Page 3 of Fast Track to Forever
“Hey big brother, how's it going?” He opens the hatchback trunk and I put my suitcase in. “Why aren't you driving my car? I said you could.”
He shrugs. “It's your car. Plus it's flashy. Don't want to get keyed at the supermarket.”
I get in and push the seat as much back as I can. Daryl laughs. “You've grown some more since I last saw you in Singapore, I'm sure of it.”
“Don't be silly, I stopped growing ages ago. Your cars are just becoming smaller.” I smile as he accelerates.
I take in the familiar view of the mountains. The lake. I'm home for Christmas. My own sanctuary.
The steam floatsoff the soup’s surface and carries a delicious smell. The smell of childhood. Family dinners. Friendship. Love.
My dad takes off his chef's apron and hangs it on the hook. Mum is fussing over serving the thick Dutch soup with crusty bread. It's like a moment suspended in time. Like I never left.
Daryl and his fiancé John hold hands, amongst whispers and giggles.
“What do you plan to do while you're here, Will?” My mum places the soup bowl in front of me and strokes my forehead. To her I'm not a world champion racer. I'm just Will. It’s like shedding a suit of armor and feeling the weight of the world lift off my shoulders.
I take a few seconds to think. “I thought I'd hang out with you guys. Do some hiking. See some old friends. Be off after New Year's.”
Daryl cocks his head. “Speaking of old friends, Kat is back as well.”
My spoon falls out of my hand with a loud clang, splattering hot soup on the table.
John hands me a tea towel. “Who's Kat?”
My dad interjects. “The Featherstones’ daughter? This bread is made with Featherstone flour. Theirs is the best flour mill in New Zealand. I won't use any other for baking.”
I wipe the table. “She’s a friend. Part of the same group of friends I used to hang out with.”
Daryl coughs, “Bullshit.” He points at me with a flourish. “Will here has had a crush on Kat for ten years or more.”
If my looks could kill, Daryl would be burnt toast. I try out my best nonchalant tone. “Pray tell, how do you know she’s in town.”
Daryl takes a bite of bread and chews painfully slowly. Once he finishes, he deigns to answer. “I saw her a few days ago. She’s staying for the holidays. She looks grrrreat.” He leans forward. “I know you want aaaall the details. She was chatting to Nikos. You know they’re distant cousins.”
My mum spoons more soup in my bowl. “How about you ask her to come by for dinner? We haven't seen her in ages. Lives in England these days.”
Daryl grabs a hold of my bowl before I cause any more damage. “Yep, fabulous idea. I remember she had a great eye for vintage and fashion. She may be able to help us with the wedding, John.”
I sigh and remain silent.
“You literally just go to her door, say hello, ask her to come here for dinner tomorrow, and that's it. If she says no, she says no. What's the worst that could happen?” Now even John is ganging up on me.
“You've been saying you’re dying to stretch your legs since you arrived,” my dad says. “Now's your chance.”
Did my dad just wink? I'm doomed.
I left home when I was seventeen. Big, fast dreams. Long, hard crush on the girl not-quite-next-door. The dreams came true. And more, if I think about it. I’d never have imagined that I would be World Number One. And yet, I can’t get her out of my head, no matter how hard I try. She was the girl who always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. Kat’s smile was the light that guided me through the darkest of times.
I check myself in the mirror again. I'm not looking my best. Jet-lagged and a little bit scruffy. On the upside, my freckles are paler than usual.
Taking Dad’s advice to stretch my legs, I’ll walk the couple of kilometres between the B&B where my parents live and work, and Kat's parents’ house.
The instant I click the lodge door shut, I’m back into my old universe. The cool breeze and the smell of fresh pine. The clean, crisp scent of the lake, surrounded by the Remarkables mountain range. I’ve walked, biked and driven on these streets. I ran, laughed and cried. I left it all behind at eighteen to make a name for myself in the car racing world.
I stride past front gardens with funky shaped letterboxes, and creeping summer roses. Several walkers nod their hello to me, and I nod back. I forgot that people just say hello in New Zealand whether they know you or not. No one is a stranger for long.
The florist, who hasn’t changed in twenty years, hands me the bouquet I’m after. Yellows, oranges, pinks and purples. Colourful like Kat. I pay and she winks. “Good luck, Will.”
