TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-EIGHT HOURS LATER, I’M back home, curled up in a ball under my duvet when a lorry starts beeping loudly outside.
‘Go away,’ I groan. I don’t want to wake up yet. I don’t want to start remembering and thinking and … crap . I heave a sigh. Too late. Everything that’s happened over the past three days has already rushed straight back into the forefront of my brain.
‘Urgh.’ I roll over, peel the top of the duvet back and stare at the ceiling. I got home late yesterday, after sixteen hours of wearing a large hat and sunglasses to conceal my identity. Maybe I’m being paranoid; F1 isn’t so mainstream, but I’m not taking any chances. Izabel arranged a car to meet me at Heathrow and bring me back to my door, which made me want to hug her again, even harder. I sent a text to say thank you, but I doubt I’ll hear from her for a while. Gio might not like it and I don’t want her to get fired.
‘Hey.’ There’s a light knock on my door before Ava appears, carrying two mugs. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Just.’
‘I made tea.’ She hands me one of the mugs and pulls up a chair. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’
‘Better.’
‘Liar.’
I bite my lip because I can’t deny it. I told her everything when I got back last night, and I mean everything, the whole story from the very start. It’s a breach of contract, but I don’t care any more. I expected her to be angry at me for lying about my relationship with Gio, but for some reason she wasn’t. She didn’t shout or scream or tell me how hurt and betrayed she felt. She just wrapped an arm round my shoulders and let me cry, which I really, really needed. Unfortunately, it seems to have been a short-term fix because I have a horrible feeling my tear ducts are filling up again.
‘I thought you had classes this morning?’ I ask, sipping my tea. Her internship is over and term starts again this week.
‘I’m leaving soon. There’s something I wanted to tell you first.’
‘Is it the race result? Please, please, please don’t say Farron won.’
‘Sorry.’ She winces apologetically. ‘If it helps, not many people went to the podium to celebrate with him. Even some of his own mechanics stayed away.’
I nod. It helps a little, but not enough.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard from Gio?’ she asks carefully.
I reach for my phone. There are a couple of missed calls from my dad, but no messages. My heart doesn’t know whether to sink or not, so it just kind of hovers. ‘No.’
‘I’m really sorry, Maisie. I know you said it was fake to begin with, but you did catch feelings for him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘I did. But it doesn’t matter any more. It’s over. It was over before I even met Farron that night.’ I toss my phone aside. ‘You were right, I always pick the wrong guys. Gio wasn’t the person I thought he was, not when he could say such horrible things to me.’
‘So, what now?’
‘Now everything goes back to normal. Hopefully. I’ll be a student and purveyor of fine soaps again. End of story.’
‘OK.’ She clears her throat. ‘So I need to get going, but you should probably stay inside today. Keep your head down, you know?’
My stomach clenches. I’ve been avoiding all forms of media since I took a quick peek at X in Singapore and had to go vomit in the toilets. ‘Is it still that bad? Does everyone hate me?’
‘You mean all the totally rational and sane people who give their unsolicited opinions on the internet?’
‘Yes.’ I mentally brace myself. ‘Tell me the truth.’
‘The truth?’ She lifts her eyes to the ceiling and takes a deep breath. ‘Farron fans hate you for destroying his marriage. Gio fans hate you for betraying him. Basically you’re responsible for everything bad in the world, including climate change and food shortages.’ She sighs. ‘A few people think it’s unfair that you’re getting most of the abuse, but they’re not exactly on your side either.’
‘So basically I’m the villain?’
‘Mobs always blame the woman. Misogyny is a bitch.’
‘I don’t know.’ I lean back against the wall. ‘If I’d done what they think I’ve done, I guess I can understand their viewpoint.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t!’ She sounds indignant. ‘Even if it were true, it’s nobody’s business who you do or don’t sleep with. They have no right to judge. Most of them are probably just jealous.’
I smile at her vehemence. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this angry before.’
‘Because you’re my friend and I love you.’
‘Even after I lied about Gio?’
She tilts her head. ‘I wish you’d told me, but I understand why you didn’t. Plus, I’ve decided to blame him for all of that.’ She rubs my shoulder and stands up. ‘Don’t worry, everyone who knows you, knows you’re not that person.’
My smile falters. I’m not so sure about that. I bet if anyone in my degree course finds out about this they’ll want to write a case study on me: Maisie Evans, the nymphomaniac love cheat who destroyed a Formula 1 team for kicks.
‘Wait.’ Something Ava just said finally penetrates my consciousness. ‘What did you mean about destroying Farron’s marriage?’
‘Apparently his wife is telling the media she wants a divorce.’
‘Wow. He told me they were having problems, but you’d think he’d tell her the truth?’
‘Maybe he has and she doesn’t believe him, which would be poetic justice if you think about it.’
‘I guess I’m not in the mood to appreciate irony.’ I glance at the window. ‘Do you think there might be photographers out there?’
‘Possibly. I’ll let you know if I see any, but if anyone asks, you’re saying no comment, right?’
‘Right. Anything else keeps the story alive.’
‘Good point.’ She nods her head determinedly. ‘We’ve got this, Maisie. Don’t worry.’
I DECIDE TO BECOME a recluse. Not permanently, just until the university demands I show my face again, which I guesstimate means I’ve got approximately two weeks before Dr Meyer summons me to her office to discuss my poor work ethic again. In the meantime, I decide to clean the flat. Cleaning is something I can do within the confines of our five rooms that expends energy, pays Ava back for her loveliness and, when combined with non-F1-related podcasts, should hopefully distract me from the shitshow I’ve made of my life.
Unfortunately, after six hours of clearing out cupboards, polishing surfaces and hoovering every square inch of carpet, it turns out I may not have enough to do in my time of reclusion. I still have the bathroom to deep clean, but after that there’s only Frankenbike to polish.
I’ve just decided to stop for the day when I hear the sound of a knock. Ava has a late tutorial, so I sneak cautiously up to the peephole. There’s a man outside, which panics me for a split second, but it’s OK because he’s not a reporter or some crazy F1 obsessive here to call me a team-wrecking bitch; he’s a middle-aged man with chestnut hair and brown eyes …
‘Dad!’ I exclaim, flinging the door open.
I finally returned his calls this morning to tell him I was back in the country and that none of the stuff in the press about me was true, and he said he already knew that and offered to come and visit, but I told him not to because it’s a two-hundred-and-sixty-mile journey and there was nothing he could do. Yet here he is anyway. I feel happy for the first time in three days.
‘Maisie?’ He staggers backwards, as I hurl myself into his arms.
‘You came! Thank you.’
‘Of course I came. Briony showed me some of the things people are saying.’
‘Don’t tell me. I know it’s awful, but I don’t want the detail.’ I pull my head back to look around. ‘Is she here too? Or Daisy?’
‘No. Daisy has school and Briony’s looking after the shop. I just needed to make sure you were OK.’
I lead him through to the kitchen, suddenly glad of my cleaning spree. It makes it seem as though one part of my life is in order.
‘This is nice.’ He looks around approvingly.
‘Thanks.’ I feel a pang of guilt that I haven’t invited him to visit before now. He’s only ever seen my first-year dorm room. ‘Can I get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?’
‘Coffee, please. Just milk, remember. I’m not allowed two sugars any more. Doctor’s orders.’
‘Of course I remember.’ I glance over my shoulder as I fill the kettle. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fine.’
‘No more health scares?’
‘No.’
‘You would tell me if there had been?’
‘Yes.’
‘Because you know I worry about you.’
‘Maisie …’ He makes an impatient sound. ‘I’m the one who should be worrying about you right now. Look, forget the coffee. Are you all right?’
‘I’m not great,’ I admit. ‘You believe what I said, don’t you? I swear, I didn’t sleep with Luc Farron.’
Dad cringes slightly, but nods anyway. ‘If you say it didn’t happen, I believe you, but it wouldn’t matter if you had. You’re my daughter. Whatever you’ve done, or haven’t done, I’ll always be here for you. I love you.’
A sob erupts out of me before I can stop it. I didn’t know it was possible to go from being totally dry-eyed to a complete soggy mess in less than a second, but it is. I just stand there in front of my dad, shoulders hunched and heaving while emotion pours out of me. It’s even worse than yesterday when I cried on Ava; it’s like it’s about more than Gio and Luc Farron and all the horrible comments online. It’s about the whole past seven years since Mum died – all the grieving and failing, and feeling guilty and lost and confused and completely, gut-wrenchingly devastated. In a weird way, it’s a relief to finally let it all out.
‘I didn’t mean to make you cry.’ Dad sounds horrified. He probably looks it too, but I can’t see him through all the tears.
‘Here.’ He shoves some kitchen roll into my hands and wraps an arm round me. ‘It’ll be OK. It might take some time, but it will be.’
‘Do you promise?’ I rub my eyes with the kitchen roll.
‘Yes. But it’s hard to imagine when you’re in the middle of the storm. Maybe you should come home for a while, let us look after you?’
‘I can’t.’ My voice wobbles. ‘Term’s just started.’
‘Just for a few days?’
‘I’ll miss too much study.’ I hang my head, feeling like a total hypocrite since I have no intention of attending any lectures for a while.
‘Maisie …’ He turns me to face him, his tone sombre suddenly. ‘Why won’t you come home?’
‘I told you …’
‘I don’t just mean that. I mean this past summer too. You went to Italy – surely you could have found a few days for your family? You didn’t have to stay here to work at Suds either. I would have given you a job in the shop.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why not come home?’
‘Because of the bikes!’ The words erupt from my throat because I’m too emotionally wrung out to hold the truth in any longer. ‘Being around them reminds me too much of my accident. Biking meant so much to me – it’s just been too painful.’
‘But I thought you weren’t interested in biking any more.’ Dad looks stunned. ‘I thought you stopped because you wanted to concentrate on your degree?’
I shake my head. ‘I didn’t want to stop. I had to. I couldn’t ride any more. Every time I tried, I panicked and I didn’t know how to fix it.’
‘But you had a counsellor at the hospital.’
‘For a couple of weeks, yes, but there was a big waiting list to see somebody properly and it would have been expensive to go private and …’
‘So you’ve felt this way all this time?’ He grips hold of my upper arms. ‘Maisie, you should have told me.’
‘I know.’ I let out a fresh sob. ‘I wanted to, but it felt too hard, and then you got sick and I was afraid …’ I clamp down on my lip.
‘Afraid of what?’ He holds on to my gaze. ‘It’s OK, you can say it.’
‘I was afraid if I came home I’d be so worried about you that it would make the panic even worse and then you’d worry and that would make you ill and it would be all my fault and—’
‘Hey.’ He pulls me into a hug as I launch into another round of tears. ‘You need to calm down.’
‘I c-can’t l-lose you too.’
‘I don’t want to go anywhere either. But, Maisie, if you don’t want me to worry, then you need to talk to me. Stop pushing me away.’ He rubs my shoulders. ‘What if I hide all the bikes – will you come home then?’
I give a half-laugh, half-sob because it sounds so silly when he puts it like that. ‘Actually … I’ve started cycling again. Watching so much racing this summer made me realize how much I’ve missed the thrill of it, so I’ve been trying to deal with my emotions.’ I sniff. ‘It hasn’t been easy, but … well, there’s something I need to show you.’ I go out to the balcony to fetch Frankenbike. ‘What do you think?’ I wheel her in proudly. ‘I built her myself.’
‘Not bad.’ Dad crouches down to inspect my handiwork. ‘The shocks are a bit worn and the brake pads need changing, but it looks pretty sound.’
‘Dad, I … I want to compete again,’ I tell him impulsively. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to anyone, including myself. ‘I want to start training alongside my degree. I’ll get my fitness levels back up, maybe do some local races, then next year start competing properly.’ I pause breathlessly. ‘Do you think it’s possible to get back into condition after losing so much time?’
‘Yes.’ He doesn’t hesitate. ‘If the motivation is there.’
‘It means I’ll need to come home more often to practise. Cambridgeshire isn’t very hilly.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘I’ll make you proud of me again.’
‘I already am proud of you.’ He grins at me. ‘Now, c’mon. Let’s get out there.’
I laugh because I should have known. ‘You brought a bike with you?’
‘When do I go anywhere without a bike?’
‘Dad, it’s almost four o’clock.’
‘It doesn’t get dark until after six.’
‘There might be tabloid reporters outside, trying to take photos of me.’
‘First of all, I’ll have a few things to say to them if there are. Second, let them try and keep up.’
I chew my lip for a second and then smile. ‘I’ll get changed.’