Page 30 of Head Over Wheels

‘You’re a legend, Frankie! I love the cobbles! This is the best day of my liiiiife!’

Lori

To me, Siena was the most beautiful city in the world: terracotta roofs snaking out along the hills, ancient brickwork, the striped white tower of the duomo, leafy squares hidden around corners, olive trees, window shutters in shades of green, and everything surrounded by the undulating Tuscan countryside.

And the legendary sterrati, the gravel roads through the arid hills to the south – they were my natural habitat. The Strade Bianche – Italian for white roads – had been my first European race seven years ago and I still felt a touch of wonder every year in March, when I climbed out of the taxi in front of our team hotel, set right on the city walls with a view out into the hills, where we would do battle on Saturday.

The racing season would get hectic later in the year – andthe hotels worse – but arriving at our usual family-run palazzo that was just big enough to house the team and support staff, to the faint scent of pine and sage, felt a little like coming home. I’d told Mum that once on the phone and we’d shared a ‘moment’ before swiftly dropping the subject.

Ever since I was 18, Dad and I (and Colin, when he was old enough) had lived for six months of the year in an apartment in Lourdes in the south of France – whether because of the proximity to the Pyrenees for training rides or to an airport served by low-cost carriers, I wasn’t sure. Dad knew all about the bottom line after all and cycling was not a sport soaked in cash. Although I continually lost my stuff between the two homes, I enjoyed my time in Europe, where I could just be a cyclist and not live in the shadow of Mum’s expectations.

Lourdes was our base, but Siena was my happy place. Surely my favourite white roads would turn my fortunes around – and help me snatch back my life. Even if bad luck and the image of a fucking redback spider were haunting me, it couldn’t last forever – like these pesky emotional shenanigans about a certain member of the men’s team.

He’d been racing while I’d been in the air a week ago and I’d checked the results of the Omloop as soon as we landed, holding my breath while the website loaded too slowly.

I’d seen his grinning face on the podium and I’d felt so light in the chest, like a helium balloon, puffing up with something very much like pride. But at the same time, I’d cracked and broken, my own failure stark in comparison to his success.

But I had also been weirdly angry with him. How could he think of quitting when another race like that could be in his future? Then I’d seen the spider drawn on his arm and the anger had mixed with something tight and worrying. If he’d done it for me, he was in the shit.

Sharing a smile with Colin as we fetched our bags out of the taxi, I made for the doors – and stopped short as soon as I walked inside. Coming down the travertine steps into the lobby, holding a bunch of wilted flowers, was the person I was trying very hard not to feel anything about. I failed – miserably – as I caught sight of him in person for the first time in ten weeks. I remembered – way too much. Each memory was in my skin and in my chest and in my tight throat. He froze mid-step, meeting my gaze.

Damn it, I’d forgotten how hard it was to breathe when Seb looked at me. He was wearing a sports turtleneck that should have looked preppy, but it emphasised his tough, lean torso and reminded me of the feel of him under my fingertips.

He needed a haircut and a shave. The little fluff of beard was a bit ridiculous on him. But I was far too happy to see him, beard or not – redback spider or not. This wasbad.

I must have stopped suddenly, because Colin ran into me with an ‘Oof.’ To round off the uneasy moment, Dad appeared with his usual boundless energy. I tore my eyes from Seb’s wary face and greeted Dad with a hug, letting him steer me towards the reception desk, where someone had hung a poster with our sponsor logos – and a big, stylised redback spider.It appeared the team had embraced Seb’s little stunt in the face of my misery.

Giving an involuntary shudder, I peered at him again in time to see him wince.

‘Get yourselves settled and have a rest. We can catch up at dinner,’ Dad said. ‘Oh, hi, Frankie. What are you doing with those?’

Seb froze, glancing at the flowers as though he’d forgotten he was holding them and was thinking about shoving them behind his back. ‘They’re too big for the trash bin in my room,’ he said stiltedly.

‘They’re your flowers from the Omloop!’ Dad said in horror. ‘You can’t throw them away. They’ll give you good luck on Saturday. Why else did you bring them?’

‘Oh, hum, you’re right.’ He glanced at me and quickly away again. ‘Oops.’

‘Go on, son. You’ll do fine on Saturday,’ Dad assured him. Tony called everyone ‘son’ but that one got me in the guts.

‘I… want to ask the receptionist something, but you go first,’ Seb said, standing back and gesturing to Colin. My brother gave him a doubtful look, but approached the desk to fill out his forms.

Colin finished his barely legible contribution to Italian bureaucracy and hotel paperwork before I’d even managed to remember my name. I couldn’t think with Seb… existing.

With a quick ‘See you at dinner,’ and half a hug, Colin left me alone with him. I needed to stop pretending I hadn’t known that was Seb’s plan all along.

But I hadn’t expected him to rush at me and say, ‘You have to take the flowers,’ in an urgent voice.

I was so nonplussed I didn’t even ask him to clarify. ‘Look, I know you want to give up and eat cheese, but sabotaging yourself is going a bit far. And if you think I’d want some wilted second-hand flowers from you –anyflowers from you,’ I belatedly corrected, ‘then you’ve forgotten what we agreed before Christmas.’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he grumbled. ‘But I realised… I’ve stolen your luck. I have to give it back.’

Okay, that one needed clarification. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The Omloop,’ he said earnestly. ‘Nothing like that’s ever happened to me before. I know it looked like I drafted Derek for half the race, but I managed to get in behind other people most of the time. The positioning just happened perfectly for me. It wasluck.’

‘I hate to break it to you, but it was fitness, drive and a good attitude. Maybe 10 per cent luck. No more.’

‘Even that’s luck you could use,’ he insisted, shaking the flowers at me. They smelled stale and a little slimy.

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