‘It’s fine,’ I murmur.
‘It might be, but you’re not.’
‘I—’
He releases me, and I didn’t know I felt steadied until it’s taken away from me. I shove my trembling hands behind my back. Seconds tick by in strained silence.
‘When I’m having a bad day, I go for a drive,’ he says quietly.
What a stupid thing to say. ‘I don’t have a?—’
He holds his keys up by the keyring.
It takes longer than it should for his gesture to compute. ‘I can’t?—’
‘C’mon, Roberts. Nothing quietens the mind like a little high-octane adventure.’
We lock eyes for a long moment, suspended in the possibility.
I snatch the keys and make for the car. He says nothing as he slips into the passenger side, nor when we lurch into motion and career down the avenue. I don’t know Bologna and he doesn’t offer directions, except for the occasional quiet ‘one way’ when I try to turn down a prohibited street. If he’s worried about his life or his rental, it doesn’t show.
Soon streetlights disappear, the landscape greens, and industrial buildings turn into sporadic houses. Passing cars dwindle to nothing. The quiet doesn’t make me feel free. I’ve never felt more exposed, like I’m the only one for miles. My erratic heartbeat clangs through me as my foot sinks deeper on the throttle.
Jack stirs, reminding me he’s still there. He’s staring ahead, hands loosely clasped in his lap. As I return my eyes to the road, a tear breaks loose.
I jerk to a stop in an empty lookout point and cut the ignition. Hands on the wheel as if we’re still moving, I say, ‘I’m a total failure.’
Chapter 14
MINNIE
Isit back and dab under my eyes with my sleeve. ‘F1 isn’t my dream.’
‘Your dream was to open a café, and you did it,’ Jack says softly.
I can’t find it in myself to be surprised that he knows. We’re in near darkness, the car illuminated only by the incandescent moon overhead.
‘I did it twice. I’d still be there if I just owned one.’ My bleak laugh curls my stomach. ‘Fork and Flour.’ I haven’t spoken that name in months, and it wilts something inside me. I bite my thumb and look at him, moisture clinging onto my eyelashes. ‘I’m a really good baker, Jack.’
‘I bet you are.’
‘And they were really good cafés. One in the Brighton Lanes and one on the seafront. Healthy cakes, fresh bread, sandwiches, salad boxes, coffee. We did events, we allowed dogs, we fed the homeless, we ran charity initiatives, NHS discounts – you name it. In fact, we were so popular that I opened a second.’ I cross my arms tightly as memories come hurtling back. Memories I store in a pretty locked box at the back of my mind that have nobusiness surfacing now or ever. ‘Turns out you can’t be in two places at once.
‘Anyone can start a business; the dream comes from making it work year in, year out.’ I sniff hard. ‘So this is me trying Plan B after Plan A fizzled into nothing – and left me with mountains of debt.’
He nods like he understands, but how can he? When was the last time he pleaded with a bank manager? How many documents covered in red print land on his doorstep? How many times has he felt completely hopeless, every door closed to him? Has he ever lain awake at night knowing he’s his own worst enemy?
Fresh tears leak down my face and I squeeze my eyes shut. I hate that I’m baring my soul toJack Bowden. Tomorrow I’ll inevitably shrivel into a mortified ball and refuse to leave my room, but today, I can’t stop myself. There’s no one in my life I can be honest with so the only option’s someone not in my life. ‘I wouldn’t accept help.’ My voice wobbles. ‘I know that sounds dumb and martyr-ish, but?—’
‘It doesn’t.’
‘It’s all I know.’ I shrug weakly and wipe my cheeks. ‘Strength comes from independence. My dad left when I was a teenager, taking everything with him. I’ll never let anyone do to me what he did to my mum. She had to build us a new life from nothing. From a penthouse to a tiny flat. Jet-setting around the world to a nine-to-five. Posh private school to a local comprehensive. I got bullied for my accent and my— That’s not the point. I can’t even remember my point.’ I knead my forehead.
I don’t know how to explain the great tangled knot of shit living in my chest. Usually it’s quite small, easy enough to ignore, but since the altercation with Brian it’s swollen and swollen and now it’s impossible to plug.
I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. ‘It’s kind of like… I didn’t care that my dad didn’t want me – I mean I cared, obviously, but I could manage it – because I could help myself. I could be strong like my mum, and create this beautiful, thriving business, and all the feelings of rejection and not being good enough would sort themselves out.’
My sob’s halfway to a hiccup. ‘But it died,’ I say faintly. ‘And I went bankrupt, and I couldn’t bake anymore, and I got depressed and stopped washing.’ Bloody hell, why did I add that? ‘After a while I realised I’m never going to move forward if I’m continually ignoring the past, so I had the genius idea of merging a new career path with F1. I thought if I could at least tackle my issues head-on, I’d be doing something right. But… I don’t think I can do anything right anymore.’
