‘Coucou! Sebi Franck!’ I heard from the crowd. Turning to smile and wave, I hoped they’d leave it at that. ‘How’s your new team? Have you settled in?’ the fan continued in French.
‘Très bien,’ I called back. ‘G’day mate! She’ll be right!’ I caught sight of a phone trained on me and gave the person a wink.
‘What do you have drawn on your arm today?’
That one surprised me. I hadn’t expected anyone to remember I’d used to draw symbols on my arm for luck before every race. I’d stopped after one time I drew a picture that was supposed to be my niece but everyone had thought was Ed Sheeran and the team had taunted me by singing ‘The Shape of You’ endlessly until I wanted to cut my ears off like a Belgian van Gogh.
‘I haven’t done that in years!’ I called back. That was all I had to say to get a permanent marker flung at my face. I fumbled to catch it and then studied it thoughtfully.
With a self-conscious glance at the fan standing behind the barrier, I pulled up my right sleeve and tugged off the lid of the marker. Once I’d thought of something to draw, I couldn’t not draw it, so I scrawled the little picture quickly, capped the pen and tossed it back into the crowd.
‘What is it?’ the fan asked.
I held up my arm to show him the little black creature, eight legs splayed threateningly. ‘In honour of my team.’
‘That’s cool, man!’ Derek said, beckoning to the fan to throw back the marker. Before I had a chance to regret what I’d started, the entire Harper-Stacked team for the race haddrawn the little critters on their wrists and I would have to live with what I’d done.
Five hours and 200 km later, I couldn’t feel my extremities and black spots hovered at the edge of my vision, but my blood was fizzing with adrenaline despite the exhaustion. I’d done my job. Derek attacked, heading for the breakaway at the front of the race with plenty left in the tank after staying behind me for most of the course. I could listen to my screaming muscles and slow down before I hit the wall.
But I didn’t. I kept going. I got in behind Derek and kept up and, with a rush of disbelief and elation, I crossed the finish line half a length behind the kid, as he secured second place in his first Spring Classic.
Meaning I came in third. I was on thepodium. I was usually ecstatic about a top-ten finish in my lucky race. But third in the Omloop? No, not me.
My thoughts were as foggy as the horizon as I followed Derek to the team bus, wobbling and stumbling as the directors and staff cheered and grabbed at me and then Derek wrapped his long arms around me and squeezed and I had to accept it was real. I’d hadlegstoday.
‘Frankie!’ he hollered. ‘I should have been draftingyouout there today!’
I extricated myself gently and patted him on the shoulder. ‘You did great.’
‘Yeah, but you kept up, even when we attacked!’
‘So I didn’t imagine that?’
Derek laughed, as if I were joking.
I must have had a sixth sense for Gallaghers, because I looked up to find Tony emerging from the back door of the bus, a calculating expression on his face as he studied me.
Clapping his hands above his head, he called out to Derek, ‘An Australian on the podium at the Omloop! Tell me when that last happened! Well done, son! You’re going places!’
Tony swaggered down the steps slowly, maintaining eye contact with me as he approached.
‘Great race, Frankie,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you felt good today? I would have got the other guys to help you out. Could have been you in second – or even first.’
With a gulp around a lump of nerves, I tried to find an answer that would satisfy him. Me in first – it had never happened and I doubted it would. ‘I didn’t know I… feltthatgood.’ I scratched the back of my neck, hoping he’d take his attention off me soon.
‘I’m impressed with what you did for Derek today, but I’ll be impressed if you go out firing for yourself some time too, ay?’
I managed an inarticulate response, something like ‘Glmph-kay.’
‘What’s that on your arm?’ he asked suddenly and I yanked my hand down again in a pointless attempt to hide it. ‘Looks like the fucking spider that bit my daughter!’ Tony joked.
‘Yep, it’s a redback!’ Derek added eagerly, showing the boss his own rudimentary spider drawing. ‘All the guys did them.’
I bit back a groan.
Tony chuckled and slapped me on the back again. ‘Just don’t let Lori see that!’
That grew less likely when Derek followed me onto the podium later, brandishing his redback spider in front of the cameras as he shook his champagne bottle with a wild spark in his eye. The winner, a Fleming from another team, popped his bottle first, but then Derek was spraying me full in the face until I had bubbles up my nose, in my ears and drenching the fresh jersey I’d pulled on over my festering body.