Fast Track to Forever

Prologue

25th November

Bahrain

Will

The lights flicker in the distance like a mirage. The heat on the smooth racetrack asphalt lifts up steam. The growling of the race car engines merge together like an antique Greek choir of Doom. My body is taut with adrenaline and my breaths are short, like I’m about to run that half-marathon I’m always committing to, but never quite making it.

Damn, my hands are clammy. It’s lucky I have my driving gloves on, gripping the steering wheel. “Good luck” are the final words on the team radio. I squint and bring up the most powerful memory I can conjure. My mountains, the Remarkables. My lake. My family. Yep, this is why I’m here.

The lights turn to green, and I slam my foot on the accelerator. Let's do this.

The champagne fizz overwhelms my senses, enveloping me like a crisp blanket. Everyone pats my back as I go past, and people whose names I don't know congratulate me.

I toss my gloves to one side and dial the most familiar phone number of all. New Zealand. Home. It rings three times, and it goes to the B&B voicemail. My mother’s warm and cheerful voice chimes in: “You have reached Pine Lodge B&B. There is no one available to take your call right now. Please leave a voice message after the tone, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Alternatively, please use our brand new website booking system”.

I scoff. Brand new? They’ve had that rudimentary website for the last five years. I cut the call and try again. It’s towards the end of breakfast service in New Zealand. Surely, I sigh. Surely, someone will pick up the phone.

“You have reached Pine Lodge B&B—“ I drop the arm holding the phone against my side with a sigh, not bothering to hear the rest of the automated message.

I’ll leave a voicemail. The long beep makes me jump. What was I even going to say? I clear my throat. “Hey, Mum and Dad. It’s Will. I’m in Bahrain. I won the season…”

The team owner, the manager and several members of the crew are striding towards me, gesticulating, in great spirits. Before they tear me out of my bubble, I continue speaking quickly. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you I’m coming home for Christmas. And maybe New Year’s. Speak soon. Love you.”

I hang up the call and take a deep breath. Wow, I’m really doing it. Taking a break after five years. I ruffle my helmet hair and stride towards my team. I have some helluva good news to share.

29th November

Monaco

Darius Plein lets out a large puff of cigar smoke. I cough and raise my eyebrows at Tom, the long-suffering team manager. Tom sighs, and waves around his nose, to send a direct cue to Darius, the owner.

Darius sets down his cigar and leans back in his sumptuous leather chair. “You know, Will, when I took you on five years ago, you were a nobody from some backwater at the end of the world.”

I’ve heard this spiel so many times over the years, that I cut straight in. “And I’m grateful, Darius. But this holiday season, I’m taking a break. Going off-grid. Visiting family.”

Tom chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

My fingers start a regular drumming on the wooden armrests. I know I’m taking a big gamble here. I’m not Madonna-famous, but I’m recognizable. Tall, red hair. I stand out like a giraffe. A memory tugs at the back of my brain, and I let myself be carried to the past for a second.

“Earth to Will! Hello!” Darius shouts through his cupped hand like a voicebox.

I’m even more irritated. I slouch, cross my legs and tap my feet. “I know people will recognize me. I lived there for eighteen years. But I also know that people in Queenstown don’t CARE who I am”, I emphasize for good measure.

Tom shrugs and wipes some invisible specs of dust off his armrests. Darius’s place is absolutely spotless, kept by an army of cleaners, butlers and assistants. My one bedroom apartment would fit in his walk-in closet.

Darius stares at the ceiling, his palms forming a triangle. He is puzzled by me telling him I’m going. Not asking for permission. Just going.

I rise before this conversation drags on longer than it has. “That’s settled then. I’m off from mid-December until after New Year’s. Until then, it’s training as usual.”

Darius cocks his head. “Ok. I’ll allow it. Have a good break. Don’t get in too much trouble.”

I roll my eyes, as I push the ornately carved door towards temporary freedom. “Yes, Mum .”

The idea of going back to New Zealand fills me with both longing and dread. I yearn to reconnect with the place that shaped me, but I'm also afraid of facing the person I left behind. Will I still recognize myself? Will they? I know I need to make this journey, but I can't shake the inner turmoil it brings.

29th November

York, UK

Kat

Snowflakes swirl in a gentle dance and cover the cobbled streets of York. I shiver and tuck my cardigan closer to my body. At least it’s warm inside the shop.

I pick up the large stack of vintage clothing that I labeled and priced and divide it up between the racks and shelves already laden with so much goodness. The moss green corduroy pinafore goes here, and the denim jacket needs to be at the front. The 90s are back, baby!

I work tirelessly for an hour then wipe my brow and take some snaps with my phone for the shop’s website and Instagram account. I schedule some posts in advance. Auntie Gem really needs to get the hang of this while I’m gone, more so if stock isn't moving before Christmas.

In one corner of the shop, towards the frosted window, I spot a bunch of hats.

“Kat, darling, what are you up to?” Auntie Gem’s voice rings out from the back office. Every hour, on the hour, like she’s got some sort of Kat alarm in there.

I maintain my voice at a steady level. “Just some chores. I need to do the hats, then I’m off.”

Auntie Gem peers from behind the heavy garnet coloured drape that separates the office from the rest of the shop, her eager smile always present. “If the snow keeps up, you might not be able to fly to New Zealand. You know that, don’t you?”

Her words bore a hole into my confidence. I laugh nervously and grab the stack of hats, so I can finish up. “I’m sure it will be fine, Gem. They can defrost planes.”

I inspect the hats, one by one, and handwrite description and price tags.

Gem puts a hand on my shoulder, her eyes verging on tears. She looks a lot like my mum, her sister, and my heart constricts.

Her voice trembles. “I wish you were not leaving. Who is going to help me with the shop, darling? You know that when I retire I want you to take it over. Make it your own, with your creations.”

I glance at the window filled with an array of eclectic and nostalgic items, from antique cameras to vintage clothing, beckoning passersby to come inside. The soft sound of the vintage record player spinning old tunes blends with the chatter of the two customers browsing the clearance rack. If this place were mine… Why does the idea not appeal to me anymore like it used to? Why do I feel chained to a destiny or another, not of my design or choosing?

Two hats left. A straw cowboy hat and an emerald green felt fedora. As different as night and day. Both can make or break outfits. I label and price them before I answer.

“I'm just going back for Christmas and New Year’s, Gem. I'm coming back mid January like we always said. Then it’s business as usual.”

And maybe by then I’ll have my life figured out. Know what I want to do with my Fashion & Textile degree.

Auntie Gem insists, like I knew she would. “You're saying that now, but I know that once you get there, my sister and your dad will say you just finished University and you need to come home and help them out with the flour mill and factory.”

I wave dismissively. The flour mill appeals just as much as being stuck in this vintage shop forever. “No way, Gem, there's nothing keeping me in New Zealand.”

Gem throws her arms in the air. “You might meet a handsome stranger on the way to Doha.”

I grab the stack of hats and place them around the shop. “Oh, I don't know about that. What does your sister, my mum, always say? Never trust a stranger.”

Gem nods, and I daydream of warmer weather in New Zealand.