland to. A sixteen lap fight for survival later, and the order the three of us passed the chequered flag was me, then Quinn, then Strickland.

  By the time we raced in the Final, the word ‘carnage’ seemed an understatement. There were pile-ups on the first corner. The yellow flags were waved almost straight away, so we had to pull back to walking pace and stay in order. It was frustrating, keeping the car under control while they cleared the smashed cars out of the way whilst all the time keeping them revving up enough to clear the shale out of the throttle, on tenterhooks as to the moment when we’d have to take off at full speed again and be suddenly concentrating at super-human levels again.

  Then we were off again. The red roofed cars (know as the ‘stars’), and the red roofed cars with flashing lights (dubbed the ‘super stars’), the Gold, and last year’s Silver trying to retain his title were all shoving and pushing to get to the front. They were bashing all the other cars out of their way without compunction. Five times we were slowed to a crawl by more yellow flags. Cars were hitting barriers and others driving straight at them and being thrown into the air. Each new start was like having to start the whole race again. I began to see what Paul meant. It was going to be a case of ‘last man standing’. The one of us keeping the coolest head and showing the fastest reactions to the smashes just ahead would be the one to conquer.

  On the last lap of the race the Silver and his rival were battling it out shoulder to shoulder, pushing and shoving. I put my foot down and tried to keep ahead of the remaining scrum. I couldn’t keep track of where my own rivals were I just had to keep my eyes peeled for trouble ahead and slew my way round the corners – keeping on turning left…

  The black and white chequered flag waved for the end of the race and we carried on going until it was safe to slow down and leave the track. In the final moments of the race, the rival to the current Silver had mounted a last bend challenge, thrown the Silver out into a wide arc, and taken the last corner perfectly to win the race. Consequently the previous year’s National Points Champion was going to have to pass his title on, and the new champion was celebrating by turning his car in delighted spins on the track like a dog chasing its own tail and then the driv
er leapt out and stood on the roof of his car and everyone was cheering. Amazingly, by following Paul’s advice to get ahead and stay out of trouble, I’d achieved third place after the two Silver contenders.

  Paul helped me out, looking proud. “Well done!”

  “Shit, that was more like a Demolition Derby,” Jo remarked. “I’m glad I kept out of that one. I can’t believe you managed to come out of that third!”

  I took my helmet off and Pete kissed me. “What happened to everyone else?” I asked. “I didn’t even bother to keep track of what was going on, I was just too busy avoiding all the wreckage…”

  “Just as well Tyler has nothing to prove, because he crashed out early on when two idiots smashed headlong into each other off the barriers right in front of him.” Paul reported. The World Championship had already been decided back in September, and Tyler had retained his Gold roof so he probably wouldn’t care that much.

  “Strickland span out half way through as well,” Jo observed.

  My heart gave a flip. That meant Strickland had just ruled himself out of our contest. “And Quinn?” I asked tentatively.

  “Two places behind you,” Paul gave me the good news. “Got a thump up the arse that threw him out to the barriers but he recovered well and only lost one place.”

  I smiled in satisfaction. That meant I was now four points ahead. I looked down at the car. “Sorry Pete…”

  With the imminent return of his pride and joy I had noticed Pete casting covetous looks more often in the direction of his car, and it had received a real pounding today. I’d have to give him a real good shagging tonight to make up for it.

  So now there was only the one race left. I might be just ahead of Quinn, but only by four points. All he had to do was come five places ahead of me in the first eight places that qualified for points, or come in any of the first six positions if I was unplaced. And in Stock car racing anything was possible. It just needed an unfortunate pile up in front of me, too late for me to steer round and that could be a deciding moment. Consequently I was quite nervous for once. Even batting Pete’s hand away as he rested it on my neck.

  Paul gave me one of his talkings to. “You need to keep your head and hold your nerve in this one Eve. You need to just head to the front and stay there. Don’t think about Quinn, don’t think about the points, just fix your mind on the finish line and be determined to get there first.” He patted me on the shoulder. “You can do it.”

  The atmosphere was tense.

  We lined up at the start. With so many whites and yellows present there was a good deal of toing and froing and Marshal intervention to get the order correct and it seemed to take forever. Loud stupid music was going on in the background over the tannoys and I could hear my heart beating loudly in my head. I took some deep breaths. I couldn’t allow the importance of the occasion to throw me off balance. I looked at the sea of white and yellow ahead of me and knew there were unusually few cars behind me. Did I just try and bash my way straight through to the front? Or try to overtake on the outside to avoid having to make so much contact with the potential risk of disaster? The one thing I didn’t do, was look at Quinn. I must try to put out of my mind that he was in the more favourable position on the inside. The main thing I had to do, I reminded myself, was just get placed ahead of Quinn – I didn’t have to finish first.

  The rolling start. Cars were having trouble staying in line, jerky moves took people forward and back again. My stomach churned. The green flag went down and a wave of speed washed from the front to the back.

  All that mattered now was to be super alert and concentrate. I relied on intimidation. It didn’t matter what roof colour you had by the end of the season, to qualify for the Whites and Yellows Series Final you just had to have started out this year as a novice in your first season in the F2s. The four of us who had done especially well this season and were near the top of the yellow rankings on the National Points Table had been put to the back. I was like the tip of an arrow as the four of us plunged our way through the whites and yellows ahead, some of whom just got meekly out of the way to allow us to pass. Once to the front I screamed away, cut corners so tight no-one could get through on my inside, then felt quite irritable to find myself coming up against back markers - whites that were already a lap behind me and were now in my way again. Some of them got out of my way. Some of them I shunted. Amazingly there wasn’t a single major pile up in the whole race. There were no yellow flags. We skidded our way round with our foot through the floor and I passed the chequered flag still in the lead, drove round at a modest speed until we were allowed to leave the track, then drove at the proscribed 5 mph back to the pits.

  The Satterthwaites were waiting for me there, identical broad grins plastered on their faces. I took my helmet off. “Well that’s done,” I said. “It’s in the bag now.” I hadn’t even smiled yet.

  They hauled me out and hugged me. “I’m hoarse from screaming at you,” Jo said with her arms around me.

  “You’re supposed to stay on the track and do a Victory Lap with the chequered flag, not just drive off!” Pete chided me with a smile.

  Paul kissed me on the cheek and patted me hard on the shoulder, “Well done Eve, I knew you were capable of it, but wasn’t sure if you’d crumple under the weight of the occasion.”

  Pete kissed me on the lips. “I’m a nervous wreck now,” he admitted.

  “The only one who seems to be completely unaffected seems to be Eve,” Jo joked.

  It was true. I’d much rather be the one driving with the outcome in my own hands than the ones watching, really caring about the outcome but helpless to do anything about it. Maybe next year I might have to watch Pete driving in something that really mattered and find out what it felt like.

  Just then, three people who looked completely out of place here arrived in our pit area. The woman was in high heels and a prissy suit, one of the men was a smart casual metropolitan type, and the third wielded a big camera. I assumed they’d be from some local newspaper reporting on the last big night of the Stocks season, but it seemed they weren’t.

  “We’re from ITV. We’re thinking of making a documentary about Formula Two Stock Cars. Along the lines of the ‘Gears and Tears’, the one done about by the BBC about the Formula Ones, but with a ground breaking formula – putting it out once a week with fast editing so it chronicles the season in nearly ‘real time’.” The woman was talking fast.

  “Oh? Right…” We were being polite but offhand. They’d appeared completely out of the blue and all we cared about at the moment was my recent title triumph. We assumed they were just flitting around doing some research and letting us all know there’d be some cameras around next year.

  “So we need to get our team sorted out quickly as we want to start in the New Year. The concept is to follow a few of the drivers and their teams around for the year, showing all the thrills and spills of the season.”

  We fidgeted about, trying to stay polite, but really just wishing they’d shut up and move on to the next team so we could continue with our celebrations.

  The metro type took over. “We’ll be following the top tier of course, such as the World Champion and the National Points Champion but we also wanted to showcase a few drivers who are just starting out to, enable viewers to see how they gain a foothold in the sport…”

  The woman again, a bit gushingly. “So we were talking to-” She glanced down at her tablet screen and scrolled, “–Nat Tyler, and he suggested that we talk to you as a promising young driver.” She glanced anxiously between me and Jo. “He said it was unusual to have a girl do so well…”

  Me and Jo looked at each other. “He must mean you, Eve,” Jo said.

  The woman looked relieved. “Yes-” Another quick shufti at her screen. “He said Eve McGinty?”

  “Yes, that’s me.” I said.

  The woman homed in on me and smiled persuasively. “Would you be willing for us to follow you around every now and again during the year?�
� She looked around at the Satterthwaites. “Of course you’d all have to agree to it as we’d be showing her team working on the car and supporting her and maybe the odd glimpse of your life outside the races, Eve – at work or whatever your hobbies are…”

  I looked at Paul for help, not sure what to think. The woman was leaning forward waiting for the answer. Paul was frowning. At last he said, “A bit of publicity might help you get some more sponsorship deals, Eve. You’re really going to need some money behind you to get you to the top, and you will seem like a good bet to potential sponsors if their names are going to get on TV.”

  The woman beamed as though we’d just all agreed. “So all we need now is to have a good foil for you. Who is your biggest rival right now who you might expect to be battling it out next year with?”

  Again I looked at Paul. I didn’t want to be the one to say it…

  “That would be young Adam Quinn, from Rob Rudd’s team,” Paul suggested. “They both started at almost exactly the same time and have been battling it out for the Novice of the Year title which Eve here has just won.” He put his arm proudly around me. “But Quinn was a close second…”

  She was tapping all this down into her device balanced awkwardly on the low barrier. “Ok, that’s great… Can we take a photo of you all for our records?”

  The photographer took a quick snap of us all standing in a group. “It’s just for our own reference – it won’t be published anywhere,” he said.

  The woman glanced up at me, her head tipped awkwardly as she finished her last words of typing. “Could you take us over to wherever this Adam Quinn is?”