Chapter 16
Holly and I are in the lobby, waiting for the lads to come down. I don’t want to go out tonight, but I heard Will is attending some charity event anyway, so I need something to take my mind off him.
The lift beeps to announce its arrival. ‘Here they are,’ Holly says. ‘Hurry up! You take longer than us to get ready!’ she shouts as they pile out of the ornately carved golden lift doors. I start when I see Will with them, wearing a slim-fitting, expensive-looking black suit with a white shirt.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask in surprise. ‘Aren’t you going to some event tonight?’
‘Yeah, I am. I’m just waiting for Simon.’
‘Oh.’ The disappointment is even more immense after that little spark of hope.
‘Nice dress,’ he comments.
‘Thanks,’ I answer absent-mindedly. I’m wearing a red dress with a hemline that falls just above my knee. Everyone starts to move outside to the waiting cars. I stay where I am, reluctant to leave Will.
‘Hey,’ he says quietly, ‘we still need to talk.’
‘Mmm.’ I look at him, then glance awkwardly after the others. ‘Are you sure you can’t come with us?’ I ask quickly.
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think I’ll be out late, though. What about you?’
‘Um, I don’t know.’ I see Holly looking back at me through the enormous lobby windows as the lads pile into the waiting cars. I feel horribly on edge.
‘I could text you when I get back? See where you are?’ Will suggests.
The weight lifts off my shoulders. ‘That’s a good idea,’ I say, breathing a sigh of relief. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Okay.’ And then he ever-so-lightly traces his thumb down my bare arm, making the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. I look around nervously to make sure no one saw and then hurry outside to join the others.
The wait for that text is torturous.
‘Why don’t you just go back to the hotel?’ Holly snaps eventually. She’s not very impressed with me. She knows my mind is on other things.
‘Maybe I should.’
‘Go on, then.’ She waves me away as I slide out of the booth we’re sitting in.
‘Sorry,’ I apologise, but she doesn’t answer.
I’ve been checking my phone constantly for the last two hours, but haven’t heard anything from Will. There’s every chance he’s changed his mind and doesn’t want to see me after all, but I’m trying not to think about that. I just want to see him, to find out where his head is at. There’s so much we need to talk about.
I get back to my hotel room and pace the floor, then lie down on the bed and turn on the television. I can’t be bothered to change out of my dress. I flick through the channels until I come across The Beach. Leonardo DiCaprio with his top off, that should take my mind off things, right? But no, it doesn’t.
When I hear a key turn in the lock after forty-five minutes, I sit up, startled. But it’s just Holly arriving back.
‘You’re early?’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ She doesn’t look that happy. ‘He hasn’t texted you, then?’ she asks wryly.
‘No, not yet.’ What if he’s not going to?
She comes in and kicks off her shoes. Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. She turns back to answer it.
‘Oh, hello!’ She sounds surprised.
‘Is Daisy there?’ I hear Will ask, and I sit upright in bed.
He’s here!
‘I was wondering if she knows where my team shirts are.’
‘Sure you were,’ Holly says wryly, stepping aside to let him pass.
I stand up and give her an annoyed little look for making Will feel uncomfortable. ‘Do you want me to come and have a look for them?’ I ask.
‘Sure, if that’s okay.’
‘She knows,’ I say to Will once we’re in the lift.
‘She knows?’ he looks at me in horror. ‘You told her?’
‘Yeah,’ I say nonchalantly. ‘She won’t tell anyone.’
‘You told her about me, yet you won’t even tell her who you used to work for?’
I shift on my feet. I actually feel quite guilty that Luis knows about Johnny when Will doesn’t.
He doesn’t say anything else, though, and soon we arrive at his room.
‘Have you really lost your team shirts or was that just an excuse?’ I ask.
‘The latter,’ he says bluntly, unlocking the door.
‘I thought you were going to text me?’
‘I forgot to charge my phone.’
His suite is messier than it was yesterday evening. Clothes are trailed across the bed and sofa.
‘Couldn’t you decide what to wear tonight?’ I ask him as I survey the scene.
‘Er, no, I just couldn’t find my shirt.’
‘You shaved, then.’ I glance at his face.
‘Thought I’d better.’
Shame. I twirl my hair around my fingers and stand there, waiting for him to say something.
‘Sit down, sit down,’ he says eventually, bundling up the clothes from the sofa and chucking them through onto his bed. ‘Actually, I’m just going to put on something a little less poncey.’ He goes into the bedroom and returns a short while later wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. He sits down at the other end of the sofa.
‘Here we are again,’ I say.
He raises his eyebrows and smiles. ‘Fancy a burger?’
I laugh. ‘No thanks.’
He leans back against the armrest and puts his feet up on the sofa so they’re nearly touching my bum. I’m sitting with my legs crossed. I glance across at him.
‘Comfy, there?’
‘Yeah, not bad.’
I take my shoes off and do the same so I’m facing him, my knees in between his. We’re not touching, but are not far off.
‘How was the do tonight?’ I feel more comfortable sticking to small talk for the moment. I’m sure Will’s the same.
‘It was alright.’
‘You have to go to a lot of those things during race weekends, don’t you?’
‘A fair few. And a fair few when I’m not racing, too.’
‘Is that because your girlfriend organises a lot of them?’ My stomach tenses up.
‘One of the reasons.’
‘Have you spoken to her about any of this?’ So much for small talk.
‘No.’ He frowns. ‘Not yet.’
‘Not yet?’
‘I’m not going to cheat on her, if that’s what you’re asking. Not that I expect anything to happen between us,’ he hurriedly adds. ‘I just mean . . .’
‘I know what you mean.’
He sighs.
‘Was she your first girlfriend?’
He nods. ‘Yeah.’
‘You’ve never been with anyone else?’
‘Well . . . You’re going to think I’m a bastard, but I was unfaithful to her, once. I told her about it,’ he hastens to add. ‘And she forgave me. Well,’ he humphs, ‘only after she’d got me back by sleeping with someone else.’
That’s a bit feisty of her. I wouldn’t have expected her to have it in her.
‘Who did you cheat on her with?’ I ask.
‘She was just a girl,’ he replies. That’s not very specific, is it? ‘I haven’t done it since.’
I stare across at him and then ask a pertinent question, ‘Are you going to end it with Laura?’
He meets my eyes before replying, ‘I guess that depends on you.’
‘Me?’
He shakes his head. ‘I don’t even know how you feel about me.’
I lean my head against the sofa, coyly. ‘I can’t believe you can’t tell.’
My knees fall to one side so they’re resting against his. He closes his other knee in on me so we’re lying there, intertwined. I’m all jittery inside. He reaches over and takes my hand, pushing his fingers through mine. It’s blissful, like I’m experiencing my first high school crush all over again.
We lie there in silence for a moment, just staring at each other. An image of Laura’s face flicks through my mind and I feel a twinge of guilt before pushing it out again.
Eventually I sit up and he does, too. I tuck my legs back underneath myself and move closer to him on the sofa, so my knees are touching his left thigh. He casually rests his right ankle on his opposite knee and takes my hand again, looking at me sideways. I sit there and let him trace his forefinger in circles on my palm.
‘Do you remember when I fell off my scooter?’ I ask, smiling.
‘Mmm.’ His tone is wry.
‘You held my hand, like you’re doing now.’
‘Did I?’
‘Yes. That was the moment I fell for you.’
‘Seriously?’ He raises his eyebrows in surprise.
‘Yep. Instantly.’
‘Huh.’
‘What about you?’ I ask.
He thinks for a moment. ‘I think it was at your nonna’s place. When you came out of the house wearing that green jumper. It matched the colour of your eyes, and you had your hair down . . .’
I gaze across at him, but his expression changes and he looks away. His grip on my hand goes limp.
I take my hand away and move back a little on the sofa so I’m no longer touching him. ‘Do you want me to go?’ It’s like déjà vu, this.
‘No,’ he replies, looking across at me with regret in his eyes. ‘But I think you should. You know, until I sort it out with . . .’ His voice trails off and I’m glad he doesn’t say her name.
‘Of course. I understand.’ I get to my feet and walk to the door. ‘Good luck for the race tomorrow,’ I say as he stands up and comes to the door.
‘You’ll see me in the morning.’ He smiles ruefully.
‘Okay, well, night.’ I reach for the door handle, but he leans against the door, folding his arms and staring at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Maybe we should have a goodnight kiss . . .’
I don’t speak, just stare at him, and my silence appears to be all the encouragement he needs to move forward and take my face in his hands.
He kisses me, slowly, languidly, his tongue touching mine so lightly that it sends electric sparks tingling throughout my entire body. He runs his fingers through my hair and down my back, and then he pulls me back to the sofa and I’m on top of him. He pushes the hemline of my red dress up and over my bare legs as his kiss deepens and becomes more intense. I reach down to his jeans and unbutton them, unable to wait any longer. I want his T-shirt off. Right now. He tugs it over his head and is kissing me again as I run my hands over his smooth, toned chest.
‘Take your knickers off,’ he whispers into my ear. I stand up and do as he says, while he shrugs off his jeans. I straddle him again and can feel him pressing against me, with only the flimsy fabric of his Calvin Kleins keeping us apart.
I want him so much . . .
‘Let’s go to the bedroom,’ he says, but as I jump up to follow him, smoothing down my dress as he leads the way, niggly doubts start to race through my mind. I try to ignore them, but I can’t, and they’re bothering me. Maybe we should wait. Maybe we should wait until it’s all over between him and Laura.
We reach the bedroom and he turns back to see me hesitating.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know.’
His face falls and I suddenly feel very much like I’d like my underwear back on. I turn and hurry back out of the bedroom and over to the sofa to retrieve it. I can’t meet Will’s eyes as I hand him his clothes. I wait anxiously while he turns his black T-shirt the right way out before pulling it over his head. He steps into his jeans and buttons them up.
I walk to the door, my heart throbbing with disappointment, even though it’s all my own doing. My hand takes the handle and pushes down, then I look back to find him right behind me. He leans against the door and gently runs his fingers down my spine as he looks into my eyes.
‘I can’t believe I’m letting you go,’ he says.
‘I can’t believe it either,’ I reply. ‘But it’s the right thing to do.’ He pushes himself off the door and steps back, while I walk out onto the landing feeling regret course through my blood like a drug.
Chapter 17
Will won the race the next day, but Luis didn’t give it up without a fight. Holly told me afterwards that Simon had to order Luis to back off at one point, not wanting a repeat of Monaco. She also said that after the race, Luis went ballistic with anger and he and Simon had a massive barney. Luis flew back to Brazil instead of returning to the UK for testing. The team had hired a racetrack to test some new car components they’d fitted – it’s something each team does at some stage, to make sure everything is reliable and effective. Luis was supposed to do some laps in the car himself, but in the end, the team’s test driver, a Frenchman called Pierre, had to do it all.
I don’t even bother to ask Holly how she knows all of this anymore. Anyway, maybe it will do Luis good to have a break and see his baby niece for the first time, although the last thing any driver should do is fall out with the team boss, especially when your contract expires at the end of the season.
As for me, I’m back in the UK myself and it’s a relief because I don’t have to get on another flight until we go to the German Grand Prix in July – a whole month away. The next race on the calendar is the British Grand Prix and Frederick and Ingrid have been keeping me busy with lots of catering jobs in the interim. It’s a far cry from the work I do on the Formula 1 circuit and can vary from ten ladies who lunch to dinnertime ballroom glitz for a thousand people. It’s solely waitressing though – no actual food prep involved – so I don’t really enjoy it.
I haven’t heard from Will and it’s been seriously doing my head in. The second week after China was the hardest. After the race he pulled me aside to tell me he needed some space to talk to Laura, but would give me a call when he could. I thought a week would be more than enough time, but two weeks later, I’m starting to seriously ask if he’s changed his mind about me completely.
My other horrible news is that my landlord is throwing me out. He’s putting my flat on the market, and as I can’t afford to buy it, I have to start searching for a new place immediately. I’m devastated. It may only be a tiny studio flat, but it’s warm and it’s sunny and I like it. I have been to look at a few places, but they were all either damp and dingy or way out of my price range so I’ve had to keep looking. Luckily, Holly has told me I can always stay with her if I’m stuck. I may have to take her up on it at this rate.
On Sunday, the week before the British Grand Prix, I’m on my way into Camden to pick up some supplies for a rare night in when I walk past a newsagent’s. My feet come to an automatic stop when I see Will’s face staring out from one of the newspapers. Someone has put one of the papers back on the shelf the wrong way, and a story about him is gracing the front of the sports pages. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I pull it off the shelf and study the picture of Will. He looks different again. It’s so strange, but pictures just don’t capture what he looks like in person.
‘Are you going to buy that?’ the man behind the counter calls.
I huffily go to the cash desk, getting the correct change out of my purse, then I leave the shop with my head engrossed in the story.
It’s perfectly harmless, all about Will and how the nation is backing him to win. The Brits don’t like Luis too much, from what I can gather, and want Will to knock him off the top of the championship at the next couple of races. This is the last year that the British Grand Prix will be held at Silverstone before it moves to another venue and the organisers are desperate for a Brit to win. Blah, blah, blah, and then I see the italic smallprint at the end of the story:
Go to page 23 for Will’s stunning girlfriend Laura’s hot summer style tips . . .
Crap. I flick to page 23 and there she is: beautiful, blonde and slim, wearing six different outfits of varying colours and styles. I pass a bin and impulsively stuff the paper in it, feeling disgusted with myself. My phone rings. I pause on the street and rummage around in my handbag to get it out. It’s Holly.
‘Have you found a place yet?’ she asks. ‘No,’ I answer woefully. A bus whizzes past and I don’t hold my breath fast enough to avoid breathing in the fumes.
‘And how long is it before your landlord kicks you out?’
‘Ten days.’
‘Shit. You haven’t got long.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘At least there’s a few weeks’ break before we head to Hockenheim.’
‘True,’ I concede. ‘Is it still okay for me to crash at yours if I’m stuck?’
‘Er, yeah, that should be okay,’ she answers.
Oh, no. She doesn’t sound too keen.
‘Are you sure?’ I check again.
‘Yes, it’s fine.’ Again, not very convincing. I’ll be seriously screwed if I can’t stay with her. I wonder if it’s because she and Simon have been shagging round at hers? Cazzo! I wish she’d just be honest with me!
‘Are you still there?’ Holly interrupts my train of thought.
‘Yes, I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m going to see another estate agent this afternoon.’
‘Cool,’ she replies.
‘I’ve gotta go. I’m outside the supermarket and I need to pick up some ravioli for dinner.’
‘Okay. Chat soon.’
‘Bye.’
I hang up unhappily and stuff my phone back into my bag as I walk through the supermarket doors. My phone rings again. I distractedly snap it open without even looking at the caller ID.
‘Hello?’
‘Daisy?’
I halt in my tracks. ‘Will?’
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Is this an okay time to talk?’
‘Um . . .’ I look around at my surroundings and then quickly walk back outside. ‘Yes, sure.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Just at the supermarket, getting some pasta for my tea.’
‘Sounds nice. Wish I could join you.’
‘Do you?’ My heart flutters. I lean up against the wall. It’s dirty with pollution, but like I care about that right now.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t called before. I’ve had a lot going on.’
‘I understand.’ Well, I’m trying to. ‘Have you spoken to . . .?’ I ask hopefully.
‘Yeah.’ My heart lifts. ‘Well, kind of.’ And falls flat again.
‘Kind of?’
‘It’s been . . . Difficult.’
What does that mean? I don’t speak.
‘Daisy? Are you there?’
‘Yes. I’m here.’
‘Where are you exactly? There’s a lot of background noise.’
‘I’m on a street in Camden. There are a bunch of cars going past.’
‘Will you be home soon?’
A Number 29 bus pulls up a few feet away. To hell with the ravioli. ‘I’ll be home in ten.’
‘I’ll call you back.’
‘Okay.’ I hang up and make a run for the bus.
He doesn’t call me in ten. He doesn’t call me in fifteen, either. By twenty I’m practically climbing the walls. Finally, he calls.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi. Are you home?’
I’ve been home forever, you idiot! ‘Just,’ I fib.
‘Cool.’
‘So what’s going on?’ I sit down on the sofa and wrap my left arm around my knees.
I hear him sigh. ‘It feels like ages since I’ve seen you.’
My heart swells with happiness. I’ve been so worried he’d gone off me.
‘Won’t be long, now,’ I say. ‘What day are you coming to Silverstone?’
‘I’ll be there Thursday morning.’
‘Really? Brilliant!’
‘Yeah, I’ve got some interviews and stuff to do. And it’ll be nice to see you again.’
I beam and tap my fingers impatiently on my leg. So much small talk, so many big things to say.
‘What else is up?’ I pause. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’
‘With Laura?’
I still flinch when he says her name. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, you know things were a bit strained at Monaco?’
‘I didn’t, but go on.’
‘She wanted to talk to me after that, but it was so hectic between then and Shanghai. We finally got a chance to catch up when I got back from China, and after everything that had happened with you, she could tell we had a problem.’
We had a problem . . .
‘Okay,’ I say, willing him to continue.
‘I told her I thought it was over.’
I hold my breath.
‘She was pretty upset.’
From the sound of his voice, I can tell that’s an understatement.
‘It was a bit traumatic.’
Now I feel awful. I don’t want to cause her pain. But holy shit! Has he split up with her?
He continues. ‘She wanted another chance. I said I didn’t think so, that we’d been growing apart for some time, and she begged me to consider taking a break.’
My stomach freefalls. ‘A break? As in to get back together again afterwards?’
‘That’s what she’s hoping, but it won’t happen.’
Take a deep breath, Daisy. Calm down. ‘Did you tell her that?’
‘Well,’ he sighs, ‘there are other complications.’
I can’t bear this!
‘Yes?’
‘She’s organising a charity event at Silverstone.’
‘Right . . .’ Oh, here we go.
‘A lot of people are going because . . . of me. I know that sounds conceited, but . . .’
‘No, I know,’ I say reluctantly. ‘It’s true.’
‘So if we’re not together anymore . . .’ His voice trails off again. I can see where he’s going with this.
‘I understand.’ My voice is monotone as the light at the end of the tunnel dims, flickers and then goes out completely. ‘You have to keep up pretences.’
‘Daisy, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘No, I know it’s going to be difficult. Especially after China and everything that happened there.’
‘Or didn’t happen,’ I interject wryly.
There’s silence on the other end of the line, and then he speaks. ‘It will be different after the British Grand Prix. I promise.’
‘Okay.’ That’s all I say.
‘See you on Thursday?’ he asks hopefully.
‘Of course.’ I try not to let him hear the disappointment in my voice.
So it’s with a certain amount of trepidation that I arrive at the track on Wednesday afternoon. I tell Holly about our exchange because there’s no point in keeping it from her.
‘That’s not going to be pleasant,’ she says. ‘Seeing Laura get all the attention this weekend.’
‘Hopefully it won’t be too bad.’
‘Daisy, you’re living in a dream world. I don’t think you know fully what you’re dealing with when it comes to Will and Laura and the British press.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, they’re like royalty and all that.’
‘Well, if you want a reality check to see what you’re getting yourself into, I guess this is the way to do it,’ Holly comments.
‘I don’t want a reality check, thanks very much. I just want Will. After that I’ll bury my head in the sand and won’t have to deal with it.’
‘Whatever you say, pal, whatever you say. I just hope he’s worth it.’
A shiver goes through me as I remember our kiss and the feeling of him pressed up against me.
‘He is,’ I tell her firmly.
On Thursday morning I’m upstairs in the director’s suite, tidying away some coffee cups, when someone grabs my waist from behind.
‘Argh! Will!’ I leap away in shock. ‘You scared the life out of me!’
He just regards me with amusement. ‘Sorry, I heard you were up here.’ He sits on the table that I’ve been precariously piling crockery upon. ‘How are you?’
‘Okay, thanks.’ I look away, suddenly feeling shy. ‘You?’ I glance up at him.
‘Alright, yeah. Do you need help carrying those down?’ He nods at the cups.
‘No, I’ll be fine. When did you get here?’
‘A little while ago. I’ve got to head over to the BRDC’ – that’s the British Racing Drivers’ Club – ‘in a minute for an interview.’
‘Is . . . Laura here, yet?’
‘No. She arrives tomorrow.’
I look down.
‘What are you up to tonight?’ he asks.
‘I don’t know, why?’
‘Do you want to have dinner with me?’
‘Won’t that be a bit dodgy if we get spotted?’
‘I know a little pub about forty minutes from here. It’s very small and full of locals. I doubt anyone will pay attention to us.’
‘In that case, I’d love to.’ I can’t keep the smile from my face.
‘You’re staying at the hotel, right?’ he asks, hopping down from the table.
‘Yes, aren’t you?’
‘I have a room there, yeah. Shall I come and get you at around eight?’
‘Sure. I should be finished by then. Room twenty-three.’
‘Cool.’
I don’t know what the pub is like, but I’m guessing it’s a no-frills affair so I opt for my black Rock & Republic jeans and an emerald green top from Reiss. I remember what Will said about green and the colour of my eyes and as it’s a warm night in early July, I don’t need long sleeves.
I’m staying on the ground floor of the hotel and the car park is just behind my room. Will leads me towards a black Porsche, pointing his key at it and unlocking the doors with a bleep.
‘Nice car,’ I say, climbing inside.
He starts it up, glancing across at me with a cheeky grin. ‘Do you like the colour?’
‘Oh, bugger off.’
He chuckles and pulls out of the car park. It’s still light and I watch as the countryside whizzes past outside my window. We drive through villages and past farms and fields until we finally pull up outside a little stone pub. There’s smoke coming out of the chimney, despite the fact that it’s the middle of summer. I follow Will inside and he leads me to a table, tucked away in a corner with a view of the rolling hills spread out before us.
A waitress comes over to take our order.
‘Sorry, we haven’t had a chance to look at the menu yet,’ Will says.
‘I’ll come back in a minute,’ she replies. She walks away and glances back over her shoulder at us. Will gives me an uneasy look.
‘Do you think she recognised you?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I should put my cap on.’
‘No, too obvious.’
We study the menu, but I can tell he’s on edge. There won’t be any hand-holding across the table tonight, that’s for sure.
We place our order and then I stare out of the window. The sun is just starting to dip below the far-off horizon.
‘What have you been up to since China?’ Will asks.
‘Flat-hunting.’ I tell him my whole sorry saga.
‘Why wouldn’t Holly want you to stay with her?’ He looks confused.
Oh, cazzo. He doesn’t know about Holly and Simon’s affair.
‘I think she just likes her space.’ I don’t like lying to him, but I can’t betray my friend.
‘Why don’t you stay in a hotel for a bit?’
‘I can’t really afford that,’ I tell him.
He gives me an odd look. ‘Well, I’ll help out if that makes things any easier.’
‘No!’ My reply is instinctive, although I’m touched.
‘Why not? It’s not like I don’t have enough to go round. Come and stay nearby so we can see each other.’
Well now, that would be lovely . . .
‘I would say you could stay at my place, but it’s probably a little soon.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ I brush him off, ‘definitely too soon for that.’
He laughs and glances over to the bar area. I follow his gaze to see our waitress and the bartender talking and looking our way.
‘Bollocks,’ he mutters. ‘I thought we’d be okay here.’
‘It doesn’t look good, does it? I know.’ I pull a notepad out of my handbag.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
‘Let’s make it look like we’re having a business meeting.’
‘Good plan.’
But we can’t relax after that, and we leave soon after we’ve eaten.
‘I could do with an early night, anyway,’ he tells me as we pull into the hotel car park.
‘It’s going to be very early at this rate.’
‘I think I might drive back to London,’ he says.
‘Really?’ I’m surprised.
‘Yeah, I don’t have to be at the track until ten o’clock tomorrow, and it’d be nice to be home for a change.’
‘Are you going right now?’ He hasn’t turned the ignition off.
‘May as well. I don’t need anything from my room.’
‘Okay, then.’ I open the door and hesitate for a second, wondering if he might kiss me. But he doesn’t, so I climb out. ‘See you
tomorrow.’
‘Night.’
I close the door and I hear the low growl of the Porsche pulling away behind me as I walk back into the hotel. That wasn’t exactly a night to remember after all that waiting . . .
The next morning, Luis arrives before Will.
‘Have you seen my spare helmet anywhere?’ he asks me.
‘No. Isn’t it upstairs?’
‘No. I don’t think I left it behind in China . . .’
‘I doubt you would have done that,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, what’s wrong with your other one?’
‘Some of the stickers are coming unstuck. And it’s a bit grubby.’
‘Want me to have a look at it for you?’
He shrugs. ‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
I turn to Holly. She nods, having overheard. I follow Luis up the stairs to his room. ‘Where is it?’
‘Here.’ He hands it to me.
‘It looks alright,’ I say.
‘No, look.’ He snatches the helmet back and smoothes down the corner of one sponsorship sticker which is very, very slightly raised up.
‘Give it here.’ I hold my hand out for the helmet and he complies, then I perch on a chair and give it a good polish.
‘So how are you after China?’ I ask. ‘I heard you had a bit of a run-in with Simon?’
‘Where did you hear that?’ He looks annoyed.
‘Holly,’ I reply, and he rolls his eyes.
‘Yeah, well, he’s screwing up my championship chances.’
‘That’s not strictly true, is it?’
‘That’s what it felt like at the time.’
‘Anyway, you got back to Brazil? Was it nice? Did you see your niece?’
‘Yeah. Cute little thing. So light!’
‘Light?’
‘As in, not heavy. Tiny! Yeah, it was good to get home for a bit.’
‘How are your parents?’
‘Fine. Mãe told me off for giving you stick about the biscuits.’
‘Did she?’ I laugh. ‘So how do you feel about being on Will’s home turf? Worried?’
‘Ha! He’s the one who should be worried.’
I smirk and turn my attention back to the job at hand. ‘I think you’re going to have to replace it with a new one.’ I’m referring to the sticker, not the helmet.
‘I could have told you that ages ago.’
I stand up. ‘I’ll sort it for you.’ He also gets to his feet. ‘Thank you,’ I prompt, giving him a meaningful look.
‘Thanks,’ he replies indifferently. He follows me out of the room and down the stairs, back into the hospitality area, where I’m greeted with the sight of Laura happily chatting away to a group of sponsors.
‘Watch it!’ Luis exclaims, bumping into me.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, averting my gaze. The sponsors all seem to know her – and adore her from the looks on their simpering faces.
‘Oh,’ Luis says, spying the reason for our two-person pile-up.
‘I’ll get this sorted for you,’ I tell him, holding up his helmet and hurrying away. I don’t expect him to follow, so I’m surprised when he does. He drags me into the corridor leading to the toilets and spins me around to face him. ‘He’s never going to leave her, you know.’
I look at him defiantly. ‘He already has.’
‘What?’ he barks.
‘He already has left her.’
‘Then what the cazzo is she doing here?’
I grin involuntarily at the sound of his Italian. ‘They’re keeping it quiet until after Silverstone. She’s got some charity event going on.’
Luis scoffs.
‘It’s true,’ I continue. ‘Ask him yourself if you don’t believe me. But don’t tell anyone else. She doesn’t know about me yet,’ I add, to which Luis gives me a wry look. ‘What?’ I ask defensively. ‘It’s too soon for him to tell her.’
He nods. ‘So you just have to be bun tart this weekend while she sits back and acts like a princess? That’ll be fun,’ he adds, sarcasm dripping from his voice.
‘Well, I didn’t say it would be fun, Luis, but what choice do I have?’
A woman comes out of the ladies’ room and Luis pulls me to one side so she can get past.
‘Is she staying at the hotel with him?’ he asks suddenly.
‘No!’ I’m outraged. ‘Of course, she isn’t!’ At least, I don’t think she is . . .
Luis raises his eyebrows.
‘What are you looking like that for?’ I demand to know. ‘Do you know if she’s staying at the hotel?’ Bile seeps into my throat.
He shakes his head and his lips turn down. ‘No . . .’
‘Then what’s with the questions?’ Now I’m angry. When he doesn’t reply I spin around to leave, and at that exact moment, Laura walks around the corner and almost crashes into me.
‘Sorry!’ she exclaims, putting her hands on my arms to steady us both.
‘Excuse me,’ I murmur, squeezing past her and scampering back into the safety of the kitchen.
I keep poking my head out of the door to see if I can spy Will, and when I finally do, I make to leave the kitchen.
‘Where are you going, now?’ Frederick demands to know.
‘I, er, just have to go and see Will for a minute,’ I stutter.
‘Those dishes aren’t going to wash themselves,’ he snaps.
‘No, I’m sorry, I won’t be long.’ I look at him anxiously, but he turns away. He’s obviously been noticing my recent disappearing acts.
I walk out just in time to see Will going up the stairs. I hurry after him, glancing around me to see Laura sitting at a table with Catalina. I hope she doesn’t follow him up. I knock on his door and don’t wait for him to tell me to enter before pushing it open.
‘Is she staying with you? At the hotel?’ I barely have time to close the door before I start my interrogation.
‘Hi!’ He looks startled.
‘Just tell me, Will. Is she staying with you?’
He looks uncomfortable. ‘She is staying at the hotel, yes.’
‘In your room?’
He hesitates before answering. ‘Yes. But we’re not sleeping together.’
‘Oh, God.’ I feel overwrought. I want to cry. I turn to walk out.
‘Daisy, wait!’ He gets up and puts his hand on the door, blocking my exit. ‘It’s not like that.’
‘Yes, I know, Will, you’re just keeping up appearances. Well, to hell with that! Sorry, but this is too hard!’ I try to turn the handle,
but he blocks me again.
‘Please. It’s only for this race. She won’t come to any more.’
‘I have to go,’ I say dully. ‘I have to get back to work.’
‘Stay for a minute,’ he begs, putting his hand on my arm. I can’t look at him.
‘No. Frederick’s getting annoyed with me.’
‘Is he?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’ He lets go of my arm and I walk out, feeling even worse than I did when I walked in.
I refuse to go out that night, preferring to stay in my hotel room and torture myself with my thoughts instead. It’s the night of Laura’s charity do, and everyone who’s anyone is going. Holly is furious because Simon is attending it with Catalina. Not that she’s telling me that, mind. She’s out drowning her sorrows with Pete and the lads. The next morning, both of us are in horrible moods when we arrive at the track. It’s Saturday, the day for qualifying, and a huge turnout is expected in Will’s honour.
I’m outside at the serving table when Will and Laura appear together. I’m guessing he gave her a lift into the track from the hotel. He flashes me an awkward glance, then stops to talk to Simon at a nearby table. A moment later he turns around to speak to a man and a woman who walked in the door behind him. He says something to them and points in my direction, then pulls up a chair at Simon’s table. Laura leads them my way and they’re almost upon me before I realise they could be Will’s parents.
They appear to be in their late fifties and are both wearing smart tweed suits with pristine white shirts. The woman has a matching tweed hat.
‘Good morning,’ I say brightly, hoping to make a good impression.
Neither of them answer, but the woman looks me up and down, disdainfully.
‘Hello,’ Laura says to me. ‘Daisy, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, taken aback. I don’t want her to be nice enough to remember my name.
She turns to the woman. ‘What would you like?’
‘I’ll take a tea,’ she replies, in an upper-crust British accent.
‘Mr Trust?’ Laura asks. Doesn’t she even call them by their first names?
‘Yes, that’ll do.’ His tone is curt.
‘Three teas, please,’ Laura says to me, forcing a smile. She looks as uncomfortable as I feel. Considering she’s known Will’s parents most of her life, I don’t fancy my chances much.
I pick up the teapot and begin pouring the tea, before remembering to ask if they take milk.
‘Start again,’ Will’s mother insists, glaring at the half-full teacups in front of her.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, feeling my face heat up as Laura fidgets with her gold bracelet in front of me. I wonder if Will bought it for her? Trying not to be distracted by that thought, I put the spoiled cups to one side and pour in a little milk before adding the tea this time. I pass them over, aware that my hands are shaking.
Will’s mother glances at Laura and a small smile forms on her lips. I’m about to breathe a sigh of relief when she says, ‘One couldn’t expect an American to make a decent cup of tea, could one?’
Laura smiles awkwardly and leads them away, giving me a sympathetic look over her shoulder.
‘They look like they’ve got – what do you say? – pokers shoved up their arses.’ Luis appears out of nowhere.
I meet his eyes and my nose starts to prickle. Oh God, please don’t cry. He looks shocked as he realises I’m about to do just that, but I quickly rush off to the bathroom.
No, no, no, I tell myself after I’ve locked the door and sat down on the seat. I will not cry. This is ridiculous. I haven’t cried over him yet, and I can handle this situation. The end is nigh, Daisy, the end is nigh! I wave my hands in front of my face and try not to be melodramatic. Happy things. Think happy things. Puppies, kittens . . . I’ve always wanted a pet, but my father wouldn’t let me. No! That’s not a happy thought! Nonna . . . Nice Nonna. I miss her. I hardly ever see her. No! Another horrid thought! Holly . . . Laughing, smiling Holly . . . Who’s lying to me about her relationship with a married man. Argh! Luis and I in Monaco pestering the French bartender for new swear words. I start to smirk and moments later feel better about returning outside. Luis has gone, but Holly looks at me with concern.
‘Don’t give me any sympathy,’ I warn. She understands it will only set me off again, so we work away in silence.
Mr and Mrs Trust are sitting with Laura at a table. Will isn’t with them, but after a while he comes downstairs kitted out in his racing gear. He goes straight over to them.
‘I have to get to the pits for qualifying,’ I overhear him say. ‘Would you like to come?’
‘Fine, yes,’ his mother replies, sipping the last of her tea. She turns to Laura. ‘Will you join us?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Laura smiles and all three stand up. Will doesn’t look my way as they follow him out of the hospitality area.
‘Are you coming to watch qualifying?’ Holly asks as soon as they’re out of eyesight.
‘No.’ My reply is blunt. I damn well won’t.
It was an exciting session, I discover later, when team members start to spill back into the hospitality area. Will sneaked pole position with Luis less than one tenth of a second behind him, so he’ll start in second place on the grid tomorrow. I don’t feel as happy as I know I should. My run-in with Will’s parents has left a seriously nasty taste in my mouth, and the other thing that’s bothering me is how I feel about Laura. She seems like a nice person and if I feel bad about breaking her heart, how is everyone else going to feel about me?
Will is completely oblivious to my dilemma when he returns from the pits with a spring in his step. He comes over to me, grinning.
‘Did you see it?’
‘No, I was here. Well done,’ I add unsmiling.
He gives me a querying look, but doesn’t say anything because people are in earshot. ‘Can you sort me out with a team shirt?’ he prompts eventually.
‘Now?’
‘Yes, please.’
I come out from behind the serving table and stalk off towards the stairs.
‘What’s up with you?’ he asks as soon as we’re inside his private room.
‘I met your parents,’ I reply sombrely.
‘Were they okay with you?’
‘Not really, Will. I get the feeling they don’t like Americans very much.’
‘Well . . .’ He looks away from me. ‘I told you what they were like.’
‘I didn’t think they’d be that bad. And they’re going to hate me even more when they discover . . .’ I can feel myself getting slightly hysterical now.
‘It will be alright,’ he lies. ‘Anyway, I don’t care what my parents think. If my dad writes me out of his will, fuck it!’
‘Writes you out of his will?’ I ask, horrified. ‘Would it really come to that? Over your relationship with me?’
‘Calm down,’ he insists, putting his hands on my arms. I shrug him off. ‘I can’t handle this.’ I turn to leave. ‘It’s all too much, Will.’
‘Daisy, please . . .’ He tries to grab my hand, but I won’t let him. I start to open the door, but he slams it shut again.
‘You almost got my fingers!’ I squawk.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Just wait a minute, would you?’ He’s frustrated now. I glare at him. ‘Why don’t we go for a drive tonight? Just the two of us?’
‘Oh, that sounds like such a fun night out,’ I reply sarcastically.
He frowns at me.
‘Did you sleep well last night?’ I snap.
‘No. I slept on the sofa,’ he replies pedantically.
‘Did you?’ My heart lifts a little.
‘Yes, of course.’ He takes my hand and pulls me to him, staring into my eyes. I instinctively want to look away, but I steady myself. ‘Daisy . . .’ He cups my jaw with his hand and strokes the side of my face with his thumb, sending butterflies spiralling through my stomach. ‘I’m sorry this is hurting you.’
‘It’s okay,’ I murmur, looking at his lips.
‘I just want to be with you,’ he says in a low voice, and I stare back at him, feeling like I’m drowning. ‘I’ll come and get you later.’
He doesn’t come and get me, instead I get a text, asking me to meet him in the car park.
‘This is very cloak and dagger,’ I comment, when we’ve pulled onto the road and are speeding back down the country lanes. He doesn’t reply. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
‘Just for a drive,’ he says.
‘Where does Laura think you’ve gone?’
‘That’s what I’ve told her, too.’
We fall silent for a while. Will reaches across and turns the radio on. The sound of The Verve fills the car.
‘Um . . .’ he says after a while. I look across at him. ‘I’ve just had a thought.’ I wait for him to continue. He glances at me. ‘We could go back to mine?’
‘What, in Chelsea?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That’s a bit of a trek, isn’t it?’
‘It’ll only take an hour or so.’
‘Okay, then.’ I sit up straighter in my seat, feeling much happier with this plan. I’m dying to see his house.
But by the time we get there, it’s nine thirty and I’m starting to wonder if this was the best idea. Will needs to get his sleep for the race tomorrow and, at this rate, we should probably be turning around and going straight back again.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks as we step over the threshold into his hall. I tell him my concerns and he shrugs as he kicks off his shoes. ‘I’ll be okay. Luis manages on barely any sleep, doesn’t he?’
I take off my shoes, too, and leave them by the door. ‘Yeah, but Luis is Luis.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He looks irritated.
‘Nothing. You two are just a bit different, that’s all. Wow, I like your place.’ He lives in a white stucco four-storey Victorian townhouse and we’ve entered on the first – or upper-ground – floor. He takes me straight through to the living room and it’s very much a lad’s pad, lots of black, white and silver with a humungous flatscreen TV up against the far wall. I go and peer out of one of three, very tall windows, but it’s dark outside.
‘Do you have a garden?’ I ask.
‘A small one, yes. It’s nice in this weather.’
‘I bet.’
‘Do you want a drink? Actually, are you hungry? We haven’t really eaten anything,’ he comments.
‘I could cook us something . . .’
‘There’s not a lot in the fridge.’
‘Where’s your kitchen?’ I ask. ‘Let’s go and see what you’ve got.’ Spaghetti, onions, garlic, tinned tomatoes, dried herbs and extra virgin olive oil. That’ll do. I get on with our meal while he sits at the stainless steel table and watches me. The underfloor heating is keeping my bare feet warm.
‘Do you do much cooking for Frederick?’ he asks as I plate up our food.
‘Not a lot,’ I tell him. ‘I wish I could do more.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘Frederick always wants me out front of house.’
‘That’s because you’re so gorgeous.’
I laugh. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
‘Will it?’ he asks flirtatiously.
‘Eat your dinner.’
‘Mmm. It’s really good,’ he comments between mouthfuls.
As I look across the table at him, I’m suddenly hit with realisation. He’s almost mine. And I didn’t even go out of my way to get him. I can barely believe it.
‘What time do we need to set off?’ I ask after a while.
He pushes spaghetti around on his plate with his fork. ‘We could always stay here . . .’
‘Here? What? And drive back in the morning?’
‘Set off early, yeah. Don’t worry, you can sleep in one of the guest rooms,’ he says when he sees me wavering.
‘No, it’s not that,’ I reply.
‘Isn’t it?’ He raises one eyebrow at me.
‘Stop it, you.’ I roll my eyes. ‘I want to start with a clean slate.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ He looks away. ‘I’ll keep my hands to myself.’
After we’ve eaten, I text Holly to let her know my plans and then start to wash the dishes while Will goes off to text Laura.
‘Did she text you back?’ I ask, when he re-enters the kitchen.
‘Not yet, no. I doubt she will at this hour. She’ll be too pissed off with me.’
I don’t say anything, just continue to scrub at the plates.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ he says suddenly. ‘I’ve got a dish-washer.’
‘Yes, I know, but I didn’t think we should leave any evidence of us being here together. You know, in case anyone comes over after the race . . .’
He joins me at the sink and picks up a tea towel, drying the plates as I hand them to him.
When the surfaces have been wiped down and everything put away, I follow him out of the kitchen. He reaches back to switch off the lights and then leads the way up the stairs.
‘First floor you’ve seen . . .’ Massive living room area. ‘Second floor is all guest bedrooms.’ He gives me a quick tour around the three of them. Two have en-suites and there’s a third large bathroom.
‘Which one should I sleep in?’ I ask.
‘Take your pick.’ He continues up the stairs.
‘And this is where I am.’ He pushes open the door to the master suite. It’s enormous, running from the front to the back of the house with a huge bathroom set off to the right. His giant bed is covered with a bronze bedspread and the furniture is dark mahogany. Very masculine.
‘Nice. I like it.’
‘Laura thinks it’s too boysey.’
I don’t say anything.
‘Sorry,’ he apologises when he sees my face. ‘I shouldn’t keep bringing her up.’
I sit down on his bed. ‘It must be hard. You’ve known her so many years.’
He sits down beside me and looks ahead solemnly. ‘It is a bit sad,’ he concedes. ‘But these things happen. We’ve been together so long and, I don’t know, we’ve both changed.’
I turn to look at him. ‘Would you have broken up with her if you hadn’t met me?’
He glances at me and looks away again. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I feel terrible,’ I say suddenly. ‘She seems like a really nice girl.’
‘She is.’ He turns to face me and puts his hand on my knee. ‘But you are, too.’
‘I don’t think anyone else is going to see it like that. Holly thinks the British press are going to hate me.’
Will frowns. ‘That’s not a very nice thing to say.’
‘It’s true, though.’
He grins. ‘Let’s move to Monaco, then.’
I laugh. ‘Okay!’
He collapses back on the bed and shuffles up so his head is resting on a pillow. He pats the space next to him so I join him. We stare up at the ceiling as he takes my hand in his.
‘Do you ever think you’ll go back to America?’ he asks.
‘I will someday. But not for a while.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘No.’ My reply is blunt.
A memory flickers back to me of walking through Central Park on a frosty morning in January a few years ago. I was on the phone to my mother and she was telling me that my father wanted me to come home for dinner that night. I told her I was busy, like I usually do, and I now recall the disappointment in her voice.
I know I should call her.
And I also know that I won’t.
I shake my head to rid myself of my thoughts.
‘What are you thinking about?’ Will asks.
‘My parents.’
‘How long has it been since you’ve seen them?’
‘About three years.’
‘Wow.’
‘Have you thought any more about coming to stay in a hotel near here?’
‘Yes, and I couldn’t do that,’ I reply.
‘Why not?’ He shifts to face me.
‘I just couldn’t, Will.’
‘You know what I’m going to do?’ He raises one eyebrow, teasingly.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to book you into The Knightsbridge for a month and pay up front. Then you’ll have no choice but to stay there.’
‘You’d better not,’ I say.
‘I’m going to.’
‘I won’t use the room.’
‘Yes, you will.’ He wraps his arm around me and pulls me to him. I rest my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, smiling. It feels so right in his arms. ‘Or you could just stay here, with me.’
‘I wish I could,’ I tell him. ‘But that wouldn’t be fair on Laura.’
He doesn’t say anything for a while, then he speaks.
‘I’ll have to tell her about you sooner rather than later.’
I prop myself up and look at him. ‘Why?’
‘She won’t accept that our relationship is over unless I do.’ He pulls me back down.
‘Oh God, everyone’s going to think I’m the wicked witch of the west.’
‘North-east,’ he corrects me.
‘Oi!’ I slap his stomach and it automatically tenses beneath me. ‘It’s not funny.’
‘Monaco,’ he jokes, as he pulls me in tighter.
I smile and relax.
We lie there in silence for a long time until his breathing slows and I glance up to see that his eyes have closed. I start to detach myself.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks groggily.
‘To bed,’ I reply. ‘You need to sleep.’
‘No, stay here.’ He pulls me back down and, a moment later, tugs on the bedcovers underneath us, wriggling around until I get up and help him pull them back. We climb under the sheets and snuggle up together again, still fully dressed. Soon the sound of his breathing slows again, but I lie there for a long time afterwards before I finally fall asleep.
In the early hours of the morning, just as the birds are beginning to sing in the trees outside the window, I wake up. Will is sleeping on his side, facing me. I resist the urge to reach over and stroke his face, but then he stirs and his eyes open. We lie there, staring at each other in the darkness for a minute. And then he pulls me to him and we kiss, unspeaking. My whole body tingles as our kiss deepens to become more passionate. And then he’s unbuttoning my jeans and I’m doing the same to his, before we both tear off our Tshirts and he lowers himself onto me.
It’s intense, so intense, and it’s over too quickly. He stays inside me for a while afterwards as our breathing steadies, and then he rolls off and pulls me back into his warm arms.
He soon falls into a deep sleep again, but I doze in and out of slumber until the dawn begins to brighten and light spills underneath the blinds. Will’s watch starts to beep and he comes to, stretching his arms over his head so they press up against the headboard. He looks across at me and smiles sleepily.
‘We’d better get going.’
I nod and reach for my clothes down the side of the bed. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m naked, I would think that what happened between us was just a dream.
‘Shall I drop you back to the hotel?’ Will asks an hour and a half later. It’s six thirty.
‘Yeah, that’d be great. We’re doing the late shift today.’ By late, it means eight o’clock, so it’s still disastrous if you’ve got a hangover.
He drives into the car park.
‘You’d better go first,’ he says.
I put my hand on the door handle, but he pulls me back.
‘If I don’t get a chance to speak to you much today, I’ll call you tomorrow.’
‘Okay.’ I turn back to leave.
‘Daisy . . .’
‘Yes?’
He puts his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me to him, touching his lips to mine. ‘See ya later.’
‘Bye.’
Chapter 18
‘Go on, you can spare another muffin. I’m wasting away here!’ The fat American man in front of me cracks up laughing as I stifle a yawn and add a chocolate muffin to the collection of pastries on his plate. Will’s parents walk into the hospitality area behind him, making me automatically stiffen as I hand his plate over.
‘Thanks, bun tart!’ Fatty dissolves into giggles again, before walking away. I’m distracted watching Will’s parents stop to talk to Laura.
Will and Laura arrived at the track together again this morning and he didn’t meet my eyes. Laura was immaculate, wearing a blue sundress with white trim and white heels, and I’m certain everyone here was thinking that she and Will looked like the perfect couple. I felt a rush of jealousy when I saw her, followed by several sharp pangs of guilt at the thought of what happened last night.
But the jealousy soon prevailed. Laura doesn’t seem like someone who’s worried they’re about to lose the love of their life, and her confidence concerns me. If she’s not worried, should I be?
I’m debating whether I can bear to watch the race from the garages with Laura and Will’s parents there when Frederick takes the decision away from me.
‘I need you girls doing the catering in the pits. Come and get the supplies from the kitchen, would you?’
By the time we get there, Laura and the Trusts have already settled themselves in Will’s half of the garage. I’m bristling with annoyance and jealousy as I set up the catering while the three of them chatter away, ignoring me.
‘Come on, let’s go and do some celeb spotting,’ Holly suggests, aware of my pain. I follow her gladly.
As we climb over the wall that separates the pits from the starting grid, the thought occurs to me that Johnny Jefferson might be milling around the track, seeing as this is his home Grand Prix, but I can’t see him, thankfully. That would have been the last straw, I think, although if I had a choice between Johnny or Laura being here, I’d choose the former every time. I’m taking this as proof that I am definitely over him.
Holly and I wander to the front of the grid where we spot Will being interviewed by a television crew. He glances my way but carries on, unfaltering. I dither for a moment before deciding that yes, I do want to wait until he’s finished so I can wish him good luck for the race. Holly complies and we lean up against a nearby wall. Luis is being chatted up by some of the brolly dollies. Stunning girls in hotpants and advertisements splayed across their straining Tshirts . . . He’s in his element.
‘Where’s the lovely Laura today?’ I hear the interviewer ask Will and my attention is immediately diverted.
‘She’s in the garage, I think.’ Will looks uncomfortable to me, but I’m not sure the interviewer would pick up on it.
‘And will we be hearing wedding bells anytime soon?’
What?
‘Er, I’d better just concentrate on the racing for now.’ Will flashes the interviewer a grin.
Holly and I wait for the interviewer to finish up his piece to camera. Will glances at us and raises his eyebrows. Finally the television crew moves away and we start towards him. But then out of the corner of my eye I see her – the blonde in the blue sundress. I hold Holly back as a smiling Laura reaches Will’s side and affectionately rubs his arm. Holly pulls on my hand. ‘You’re staring,’ she says quietly.
I quickly avert my gaze and it falls instead on Luis. He meets my eyes, ignoring the pretty grid girl fawning all over him.
‘Let’s go,’ I mutter to Holly, giving Will one last glance before turning to climb the wall. As we get to the other side, I look back to see Laura departing and Will staring regretfully after me. Then Luis stalks over to Will, his expression furious. I only catch the look of surprise on Will’s face before I have to concentrate on getting across the pit lane without bumping into the hordes vacating the grid. What on earth is Luis saying to him?
Will’s parents are standing within the lines of the white box painted on the floor of Will’s garage. Moments later, Laura joins them. I suddenly feel angry. This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all.
‘Let’s go through here,’ Holly urges, but I’m rooted to the spot. ‘Daisy,’ she prompts. I reluctantly follow her. By the time we reach Luis’s garage, the cars have set off on their warm-up lap. The camera shows hundreds of race fans in the grandstands blowing whistles and holding up banners in support of Will. My heart starts to beat faster as the camera zooms in on his car.
I don’t want to be here.
But I’m not leaving if she’s not leaving.
The cars come around the last corner and take their places on the grid, then the lights go out and they’re off.
I feel sick. Dizzy. Will makes it around the first corner and keeps his position, but Luis is hot on his tail.
Focus, Daisy! If you leave, they’ll win! They’ll all win! His parents detest you, Laura barely knows you exist, but you have a right to be here. You should be standing in that box, not them!
I look away from the cars on the television screen and stare at the back of Pete’s helmet-encased head, trying to distract myself from the dizziness I’m feeling.
A collective gasp of shock brings me back to my senses. I glance up at the television screen again to see a car turning in the air like a spinning top, car parts shattering and splintering across the track as it smashes into a tyre wall and lands the wrong side up on a gravel pit. The blood drains from my face as I realise it’s Will. Flames flicker underneath his car as track marshals clamber across the race wall to get to him.
I’m vaguely aware of Holly’s hand on my arm and the sound of Will’s mother shrieking in the garage next door.
Everyone else is eerily silent, just staring at the footage on the television screens. The track marshals have put out the fire and an ambulance crew has arrived. Moments later they’re pulling out a white sheet to shield Will from the spectators.
‘What’s going on? Why have they covered him up?’ Laura sounds slightly hysterical.
Whereas I feel frighteningly calm.
‘He’ll be okay,’ Holly says. ‘Don’t worry.’ It sounds like she’s very, very small and is speaking in a tiny, tinny voice. I barely register her words. A chill goes through me as I remember what Will said about topping himself if he ever got paralysed.
Suddenly Will’s parents and Laura are being bustled out of the garages and I watch after them, panicked.
‘Where are they going?’ I hear myself ask Holly.
‘With the ambulance.’
‘I should go.’ I start to move, but she puts her hand on my arm to hold me back.
‘Daisy, you can’t,’ she says firmly. ‘Family only.’
My heart races. Will I even be able to visit him at the hospital?
‘Let’s go back to the kitchen,’ Holly says. I hesitate, suddenly tearful. ‘Come on. We can’t let anyone see you like this.’ She helps me to my feet and ushers me across the asphalt outside the garages to the hospitality area.
‘I want to go to Will’s room,’ I murmur as we walk through the doors to the hospitality suite. ‘Tell Frederick I’m not feeling well.’
She nods and lets go of my arm as I rush towards the stairs. Once inside Will’s private room, I close the door and lean up against it, breathing deeply with my eyes closed. When I open them again, I notice the contents of Will’s bag are spilling out on the floor. I need something to do so I kneel on the floor and start to fold up his clothes, placing them in a little pile on the coffee table. I come across the black T-shirt that he was wearing on Thursday night and press it to my nose, breathing it in. It still smells of him.
In a daze, I fold up the T-shirt and put it, along with everything else, into his bag before zipping the bag up and taking a seat on the sofa. I don’t know how much time passes, but Holly comes in eventually. I stare up at her, my eyes hopeful, but she won’t look at me. Why won’t she look at me?
‘Have you heard anything?’ I come to life and ask this question as she kneels in front of the sofa and puts her hands on my knees.
‘Holly?’ My voice sounds squeaky, different.
And then she meets my eyes. Hers are filled with tears.
‘No . . .’ I start to say. She tries to pull me in for a hug, but I push her away. ‘No, no, no . . .’
‘Daisy, I’m sorry.’
‘No, no, no . . .’
‘Daisy, please . . .’
‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! NO! NO!’ I start to scream.
‘Daisy! Daisy!’ She pulls on me frantically as I stand up.
‘NO! NO!’ My hands claw my face, but I can’t feel the pain. All the pain I have is caught up inside me. It’s in my heart. My heart is dying.
‘NO!’
He can’t be . . . He can’t be . . .
‘I’m sorry!’ Holly cries, once again trying to comfort me. She grabs my hands, pulling them away from my scratched-raw face, but I fight back, unable to calm down, unable to accept what I know she’s trying to tell me.
He’s not . . . He’s not . . . He’s not . . .
My whole world is crashing down around my ears and all I can think about is his face in the darkness this morning. His body pressed up against mine. I want him back. He can’t be!
I turn to Holly. ‘He’s not, is he? Tell me he’s going to be okay!’
She shakes her head at me.
‘TELL ME HE’S GOING TO BE OKAY!’ I scream.
‘Daisy! People will hear!’
Her words are like a slap in the face. I stare at her in shock. She comes over to me and takes my hands. I let her sit me down on the sofa. Neither of us speaks as I look off into space.
Finally I break the silence. ‘Where is he?’
‘His body is at the hospital.’
‘His body? Oh God, oh God, oh God . . .’
She places her hand on my arm to still me.
‘Where’s Luis?’
She looks surprised at my question. ‘I think he’s with Simon. He won the race,’ she adds and immediately looks mortified as I stare at her with bewilderment. And then I start to cry. I curl up into a ball on the sofa and press my face into a cushion to muffle the sound of my sobs. Thoughts and memories spin fast around my head, so fast that they make me dizzy. Will helping me pick up my scooter in Melbourne after I crashed it . . . Will standing on the landing outside the lift in Bahrain where I handed him his cap . . . Will staring across the table at me as we waited for Holly in Barcelona . . . Will on the stone terrace looking out over the mountains at my nonna’s house . . . Will last night . . . Will last night . . . Will last night . . .
I vaguely register a knock at the door, but I’m too caught up in my thoughts to care who it is. I stay curled up on the sofa with my face pressed into a cushion as I hear Holly talking to a man – it sounds like one of the mechanics – followed by a shuffling sound. The man leaves and, after a while, Holly puts her hand on my arm.
‘Why don’t you come back downstairs to the kitchen?’
‘No.’ I shake my head and look up at her. ‘Where’s his bag?’ Panic throbs through me as I see the empty room. ‘Where’s his bag?’ I ask again when she doesn’t immediately answer.
‘Karl took it for his family.’
‘But his T-shirt! I want his T-shirt!’ I need his T-shirt. I have to have his T-shirt. It’s MY T-shirt! It’s all I have of him!
‘I’m sorry!’ she cries.
‘Stop saying you’re sorry!’ I scream at her, and she backs off. ‘I NEED HIS FUCKING T-SHIRT!’ I scream again.
‘Daisy, please! It’s gone! His bag’s gone!’
‘BUT I NEED IT!’
‘What’s going on here?’ Frederick suddenly storms in. ‘Enough! We’re ALL upset! Go home, Daisy.’ He turns to Holly. ‘Take her home.’
‘But—’
‘Get her out of here!’ he shouts.
I don’t remember what happens next. It’s all a muddle. I vaguely remember Holly speaking to a doctor. I vaguely remember taking the pills she told me to take. I vaguely remember sitting in a car as we crawled bumper-to-bumper out of the car park, and then staring out of the window at greenery flashing past. I vaguely remember being in my own bed in my flat on Camden Road, surrounded by bags ready for my forthcoming move. I vaguely remember Holly checking on me during the night and giving me another pill to take in the morning.
When I finally come out of my drug-fuelled daze, it’s Tuesday, and she’s asleep on the sofa.
The flat is bright and warm, light spilling in from the south-facing windows. Holly didn’t pull the curtains last night, and for a moment I bask in the heat of the sun, completely unaware of what happened just two days previously. Then reality sinks in and I feel my throat close up with the pain.
‘Holly!’ I try to rouse her as tears fill my eyes. ‘Holly!’
‘Yes?’ she mumbles, before reality sinks in for her, too, because she shoots upright in bed.
‘When’s his funeral?’ I demand to know. ‘When’s his funeral?’
‘Today. This afternoon,’ she replies, rubbing her eyes.
‘Where? In Cambridge?’ That’s his home town.
She nods groggily. I climb out of bed.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks, alarmed.
‘Getting ready for his funeral! Jesus, how the hell are we going to get there? Can you ring the train station to find out about tickets? Or would a bus be better?’
‘No, Daisy, wait.’
‘Come on!’ I shout. ‘We’ve got to hurry!’
‘Daisy, wait!’ She climbs out of bed.
‘What?’ I’m annoyed now.
Her expression is pained. ‘You can’t go to the funeral.’
I stare at her, dumbfounded.
‘It’s for family and close friends only.’
‘What do you mean?’ I cry. ‘I’m a close friend! I was almost his girlfriend!’
‘I know, but . . .’ She puts her hands on my arms. ‘No one knows about you. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Laura is the one he left behind.’
Laura is the one he left behind . . .
I collapse down on the sofa, too shocked even to cry. I can’t go to Will’s funeral? I can’t say goodbye to him?
‘Who else is going?’ I ask. ‘Is Simon going?’
She looks shifty. ‘Yes, I think so.’
That means she knows so. ‘What about Luis?’ My tone is hard.
‘I think he’s going with Simon.’
I stare at her angrily. I don’t know why. It’s not her fault. But I so want to shoot the messenger right now. She doesn’t meet my eyes, looking balefully down at the bags on the floor.
Oh, God. I was going to go and stay near Will.
I fall to my knees and burst into tears, sobs coursing through my body as I place my hands on one of my bags.
‘Daisy, it’s okay,’ Holly says. ‘You can move in with me.’
And then my tear-blurred vision makes out the tiny corner of a newspaper poking out of Holly’s bag.
I rush over, tugging it out amid her protests.
A LOVE LOST
The headline screams out from the front page, and underneath it is a picture of Laura, tear-stricken and anguished.
I scan the story. It’s all about Will and Laura, how they grew up together, how they fell in love, how they were destined to be wed. The journalist recalls Will’s answer on the grid to the marriage question, and how he flashed a mischievous grin at the interviewer, implying that a wedding wouldn’t be far off. Only I know that he was avoiding the question because of me.
I suddenly see his face – quite clearly – staring after me regretfully as I climbed the pit wall before the race. I didn’t even wish him good luck! And then his face goes blurry.
No! Not this! Not this, now! Where is he? I hastily turn the pages of the paper until I come to the continuation of the story. There are pictures of the crash – the remains of Will’s destroyed car – and there! There is a picture of him and Laura dressed up to the nines on their way to some do or another. I bring the page in close and study it, trying my hardest to ignore the image of Laura at Will’s side. He looks kind of familiar, but no! It doesn’t capture what he’s really like.
‘Daisy?’ Holly interrupts my thoughts. I look up at her, tears streaming down my face. And then another memory comes back to me. Luis. Luis angrily stalking over to Will before the race started.
What did he say to him? I have to know. And then another thought strikes me.
‘Luis will take me.’ I leap up and grab my mobile phone from my bag.
‘Daisy, what do you mean, Luis will take you?’
‘Luis will take me. He can pretend I’m his girlfriend, I don’t give a shit! But I am going to that funeral!’
The phone rings and rings, and eventually he picks up.
‘Luis, it’s Daisy.’
‘Hello!’ He sounds surprised to hear from me.
‘What time are you going to Will’s funeral?’
‘Er, it starts at two o’clock, so we’ll be leaving in an hour, I think. Why?’
‘I need you to take me with you.’
‘But I, we, there won’t be enough room in Simon’s car.’
‘You’ve got a car, haven’t you?’
‘Yes . . .’
‘So drive that.’
‘Daisy,’ he says reasonably, ‘have you thought this through?’ Holly is tense beside me. ‘Laura . . . Will’s parents . . . Do you think it’s that appropriate—’
‘Luis,’ I interrupt, steel in my voice, ‘if you don’t take me to his funeral, I never, ever want to see you again.’
He’s silent for a moment and then he speaks. ‘Give me your address.’
Even up until the point he rings on the doorbell, Holly tries to talk me out of it. I ignore her, putting on a black dress and brushing my hair before leaving it down, the way Will liked it. I don’t bother with make-up.
I manage to mumble a brief thank you to Luis when I answer the door, but I can’t meet his eyes and hope that will be enough to convey my gratitude for the time being. We barely speak during the car journey on the way up to Cambridge. I know we have a lot to say – there are still unanswered questions in my mind – but that can wait. Right now, I just need to focus on the job in hand.
The funeral is being held in one of the grand university churches and from what I can see, Will had a lot of so-called close friends and family.
I spy Simon, Catalina, the team’s technical and financial directors and their wives, plus a couple of important sponsors. They’re standing together in a group on a pathway near the church entrance, but Luis keeps our distance, waiting for the church to fill before leading me in to a pew at the back. I don’t argue with him. I’m not going to make a scene.
It’s the most surreal feeling. I feel like I’m in another person’s body, experiencing another person’s emotions. I’m not tuned in to what’s happening at all. There’s a coffin up at the front of the church, and it’s covered with white flowers. Will’s body is inside.
Will’s body is inside! Oh, my God, Will is dead! My throat closes up and I put my hand on my chest to steady myself. Luis looks across at me in alarm, just as the priest begins to take the service. I try to listen to what he’s saying, but I can hear stifled sobs reverberating through the church. The sound of other people’s pain calms me, bizarrely, and if I don’t think about what is making them cry, I might just be able to get through this.
A blond man in his early thirties gets up to do a reading. He looks sort of familiar.
‘Is that Will’s brother?’ I ask Luis. He glances at me and nods. I know the priest must’ve introduced him, but I can’t concentrate. I don’t take in his words, but instead crane my neck towards the front of the church. There’s a little girl sitting on the second row. Is that Will’s niece? The one who likes In the Night Garden?
‘Why didn’t Will’s brother or sister come to any of the races?’ I ask Luis.
He shrugs.
‘But your family came. Why didn’t Will’s?’ I ignore the looks I’m getting from other mourners listening intently to the reading. ‘I don’t understand,’ I continue.
‘Maybe it’s because of his job,’ Luis whispers. ‘Isn’t his brother an important banker or something?’ A woman in front of us shuffles in her seat and tuts.
‘What about his sister?’
‘High-flying lawyer?’
‘Would you be quiet?’ the woman in front of us turns around and hisses before facing forward again. I stare at the back of her head, nonplussed. I’m back in someone else’s body again. She can’t hurt me. No one can.
More prayers, another reading . . . What should I have for dinner tonight? I feel like I haven’t eaten in days. I haven’t eaten in days! A woman takes to the stand at the front of the church. Who’s this, now? I wonder indifferently. And then she turns around, and even though her face is half-covered with black netting, I know instantly that it’s Laura.
‘I’ve known – sorry, I knew William most of his life . . .’
She called him William?
‘. . . and he was the kindest, sweetest, most loyal guy you could ever meet . . .’
My fingernails are digging into my palms. I wonder if I can draw blood?
‘I hated the racing. I always hated it. And William knew that. It’s why he forgave me for my absence at so many Grands Prix. But he loved it. With all his heart and soul he loved racing so much, and I loved him. I still love him. I’ll always love him.’
Her voice breaks and she puts her head down as her body starts to shake with silent sobs.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologises, her voice unsteady. ‘He died doing what he loved best . . .’ She can’t finish her sentence. She collapses into sobs again as Will’s brother steps up to the altar to lead her away. The church echoes with the sound of people weeping.
What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be here. I can’t be here. Suddenly I’m on my feet and rushing out of the church, not caring that the doors will bang behind me. I run, run, run down the gravel path to the gate.
‘Daisy!’
Luis grabs my arm to stop me, spinning me around.
‘No, no, no!’ I shout. ‘NO!’ My knees buckle beneath me and I crumble as Luis tries to hold me up.
‘What did you say to him?’ I cry. ‘What did you say to him before the race?’
‘Daisy, now is not—’
‘Tell me!’ I claw at his arms as I try to tear him away from me. ‘Tell me, right now!’
He looks overwrought. ‘It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t mean to upset him!’
I stare at him and take deep breaths, one after the other. When I finally speak, my voice sounds deadly calm. ‘What. Did. You. Say.’
‘I was angry with him. Over his treatment of you.’
‘Go on.’
‘I was angry because he hadn’t told Laura about you.’
‘Why?’ I snap. ‘I was okay with that!’
‘Were you?’ He gives me a hard stare.
‘What else did you say? What exactly did you say?’
‘I told him . . . I thought he was . . . a prick.’
‘How could you?’ I feel like something has just rushed through my head. Suddenly white rage fills every pore in my body. ‘YOU KILLED HIM!’ I find myself screaming. ‘YOU! IT WAS YOUR FAULT!’ I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I start to slap at him, pummelling his chest and his arms.
‘Stop!’ he shouts, trying to calm me down.
‘GET AWAY FROM ME!’ I scream, backing away. ‘I NEVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!’
And then I turn and run. I don’t know where I run, but I can’t stop. Tiny shop windows blur past me as I run down narrow streets lined with cream stone buildings. I run across a bridge and I am vaguely aware of punters on the river below as I leave the city centre and enter a green field opposite one of the picture-postcard college buildings. Exhausted, I come to a stop in front of an enormous oak tree and collapse down on the dirt between its roots. And then I cry. I cry until I feel like I have no more tears left in me.
‘Are you okay, miss?’
I look up to see a man in his forties walking by with a brown and white springer spaniel.
‘I’ve lost my boyfriend,’ I find myself telling him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘He’ll come back.’
I nod and smile and let him go on his way, then stare ahead in shock.
I don’t know what time it is. The funeral will be over by now. I guess I’d better find the bus station. But I don’t want to go back to my flat. I don’t want to go to Holly’s. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere.
I have no one. No one. No one.
My phone rings. It sounds distant, far off. In a trance I get it out of my bag, pressing the green button to answer the call. I don’t speak, just put the phone to my ear and listen, breathing heavily.
‘La mia stellina!’
My little star. Nonna.
And then the tears return.
‘Oh my darling girl, I know, I know . . . I’ve been waiting for you to call.’ I sob down the line, unable to catch my breath as my grandmother makes soothing sounds.
‘How did you get my number?’ I ask eventually. I haven’t given it to anyone except the people at work.
‘I tracked you down through your boss at the team’s headquarters,’ she explains. ‘Are you still in England?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, trying to catch my breath.
‘Have you spoken to your parents?’
‘No.’ I rest my head on one hand in despair and cradle the phone to my ear as the roots at the base of the tree dig into my backside.
‘Your mother called me,’ Nonna says.
‘Did she?’
‘She hasn’t been able to get hold of you.’
That was my intention when I didn’t give out my number.
‘Have you called her recently?’ Nonna pries.
I don’t answer.
‘I think you should,’ she continues. ‘She wants to hear from you.’
My tears slowly come to a stop.
‘What will you do, now?’ Nonna asks.
I look around at the green field and nearby river and it sud denly becomes very, very clear.
‘I think it’s time to go home,’ I reply.
Chapter 19
The yellow taxi cab pulls up outside the tall building on Fifth Avenue. I hand the driver some money and tell him I don’t need help with my bags. I have just one suitcase – the rest I left with Holly, who promised to send them on later. I only need to reach into the trunk before the doorman waiting under the gilded canopy comes running to my aid. He pulls out the suitcase and then turns to me, before leaping back in shock.
‘Miss Rogers! I wasn’t expecting you!’
‘Don’t worry, Barney, no one was,’ I reassure him as I lead the way into the marbled lobby. He hurries after me. ‘Just leave it there, Barney. Thanks,’ I tell him as I reach the elevator. He starts to protest about accompanying me, but I firmly assure him there’s no need. I step inside and put my key in the slot on the elevator panel – the only slot there is – and the elevator doors whoosh closed. Floor after floor I shoot past until I finally reach the very top. The penthouse. I hear the buzz of the intercom as the doors begin to open, and know that Barney has hurried to inform my parents about my arrival, but I get there first, and the look on my mother’s face as I step out onto the landing inside my parents’ apartment – once my home – is a sight to behold.
‘Hello, Mother,’ I say as I put my bags down on the plush, cream-carpeted floor.
She drops the intercom receiver so it swings on its flimsy cord and bashes against the wall. ‘Daisy!’ she cries in shock.
My mother is a well-dressed woman in her late forties. Her clothes are tailor-made, created for her personally by the world’s best designers, and her dark hair has been highlighted blonde and is neatly coiffed. I take after my mother and her side of the family – although you’d hardly know she’s Italian when looking at her. Her once-olive skin tones appear lightened from avoiding the sun and wearing too much face powder. She doesn’t look any older than when I left her three years ago. I’ll put that down to the Botox.
‘You’d better pick that up.’ I nod to the receiver. ‘Barney is probably still on the other end of the line.’
She hastily does as I say, before turning back to me, not knowing if she should hug me, kiss me, or even, God forbid, shake my hand. I save her the trouble of deciding, calmly walking to her and planting a quick peck on her cheek.
‘You’re back,’ she says to me. ‘Are you back?’ she asks again, not sure what’s going on.
‘For now,’ I reply.
‘Come in, come in.’ I leave my suitcase where it is as she ushers me through to the sitting room. Floor-to-ceiling windows look out over Central Park, green with summer’s leaf-laden trees. I take a deep breath. I’d forgotten how beautiful this view was. In fact, I don’t think I ever properly appreciated it before.
‘We didn’t know. Did you call? Martina will have to make up your room. Martina!’ my mother shouts.
‘Don’t worry, it’s fine,’ I quickly tell her. ‘Don’t make a fuss. I can sleep in one of the guest rooms for now.’
‘No, you cannot!’ she snaps. ‘Your room is your room. MARTINA!’
‘Yes, ma’am?’ A maid I haven’t seen before hurries into the room wearing a light-grey dress and a white pinny.
‘Daisy is back. Daisy is back!’ My mother sounds slightly unhinged, but that’s always been her way. ‘Make up her room immediately!’
I look apologetic as Martina nods her assent and scuttles away again.
My mother turns back to me. ‘Tea? Would you like some tea?’
‘Sure,’ I reply, beginning to walk towards the kitchen. She looks startled.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the kitchen. To make a cup of tea.’
She looks at me as though I’m mad. ‘Candida will do it,’ she says, confused.
‘Is that the cook?’ I ask. The last cook I knew was called Gita.
‘Yes. She’s excellent,’ my mother replies. Her Italian accent is only slight these days. I don’t know how she rid herself of it or if it was even intentional, but many people would assume she’s American.
I slump down on one of the armchairs and immediately sink into its depths as my mother hurries out of the room. I take another deep breath and stare out at the view as I hear the high-pitched tones of my mother’s voice directing the cook.
My memory takes me away from the present for a short while as I remember working with Rosa, Johnny Jefferson’s cuddly Mexican cook. How I adored her. She taught me how to cook. In fact, it was she who inspired me to go into catering in the first place. I still dream of running my own company one day. I’ve dreamed of lots of things recently, and most will never come true . . .
I shake my head quickly to free my mind of my memories. I can’t think of Will now.
‘She’ll be through with the tea in a minute.’ My mother stands in front of me.
‘Why don’t you sit down?’ I suggest, and she perches on the edge of one sofa while anxiously fidgeting with her hands.
Neither of us says anything for a while and I enjoy the silence. I’m surprised when she speaks first. ‘It’s been a long time, Daisy.’
‘I know.’
‘I spoke to your grandmother. She told me what happened with the racing driver.’
The racing driver . . .
‘Why didn’t you call?’ Her expression is pained.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, but my apology sounds cold and unsatisfactory. ‘I just didn’t think you’d miss me.’
‘Of course I missed you!’
‘You would have been the only one.’
She says nothing. She has nothing else to say about that.
Candida brings through the tea and leaves again.
‘Where is my father?’ I ask suddenly. I want to call him Stellan, because that’s his name. ‘Father’ sounds wrong, and ‘Dad’ is almost laughable.
‘At work,’ my mother replies.
I nod. Of course he is. It’s Sunday. Where else would he be? At home with his family?
My father is a billionaire. He made his money by being a ruthless bastard, buying up failing companies and selling them off piece by piece. You know that job that Richard Gere did in Pretty Woman? That’s my dad. Except, unlike Julia Roberts, my mother wasn’t the making of him.
I don’t know if they’ve ever been happy, but she’s stood by his side, for richer or poorer.
What the hell am I saying? For richer, richer, richer . . .
I grew up with what most people would assume was everything I ever wanted. Except all I ever wanted was a warm and happy family, and that was so far from being in my life that I went to bed each night feeling cold, despite the expensive goose-down duvets and underfloor heating. For all my father’s money, he rarely took us on family holidays and we never travelled to Italy to see my grandparents. I saw them every few years when they came to England or the States, but the most contact I had was through letters and the occasional phone call. Then, when I was eleven, I went to stay with them in the mountains and for the first time I knew what it was like to live in a happy household.
I hated my parents even more after that trip. But try as I might, I couldn’t escape them. I always felt my father despised me, so I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t let me attend college as far away as possible – on the other side of the country or even abroad. I was forced to study law in New York and, with no money of my own, I felt I had no choice but to comply. Of course, I did have a choice, but deep down I think I just wanted to please him, just wanted him to love me.
I graduated with honours, and as a reward of sorts, my father opened a bank account in my name and transferred 10 million dollars into it. I don’t know why, but that was the catalyst to me leaving. I packed my bags and went to Los Angeles, and perhaps it was my father’s name that did it, or even my lawyer credentials, but I scored a job through an agency and ended up working for Johnny Jefferson. You know the rest.
As for my father’s money, I’ve never spent a cent of it.
I tell my mother I need to rest and walk via the elevator entrance on the off chance my suitcase will still be there. Of course, it’s not. In fact, when I reach my bedroom, my drawers are already full of my bag’s contents, neatly folded, with the items of my cosmetics case precisely placed on the shelves in the bathroom.
I used to love it when our servants unpacked my bags, but now I can’t stand it. I’m too used to a life without ‘help’, and I don’t like the idea of anyone – paid or unpaid – going through my things. But there’s nothing I can do about it. This is the way it is. This is my life for the moment. I came back, so I’m just going to have to get used to it.
I go to the bed, a giant super-kingsize one with an enormous cushioned bedhead pressed up against the far wall. I lie down on it and curl up on my side, staring out of the opposite window with its view of New York City’s skyscrapers.
I must have dozed off, because when I awake the city is glittering with lights. I groan and put my hand to my head. I have a storming headache. I stagger into the bathroom, in search of ibuprofen. I down a couple of tablets and drink straight from the faucet, before remembering the crystal glasses resting on the sink on a solid silver tray. Oh, well. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look a state: haggard, tired, bags under my eyes the size of suitcases. I turn and switch the bathroom light off, then head out of the bedroom.
The lights on in the rest of the apartment are overpowering. Halogens spike down at me with every step. In a far-off corner, I can hear the sound of knives and forks scraping on plates. I look at my watch. It’s nine o’clock. My father is probably only now eating dinner.
I reach the dining room and push open the door. My mother and father are eating in silence, as is their way, with each of them at either end of a fourteen-seater dining table. You’ve seen this scene in movies countless times, but who would have ever believed it actually happens?
My father’s eyes flicker as he glances up and sees me at the door. But they fall hard again as my mother looks on nervously.
‘Daisy. Come in. Have a seat,’ my father says.
My mother stands up.
‘Sit down, Christine.’ My mother’s name is actually Cristina I found out when I was eleven, but my father always calls her the British equivalent.
‘I was just going to ask Candida to prepare something for Daisy’s dinner.’
‘I’m not hungr—’ I start, but my father interrupts.
‘CANDIDA!’ he barks. The cook comes running. ‘Get something for Daisy.’
‘Yes, sir.’ She hurries off again. I pull up a chair. There is no halfway point between my mother and father, so I choose a chair three away from him and four away from her. I don’t know why I’d opt to be closer to my father, but I guess I’m still drawn to him in that way.
‘You need a hair cut,’ my father says.
I’m not wearing it up – it’s falling halfway down my back. I don’t reply.
My father is in his late fifties with silver grey hair and grey eyes. You rarely see him out of a suit.
‘And you need to go shopping,’ my father adds, glancing at my favourite green jumper – the one that Will first fell for me in. No, no, no, don’t think about that . . .
I gather myself together. ‘I have enough clothes, thank you,’ I reply tautly.
‘Except that you don’t,’ he says, slicing through a piece of carrot and balancing it on his fork.
‘How would you know how many clothes I have?’ That’s the rebellious teenager in me, rearing its head.
‘The servants informed me.’ He puts the piece of carrot in his mouth and chews it, while calmly and coldly meeting my eyes.
I avert my gaze. Of course they did.
Candida comes through with my meal. ‘Thank you very much,’ I tell her warmly, as she places it on the table in front of me. She hurries away again, not acknowledging my gratitude. I bravely look back at my father. ‘I still have a wardrobe full of clothes that I left here.’ My tone is petulant.
‘You can’t wear those.’
‘Why not? They’re only three years old.’
‘Exactly. What would people think?’
I stifle a sigh. There’s no point. He always gets his own way and it’s just a waste of energy to argue with him. In fact, the only time he hasn’t got his own way was probably when I moved to LA. That must’ve been quite a shock . . .
‘Do you have any funds left in your bank account?’
I assume he’s referring to the 10 million. He probably thinks I’ve come home to top it up. I don’t say this, just nod.
‘Leave it there. Speak to Martin. He’ll sort you out.’
Martin is my father’s lawyer and on-hand man. He’s practically a member of the family. Except that I can’t stand him since he started making eyes at me at the age of thirteen. Fat, bald, disgusting. I shudder as I recall how he was the first person to comment on the fact that I had breasts.
‘I might have to ask daddy to give you money for a bra and some little panties . . .’
The sound of my father putting his knife and fork down on his plate brings me back to the present. He stands up.
‘Will you not have dessert?’ my mother asks anxiously.
‘No,’ is my father’s blunt reply. He looks down at me. I pause chewing my fillet steak. ‘I have an early start.’
‘Okay,’ I say with my mouth full.
‘Good night.’ He stalks out of the room.
No questions about what I’ve been doing, what I’ve been up to, how I am . . . But he probably knows all this already. Knowing my father, he could have had his lackeys checking up on me ever since I left New York.
My mother and I finish the rest of our meal in silence and afterwards I tell her I’m going outside for some fresh air. She wants one of the family’s minders to accompany me, but I leave before she has time to do anything about it. I know she’s most concerned about what my father would say if he knew she’d let me out alone.
I grab my lightweight cream-coloured jacket from French Connection and non-designer handbag and walk into the elevator, pushing my penthouse apartment key into the slot so the elevator goes straight down to the lobby without stopping at other floors, even if other people are waiting. Barney hurries to open the door for me, wildly looking around for my minder, but not seeing one.
‘I’m going out alone, thanks Barney,’ I tell him, not waiting for his reply before walking quickly out onto Fifth Avenue and setting off in the direction of the city.
It’s Sunday night, but New York never sleeps and the sound of cars honking their horns from far away resounds through the air. I don’t know where I’m going, but I head towards Times Square, craving the need for lights and sounds and anything that will take me away from where I’ve been. The shops here are still open and the pavements are crowded with pedestrians. I clutch my handbag tightly to my side and push my way through the throng, enjoying the feeling of anonymity amongst the tourists. It’s eleven o’clock, but I don’t feel the least bit tired after my nap earlier, and now I don’t know what to do with myself. I wander aimlessly through a couple of shops, before finally heading away from the noise and the giant neon displays towards a quieter back street. I come across one of my favourite nightclub haunts of years gone past and feel surprisingly nostalgic as I spy the queue of people waiting. Back in the day I would have gone straight to the front, doormen falling over themselves to let me pass through with my well-dressed friends. I wonder what those friends are doing now? I haven’t kept in touch with any of them. I finally came to the conclusion that they were shallow princesses, but at the time it didn’t occur to me to mind.
Eventually exhausted, I head back to the apartment. It’s one o’clock and I’m surprised to see the lights still blaring in the living room. I pop my head around the door to find my mother waiting alone on one of the sofas. She leaps up when she sees me.
‘You still up?’ I say stupidly. Clearly, she is.
‘Yes. I wanted to . . . Wanted to . . .’
I nod my head in frustration, willing her to go on.
‘You got back safely,’ she says eventually.
‘Yes. I’m off to bed,’ I tell her, barely waiting for her to reply before I head off back down the corridor to the other side of the apartment where my bedroom is.
I did love my mother, once. I’m sure I did. When I was little – very little – before I lost all respect for her for staying with my father. Now she’s just this meek little mouse who stutters and worries. I don’t know why he hasn’t left her, come to think about it.
My father has already gone to work by the time I wake up at seven o’clock the next morning. I barely slept, despite not going to bed until after two a.m. I read a book for a while and then tossed and turned, trying to clear my mind of things.
Martin, my father’s lawyer, comes to find me later that morning. I’m sitting on one of the windowsills in the sitting room, looking down at the park. I’ve been watching the joggers go round and around, round and around . . .
‘Well, look who it is . . .’
The sound of his voice sends a chill spiralling down my spine. I turn to look at him. ‘Hello,’ I say coldly. I make no attempt to get up.
‘Ooh, haven’t you grown up.’ He looks me up and down, smarmily. When I don’t reply, he continues. ‘Your father said you needed some funds to go shopping. Anywhere nice?’
‘The usual.’
‘Right, yes, okay.’
He takes a few steps towards me and hands over an expensive red leather Hermes purse – whatever happened to a simple envelope? A quick look inside tells me I have a wad of 100 dollar notes and a single credit card.
‘Do you have anything smaller?’ I ask, pulling out one of the hundred dollar bills.
Martin looks at me warily, before his face breaks into a slimy smile. ‘Oh, you’re joking.’
‘I’m not actually.’
He laughs again and turns away. ‘Well, you have fun. Perhaps you could give me a little fashion show later.’
I hold my tongue and quash the urge to kick him where it hurts as he walks out of the room, snickering to himself.
I look down at the purse and feel empty. But there’s nothing much else I can get my head into. I may as well go shopping.
Prada, Chanel, Dolce and Gabbana, Donna Karen . . . I used to love going to these shops with my friends and spending vast amounts of my father’s money.
Arnold, one of my family’s minders, keeps guard outside on the pavement as I rifle through the racks, horribly aware of the eagle-eyed sales assistants watching my every move. I pick some clothes out and don’t even bother to try them on – one of the servants will return them for me if they don’t look right.
I pause at the racks for a moment as I think this, and just feel sad. I can’t believe how quickly I’m slipping back into this life; this life I despise. But it takes me away from my memories. The thought of Holly, fun, bubbly, lovely Holly, is enough to make my eyes well up. I tell myself that she lied to me about Simon and my heart hardens. I go back to rifling through the racks.
News travels quickly here and soon my old friends and acquaintances begin to call. I receive invite-after-invite to attend various glittering parties and bar openings and I decide on the spot to accept them all. I don’t want to go out – it’s the last thing I want to do – but I figure if I sink back into this lifestyle it might make the pain go away. I’m not thinking of Will. Hardly ever. And it’s just as well because I can’t remember what he looks like.
So I accept these invitations and ten days after arriving don my new designer gear and go downstairs where one of our drivers is waiting diligently with the limo. It’s shiny and new inside and the leather still smells like leather. I see that someone has put a bottle of champagne on ice for me, and I hesitate for a moment before opening it. I’ll only have one glass – the rest will go to waste – but there’s plenty more where that came from.
‘DAISY!’ As soon as my high-heeled Jimmy Choo is on the pavement, I hear my name being screamed. I turn to see Donna, one of my old friends, standing on the sidewalk having only just exited her own limo. More screams follow as two other friends spy us both.
I’ve known Donna, Lisa and Cindy most of my life. Their fathers work in banking, law and banking respectively and have known my own father for years. Their mothers do nothing except shop, eat and exercise, much like my own. The girls and I went to school together, holidayed in the Hamptons together, and as we got older, partied together. Cindy’s dad spent 1½ million dollars on her eighteenth birthday party. Which was pretty amazing until Donna’s daddy trumped it with a cool 2 million on hers. My father spent even more on mine. He’s a competitive son of a bitch.
I suddenly see Nonna with her pots and pans, trying to catch the water coming through the walls. Why haven’t my parents seen her right? How much money would it take? It’s less than a drop in the ocean to them.
‘Daisy! It’s so good to see you!’
I turn my attention to my friends. ‘Hello!’
‘Wow, what are you wearing? And is that the latest Dolce bag?’ They don’t wait for me to answer before moving onto their next question. ‘Where have you been? Come on, come on, let’s go in!’
The queue to the club is already snaking around the building, but I follow the girls to the front. The doormen unclip the red rope and stand back to let us pass. Cindy, Donna and Lisa barely acknowledge them, but I smile and say thank you, and immediately wish I hadn’t because I don’t get anything other than a scowl in return.
Buff men in black-tie suits offer us cocktails on silver trays as we reach the bottom of the plush red-carpeted stairs. The latest new bar to see and be seen in stretches out in front of us. Everything is silver and white. The tables are mirrored cubes, the chairs are glossy white, the floor is polished chrome, and white velvet drapes hang from the walls. I feel like I’m standing inside an icicle and I shiver even though it’s the middle of summer.
Donna manages to sweet-talk two men in their fifties into giving up their seats in a silver leatherette booth and the four of us slide in and make ourselves comfortable. Only I don’t feel comfortable. Not like I used to. Everything is different, now. The deep ache inside that has been bothering me recently is throbbing away now. I reach for my cocktail and take a large gulp, before motioning for one of the suited waiters to bring me another. The girls collapse into giggles.
‘That’s the Daisy we know!’ Lisa squeals.
I ignore her and take another large mouthful and as alcohol infuses my body, I start to relax.
‘So tell us what you’ve been up to?’ Cindy says.
‘I want to hear about Johnny Jefferson!’ Lisa interrupts.
‘Is he really as hot as he looks?’ Donna chips in.
I don’t want to talk about Johnny, but it’s preferable to talking about . . . you know. So I divulge trivial details that the girls could just read about in magazines without going into any depth. It seems to satisfy them.
‘What’s been going on here?’ I ask eventually.
‘Oh my God, did you hear about Portia Levistone?’ Donna’s eyes are wide with the anticipation of telling me a story about one of our old school friends.
‘No,’ I reply.
‘Oh. My. God,’ she says again, glancing at Lisa and Cindy.
I go along with it. ‘Tell me,’ I urge, although I couldn’t really care less what Portia has been getting up to.
‘You know how she married that banker?’
‘I didn’t, but . . .’
‘Ew! He’s, like, totally disgusting. Fat and old, but really, really rich. And you know how Portia’s daddy lost all his money on the stock market?’
‘Did he?’
‘Yes! Daisy, you’ve been living in a bubble for three years!’
Er, no, I just haven’t given a damn about any of this stuff . . .
‘Never mind,’ Donna continues. ‘Portia’s daddy introduced her to this old guy, like really old – forty or something like that – and they got married!’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Yes! But that’s not it. She’s PREGNANT! They’ve only been married, like, a couple of months or something.’
Lisa turns her nose up. ‘I can’t believe she had sex with him!’
Loud chorus of ‘EWs’ all around.
Jesus, they still sound like they’re sixteen.
‘Maybe it’s not his?’ Cindy looks at the others, wide-eyed.
‘Oh my God, maybe it’s not!’ Donna screeches. ‘She was totally into that bartender at her hen party!’
This is how rumours start, I think to myself indifferently. And then a thought slams into me.
What if I’m pregnant?
‘So tell me about Fifi,’ Cindy turns to Lisa. ‘Did you manage to get that diamond-encrusted coat in her size?’
I stare ahead in shock. Will and I didn’t use contraception . . .
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t,’ Lisa replies sadly. ‘They’re going to order it in for me.’
My hand instinctively goes to my stomach.
‘Fifi is Lisa’s new chihuahua,’ Donna explains to me, but I’m already on my feet. ‘Where are you going?’ she asks, taken aback by my sudden movement.
‘I’m not feeling well. I’m going to head home.’
‘Oh.’ One, two, three put-out faces around the table. I don’t wait for them to say anything else before hurrying out of the venue.
I set off down the street, deciding to walk rather than call the driver.
Pregnant? Pregnant? What would I do? Of course, I would keep it. What if it was a boy? What if he looked like Will?
A lump forms in my throat and tears prick at my eyes as I run across the street in my three-inch heels. I’m not used to wearing them and my feet are already starting to ache, but that’s good. Physical pain helps deflect from the emotional kind.
Would I tell Laura? Would Laura want to know that Will had a son? What about his parents? Would they accept me? They would have to. I would be the mother of their only grandson . . .
Or perhaps it’s a girl. A little girl who takes after me. But she could have her daddy’s eyes . . .
Tears start to stream down my face and I brush them away, quickly. My soles are burning. I should have called the limo. It was probably only waiting around the corner.
I want to speak to Holly, but no, I’m not ready.
Oh God, I want to be pregnant. Please let me be pregnant. When did I last have my period? It was ages ago. I start to cry properly as I stumble down the sidewalk. Passers-by glance at me warily, but no one asks me if I’m okay and I don’t want them to. And then up ahead, I see a limo parked on the side of the street. Is it mine? I reach it and realise with a wave of relief that it is, banging on the window at the driver who leaps out of the car in shock.
‘Take me home!’ I wail.
‘Miss Rogers! Did you call me? I’m so sorry.’
I shake my head at him wildly and climb into the car. He knows better than to ask any more questions.
There’s a fresh bottle of champagne chilling on ice. I can’t believe I drank so much tonight! What if I’ve harmed the baby?
Oh, please God, let me be pregnant!
No one knows about you . . . Laura is the one he left behind . . .
I thought Holly’s words would haunt me forever, but they’d all know about me if I were the mother of Will’s only child. I would-n’t have to hide. I wouldn’t have to grieve in silence . . .
I want his baby, so much!
I could go to a pharmacy . . . Get a pregnancy test . . .
No. No. I don’t want to do that.
What if I’m not?
Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it.
I wipe away my tears as we pull up in front of my apartment block. Barney comes to hold open the door and I step out, calmly thanking him. He looks concerned when he sees my red and no-doubt puffy eyes, but I walk past him with my head held high.
Most of the lights are off in the apartment and I go straight to my bedroom. In the bathroom I lift up my top and stare at my stomach. Flat as a pancake. But I wouldn’t be showing, yet. I must eat healthily tomorrow. Make up for all the booze I’ve had tonight.
Would I have the baby here? Or would I go back to England? I could go to Italy! Nonna would look after us both!
Italy . . . That was where he said he first fell for me . . .
Sobs ricochet through me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I miss him so much. It’s been over two weeks, but I want him back. He can’t be gone forever!
He was trying to block Luis from overtaking him, and ran wide, crashing into a wall and spinning through the air before landing the wrong side up on a gravel pit. He broke his neck, they said. It was quick, painless. But he must’ve known he was about to have an accident.
I wonder if he knew he was going to die . . .
No, no, NO! He was mine! But his life was snatched away on the very day he became so. We could have spent our lives together. I was on the verge of being happy – the happiest I have ever been. How can I cope with the pain of his loss, now?
I love him!
How dare she love him, too! How dare she!
I run and throw myself on the bed and cry, hard, into my pillows. It should have been me. It should have been me at the front of the church. It should have been me on the front of the papers staring out at me at Heathrow. I should have been reading about me as I knelt on the floor of the newsagent’s at the airport, my fingers turning black from the newspaper print.
But it was her. It’s all about her.
Italy. Italy. That’s where I’ll go. Nonna, me and the baby. He’ll like living in the mountains. I’ll bring him up bilingually . . .
Two days later, I get my period. I sit on the toilet in shock, unable to cry, unable to do anything except sit there and stare into space. My hopes, my dreams have vanished. I feel lost and alone. I have nothing.
Chapter 20
What am I doing, here?
Forgetting . . . Forgetting . . . Forgetting . . .
I’ve been back in New York for two weeks and I’m sitting on the windowsill again, watching the joggers. I have a sudden urge to go down to Central Park and join them, but no, I can’t be bothered.
I had an ‘interesting’ conversation with my father last night at dinner. We were halfway through our main course when he came out with a question that has clearly been on his mind for some time.
‘What are you going to do with yourself, now?’
‘Are you actually asking me?’
He gave me a hard stare but didn’t answer, so I looked away before replying.
‘I was thinking about going to catering school.’
He actually laughed. A cold, brittle laugh. ‘All that money I spent on law school and you want to become a meagre cook?’
‘It’s a difficult job! There’s nothing meagre about it.’
‘You will do no such thing. I’ve spoken to Martin. There’s a job in his law firm. I expect you to take it.’
He continued to chew on his beef while I sat there in silence, my blood beginning to boil.
‘No.’ My tone was firm, resolute.
His knife and fork froze in mid-air as he turned his grey eyes to look at me. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said, no.’ But my voice was wavering.
‘You have the summer,’ he coolly replied, ignoring my refusal. ‘Have your fun, go to parties, see your friends, but after that I expect you to settle down and start this job.’
I bit my tongue. It’s now the middle of July. By September, who knows where I’ll be? I can’t even think further than the weekend at the moment.
‘And get your hair cut,’ he continued. ‘Stacey will make you an appointment for the morning.’ Stacey is one of my father’s assistants.
I closed my eyes in defeat. Years ago I would have argued. Weeks ago I would have laughed. Now I let his comments slide over me. I just want to be numb for a while.
A few seconds later I opened my eyes again and continued to eat.
I still haven’t listened to my mobile phone messages. I know I have some because I saw the reminder on the screen before my phone ran out of battery. Since then, it’s been sitting on my bedside table, staring at me every time I go to sleep or wake up. And that’s not just in the morning and at night; I’ve been napping in the daytime, too. Anything to pass the time.
Maybe my father’s right. Maybe I should get a job. Not with Martin, I’m not that desperate, but somewhere. Maybe even at a coffee shop?
I actually smile to myself and shake my head at this thought. As if he’d allow me to do that.
‘Ahem.’
I turn to see my mother standing in the doorway of the sitting room.
‘Oh, that looks nice,’ she says, nodding in my direction.
‘What looks nice?’ I ask.
‘Your hair,’ she replies.
This morning I went to the hairdresser, as agreed. I had the tiniest trim and am now wearing my hair up where it will probably stay for the rest of the summer. My father will never know the difference.
‘Oh, right. Thanks,’ I add generously.
‘Did you have a nice time last night?’ she asks.
‘Yeah, it was fine.’
After dinner, I went to see a movie with Lisa. I may not particularly like those girls, but my need for distraction outweighs my moral responsibility to tell them to piss off.
How I miss Holly . . .
Right, that’s it. I’m calling her. I’ve been thinking about her on and off for the last couple of weeks, but I haven’t felt like speaking to her until now.
I get up so suddenly from the windowsill that my mother looks startled.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To my bedroom.’
‘Not for another sleep?’
‘Why?’ I snap. ‘What’s your problem with that?’
She doesn’t answer, so I storm out of the room in a huff and even go as far as slamming my bedroom door like a petulant child. I may be twenty-six, but I sure as hell don’t feel like it, right now.
I snatch up my phone from the bedside table and commence my search for the lead to charge it up. Where the hell have the servants put it? I find it eventually, in the top drawer inside my wardrobe, neatly folded and secured with a piece of string. I tug it off and find an American adaptor, then plug it in, turn the phone on, and wait for the LCD display to light up. There we go. Voicemail . . .
‘You have nine new messages . . .’
Play.
‘Hi, Daisy, it’s me, Holly. I just want to know if you got home safely. Give me a call . . .’
‘Hi, Daisy, it’s me, Holly. I’m just wondering how you are? Give me a call . . .’
‘Hi, Daisy, it’s me, Holly. I know you’re probably really busy settling back into New York City life, but I’d really love to just have a chat and see how you are. I miss you. Call me back . . .’
‘Hi again Daisy, it’s me, Holly. Are you there? I hope I’ve got the right number for you. No, I definitely do because I called you on this when you were still here. Oh, I’m rambling. Just give me a call when you can.’
‘Daisy? It’s Holly. Are you checking your phone? Please call me.’
‘Hi, it’s just me again, wondering where you are and what you’re up to . . .’
And so on. Guilt prickles inside me as I listen to her voice. I should have called sooner. I’ll make up for it now. Cazzo, what time is it in the UK? Ten o’clock. Too late? No . . .
Ring, ring, ring . . .
Damn, it probably is too late.
Ring, ring, ring . . .
Should I hang up?
Ring, ring, ring . . .
I’ve probably woken her up now, anyway. If I hang up now she’ll be really annoyed.
Ring . . .
Does this phone have voicemail, or what?’
‘Hello?’ Bummer. She sounds sleepy.
‘Holly? Sorry, have I woken you up?’
‘Daisy? Daisy!’ She instantly perks up. ‘You called! At last! Did you get my messages?’
‘Only just now, I’m afraid.’
‘I’ve called you about twenty times!’
‘Nine, actually.’
‘Not counting the times I hung up . . .’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’
‘What have you been doing? How’s it all going?’
‘You know . . . It’s alright.’
‘No, I don’t know. Tell me everything. What have you been up to? How are you feeling?’
‘Um, just keeping myself busy, catching up with old friends, that sort of thing. And shopping. Lots of shopping.’
‘Wicked! Ooh, you’ve got Banana Republic on practically every corner there, haven’t you? I’m so jealous.’
‘Mmm, yeah.’ Although I haven’t been in. It’s all designer, designer, designer, but I keep that to myself. ‘What about you? How’s it going?’
‘Good, good . . .’
Still shagging Simon? No, I don’t ask that question.
‘Hey, what do you want me to do with your bags?’ she asks. ‘You never left me your address, but should I send them on now?’
‘Actually, Holly, have you got enough room for them in your loft for the moment?’
‘Sure, yes, of course.’
‘In fact, you could even just give everything away to charity.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ she scoffs. ‘I can’t give all your things away!’
I don’t tell her that I have more than enough ‘things’ here.
‘So what’s been happening?’ I ask.
‘Well, we’re off to Germany this weekend and Pierre, the test driver, has taken over Will’s drive—’
‘I don’t want to hear about that,’ I bluntly interject, feeling light-headed.
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry. I just . . . can’t.’
‘Alright,’ she says sympathetically.
‘How are Pete and Dan?’ I ask.
‘They’re, you know, okay,’ she replies. ‘And Luis is—’
‘I don’t want to hear about Luis, either.’ My tone is hard.
‘Oh, right. Sure.’
Silence.
‘Did I wake you up?’ I change the subject.
‘Um . . . No, I was just dozing, you know.’
‘Is there anyone else with you?’
‘Hey?’ She sounds startled. ‘No, no, I’m here on my own, just little old me.’
Right. So Simon is there, then.
‘Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to it.’
‘Okay. Well, it was lovely to hear your voice. I’ve missed you so much.’
I feel warm inside. ‘I miss you, too.’ But once I’ve hung up, I just feel cold again.
July turns into August and New York becomes stifling hot. I stay inside the air-conditioned apartment as much as boredom allows, and the rest of the time I go shopping or out to the movies. Yesterday I spent all afternoon at the Guggenheim Museum, just sitting in front of the paintings and trying to lose myself in the abstract colours.
Holly calls me a few more times – I usually miss her phone calls and rarely call her back, but I will speak to her soon. I’m still upset she won’t confide in me the way I confided in her.
Well, I didn’t tell her everything. And she still knows nothing about my life in America or Johnny, but that’s not the point. Is it? No, it’s definitely not the same thing. Anyway . . .
One day in early August, I’m flicking through the channels on the television and almost fall off the sofa when I come across Luis being interviewed. It’s a foreign channel, so I can’t understand much of what’s being said, but he looks distraught. I immediately try to dismiss it as him losing his latest race, but I know in my heart that’s not it. It bothers me for hours until eventually I call Holly.
‘Hello!’ She sounds delighted to hear from me. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m okay,’ I reply. ‘I just saw Luis on the television.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah. He looked a bit worse for wear. Is everything alright?’
‘I thought you didn’t want to hear about Luis?’ I don’t answer so she continues. ‘He hasn’t been that great, to be honest.’
‘What, isn’t he winning or something?’ Sarcasm kicks in.
‘It’s not that.’ Holly hastily corrects me. ‘Daisy, he pulled out of the last race.’
‘He pulled out? What do you mean?’ I’m confused. ‘Was this in Hungary?’ The Hungarian Grand Prix follows the German one.
‘Yes,’ she replies.
‘What happened?’
‘Well, he did this whole speech about how he was going to win it for Will.’
‘I bet he did,’ I interrupt nastily.
Holly continues. ‘But he just couldn’t get it together. He’s lost it, Daisy. He’s devastated about Will’s death. He blames himself.’
‘So he damn well should!’ I erupt. ‘It was his fault!’
‘Daisy, it wasn’t,’ Holly says reasonably. ‘The FIA’ – that’s the Formula 1 governing body – ‘looked into it and everything.’
‘Do they know that Luis called him a prick before the race? No!’ I don’t even give Holly a chance to answer. ‘They bloody well don’t! What happened in Germany?’
‘It was almost as bad,’ Holly explains. ‘He qualified sixth—’
‘I wouldn’t call that bad,’ I interject.
‘But he started poorly and just kept getting overtaken by backmarkers. He ended up finishing thirteenth.’
‘Boo bloody hoo. I bet Simon wasn’t too happy about that.’
‘Simon understands,’ Holly replies.
‘And is he still leading the championship?’
‘No. He’s slipped down to third.’
‘Tough luck.’
‘Daisy, don’t be too hard on him . . .’
‘Why not? He killed Will! He killed him!’ My head feels like it’s swelling from all the pressure inside of me and then I’m sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Daisy, Daisy, I’m sorry . . .’ Holly tries to comfort me in the background, but I’m beyond help. I just need to cry.
Oh God, I want him back. I’d give anything to have him back.
‘Why did he have to die?’ I wail. ‘I miss him, Holly, I miss him so much.’
‘Oh, Daisy . . .’
I eventually calm down and take a few deep breaths while neither of us speaks.
‘Are you alright?’ Holly asks.
I take another raggedy breath and reply that I am. And then I remember the TV interview. ‘What was Luis doing on telly, anyway? You said something about a big speech he did?’
‘That’s right. Are you sure you want to hear this now?’ Holly sounds wary.
‘Yes. Go on, I won’t break down again, I promise.’
‘Well, after, you know, the funeral, the press turned on Luis. He got a terribly hard time about going on to win the race when his teammate had had such a horrific crash. Simon fears someone from the team leaked the fact that Luis blames himself for Will’s death, because suddenly the tabloids cottoned onto the story and wouldn’t let it drop. Instead of feeling sorry for Luis, they became even more bloodthirsty. They managed to get an interview with Will’s father and he slated Luis for winning at Silverstone.’
‘Has Laura spoken to the press?’ I interrupt.
‘No.’
‘Oh. Go on.’ I can’t even feel angry with her.
‘Anyway, Luis did terribly in Germany, refused to do any interviews himself, and the furore finally seemed to be dying down. Then, just before the race in Hungary, an interviewer must’ve caught Luis at a weak moment because he broke down on the grid.’
I butt in. ‘What do you mean he broke down?’
‘In tears,’ Holly explains. ‘He started to cry as he was getting into his car.’
I’m dumbstruck. I can’t imagine Luis doing that.
Holly continues. ‘He told the interviewer he was going to win the race for Will.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘No, he pulled out after ten laps.’
‘Was there something wrong with the car? Was he doing really badly?’ I’m confused.
‘No. On the contrary, he started off really well. He started way down in eleventh place on the grid, but he overtook four people at the start, and was climbing up through the pack when suddenly he just seemed to slow right down. Seven people went past him before he pulled into the garages and climbed out of the car. Simon went bonkers.’
I listen intently as she continues.
‘Anyway, that interview you saw was probably the only one he gave after the race because he just couldn’t keep it together. He hasn’t been into team HQ since and I think he’s properly screwed up. I don’t know what Simon’s going to do.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know what Simon’s going to do?’
‘About Luis. He can’t keep him in the car when he’s so obviously affected by Will’s death.’
‘He can’t keep him in the car? What, he’s going to fire him?’
‘He might not have a choice.’
‘Of course he has a choice! He was leading the championship. Why would Simon get rid of him, just because he’s had a couple of dodgy races? His teammate is dead!’ I can feel the sobs building up inside me again.
‘Hey, hey,’ Holly soothes. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to hear it.’
‘No. I’m not pleased,’ I tell her. In fact, I’m worried about Luis.
He doesn’t deserve this. Do I really blame him for Will’s death? Do I? ‘When’s the next race?’ I ask.
‘In a couple of weeks. European Grand Prix.’
‘Well, wish him good luck from me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Daisy . . .’ Holly’s voice is tentative. ‘Are you really going to stay in America?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply.
‘Why don’t you come back? There’s still a job waiting for you. We all miss you.’
I pause. ‘I miss you all, too.’
‘You could come back in time for the next race. Stay with me. You wouldn’t even need to find another flat.’
For a moment I picture myself back at work, behind the serving table, dishing up greasy bacon, and then I see Will, asking for a quick word, and my throat closes up so quickly I have to gasp for air. I start to wail. Holly’s shock is immense.
‘Daisy, please stop crying!’
‘I can’t . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’ I manage to say.
‘I know, I know,’ she hushes me. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘I can’t bear it!’ I promised her I wouldn’t break down again, but the floodgates have well and truly opened. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead!’ And that’s it, all Holly can hear for ages afterwards is the sound of me sobbing.
Finally I calm down. ‘I have to go,’ I say morosely.
‘I’m so sorry, Daisy.’ Her voice sounds husky, like she’s been crying, too.
‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. And then I hang up.
Moments later I hear a knock on my bedroom door. I don’t answer, so the door opens slowly and I look up to see my mother standing there.
‘Daisy? Are you okay?’
‘No, no, no, I’m not.’ I shake my head and stare down at the carpet in despair.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks quietly.
‘Just let me be,’ I tell her and collapse face down on the bed. ‘Go!’ I shout crossly when she doesn’t make any attempt to move. Seconds later I hear the door shut behind her and I’m alone once more.