Christ, her eyes were shining with tears.
‘I know you can’t,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘I’m not asking you to—’
‘I don’t want to be responsible for your races,’ she choked out, swiping at her cheeks as a few tears fell. I was desperate to touch her, but I didn’t trust myself. ‘It’s an impossible choice. I want you to do well. You deserve it—’
‘Nah,’ I cut her off with a shake of my head. ‘Don’t make excuses for me. Go and… take over the marketing world. You don’t owe this dickhead anything.’
‘Colin—’
If she said another word, I was going to fall to pieces right in front of her – wearing nothing but the tiniest towel known to man.
‘Congratulations,’ I said with as much earnestness as I’d ever pretended. ‘I hope you celebrate your good news. I need to get some rest.’ Not that it would help much. I was going to be dead on the bike tomorrow after my stupidity today.
Racing with my heart. What an idiot.
Her gaze remained on me for long enough that my skin prickled. ‘I am going to miss you.’
Bloody hell. ‘Get out o’ here, sweetheart.’
Then she delivered the body blow. ‘I still think you can do it.’
‘That makes one of us,’ I mumbled.
When she opened the door to walk away from me, she startled and I noticed with a groan that Dad was standing there, his fist raised to knock.
‘What is this, a revolving door of disapproval? Can I at least get dressed or do I have to have my pride flayed again in the nuddy?’
But as Leesa disappeared down the corridor, not even looking back to find me staring forlornly after her, I was so numb I was pretty well prepared for the chewing out Dad was sure to give me. I could hold the lecture all by myself: I was supposed to be a leader; these juvenile shenanigans for attention were all right when Iwasjuvenile, but now I had to suck it up and take his orders. I shouldn’t forget the classic:This is the biggest race of your career, boy. I could already hear it in Dad’s crackly voice.
Waiting for him to start with the castigation, all I could think about was that I didn’t have a whole lot to race for now.
29 November, six years ago
Colin
I wasn’t in St Kilda any more.
There were certain similarities: the coarse sand, palm trees, skyscrapers in the distance and the sounds of an amusement park nearby. But this wasn’t home. Everyone around me was speaking Spanish and they were all strangers – even the blokes strolling ahead of me, laughing and joking.
My new teammates. The guys who only knew me as the manager’s son. All older, tougher – you could see it in their stringy muscles and weathered faces. I could see their scepticism too: I was a kid, just 19, promoted too early from the youth development squad.
Maybe they were right, but Dad had warned me to show no fear.
Far from the 40 degrees of a sweltering Melbourne, Malaga basked in a mild 13. Perfect cycling weather for a winter training camp, but honestly a bit cold for a walk on the beach. I should never have taken my shoes off.
A wolf whistle from one of the guys drew my attention away from the wide Mediterranean.
‘Nice one, Gallagher!’
Although I glanced up expectantly, no one had been talking to me. Lars Fiske, a Swedish rider who’d been one of Dad’s early signings, was grinning at my sister, who was tossing a ball from hand to hand by a volleyball net stuck haphazardly in the sand. She raised her middle finger in reply.
Some of the guys joined in with the volleyball game, while the others sprawled on the sand, chatting about the off-season – family, friends in common. I wavered in indecision, my feet freezing, as neither group invited me to join them.
Show no fear.
‘Hey, you new?’
I whirled around andwhump!
