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Dancing Barefoot On Hot Coals |
| Written by Paul Harris | |
| Tuesday, 18 March 2008 | |
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Share it:      The big 4.7 litre V8 Ford engine rumbled impatiently as Steve held the accelerator at it’s midway point. He turned the steering wheel to the left to exit the roundabout and as he did he pushed the pedal hard down to the floor. The fat rear tyres began to squeal as they struggled to find grip on the tarmac. Steve felt the back of the car begin to slide to the right, he allowed it to go a little and then turned the steering wheel very slightly to the right to counter the slide. The car began to straighten up and the rear end squatted down like a lion preparing to chase it’s prey. The rear wheels found grip and the rumble of the engine increased in pitch to a bark and then a howl. The needle on the small rev counter in sprang round to the red section at the top. Steve pushed the gear leaver up and through the gate into third, the car continuing to leap forwards. Staying in the right hand lane, he passed a small family saloon as if it was at a standstill. The saplings that had been planted along the central reservation last year were just a blur in his peripheral vision through the side window. In seconds the needle was back at the top of the rev counter, begging for an upshift, Steve complied and the acceleration continued unabated. Even wearing ear plugs, the combined noise of roaring engine and wind as it shook the side windows was deafening. Steve could feel the air buffeting his head and he tried to sink down into his small leather upholstered bucket seat as it poured over the top of the windscreen and tried to fill the void of the cockpit. Looking ahead and beyond the beautifully curved dark blue bonnet with its twin silver stripes Steve could see that the road ahead was clear to the apex of the bridge that spanned the motorway below. The sky above was a cloudless bright blue, the air was crisp, and Steve could feel the warmth from the sun on the back of his neck and head, it was a beautiful day, the kind that made him feel glad to be alive. An aeroplane lumbered into the sky from the nearby airport, a faint trail of dirty fumes spewing from it’s engines to leave a dark smudge on the otherwise perfect canvass behind it. A gust of wind rolling over the expanse of the gravel pits to Steve’s right was just enough to push the 1965 Shelby Cobra slightly off line. Steve let the car run over the cats eyes in between the white lines with a rapid “dunk dunk dunk” sound. Keeping his right foot planted to the floor he aligned the car to the inside of the very gentle left hand curve ahead, knowing that as he exited the corner he would allow the car to run wide, into the right hand lane again so that he could apply the brakes in a straight line before the roundabout. He knew this road intimately, where all of the bumps were, where he would need to brake and when he could accelerate. He had been along this road countless times with Alex, either on a motorbike or in a car, it never failed to make him smile. He glanced involuntarily at the empty passenger seat. He couldn’t wait to see her sitting in it again. Three weeks apart was almost more than he could bear. She loved that car. It’s sound, it’s smell, it’s performance. It’s sleek lines and graceful curves. Steve used to tease her about her passion for driving fast, he would affectionately call her “Petrol Head” or offer to book her in to a clinic for adrenaline junkies. He remembered the first time she had driven the Cobra. **** He pulled the car to a halt alongside the newly rebuilt pit garage, the white paint of the buildings glaring in the July sunshine. The retro style advertising banners adding a splash of colour to the white backdrop. The Union Jack bunting swaying lazily in the gentle breeze. Overhead a biplane circled the West Sussex countryside, waiting for permission to land on the airfield that the circuit was built around. Alex was sitting on the counter with a laptop computer resting on her crossed legs. Her head was turned towards him, but he didn’t know if she was looking at him or not because of the blackness of her sunglasses. Steve switched the engine off and unbuckled his four point safety harness. He jumped out of the car without opening the tiny door and walked the few paces to where she sat. He undid his crash helmet and put it on the counter top next to her. “Minus zero point one zero five.” She said. He had taken just over one tenth of a second off of his best lap time. “Enough for today,” He said, “fancy a go?” Alex didn’t need to be asked for a second time. She slapped the lid down on the laptop and grabbed her crash helmet. Steve climbed into the passenger seat and started to adjust the safety harness to fit him. Alex had adjusted it to suit her for the drive down earlier that morning, Steve knew that there was no way he would ever get the buckles to meet in the middle after she had used them. He watched as she pulled the seat forwards and settled herself in. She had a huge smile on her face. He leaned towards her and shouted, “Watch the clutch, it’s a bit fierce. First gear is long. Gently out of the chicane, or you’ll light the rears up. Apart from that it’s a ***** cat!” Alex knew about the exit of the chicane, she had seen him get the car into a huge slide earlier in the day. “Got it!” she shouted back as she switched the key to ‘ON’ and hit the starter button. Steve rested his right hand on Alex’s left leg and squeezed slightly. An Austin Healey 3500 rumbled down the pitlane past them and pulled in at it’s garage a few places further on. Steve let go of her leg and gestured that it was all clear to go. After 8 laps Steve tapped the fuel gauge and very reluctantly Alex slowed the car and drove it into the pitlane. She slipped the gearbox into neutral and killed the engine and let the car coast down to their pitstand. The silence was instant and deafening. As soon as the car had come to a halt, Alex unbuckled her harness and jumped out of the car. As Steve walked around her side she threw herself at him wrapping her legs around his waist, her eyes were wide and her face was alight with life. She kissed him again and again. She leaned back so that she could look Steve in the eyes. “Awesome.” She said, breathlessly. “Just bloody awesome.” **** Steve watched as Alex walked towards him, she was wearing a business suit, the knee length pencil skirt accentuating the shape of her long legs. Her tailored jacket was buttoned showing off her slender waist to full effect. Thoughts and images of her raced through his mind in those few split seconds. He saw her standing at the top of the church aisle on their wedding day, the whole church silent, the birds singing in the trees outside. He pictured her on the beach in Bali stretched out on the hot sand soaking up the sun’s rays, her tanned body a contrast to the pure white sand. The way she looked lying naked and asleep on the white bed linen after their first time together. Steve loved her so much that sometimes he felt physical pain at his pathetic attempts to find the right words to tell her. Then she was right there with him. He held her tightly to him, feeling her against him, drinking in the subtle smell of her perfume. “How’s Breedlove?” were her first words to him. Steve was sure that she thought more of that bloody dog than she did of him. “He’s missed you, asked me every day when you are coming home.” He replied. “Mmm, missed you.” She said kissing him. “Shall we go, my lady?” Steve did a mock bow. “Indeed, kind sir, but only on one condition.” “And what would that be?” “Give me the car key.” Steve threw the ignition key up in the air and Alex caught it with her beautifully manicured hand. She turned the key fob over and read the inscription engraved on it…
‘Always dancing barefoot on hot coals’
“Always with you.” She smiled Copyright 2008 Paul Harris |
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