Chasing Daisy

Frederick’s encroaching presence.
    ‘Well, okay, then.’ He backs away from the door, looking putout as Frederick budges past him into the kitchen.
    ‘Bye.’ I put my head down, moments later realising I didn’t even congratulate him on his win. Should I go after him? No. I can’t.
    Back in England I throw myself into my work and try to forget all about my night with Luis. One of Holly’s colleagues at the canteen is on maternity leave, so I fill in whenever I’m not working in London for Ingrid and Frederick. I’m too busy to even hunt for a new flat, but Holly assures me there’s no rush.
    ‘It’s not like anyone else is staying here,’ she moans one night when we’re sitting on the sofa watching television. ‘Catalina was at team HQ again today,’ she says. ‘That’s three times in a week. I swear she’s keeping her eye on me.’
    ‘Do you honestly think she suspects anything?’ I ask.
    ‘I don’t know. Simon and I haven’t shagged since we were in Singapore, so there’s nothing to suspect.’
    ‘Has he spoken to you about it again?’
    ‘What do you mean, called it off?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘No. I reckon he’s just keeping me on the backburner in case it turns out to be a big scam.’
    ‘A scam? What, you think she’s not pregnant?’
    ‘Well, she’s not showing, is she?’
    ‘No, but how far gone is she?’
    ‘Only a couple of months.’
    ‘She wouldn’t be showing yet, then.’
    Holly takes a gulp of her wine and plonks it down on the coffee table. ‘I’ve had enough now, anyway.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Yep. I’m telling him it’s over. No more booty call.’
    I give her a sympathetic look, but don’t patronise her by saying it’s the right thing to do. ‘When?’
    ‘When I can next get a minute alone with him without that devil bitch poking her nose in.’
    I laugh. ‘Good luck with that.’
    ‘What about you, have you heard from Luis?’
    It’s been over a week since Japan.
    ‘No.’ My reply is blunt.
    ‘Why don’t you text him? You left things a little too abruptly at Suzuka.’
    ‘ Now you’re telling me this? Look, if he wanted to hear from me, he would have contacted me himself.’
    ‘Maybe he’s too scared to after you told him how drunk you were on the night you shagged and then ignored him after his race win.’
    ‘Holly!’ I exclaim. ‘I didn’t tell you all that so you could use it against me.’
    ‘I’m not using it against you. Oh, whatever. Suit yourself.’
    She grabs the television remote control and starts channel surfing, but irritation is eating me up. ‘What do you want to watch?’ she murmurs.
    ‘I don’t care,’ I reply hotly.
    ‘Have I pissed you off?’ she asks, surprised.
    ‘Yeah, you have a bit.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘I can’t believe you encouraged me to shag him and move on afterwards and when I actually did that – and no, I didn’t particularly want to – you tell me to chase after him again.’
    ‘What do you mean, you didn’t particularly want to? Shag him or move on?’
    ‘Move on!’ I snap.
    She smirks at me. ‘I knew you had feelings for him . . .’
    ‘I bloody don’t, anymore.’
    ‘Yes, you do,’ she says, grinning.
    ‘Well, it’s a bit of a shame, then, isn’t it, because he clearly thinks I’m just another tart he’s managed to get into bed.’
    Her face turns serious. ‘That’s not what I heard.’
    ‘What are you going on about?’
    ‘Something Pete said.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Luis came into headquarters yesterday and was asking if you were around. Apparently his face fell when Pete told him you were working in London.’
    ‘Really?’ My heart lifts.
    ‘Just text him,’ Holly pleads.
    ‘No.’
    ‘You’re both so stubborn!’ she exclaims.
    ‘I thought you said he was going to hurt me?’
    ‘Now I’m not so sure,’ she admits.
    ‘Well, I’m going to see him in a few days, so I’m not doing anything until then.’
    Our next race is in Brazil and I have to say I’m relieved it’s the last one of the season. This whistlestop tour of the world has been fun, but the countries have all started to blur into one. All those airports, planes, setting up and cleaning up, non-stop partying, cars going round and around on a track . . . I don’t think I could do much more of it. Which is just as well, because when we reach São Paulo, Simon calls me into the directors’ suite.
    ‘Hi,’ I say, sitting down on an armchair, as instructed.
    ‘I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem,’