Page 23

Seb

It always rained in France when I was here.

Today was the Paris-Roubaix Femmes, one of the most prestigious one-day races in the calendar.

Lori would be waking up in her team hotel at a town further north, the start for the women, and I was here in a place called Compiègne, which I only knew was not quite Paris, even though it was the start for the men’s race tomorrow.

I was awake early, as I often was when Lori was racing. She hadn’t had any further altercations with animals since the Strade Bianche, but she certainly still had my bad luck. I hoped she hadn’t worn the necklace.

What had I been thinking giving it to her? She’d cried in front of me and tried to get me out of her system. A trinket from me was like a blessing from the Jamaican bobsled team, even though it seemed I had the spirit of John Candy as my coach at the moment, rest his soul.

I wondered if she’d seen that film and fumbled for my phone to write her a message – as I had a hundred times over the past four weeks, but put it down again when I remembered that disaster struck – her – every time I reached out.

‘What fucking time is it? Go back to sleep, Frankie.’

That was another development I wanted to talk to Lori about. Since Amir was competing mostly in the Continental circuit, I was now not only racing with Lori’s brother, I was sleeping with him too – in the sense of actual sleeping.

It was… strange, to say the least.

Rolling over, I tried to go back to sleep, but I knew it wouldn’t work, so I pulled on a tracksuit and jogged down to the breakfast room of our crappy hotel with furry brown carpet and a signed portrait of Gérard Depardieu on the wall in the corridor.

It wasn’t long before Colin joined me, collapsing groggily into the chair across from where I was nursing my black coffee.

‘Do you want to head out early to check out the course? Alan wants to talk to us after lunch.’

‘Sure,’ I replied listlessly. I should be more excited about discussing tactics with our directeur sportif for the race tomorrow – my 13th Paris-Roubaix, well didn’t that sound lucky? – but all I could think about was Lori out on the cobbles in the rain.

But the women didn’t start until later, so I got out in the crisp spring air for a short practice ride with Colin.

I was so used to having him on my wheel, swearing and spitting, but everything he said reminded me of Lori.

Everything I did reminded me of Lori. She would hate knowing that, instead of fighting through my final year of professional racing, I was mooning over her and waiting for every little glimpse of the back of her neck in the breakfast room when we happened to be in the same hotel – which had only happened twice since Siena.

Back at the hotel for lunch, Colin and I both looked incessantly at our watches as we shovelled in the chicken and rice without tasting anything.

When the time ticked over to a quarter to two, I was tapping my fingers manically on the table, picturing Lori’s tough, streamlined – sexy – body in her tight orange-and-blue jersey, a scowl on her freckled – gorgeous – face.

‘Dad will text me if something happens,’ Colin said casually, setting his phone down next to his plate.

My gaze snapped up.

‘Do you think you’re being subtle? Whatever’s going on with my sister, just be aware that the only reason I’m not on your case is because she told me to back off – and maybe because I still feel bad you actually made it up the Coll de la Creueta on training camp.

’ The last part was mumbled; a poor excuse for an apology if you ask me.

‘There’s nothing going on.’

Colin’s only response was a doubtful glance that also reminded me of her.

‘Just because we share resources with the women’s team doesn’t mean we can all just hook up.’

‘I know, mate,’ I assured him hurriedly.

‘I’m not your mate.’ His tone made me look up again and study him. There was a crease on his forehead I hadn’t noticed before, shadows in his eyes that both reminded me of how young he was and made him look so much older.

‘Fair enough,’ I agreed. ‘But I only want what’s best for her too, you know. And I’m well aware that I’m not it.’

I might have given too much away, because his brow lifted. ‘Good, because I regret not running Gaetano off sooner last year. I thought it was just some fun. She hasn’t… she was never the type to go after guys. She was never… you know, that into anyone before. But he got into her head.’

The cold down my spine had nothing to do with the weather.

I wasn’t sure what upset me more: that she’d felt something – real – for Maggioli or that he’d hurt her because of it.

I’d unfortunately got into her head too, without anything much romantic between us.

I needed to keep staying away from her – not even any messaging banter.

Colin’s phone beeped and he snatched it up.

‘What’s happened?’

He released a breath on a sigh and I tried to calm myself down too. ‘Nothing much. Early breakaway, but it probably won’t last. She’s well-positioned in the peloton with Doortje.’

Colin gave another humph and then tapped at his phone until he brought up the coverage on the sports channel that showed most of the races.

Propping it up with a glass on one side of the table, we ate in silence, glued to the little screen, until Alan Hargreaves, the DS, found us half an hour later.

The peloton had just reached the first section of cobblestones when Colin shut the phone down as reluctantly as I would have. Slouched in our chairs in the conference room listening to the spindly director, I was distracted and in no way expecting the shock that came at me.

‘Right, chaps, we’re shaking things up a bit tomorrow, as you’ll see, because we’ve called Nellie away from his wedding plans.’

Nellie was actually called Jarin Nelson, another Australian from somewhere called Adelaide. He didn’t look old enough to be getting married, but he’d barely spoken about anything else on training camp back in December.

‘I’m not going to talk at you too long because some of you know this route verrrry well.

’ Alan gave me a wink. ‘Today’s rain is going to make the course entirely unpredictable tomorrow, so we’re making a two-pronged attack.

Two leaders, two primary domestiques, three floating support riders.

We make a break with three guys early on – chance it and see what happens.

The second leader and whoever’s left stays in the peloton and makes a break at Pont-Thibault, just before the pavé.

We want to be ready before the Carrefour de l’Arbre. ’

Even hearing those place names made me shudder.

How many times had I come off on that single stretch of cobbled road?

The surface was torture on a road bike. Not waterboarding or the rack or the iron chair, but bone-shaking .

I’d finished the race with bleeding hands more than once.

Only the French could be proud of the terrible state of their roads.

Our Belgian cobbles were more civilised.

Lori was speeding in that direction right now.

‘… and Frankie!’ Alan said with a flourish, making me sit up straight so quickly I nearly came out of my chair.

‘What?’

‘He’ll miss me, DS,’ Colin drawled. ‘He’s used to cleaning up after me in his apron with a broom.’

The DS eyeballed me with a twinkle I hadn’t seen before. ‘It’s your chance, Frankie. Show us what you’re made of.’

‘Eh—’ I was pretty sure my brain was made of biscuits and goat’s cheese as my thoughts struggled to catch up.

‘You lead tomorrow and next year it could be a few stages of the Tour.’

Next year?!

I must have looked as stunned as I felt, because the room erupted into laughter.

‘Pull yourself together, boy,’ Alan said, his grizzled hands on his hips. ‘We’re taking a chance on you. You go out early tomorrow. If you only break up the peloton and then run out of steam, then fine, but you need to be ready for anything – you need to be ready to win.’

That might be a problem, but I wasn’t going to put my hand up and say so.

Stumbling out of the room, shell-shocked, I nearly fell when Colin thumped me on the back and said, ‘Weren’t expecting that, were you?’

I didn’t answer him. ‘What’s happening with Lori?’ I asked, not even bothering to conceal my interest.

‘Nothing from Dad. Let’s keep watching upstairs.’

It was an odd sort of daytime sleepover, sitting on our beds with Colin’s laptop on the desk, showing the women’s race. I perched at the foot of the bed cross-legged, dragging my hands through my hair as we waited for the first glimpse of her.

‘Why do you care so much?’ Colin asked, his tone deceptively light. ‘You barely know my sister.’

The camera panned along the peloton and I strained my eyes to find her, looking for that pink helmet over the orange jersey. ‘I’ve known her longer than you realise. We trained together on Zpeed when she was injured.’

Colin turned to me and laughed, full and deep. ‘You’re shitting me. You’re the guy who watched Miss Congeniality with her? Makes sense.’

‘She told you about that?’ I asked.

‘No, but the walls are thin and I was home. Does Dad know?’

I shook my head, still scanning the footage. ‘There she is! Phew! On the edge, getting ready for the pavé right? What’s the plan, do you know? Break on the cobbles? She might be better at a bottleneck.’

The side-eye Colin gave me then was subtly different from the sort I’d got used to since training camp. ‘You’re her coach now?’

‘No, I—’

‘There she goes!’ Colin called out suddenly.

I hopped up on my knees, peering at the screen like a meerkat. She’d made a break, head down, arse up, her plait over her shoulder – and a glint of gold swinging against her chest. My throat closed and my heart clobbered my ribs.

The necklace. She was wearing my necklace. No, she’d lose, but… holy hell, she liked it. Maybe she liked me . I couldn’t cope.

She attacked with the grace and ferocity of Joan of Arc as the commentators got excited too and I couldn’t have torn my eyes off the screen for anything. Mud spattered her face, but she swiped a hand over her mouth and kept pushing.

There were other riders up ahead, but they had to be growing fatigued. Light rain started up and the cameras caught her again, droplets cutting through the dirt on her cheeks to drip onto her wet jersey, plastered to her chest.

I wanted her to win. I also wanted her to stop and let me wrap her in a towel and usher her into a steamy shower with scented soap and clean up every inch of her.

As she juddered over the cobbles, her expression twisted, I wished I could create some kind of telepathic bond using chunky metallic props where I could take the pain from her.

But she could handle the pain. She was tough, and had I ever seen anything so beautiful in my life? I certainly had never looked at someone and wanted so much. What if I hadn’t turned her down in Siena? She would probably hate me by now, she’d had such continuing rotten luck.

But as the gold chain glinted in a weak flash of sunlight, my skin felt too tight as I imagined her hanging it around her neck and thinking of me, of that evening in Siena.

She would tease me so badly if I ever told her what I was thinking.

But maybe she’d kiss me afterwards – or maybe I was dreaming.

I felt Colin’s gaze on me and, when I risked a quick glance at him, I suspected I wouldn’t even need Lori to tease me because her brother was about to take on the task – with relish.

But before Colin could say anything, the commentator cut in with a cry. ‘ Oh! What is going on here? ’