Chasing Daisy, Page 2

  ‘Right, enough,’ Frederick interrupts. ‘Back to work. There are three bags of potatoes for you to peel, Daisy.’

  I notice that Holly gets to decorate a cake. I always get the shittiest jobs.

  ‘Hey,’ Holly says later, when Frederick pops out of the kitchen. I’ve been watching her distractedly for the last ten minutes as she’s cut a sponge cake into large cubes and plastered them with chocolate icing. ‘A few of the lads have been talking about going out tonight. Fancy it?’

  ‘Sure, where?’

  ‘St Kilda,’ she says, dipping one of the chocolate-covered cubes into desiccated coconut.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Curiosity gets the better of me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘With that cake.’ I nod at the furry-looking cube.

  ‘Lamingtons,’ she explains. ‘They’re Aussie cakes.’

  We always try to cater according to the country we’re in and it sometimes makes for an ‘interesting’ menu.

  ‘Anyway, back to tonight . . .’ She leans against the counter and wipes the coconut off her hands.

  ‘Where’s St Kilda?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a really cool suburb on the other side of the park.’

  ‘Will we be able to get away in time?’

  ‘Yeah, should be fine. We did the early shift and half the team is going to that sponsorship event anyway so we don’t really need to be around after eight thirty. I’m gagging for a drink.’ She puts her hands up to her head and tightens her high, bleached-blonde ponytail.

  ‘I need a drink, too. Especially after earlier . . .’

  ‘I still need to hear all about that,’ she says. ‘Not now, though,’ she adds, as Frederick walks back in, so we both put our heads down and crack on.

  ‘You called him a dickhead again? In front of Will?’ Holly claps her hand over her mouth in wide-eyed shock, then starts laughing through her fingers.

  The air is hot and humid and we’re seated outside a pub in St Kilda. We walked here straight from the track, along Fitzroy Street’s dozens of cafés, restaurants and bars, all spilling out onto the pavement with rowdy revellers.

  ‘He deserved it,’ I say flippantly.

  ‘Who deserved what?’ Pete, one of the mechanics, plonks himself down on a recently vacated chair next to us. A few of the ‘lads’, as Holly likes to call them, have joined us for a drink. It’s ten o’clock at night and they’ve only just come from the track, although they swear they’re heading back to the hotel by midnight. Last time they said this, we were in Shanghai towards the end of the season, and they were out on the town until three a.m. When Simon got wind of it, he was not happy.

  ‘She crashed one of the team scooters in front of Will and Luis earlier,’ Holly tells him.

  ‘Holly!’ I erupt. She’s had a few too many beers.

  ‘They’re going to find out sooner or later,’ she says to me, giggling at Pete.

  ‘Oh, I’ve already heard about that,’ he says dismissively.

  ‘You’ve heard about it?’ I ask, humiliated.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, Luis was going on about it earlier. Said you could have broken his legs.’

  ‘Broken his legs?’ I explode, humiliation swiftly transforming into irritation. ‘Figlio di puttana!’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Holly casually explains to Pete. She knows as many Italian swear words as I do. One of the undeniable bonuses of working with me.

  ‘Actually, it literally translates to “son of a whore”,’ I point out pedantically, before continuing with my rant. ‘I can’t believe that!’

  Pete just laughs and raises his eyebrows, taking a swig from his beer bottle.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Holly soothes. ‘No one will remember it by tomorrow.’

  ‘Eeeeeeeeeeeeee . . . BOOM!’ Another mechanic makes a loud crashing sound as he pulls up a chair and joins us at the table. ‘Way to go, Daisy!’ he laughs.

  ‘Thanks, Dan. Appreciate your support,’ I answer, glumly.

  Dan is quite short compared to Pete, who’s enormous at six foot four, but both are broad and muscular, unlike Luis and Will who are about six foot and slim-built. You have to be to fit in those Formula 1 cars.

  Two more mechanics zoom past the table, pretending to screech to a stop.

  ‘Haven’t you guys got anything better to do?’ I call after them.

  I lean back in my seat and watch as a group of gorgeous girls in their late teens strut by. I feel old, and I’m only twenty-six. I know I look older. People tell me it’s the way I carry myself. I think it’s because of the size of my heels. I’m five foot nine, but I never go out in less than three inches. Well, that was back in America. I’ve started wearing flats since I got this job. I’m on my feet all the time and I’m not really a massive fan of torture. Plus, Holly is tiny at five foot one and I look enough like a giant next to her as it is.

  ‘Wicked!’ Dan interrupts my thoughts. He’s looking down at his mobile phone. ‘Luis is coming by for a drink. He’s just left that event.’

  Oh, for God’s sake. I was enjoying myself. Now we’ll have to find another venue to drink at and everywhere is so busy around here.

  ‘Staying true to form, then,’ Holly comments.

  What she means by that is, Luis has a reputation for being a hard-partying ladies’ man. This is his first year in Formula 1. Prior to that he raced in the American IRL – Indy Racing League – series and won the infamous Indy 500 three times in a row, which is why I vaguely recognised him – not that I’ve ever been that interested in racing before. Anyway, everyone speculated that he would have to calm down his wild ways and slot into the fold once he started working for Serious Simon, but he’s clearly sticking his fingers up at that idea.

  ‘I thought you guys were having an early night?’ I say.

  ‘He’s a driver.’ Dan shrugs. ‘I can’t blow him out. Another round?’

  ‘Er . . .’ I’m about to make our excuses about moving on, but Holly’s response is too quick.

  ‘Sure!’ She lifts up her glass of beer dregs. ‘Same again!’

  ‘What did you go and do that for?’ I complain as soon as Dan and Pete have left the table. ‘I don’t want to stay here if he’s coming.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Daisy, we’re having fun. Maybe it’ll do you good to get to know Luis socially.’

  ‘I don’t want to get to know him socially. He’s a dick. I want to go somewhere else.’

  ‘Just one drink? I wonder if Will might join him,’ she muses.

  A strange shiver goes through me at the sound of Will’s name.

  ‘I doubt it,’ I answer, albeit slightly hesitantly. ‘Isn’t he a bit too committed to go out drinking the night before qualifying?’

  ‘Maybe. But perhaps he’ll take some time off for a change. Have a few beers with the lads, you know, good for team morale . . .’

  A tiny glimmer of hope starts to flicker inside me. Dan returns with our drinks and then goes off to chat to Pete and the other mechanics standing on the pavement.

  Unusually for a racing team, our previous drivers both retired at the end of last year, so we started this season with two newbies. Will, unlike Luis, has been in Formula 1 for a couple of years. The British have gone bananas over him, because he’s young, good-looking and talented, so it was a quite a coup for Simon to scoop him up. I’ve seen him around the track a bit in the past, but have never been in close proximity to him. Until yesterday.

  ‘Do you ever see him at team headquarters?’ I turn back to Holly.

  ‘Who?’ she asks.

  ‘Will.’

  ‘Oh. Yeah, occasionally, yes. He’s been in to use the simulator a few times.’

  ‘Simulator?’

  ‘It’s like a car-sized PlayStation racing game. They use it to learn the different track layouts. It’s wicked, actually. Pete let me have a go on it a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Aah, right.’

  ‘Why are you asking about Will?’ She remembers my initial question.

/>   ‘Um, no reason . . .’

  ‘You fancy him, don’t you?’ She slams her hand down on the table.

  ‘No!’ I deny.

  ‘You bloody do! You’ve gone all red!’

  ‘I have not!’

  ‘You have! I thought you were sworn off men?’

  ‘I am,’ I respond.

  ‘Are you ever going to tell me why?’

  I shake my head and take a sip of my drink.

  ‘Why not?’ she asks for about the zillionth time. At least, that’s what it feels like to me.

  ‘I can’t,’ I reply.

  ‘Why? Are you worried your ex will hunt you down and kick your arse?’

  I don’t answer.

  She looks stricken. ‘That’s not it, is it? Oh God, Daisy, I’m so sorry if it is. I would never make fun of—’

  ‘I’m not a victim of domestic violence,’ I wearily interject. ‘I just don’t want to discuss it.’

  ‘Huh. Fine.’ She looks put out, then she adds, ‘Well, Will’s got a girlfriend anyway, so he’s off-limits.’

  ‘Does he?’ I try to keep my voice light, but the disappointment is immense.

  ‘Of course he does. How can you not know that? They’re always in the tabloids together.’

  ‘I don’t read the papers.’

  ‘Still, how can you have missed them?’

  ‘Why? What’s their story?’

  ‘Childhood sweethearts.’

  My heart sinks.

  Holly carries on, oblivious to my pain. ‘They grew up in the same village together. The press back home love it how Will has stayed with her through thick and thin and has never been tempted by all the bimbos on the racing scene.’

  This is getting worse.

  ‘She works for a children’s charity.’

  ‘Are you making this up?’ I look at Holly, incredulous.

  She laughs. ‘No, it’s true. Sorry.’

  ‘Well, like you say, I’m sworn off men.’

  And yes, I am. I had my heart broken in America and felt like I had to leave the goddamn country because I couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into the bastard.

  Repeat: I am okay on my own. I am okay on my own. I am okay on my own.

  And I am sure as hell not going to chase after someone who has a girlfriend. That’s not my style.

  I notice Holly wiping some of the lipgloss off her beer glass and smudging it back onto her lips.

  ‘That is such a good look,’ I say.

  ‘You are really quite sarcastic for an American, aren’t you?’ she answers wryly, as Pete plonks himself back down at the table.

  ‘I was born in England,’ I remind her.

  My mother is Italian and my father is British, but when I was six, he moved the whole family to America. I’d been there for almost twenty years when I relocated to the UK and secured a job working as a waitress for Frederick and his wife Ingrid’s catering company in London. Then last October, Frederick asked me if I’d like to come along to the final three races as a front-of-house girl. That title means working in hospitality and making sure the team and its guests are looked after, but I also help out in the kitchen whenever it’s required. Opportunities like this – to see the world and get paid for it – don’t come along very often, so naturally I jumped at the chance.

  Holly and I hit it off immediately. When we’re not racing, she works in the canteen at the team’s headquarters in Berkshire, England. I say canteen, but it’s actually more like a Michelinstarred restaurant. We met for the first time in Japan last year where we got through several jugs of sake in the hotel bar one night. The jugs are only tiny, but boy is rice wine strong. We were shit-faced by ten p.m, and you don’t even want to know what we consumed a week later in China.

  After Brazil, Frederick asked me to stay on for another year to do a full season. I don’t know what came over him, but yay!

  Holly has been rummaging around in her bag for ages and now she finally emerges with a tube of pink lipgloss. She reapplies some, giving me an overtly smug look.

  I could do with some of that, actually. Just in case Will does deign to join us. What am I thinking? No, no, NO!

  Damn it. ‘Can I have some?’ I have very little willpower. I slick some over my lips, then tuck my long, dark hair behind my ears and wait.

  A few minutes later, a taxi pulls up outside the pub and the high-heel-clad feet of a woman gracefully step out of it onto the pavement.

  I recognise her. It’s the woman Catalina was talking to in the grandstand . . . Her sister?

  Then Luis climbs out of the car behind her. I crane my neck, but there’s no Will. I feel momentarily crushed, but firmly tell myself it’s for the best.

  ‘Oi, oi, oi!’ I hear a few of the lads behind us shout. Luis grins at them.

  ‘Who’s that he’s with?’ I ask Holly.

  ‘Alberta. Catalina’s cousin,’ Holly answers.

  Sister . . . Cousin . . . Close enough.

  ‘Getting in with the boss’s family, is he?’ My tone is wry as I watch Luis put his hand on the woman’s lower back to steer her through the crowd.

  ‘Clearly,’ Holly replies.

  He reaches our gathering and is enthusiastically welcomed by the mechanics, most of whom are standing on the pavement behind our table. Holly and I remain seated, while Pete stands up and leans across us to clap Luis on the back. Holly smiles and lifts her hand in a half-wave of hello, but I can’t bear to look at him so I busy myself pretending to pick a fly out of my wine glass.

  ‘Hello!’ I hear him pointedly say in my direction.

  ‘Oh, hello!’ I reply, as though becoming aware of his presence for the first time.

  ‘Written off any scooters lately?’

  The boys around him crack up laughing and a couple of them make loud crashing noises.

  ‘Ha ha,’ I reply sarcastically and turn back to the imaginary insect in my glass.

  One of the lads lifts a chair over the heads of the people drinking at the table next to us and plonks it down beside me, waving his hand with a flourish to Alberta. Pete immediately offers his chair to Luis.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ Luis says. ‘I’m happy to stand.’

  ‘It’s alright, I’m going back to the bar,’ Pete says. ‘What are you having?’

  Luis produces a wad of notes. ‘My round,’ he says.

  ‘That’s too much, mate!’ Pete waves Luis’s money away.

  ‘No, no, take it!’ Luis insists. ‘Put it in the, what do you call it? Kitty?’

  Pete eyes it sceptically.

  ‘Take it!’ Luis forces it into his hand.

  ‘Do you want a bottle of champers?’ Pete asks Luis.

  ‘No, no, a beer for me.’

  ‘Saving the champagne for race day . . .’ Alberta comments in a husky voice.

  Luis just laughs. ‘Will you have some?’ he asks her.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she replies, sexily.

  ‘Go on then, Pete, get a bottle. Do you need some more?’ He reaches for his wallet.

  ‘No, mate, no!’ Pete practically shouts, holding up the wad in his hand. ‘I’ve got enough here to buy a house! Girls? Same again?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank y—’

  ‘We’ll help out with the champers!’ Holly shouts. ‘Daisy, stop being such a lame-arse,’ she whispers to me when Pete has departed.

  ‘So Frederick let you come out to play?’ Luis looks straight at me.

  I nod. ‘Uh-huh.’

  I feel Alberta’s chocolate-brown eyes fall on me and am taken aback by how cool her gaze is, considering her eye colour is so warm. It’s the same with her sister. Cousin, I mean. Whatever. The silly Bs are related, that’s all I need to know.

  ‘I heard he’s a ball-breaker . . .’ Luis continues.

  I don’t answer.

  ‘I’m Holly!’ Holly puts a stop to the awkwardness and offers her hand to Alberta, followed by Luis.

  ‘Do you work with this one?’ Luis asks Holly, nodding my way. />
  ‘As a front-of-house girl, yes.’ She smiles warmly, cutting short whatever sarcastic comment I’m certain Luis was about to make. ‘How was the sponsorship event?’ she asks, her tone bubbling over with friendliness. I don’t know how she does it.

  ‘Boring,’ Luis answers.

  ‘Oh, thank you very much.’ Alberta pretends to be upset.

  ‘With the exception of the present company, of course.’

  I’m about to put my fingers down my throat and make gagging noises when I notice her hand on his leg and am rendered speechless.

  Pete returns with a tray full of drinks for the lads, plus glasses, champagne and an ice bucket. Holly and I help him unload it before he heads back to the bar to return the tray.

  I hear a cork pop as Luis deftly pours champagne into three glasses, handing one to each of us girls.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I say, fingering the stem of my wine glass. I still have a few sips of Shiraz in there somewhere.

  ‘Don’t waste it,’ Luis states.

  ‘I’ll drink yours, Daisy,’ Holly offers, so I push it across the table to her.

  ‘There’s plenty to go around.’ Luis pushes the glass back in my direction and turns to Alberta.

  I give him a look of such distaste that he must surely feel my eyes branding the back of his skull, then I inadvertently glance down and am greeted with the sight of Alberta sliding her hand in the direction of Luis’s crotch. Dirty cow! I look at Holly in shock. A split second later I hear the sound of a chair scraping on the pavement and turn back to see Luis standing up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Alberta asks, her brow furrowed with annoyance.

  ‘The men’s room,’ Luis tells her.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind going, too,’ she says silkily, making me feel as invisible as that fly in my drink.

  ‘I need a piss,’ Luis says firmly, putting to a halt whatever naughty things Alberta had planned for their cubicle excursion. She slumps back in her seat and watches his departing backside.

  ‘Have you been to a Grand Prix before?’ Holly tactfully changes the subject.

  ‘Of course,’ Alberta answers dismissively.

  ‘Do you enjoy the racing?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m here for.’

  ‘Oh. What are you here for?’

  ‘The fun! The glamour!’ She casts her arms around her in an extravagant manner.