Alison shook her head. ‘You’ve described a fool’s errand. If that’s true, then racing is a futile pursuit.’
I grinned. ‘But what exercise in futility has ever been so much fun?’
She laughed. It was nice to see. I couldn’t imagine she’d laughed much over the last couple of weeks.
‘Aidy, that’s the closest I’ve gotten to a sensible answer, but it’s still a bad one.’
I balled up the sheet of paper she’d been drawing on and tossed it in the waste-paper bin. ‘Really? I thought it was pretty good.’
It was quiet in the workshop and there was no thumping baseline from the Jumping Bean. I was enjoying this intimate moment. It had been a long time since there’d been a lady in my life. Veronica was my last girlfriend and she’d dumped me when racing took over my life. I didn’t blame her. Motorsport demanded everything from you and only the right kind of person would stick by you.
Alison stood up and hugged me. The move took me by surprise, but I hugged her back. Suddenly, she stiffened in my arms and pushed me away.
The about-face didn’t shock me. I knew what had just happened. For a moment, she’d forgotten about Alex’s death and indulged in a normal life. Guilt had crept up on her and held up a funhouse mirror to her. Here she was hugging me when her fiancé had only been dead for two weeks. There shouldn’t have been any guilt involved. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but it gets all distorted when you’re grieving. I knew that from bitter experience.
‘I should be going,’ she said. ‘It’s getting late.’
Or way too early for something else, I thought, and watched her go.
Lap Fourteen
With Alex’s car now in my possession, I needed an excuse to go back down to Stowe Park to see Paul about his recording. I could make another parts run, but I was pushing the limits of believability. Having the parts mailed to me was far cheaper than a two hundred mile round trip. But a reason presented itself in the form of Tony and Pete Hansen. They needed me to fill in as an instructor at the racing school.
Pretty much every circuit in the UK operated a school. The schools operated by the high profile circuits like Silverstone, Donington and Brands Hatch were well respected. Stowe Park’s school wasn’t in the top echelons, but that didn’t matter. The majority of the people attending the classes were only doing it for one of those adrenalin-filled days they’d always remember.
On Friday, I drove down to Stowe Park. I liked being an instructor. It was a chance to play on the track and meet some new people while I got paid for my time. If I’m being honest, it was also good for the ego. I got to play racecar driver to people who didn’t know any better and they revered me for it. Call me shallow, but it’s nice to be adored once in a while.
Tony had called Graham Linden in to help out too. Tony had a sizeable class of twenty-five or so punters for the morning session and the same again in the afternoon. These were pretty good numbers for the Stowe Park school. I wondered if the bump in numbers had anything to do with Alex’s death. It had brought the circuit increased notoriety because of the press coverage associated with the fund-raising, which probably explained my call up today. My presence raised the school’s profile.
Tony gave the in-class instruction, but the on the track duties would be split between Tony, Pete, Graham and me.
While Tony went through braking, clipping points, and accelerating through bends, Graham and I helped Pete prepare the cars. The half day session broke down like this. They got thirty minutes of in-class instruction, then went out for a fifteen minute session on the track in a modified Ford Focus before getting ten laps in a Formula Ford. The three of us picked a Focus, made sure it had fuel and the tires were pumped up to the right pressure. The road cars are pretty self-sufficient and don’t need much preparation. The Formula Fords are far more sensitive and need checking out fully before a novice driver gets behind the wheel.
I needed more people like Paul on my side to force the police into reopening the investigation. Graham’s involvement made for an unexpected windfall. He’d had the closest view of the crash. He had to have seen something, despite what he’d said at Alex’s funeral. He’d make for a powerful witness when combined with Paul’s recording. I took a clipboard with the student scorecard attached to it and tossed it on the passenger seat. I grabbed my helmet and followed Graham over to the Formula Fords.
‘How’s it going, Graham?’
‘Pretty good.’
‘It’s going to be weird getting back on the track after Alex’s crash.’
Graham looked out across the track in the direction of the Barrack Hill bend and nodded. He went to climb into one of the Formula Fords when I stopped him.
‘You know you told me about Derek’s threat the night before Alex’s shunt?’
I felt Graham retreat from me without moving. ‘Yeah.’
‘I know we’ve talked about this before, but you were behind Derek and Alex before the crash, right?’
‘Yeah, I told you, I didn’t see anything.’
‘You were right behind them. Are you sure?’
‘Of course, I’m sure.’
‘Is it possible that Derek moved into Alex to put him out of the race?’
‘They collided. That’s all.’ Graham’s hands were balled into tight fists. ‘Don’t go trying to make more of it.’
‘Everything OK there?’ Pete asked from behind one of the Focuses.
Graham got an answer in before I did. ‘Yeah. Just talking.’
‘Well, get those cars on the track. Our clients will be out soon.’
Graham shot me a withering look and pulled on his helmet.
I guessed that was the end of that. This was a different Graham than the one who’d gloated to me in the clubhouse the night before the race. Despite his outburst, he was scared. He was a local, unlike me, and within Derek’s reach. Derek had to know Graham was an eyewitness to what he’d done. He wouldn’t have let that loose end go untied. Had Derek threatened him? Shoved a shotgun in his face? I could see it. Derek was bullying everyone into silence.
I torqued the wheels and kissed my mum’s St Christopher before pulling on my helmet and belting myself into one of the Formula Fords. I guided the car onto the track and focused on driving. I pushed the car, but I wasn’t trying to set any lap records. This was a quick check to make sure the engine, brakes and tires functioned properly. The engine is a minefield of potential problems from sticking throttle linkages to misfiring ignition systems. Tyres have a limited shelf life and, once it’s reached, the grip degrades. Silicon brake fluid absorbs water and destroys braking performance. Any deficiency in these three areas is dangerous. Any and all of these factors might send a student flying off the track. I settled into putting in some consistent laps to watch the oil and water temperature gauges rise and the oil pressure drop into safe running conditions.
I maintained a safe distance from Graham. He wouldn’t have appreciated me hounding him on the track as well as off.
As I passed the pit lane, Pete joined the circuit behind me. Normally, he let the hired help like Graham and me handle the cars on the track while he worried about logistics. I put his presence down to the numbers of people we had to get through today. It also explained his pace. He was eating up the track behind me. He looked as if he was on a flying lap and not a warm up.
Seeing Pete catch up to me, my competitive streak kicked in and I upped my pace, but he still reeled me in. Ahead, Graham peeled off into the pit lane, but I stayed out for one more lap with Pete. With everything that had been going on, I needed to blow off some steam. A dogfight with Pete was just the remedy.