Page 27 of Head Over Wheels

She took my hand, which alarmed me further. ‘Lolly,’ she said gently, which made me squirm in a way ‘Molly’ never did, ‘I know you were talking to someone online last year and I saw your computer screen just now. 25 is still so young. I know I’d already met your dad by that age, but those last few years of competing kept my spirits up after I quit and I’m so glad I didn’t give up when my family suggested I should.’

‘What?’

‘Trust me, you’re not ready for love right now.’

‘I’m not—’ The urge to contradict her was hard-wired into me after years of experiencing her ‘care’ for me only in criticism. I took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I’m notlooking for love – truly. But if one day I did want… nothing would make me quit!’

Her mouth pinched into a doubtful frown. ‘I do remember what it was like at your age and I wish someone had told me this: in a relationship, someone always loses.’

I clutched my coffee cup, annoyed I felt so fragile that the urge to cry rose behind my eyes. I didn’t know what to say – what to think. I didn’t like to sympathise or agree with Mum, but her words – hertone– struck a chord. I didn’t lose – I couldn’t, after everything I’d sacrificed.

Squeezing my hand as though I were actually the daughter she wanted and not the one she’d got, Mum said, ‘Just make sure it’s not you that loses. Please yourself, make your own goals and reach them. No man is worth compromising for. I wanted to tell you this all last year. I was so worried Gaetano would affect your performance and I regretted not picking up the phone and trying to warn you, but your father…’

That was familiar: everything was Dad’s fault. I remembered the unexpected texts during the training camp, as though Mum didn’t want to contact Dad herself. They shared a bed, but what if that was only out of stubbornness – which ran in the family?

‘We don’t need to talk about last year—’

‘I know, bella. I don’t want to go over it again either, but I’m so worried someone will break your heart again, or at least distract you, especially after I saw you looking—’

‘It’s nothing,’ I tried to assure her. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend. I’m not going to get a boyfriend. I exist on this planet topilot a bike and win some trophies while I’m doing it. I am a cycling nun with a vow of chastity. So I might have slept with a guy on training camp, but it was just sex and it won’t happen again because now I’m focused on the season – if I can just get to the starting line next time. Okay?’

She gulped and I sipped as calmly as I could while she processed my overshare. Yep, I didn’t have my mum’s poise. Sometimes I thought she used it on purpose to make me squirm.

‘Just… be careful. I don’t want to see you give up everything you’ve worked so hard for.’

‘Iambeing careful and nobody’s giving up. Give me some credit. I’m not going to find a guy and quit like you did.’ Ouch. So much for the mother-daughter bonding of a coffee date.

‘I didn’t have much of a choice, especially after you came along. You wouldn’t have your team today if I hadn’t. You can’t have it all – especially not as a woman. Before you throw away all the time and effort your father and I have put into your training and career, at least make sure you’ve chosen the right person. At your age, it’s difficult.’

Even at 25, she treated me like a mixed-up teenager, but today I didn’t feel far off. Worse, I had to admit she had a point and now I was thinking about how much Colin and I – and maybe even Dad – had cost her.

‘All right, Mum,’ I mumbled. ‘Point taken. There’s only one thing I really want and that’s my career back.’

I usually managed not to begrudge my brother his victories, but this one stung. Since I’d already been bitten and stung,Colin’s triumphal return on Sunday night with the trophy from the Great Ocean Road Race was difficult to swallow. Even worse, Leesa had taken home the women’s trophy the day before, making her journey out from the US unfortunately worthwhile.

Not many riders travelled to Australia for the Tour Down Under and the Great Ocean Road Race. It was expensive and tiring for two races without much cachet, but it made them easier to win, being our home competition – at least that’s what I told myself when Colin kept parading his trophy around. It was a wonder he didn’t poke himself with the pointy bit.

‘You’ve got a break until the Strade Bianche now, ay?’ Dad said, slapping Colin on the shoulder. ‘I think we should crack open the champagne!’

I accepted a glass with a false smile and raised it in Colin’s direction. The way he dipped his head and studied me with his brow low was enough for me to realise he knew I wasn’t so calm on the inside. Surprisingly, he didn’t say anything or even rub my face in it when no one was looking. I must have looked a sad wreck indeed. Dad wrapped an arm around him and shook him hard enough to slosh the champagne.

‘Silver at Nationals, winner today!’

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I snatched it out with relief that I had something to do other than pull a muscle in my face. When I saw it was a message from Seb, my nose stung with more stifled tears and that was a weird Sebside-effect I was not on board with. But when I saw the message, I snorted a laugh, glad I hadn’t been mid-sip.

I know I’m only supposed to text you if you win, but is Colin’s trophy actually a shark fin? I didn’t think it was legal to hunt sharks for their fins.

Studying Colin’s prize, I could see his point. I checked online and it was supposed to be a wave. The resemblance seemed unintentional, but now I couldn’t unsee it.

It might be because there are seven different species of shark around here.

He replied immediately:Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water…

I should have predicted that response.

You’re not selling me on Australia: spiders, sharks, magpies. Oops, shouldn’t mention the magpies.

His teasing pricked me with indignationandrelief and it took a moment for me to gather a smart response.

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