Toby found Clarissa and persuaded her that they should both visit Percy. Clarissa had been angry, and then upset, and finally simply quietly sad – which Toby thought was perhaps the worst – but she agreed to go with him and listen. Toby had his own questions for his mentor, and he wanted to know why Gerald had been taken to the real track when he clearly had not been ready, and whether Toby would see him again when he reached the real track himself. They found Percy, as ever, in the refreshment tent.
Percy was standing as they approached, reaching for his coat, obviously about to leave. Toby hurried over.
“Percy, hello, please can we talk?”
Percy stopped, and smiled a greeting.
“Hello Toby, Clarissa, I wasn’t expecting to see you today. How are you? Everything going okay?”
“No!” said Toby, pulling out a chair and sitting down. He gestured for Clarissa to join him and looked up at Percy. “We need to talk. It’s serious.”
“Our friend Gerald has gone,” added Clarissa. “And we miss him.” She flopped down into the chair next to Toby, all the energy gone out of her.
Percy nodded, but did not sit.
“Ah yes, I had heard about that.”
Toby wondered how Percy could possibly have heard so quickly, and was about to ask, but Percy was still speaking.
“There are many things which are hard to understand, lots to cope with while you train, so many distractions and difficult situations. . .” Percy was staring at the ceiling of the refreshment tent, and Toby wondered if he had forgotten what they had told him. Was his mentor senile? Percy gave himself a small shake, and looked back at Toby, as if it was an effort and he preferred to be lost in whatever thoughts were dancing round his head.
“Now then Toby, I do not have time, right at this very moment, to explain things properly. In fact, even if I did, I doubt if I could make you understand. No, what you and Clarissa should do I think. . .” he paused as if considering, then nodded his head, the grey hair bobbing up and down, his long turkey-like neck bending and folding. “Yes, what I believe you should do, right now, is go to the cinema in the special features area.
“You know where it is?”
Clarissa nodded, looking as confused as Toby felt.
“Yes, that is what you must do,” continued Percy. He reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a fat round watch on a long gold chain, squinting as he consulted the face. “Ah yes, as I thought, there is a film showing in just a few minutes, you have time, if you are quick.” He folded the watch back into his pocket and smiled at Toby, showing long yellow teeth. “You will feel better after watching the film, I guarantee it, and it will make it so much easier to explain things to you afterwards.
“Yes, you watch the film, I will meet you here afterwards. Then we will talk.”
Without waiting for an answer, Percy pushed his arms into the sleeves of his long brown coat, and waked from the tent, leaning heavily on his stick. Toby watched him leave, wondering how someone could possibly bear to move so slowly. He turned to Clarissa.
“Not quite what I was hoping for,” he said.
Clarissa was looking cross, her face folded into a frown, her lips pursed.
“I don’t think your mentor is much of a mentor at all,” she said. “I wonder why they gave you one.”
Toby sat up a little straighter, thinking that is sounded – although she hadn’t actually said it – that Clarissa thought Toby must be a very poor driver indeed in order to need a mentor who was clearly substandard.
“I don’t know,” he said, his voice tight. “Shall we go to this film? Do you know where the cinema is?”
Clarissa nodded. “Might as well,” she said sounding dismissive. “At least it’s in the special features area. I might decide to stay there afterwards, I’m beginning to wish that I’d never left.” She stood up, and without so much as glancing at Toby, led the way from the tent. He followed, a whole muddle of confusion and anger and defensiveness buzzing in his stomach, so that he was feeling rather like he might be sick. This was turning out to be a completely terrible day, and he wished he had stayed in bed.
***
The cinema was right in the centre of the special features area. Toby followed Clarissa through wide golden gates, along smooth roads, to a car park. The roads were lined with trees and flowers, and birds were flying overhead.
Parking was easy, as there were sensors to help guide the car into a space. When Toby opened his door, the air was filled with perfume, and mingled with the sound of birds there was music, and very far away, he could hear someone laughing. A man walked past, and he smiled at Toby, congratulating him on his parking.
“Well done, well done, you managed to park in a single manoeuvre,” he said as he walked away. It was, Toby thought, a complete opposite to everything he had experienced in the brown training area.
Clarissa joined him, her eyes hooded. Toby realised that she was there under protest, she did not seem to trust Percy but a loyalty to Toby was prompting her to stay with him. He was grateful, and squeezed her arm.
“Thanks for coming,” he whispered.
Clarissa nodded, but didn’t reply.
They walked together, along a pathway lined with flowers and trees, following flashing signs that directed them to the cinema. The cinema was set in a small hollow, a low round building that resembled a spaceship, a silvery domed roof and curved doors that opened as they approached. Inside, the air was cool and perfumed with cinnamon. Their footsteps were muffled by a thick green carpet, and they followed a line of drivers into the auditorium and took seats near the back. Some drivers were carrying tubs of popcorn, fat beakers of drink, long bars of chocolate. Toby considered asking Clarissa if she would like something to eat, but a glance at her stony face reminded him that she wasn’t here for pleasure, she was prepared to endure the experience, but nothing else.
The lights dimmed, and the curtains across the screen folded back. Toby was aware of Clarissa relaxing slightly, comfortable in the dark, and he felt her move slightly lower in her seat. He wondered if he might hold her hand, but worried she might snatch it away, so he folded his arms and stared at the screen.
The film began by showing the relationship develop between a mentor and a new driver. The new driver reminded Toby of himself, the way his car lurched when he started, the apparent difficulty he had turning corners and the impossibility of parking in a marked space. Toby chuckled, and beside him he heard Clarissa giggle too, which made him smile. The mentor in the film was younger than Percy, with long hair tied back in a pony-tail, and a tight tee-shirt. He clearly cared for his protégé, and offered several driving tips, which Toby took note of, thinking he might apply them in real life.
The film then changed pace. The protégé managed to get entangled in the car crusher when it came to dispose of a redundant training car, and was carried away. The action switched to the mentor, who was told what had happened and decided to rush to the rescue. Toby watched as the mentor ran to his car, the soundtrack to the film had changed, the music fast and tense. The mentor drove towards where the crusher went, his wheels spinning on corners, fingers tight on the steering wheel, expression anxious. The mentor reached down to a button on the dashboard, and Toby saw wings stretch out on either side of the car, there was a spurt of pink exhaust smoke, and the car rose into the air.
Toby watched the screen, entranced. The car was flying, over the road, through the clouds, then above them, the camera showing a clear blue sky and sun glinting on fluffy white mountains of cloud that appeared solid. The car continued to rise, higher and higher, until it was bursting through the earth’s atmosphere and spinning into space. Round and round the car spun, higher and higher. It orbited planets, avoided meteorites, chased shooting stars. The soundtrack had changed to something melodic, beautiful tunes filling the cinema, while on the screen the mentor floated through space. Toby was sitting up straight, his mouth open, wondering whether what he was seeing was possible, whether there were cars and drivers in real life capable of such feats.
The film changed again, the tense music returned, heavy beats and loud drums while the mentor located his protégé and extracted him from the jaws of the crusher. Softer music filled the room while the mentor led his protégé back to earth, showed him how to use the flying mechanism of his car to navigate space, slowed when he seemed in danger of crashing, led him home. The film ended with them both landing back on earth, the pale protégé thanking his mentor, the sun shining from behind a cloud, the wings folded back inside the cars.
Toby sat back in his seat and exhaled.
“Wow!” he said, turning to Clarissa, “Do you think any of that is even slightly possible? The flying bit I mean, the whizzing through space. Are there cars that can do that?”
Clarissa looked at him, and Toby saw her face had relaxed into a smile and she was sitting back in her chair, eyes shining.
“I hope so.”
They left the cinema, not speaking but walking close together, letting their eyes adjust to daylight as they left the domed building, feeling the fresh air cold on their cheeks. Walking back to their cars, Toby felt he wanted to say something, to ask whether Clarissa felt better, whether going to see the film had been a good idea. But he said nothing. He wanted her to confirm that Percy had given wise advice, needed to know that he could trust his mentor, learn from him. But he knew that if he asked Clarissa her opinion, she might not say what he wanted to hear, so it was safest not to ask. He wondered again about taking her hand, but that felt risky too, so Toby shoved his fists deep into his pockets and walked back to his car in silence.
*****
Find out what Percy tells them tomorrow.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Toby and Clarissa set off towards the base of the pit, hoping to meet Gerald on his way up. Clarissa was talking very fast, reciting the parts of the race that were most scary, telling Toby how she couldn’t bear to watch, wondering how badly damaged Gerald’s car was and whether it would ever look pretty and shiny again. Toby was barely listening. He was wondering how Gerald felt, and whether he would listen as Toby tried to persuade him away from the brown area.
“I’m not sure that I want to leave on my own,” he thought, thinking about the last few days, and the fun they had had together despite the oppressive atmosphere of the brown area. “It has been fun to have someone to laugh with, to share opinion and ideas, to drive around the course with. And Gerald is like me, he knows that it’s all about the real track, but also that it’s okay to enjoy our cars, to have a laugh, while we’re training. He isn’t like the brown drivers, with their denial of everything fun about training. I don’t want to leave him here. . . but I really don’t think I can stay any longer. I don’t like what this area is doing to my car. . .”
Toby realised that Clarissa had stopped talking, and looked up. They were half way down the track, the walls of the pit rising up beside them, the path they were walking on was narrow, it curved away, down to the track, designed for drivers who needed to leave their cars temporarily – which was not something the brown drivers ever encouraged. They couldn’t see into the pit where the training track was, but sounds from below drifted up, and Toby heard muted voices, and the creak of a car being pushed, and the revving of an engine. There was another sound too, a sound that Toby didn’t recognise.
It began with a whoosh, like a sudden gust of wind that is swooshing through a gap, but instead of stopping, it grew steadily louder, drowning out the other sounds, turning to a roar that sort of filled the air and rushed towards them, filling the whole pit with the deep tremulous moan.
Toby and Clarissa stopped walking, and stood very still, listening as the sound grew, absorbing all their attention. Then, as suddenly as it began, it started to recede, growing quieter and quieter, until it was a gust, a hiss, a whisper, a sigh, and was gone. For a second, they stood completely still.
“What was that?” said Toby.
But Clarissa wasn’t listening, she was hurtling, full speed, along the gravel path. Stones were scattering from under her feet and dropping over the steep edge to the pit below, but she didn’t seem to care. Toby watched her speeding away, then started to chase after her.
“What is it? Why are we running?” he gasped, struggling to keep up. He was aware of the sheer drop beside them, the high walls on the pit edge on the other side, the slippery gravel underfoot. Clarissa’s feet were charging down the path, her hair flying out behind her, her jacket waving in the breeze. She was fast, and as hard as he tried, Toby couldn’t catch up, he could only follow, hoping that neither of them slipped and plummeted to the earth below. They rounded the last bend, and the pathway straightened, flattening onto the floor of the pit.
Toby could see the green car that had raced, the driver standing, open-mouthed, staring at the sky. Next to him was Gerald’s car, the wing missing in a great gouge of exposed metal, wires hanging down where they had been torn from the light casing, screws wrenched from their positions. Toby could see the dent where Gerald had hit a passing brown car the day before, and a smudge of yellow where Gerald had touched the roof with mustard on his fingers at breakfast this morning. But there was no Gerald.
In the distance, the other side of the raging river and the little bridge, Toby could see the two brown cars, meshed together in their misshapen lump. But he couldn’t see either of the drivers, only the green car driver was in the pit. Toby turned his head, first towards the path they had just run down, then back to the crashed cars, then round to where the track arched up high, level with the top of the pit. He scanned the perimeter of the pit, wondering if somehow the drivers could have left, if perhaps he and Clarissa had taken longer than he thought and the drivers had walked back the way they had come, leaving their cars in the pit below while they sought help with removal. But there was no one. He turned back to Clarissa.
Clarissa was crying. She had moved over to where Gerald’s car rested, and was standing there, rocking slightly, backwards and forwards, while tears ran down her face and plopped onto her pink jacket. Toby watched her reach out a hand, running it along the top edge of the roof, placing her palm over the blank glass of the window, her head bowed.
“He’s gone,” she said, her voice husky with tears. “Gerald has gone.”
“Gone where?” asked Toby, feeling foolish. His friend couldn’t have gone to the real track, he told himself, his car wasn’t damaged badly enough to be beyond repair, Toby had watched him complete the race, it was still drivable, Gerald had parked it himself. “Gone where?” he repeated, his voice louder, feeling angry now, cross that Clarissa seemed to know something he didn’t.
“To the real track,” said Clarissa, almost spitting the words at him. “That place that you stupid boys are so besotted with! Gerald kept talking about it, kept training, trying to be good enough. He wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t open his eyes and see what is on offer here. Oh no, all he wanted was the real track and now he’s got it, hasn’t he. Now he’s gone. And left us. And that’s it, we’ll never see him again. . .”
Toby watched as Clarissa sort of folded in half, flopping gown on the ground next to Gerald’s car, and sat hunched next to a muddy wheel, sobbing. He had absolutely no idea what to do.
It seemed like an age that they stayed there, Toby and the green driver standing helplessly, while Clarissa sobbed, filling the pit with the sound of her wails. They didn’t move, the broken cars stayed in place like ugly reminders of the drivers who had been taken. Eventually, the green driver coughed, and muttered something about being very sorry, but wasn’t it what Gerald would have wanted? Before sidling to his car and starting the engine. The motor fired, drowning the sound of Clarissa’s crying, and Toby turned and watched as the green car drove slowly away.
Several brown drivers appeared at the foot of the pathway. They frowned at Clarissa, then marched over to Toby.
“Why is she crying?” they asked, as if they thought it was Toby’s fault.
“Our friend, Gerald, has gone. . .” said Toby.
“Yes, of course, that’s the point, isn’t it?” snapped one of the brown drivers. “You should both be feeling pleased for him, not standing here moping around. And you should be driving anyway, neither of you will be ready when your log book runs out, not if you stand around being sad when you should be driving!”
“But Gerald wasn’t ready, can’t you see that,” said Clarissa, standing up and glaring at the brown drivers. “He was only trying to improve, and your stupid rules and your stupid training area and your stupid training track means that his car broke too early. He wasn’t ready. He had only just arrived. Are you completely stupid?”
The brown drivers looked rather shocked, and took a step backwards, as if worried that Clarissa might hit them. Toby wasn’t sure himself.
But she didn’t. She turned on her heel, spinning away from them, and started to march back up the footpath, towards the top of the pit.
“What will happen now?” Toby asked the brown drivers.
One driver was staring after Clarissa, his mouth open. The other driver shook his head and turned to Toby.
“The broken cars will be removed of course, they are no longer needed. The crusher will arrive shortly, then the cubed remains will be taken to the furnace.” He stopped, and added in a kinder voice: “Did you want to stay and watch? I know some drivers like to say a few words over the crushed car. We don’t normally do that here, we don’t think the car matters. . . but if you’re new,” he glanced at Toby’s brown overalls. “If you wanted to stay and say goodbye, I don’t expect anyone would mind, as the driver seems to be your friend. . .”
The other driver closed his mouth, and looked about to disagree, and tell Toby that it certainly would not be all right, brown drivers did not make a lot of unnecessary fuss over broken cars and departed drivers; so before he could speak, Toby said: “No, thanks, that’s okay.”
Then he turned, and ran after Clarissa. He felt that they both needed to find his mentor, Percy, and have a few things explained. He just hoped that Percy would have the answers.
*****
Find out tomorrow whether Percy has any answers.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
The following day, Toby sat on the same wall, watching his friend as he approached the start line of the training track. The track was not, strictly speaking, supposed to be used for racing – that was reserved for the main racing track in the centre of the training ground, where drivers from all the different training areas came together and pitched their skills against each other. No, the training tracks were intended to be places where the drivers could practice their racing techniques, but without competition. However, as Toby had watched the various drivers on the brown track, he had noticed that there was a very clear element of competition, a sort of unacknowledged secondary purpose to each race. And the mere fact that circuits of the track were called races, and tended to involve at least two cars, suggested to Toby that the edge of competition was very evident.
There were four cars on the track today. Toby watched as Gerald’s red car – barely discernible as red now due to the splattering of mud that coated it – was lined up with a pale green car, and two brown cars. The brown cars must have been in the training area for some time, as Toby knew that after a couple of months, when a driver was sure that this was the area in which he intended to stay, they resprayed their cars to match their overalls. It was not, he thought, an attractive colour.
In the pit below him, the cars were ready to start on the training track. Gerald had positioned himself right at the back, and Toby decided this was a good strategy. The hardest thing about the brown training track was the track itself, not the other drivers. It would be better for Gerald to let the others go first, to watch their mistakes and avoid any broken vehicles, and to worry about being first later, when he was near the end – if at all – his chances of even completing the track were fairly slim. Toby had watched many, many cars set off from the start line but fail to cross the finish line. He hoped his friend would manage to finish, and not damage his car too badly. Most of all, Toby hoped that Gerald’s car would survive the race. The track was brutal, he and Gerald had watched several cars damaged beyond repair, meaning the driver was taken immediately to the real track whether they were ready or not.
“Be careful Gerald,” Toby whispered, a lump in his stomach.
A flag fluttered down, it was brown, and the motion was slow and depressed, more a resigned flop than an excited sweep down like the flags that started races on the other training tracks. It was, thought Toby, as if even the flag was tired. The cars set off.
A brown car took the lead, heading towards the brick wall in front, then spinning round it at the last moment. It was closely followed by the other brown car, the pale green car not far behind. They sped around the blind bend, confident that nothing would be in the way. Gerald was following more cautiously, and Toby guessed that although his friend knew the road behind the wall was empty, actually driving the route must be worrying.
“Come on Gerald!” he called, the wind snatching his words and carrying them away.
“Oh, it’s so hard!”
Toby looked around, surprised. There, behind him, a blur of pink, was Clarissa. She grinned at him.
“I came to watch,” she said, moving closer. “I met Gerald when he was at the Special Features training area, and I heard he was attempting the training track today, so I came to watch.” She sucked in her lips and looked down. “Actually, I’m late,” she said, staring hard at her feet. “I had planned to get here before the race started, to try and talk him out of it. I think he’s risking too much by entering.”
“It’s not a race!” said a passing brown driver, his face deep in his driver’s manual.
Toby and Clarissa both watched the brown driver leave, and Toby shook his head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, turning back to the race. Though Clarissa, with her pink clothes and smiley face was as different to the brown cars as it was possible to be. She did not, in any way, fit in, and as they watched the race, Toby could feel the disapproving glances as brown drivers passed behind them, he could sense the sucked in breath and the pursed lips, and he knew that they were all wondering why anyone would want to associate with someone who was so clearly enjoying life rather than training. Toby found that he was smiling, and he stepped slightly closer to Clarissa as they watched the race.
The cars were now on the steep hill downwards. Water was pouring over the track, and the lead car braked to avoid a pothole, the back wheels locked and began to slide on the wet surface. The car skidded sideways, across the path of the following brown car, which didn’t stop in time and ploughed into the side. Toby held his breath, waiting for the horrible crunching sound of metal crushing metal. When it reached him, the clash of melding metal was terrible. The two cars appeared fused together as they continued to slide down the hill. The green car was attempting to pass them, not wanting to brake and lose control, but aware that the gap between the brown cars and the edge was closing as they careered down the hill towards the little bridge.
The green car managed to pass the sliding cars, and Toby watched as Gerald approached. At the bottom of the hill was the narrow bridge over the river. If the crashed cars reached the bottom first, they would block the route and Gerald would be unable to reach the bridge. The space between the cars and the edge of the track was narrow, Gerald was approaching, weaving slightly as he weighed up his chances of passing them before they forced him from the track. Toby wasn’t breathing, his hands were on his cheeks as he watched his friend. He could feel the wind tousling his hair, but all his attention was on the track in the pit below. Beside him, Clarissa had caught hold of his arm, and was clutching it tightly. Gerald was now level with the crashed cars, the three vehicles moving together down the hill, Gerald accelerated, one wheel went over the line of the track, tossing up gravel and mud, the crashed cars were sliding towards him. Toby heard Clarissa gasp, and the grip on his arm became painful. Below them, Gerald held his line, managed to add one last spurt of speed, and passed the sliding cars.
Toby barely had time to exhale before he gasped again. Gerald was now too near the edge, and needed to get to the centre of the track or he would miss the narrow bridge that crossed the river. His wheels were spinning, causing a fountain of gravel and mud that shot up into the air. The river was fast, bubbling water that had started at the top of the pit and was plunging down to a great crevasse in the pit, a torrent of unstoppable water. If Gerald missed the bridge, there were no barriers to stop him sliding into the water. He would certainly be swept away, his car destroyed. Clarissa let go of Toby’s arm, both hands flew to her face and she covered her eyes.
“I can’t watch,” she whispered.
Gerald managed to slow slightly, to avoid skidding, to aim for the bridge. At the last minute, his back wheels locked and he started to skid, but he steered in the direction of the slide, bringing the car back under control, aiming for the bridge. Toby stared, not sure his friend would make it, his left wing was slightly too far over and with a great scraping of crushed metal, the little red car entered the bridge, losing the left wing on one of the posts. The car bounced over the bridge, then slowed as it began to climb the steep hill on the other side. The green car was level with the top of the pit and Toby could see the driver hunched over the wheel as he navigated the turn. The brown cars had crashed into the bridge entrance, blocking it, and the drivers were opening their doors, Their shouts of anger drifted up to where Toby was watching, and he saw one driver shake his fist.
The green car hit a pothole, the car jolted, the tyre burst, the driver continued, his car now whining as the split tyre wore away and the wheel rim squealed as it touched the ground. Gerald was gaining on him, was now level with the top of the pit, Toby could see him, his face as red as his car had been, the muscles in his arms standing out as he struggled to hold the steering wheel steady. He drove cautiously over the area of gravel, managing to control the car as it skidded back towards the bottom of the pit. There was an area of forest, the cars were lost from Toby’s sight, he could only see the tops of branches, and hear the screech of the green car’s wheel, and the roar of Gerald’s engine. They came back into sight just before the finish line: first the green car, which sped along the last stretch, then stopped as soon as he had crossed the line. Gerald was slightly behind – too far back to hope to catch him – and Toby saw that his friend was driving cautiously now, intent on avoiding the potholes and gravel, keen to end the course with his car intact. He reached the finish line and parked next to the green car. Toby saw the two drivers turn to speak to each other.
Toby realised he was still holding his breath, and let out a long sigh of relief. His friend had survived the training track, only one wing of his car was damaged. He left his vantage point, and went to join Gerald. If he had decided anything, it was that he intended to leave the brown area as soon as he could. He just needed to persuade his friend to do the same.
*****
Can Toby persuade his friend to leave? Find out tomorrow.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Three days later, Toby was driving to meet Gerald. They had arranged to meet and eat together, in a spot they had found that overlooked the brown training track. It was raining, a fine mist coating the windscreen, the wipers hissing as they wiped it away. The road ahead was shining, puddles beginning to form at the edges.
Toby frowned as he drove, concentrating on the road. There was a minimum speed limit, so Toby was driving too fast to feel comfortable. The road was pitted with large potholes, and Toby spun the wheel to avoid a particularly nasty one, with jagged edges and a deep hole. A car appeared round the corner, honking loudly to warn Toby that he was on the wrong side of the road. Toby turned the car towards the edge of the road, but it was too narrow, and the road disintegrated at the edges, so his wheels slid onto the rough dirt at the side. He juddered as the car bobbled over the ruts and gullies of the uneven ground, the other car passed, Toby steered back onto the road.
“That was close,” he thought, relaxing slightly.
Suddenly, another car came from the side, Toby glanced up, and saw they were about to collide. There had been no warning sign to alert Toby that he was approaching a junction, yet his road was joining another, and a brown car was hurtling along it, heading straight for Toby. There was no time to reverse. Toby pressed the brake, screw up his eyes, hunched his shoulders, and waited. He heard the other car as it braked, the tyres screaming as they skidded towards him, closer and closer, until after what felt like several minutes but must have been a couple of seconds, the other car slammed into his side.
There was a horrible crunch, the impact spun Toby’s car around, then silence. Toby opened his eyes.
Next to him, the brown driver was opening his door, his face glowering at Toby.
“You didn’t stop at the junction,” he said, his voice clipped.
“I’m so sorry,” Toby stammered, “I didn’t see it. . . didn’t know I was coming to a junction, there was no warning sign, nothing marking it from my road, maybe someone moved it. . .” But Toby knew that no one had moved the warning sign. The brown area did not have signposts, drivers were expected to know where all the hazards were and to be able to stop in time.
“You need to spend more time driving,” the brown driver muttered, holding out his hand.
Toby reached onto the seat beside him, and passed the driver a thick notebook. It contained lists of all the things that Toby needed to improve, and already had several pages full of notes – most of them criticisms. He watched while the brown driver wrote in it, feeling slightly sick. He wanted to check the damage to his car, to see whether it could be mended, but he knew that would earn him more comments in his notebook, because brown drivers were not meant to care about their cars, only their driving skills.
The brown driver passed the notebook back to Toby, shook his head, and stomped back to his car. Toby watched him drive away. As soon as he was out of sight, Toby started the engine. His little car spluttered into life, and he drove it slowly to the edge of the road, well away from the unmarked junction. He got out, and walked round to the side that had been hit. There was a dent in the wing, the smooth curve over the wheel was now spoilt with a jagged depression, some of the paint had scratched away and Toby could see metal strips exposed. He sighed. It wasn’t too bad, not considering how much damage might have occurred if the brown driver hadn’t stopped fast enough. He got back in, and drove to meet Gerald.
Gerald was sitting on a low wall that overlooked the training course. This was the place they had found where you could look down, into the pit that formed the brown training track, and see most of the track. The pit was deep, and there was a slight delay in the time when events happened in the pit and when the sound drifted up to where Toby and Gerald sat, so it was like watching a film with the sound and picture out of sync. Gerald was eating chips, and he offered the bag to Toby. It was damp, and not very warm.
There were no restaurants or cafes in the brown area, only places to buy food to take-away. Food that you could eat while you drove. But Toby and Gerald had wanted a break from driving, so they had arranged to meet, and share this rather sad bag of chips. As they ate, they watched other drivers navigate the track, some denting wheels in the potholes, others spinning off at the corners. The rain was cold, fine drops falling in a steady mist around them, coating their hair and dripping from their noses. The bag of chips was soggy, soaked with grease and rain, and the chips were nearly cold. Toby took a chip and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Those drivers aren’t much better than us,” he said between chewing and swallowing. He was watching a driver as he slowed before one of the bends, but not early enough, so his back wheels began to slide out of control.
“Yeah, I was thinking that,” said Gerald, wiping his hands on his trousers.
They were both wearing brown overalls, stained with grease and oil, because the brown drivers did not encourage personal hygiene. They did not actually, thought Toby, encourage anything. They were completely focussed on improving their driving skills, and that meant every moment of every day was spent either studying the manual (which was out of date and applied to old cars that no one drove today) or driving – either on the track or on the roads around the brown area.
All the roads in the brown area were difficult to drive around, as they were narrow, with poor visibility, badly maintained and crowded. There were no helpful signs or lights, and each junction had to be approached with care. To make things even harder, there were minimum speed limits in most places, so drivers couldn’t drive slowly, they were forced to use slightly faster speeds than Toby felt was safe. He opened his mouth, about to tell Gerald about his collision, but before he could speak, Gerald stood up and made an announcement.
“Tomorrow, that will be me down there,” said Gerald, his voice determined. “I’ve had enough of all this whizzing along the brown area roads, worrying I might meet another car at a junction. At least on the training track everyone will be going the same direction. And like you said, those drivers don’t look any better than us.
“I’ve decided. I want to get in a few circuits of the brown training track, starting tomorrow. With that and the special features training, I reckon I’ll have enough experience to enter the racing track. After my first race, I’ll have more idea what training to do next, so I’m ready for the real track. I think I’ve got time for at least twenty more, before my log book runs out – even though this brown training has taken way longer than I was expecting.”
Toby nodded, unsure of what to say, and delved into the corner of the soggy bag for the last few chips. They were salty, and not too bad considering how cold they were. He knew that Gerald had planned to have left by now, had wanted to spend only two days with the brown drivers. But it had taken them a while to get their brown overalls, and no one would speak to them until they were wearing them. Then the roads had been so rough, and the days so long, that neither of them felt as if they had improved at all, they were simply struggling to not make any mistakes.
“I think I’ll just watch you,” said Toby, swallowing. He could feel the lump of chewed chips sliding down his throat, and he coughed. “Not sure I’m ready yet, for the training track. Worried I might damage my car too much, and it’s newer than yours. I had bit of a prang today, nothing serious, but, you know. . .”
Gerald opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a brown driver who was passing.
“Why are you two sitting there? You shouldn’t be resting, you should be driving. You won’t improve unless you keep driving you know. Go on, back to your cars. . . you can eat and drive at the same time you know!”
Toby watched the brown driver hurry away, then turned back to Gerald. “Come on,” he said, “better get on with it.”
He heard Gerald groan as he stood up and went back to his car.
Toby glanced around. No other drivers were watching the training track, and Toby knew they would all be busy driving around the brown area, or reading their manuals. A couple of brown drivers walked past, manuals in hand, deep in conversation. They scowled at Toby as they passed, and he knew they were wondering why he wasn’t training. Training was the only thing the brown drivers did. Toby sighed. There was something oppressive about the brown area, something almost sad. The drivers barely slept, they ate while they drove, they only seemed to speak to each other when they were debating the manual or a training strategy. Even taking care of their cars was frowned upon as a waste of time, and although they all refuelled, there was no time allocated to servicing their cars, and only the most essential of repairs were ever done. The brown area was full of cars that limped around, with clashing gears, and threadbare tyres, many had bumpers hanging off, and all were tarnished with many dents.
Toby looked across to his own car. It was muddy, and looked somehow forlorn, parked by the side of the road. He looked again at the dent in the wing. The brown area didn’t have any repair centres, not for things like dents. The cars were viewed as fully disposable, to be used for driving practice but not to be valued in any way. The brown drivers knew they would be issued with real cars, at the real track, and therefore had no time or energy to care about their training cars. Toby felt rather sad, and he got up from the wall and walked over to his car, and placed his hand, very gently, on the roof. He rather liked his training car, and he knew that it was temporary, but he had still enjoyed the beauty of it when it was shiny. He thought about those cushions he had bought, and smiled, thinking how completely out of place they would be here, in the brown training ground.
“But I need to keep focussed on the real track,” he reminded himself. “That’s why I’m here, because I think I can improve my driving, and be the best I can be ready for when my log book runs out.”
Toby frowned, thinking about the log book. He knew very little about them, only that the Engineer issued a log book with each car. No one had access to the log book, but everyone knew that they had one. Toby wasn’t quite sure what was recorded in it, or how regularly it was written in. But he did know that when the log book ran out, the driver would be allowed to enter the real track, and his training car would become obsolete.
“I sort of hope my log book still has a long time to run,” he whispered, looking at his car. “I like my training car, and I’ll be sad to leave it behind.” He looked guiltily over his shoulder, checking that no one was listening. This was not the sort of thing that brown drivers were meant to think.
*****
Thanks for reading. I will post the next chapter tomorrow.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
The brown cars had a section of training ground which was slightly removed from the rest of the area. It was difficult to find, and was not signed, so Toby passed the entrance twice without realising, and had to stop and ask for directions. When he finally found it, the entrance was narrow, with metal posts either side, which Toby feared might scratch his car. He drove between the posts very slowly, peering out of the side window, carefully judging the distance. He managed to enter without mishap, and looked for somewhere to park.
The brown car area was very brown. Brown and grey. Toby had to agree with Clarissa – it certainly looked dismal. But if the training was excellent, it probably didn’t matter if the environment was plain. The car park was as challenging as the entrance, and each space was just wide enough to fit a car. Toby shuffled, backwards and forwards, several times, before he managed to get most of his car into a space. The car park was almost empty, and so even though his front wing and one wheel was not quite in the space, Toby decided that it wasn’t important. He climbed from his car, and began to walk away.
“Hey! You can’t leave your car parked like that!”
Toby stopped walking and turned. A small, fat man with long grey hair and heavy eye-brows was glaring at him. His brown overalls were splattered with oil, and his pink knees could be seen through holes in his trousers. He was glaring at Toby in fury.
“You’re not in the space,” said the man.
“I’m a new driver,” explained Toby, “I’m not very good at parking yet.” He looked at all the empty spaces in the car park.
“There’s only three other cars in here,” said Toby, “there’s plenty of room.”
“That is not the point,” said the angry little man, marching over to where Toby had left his car. “Look, the wheel is over the line. You’ll never learn to park properly if you don’t try, will you? Now get back here and park it correctly, or leave this training area.”
Toby went back to his car. The man stood next to him, and folded his arms.
Toby started the engine and lurched backwards into the space. The man shook his head.
Toby inched forwards, turning the wheel, trying to steer inside the lines but missing, so that now the other front wheel was over the line. The man shook his head.
Toby drove forwards, out of the space, then tried reversing, turning the steering wheel, peering over his shoulder, aiming for the area inside the lines. A back wheel was now touching a line. The man sighed, and frowned, and shook his head.
Toby tried again, and again, and again. Each time, a part of his car was either on the line or over the edge, and each time the little man glowered and frowned and kept his arms tightly folded across his chest. Toby felt the panic rise inside of him.
“I can’t do this,” he thought, “it’s too difficult. I’ll just leave, and train somewhere else.”
But he remembered the shiny cars, and their spooky chant, and his determination to learn how to drive properly. He shuffled into that parking space, and edged forwards and backwards and forwards and backwards, until his wheels were hot and the air smelt of burning rubber and the tears were running down his cheeks and plopping onto his damp shirt, all the while with the fat little man scowling at him.
Eventually, when Toby’s arms ached from turning the wheel, and his car was about to die because it needed recharging, he managed to get all four wheels into the space.
“I’ve done it!” he said, climbing from the car.
“Took you long enough,” muttered the man, before stomping away.
Toby stared after him. “I think,” he thought, “that Clarissa might be right. I think this might be very dismal indeed.”
However, having taken most of the morning trying to park, Toby was not going to leave now. He set off, ready to explore the training ground.
Toby walked around the brown area, wondering where all the drivers were. There was a repair station, and a recharging dock, and a cafe – all were empty. He could hear the roar of tyres, and headed towards them, along a narrow pathway lined with trees that had blown by the wind and were now like twisted old men keeping watch. The ground beneath the trees was bare and hard, not even weeds grew there, and certainly no one had planted flowers. The pathway was concrete, cracked in places. There were no lamps or lights, and Toby realised that if he had visited after dark, it would be difficult to find his way.
When Toby found the drivers, they were all huddled around a training track. Toby peered past the drivers, who all seemed to be reading thick brown books, and stared at the training track, which was set in what looked like a disused quarry, a great hollow in the ground, lower than where he stood. The drivers behind him began to speak with raised voices:
“That’s not what it says, you are misinterpreting it.”
“The words are clearly written, are you choosing to ignore them?”
Angry words floated towards Toby’s back, but all his attention was focussed on the track in front of him. He could see the track as it stretched before him, almost like a track for toy cars. He gasped.
The start-line was situated immediately before a steep corner, with a great brick wall in front, so drivers would set off cautiously, not sure what they were about to meet. There was then a hill, winding sharply downwards, and Toby could see water from a stream oozing over the tarmac, making a skidding hazard. There was a narrow bridge at the bottom of the hill, followed immediately by another hill, rising steeply upwards, almost to the level that Toby was standing, before plummeting back down to the floor of the crater.. The track then disappeared around another bend, and there was an area that Toby couldn’t see. It came back into view just before the finish line, where there was a ford sloshing over the track.
As he stared at the tarmac, Toby realised it was pitted with potholes and small stones were scattered across it, and the edges had worn away. A car rounded the bend, skidded on some gravel, a wheel bumped into a pothole and there was the sound of metal cluttering on tarmac as something fell to the floor. The car stopped. It was overtaken by a long low car, that swerved to avoid the broken car, spun too near to the edge of the track, two wheels went over the edge, there was a horrible scraping noise, a shower of stars, as the car grounded. Toby screwed up his face, and drew his shoulders up to his ears, flinching, not really wanting to watch but unable to look away. Another car limped round the corner, swerved to avoid the pothole car, managed to not follow the grounded car over the edge, continued on, slowing in the ford as it struggled to maintain momentum, finally managing to drive over the finish line. Nobody cheered. The drivers behind Toby were all still arguing, none of them had even watched the race.
“I think just driving along that track without damaging my car would be hard enough, never mind about racing,” thought Toby.
He was aware that someone was standing next to him, and turned to see a small driver dressed in red. He had a round face, and tufts of black hair stood up on top of his head, so he resembled a sort of over-ripe vegetable. He had a large nose, and tiny eyes that twinkled. There was something about the mismatched face that made him look friendly, and Toby smiled a greeting.
“That looks grim,” said the driver. He turned to Toby. “I’m Gerald. Are you new?”
Toby nodded. “Yes, I’ve just arrived, I’m hoping they’ll let me join them. But to be honest, it took me so long to find the brown area, and then ages to park, so I’m not sure whether they’ll let me join.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Gerald with a grin. He pointed at a tent, the other side of the drivers. “Come on, let’s go over to the umpire’s tent, someone there will know what we should do.”
Gerald led the way through the brown drivers, who seemed to be arguing over something in the thick brown book, and over to a tall tent – brown of course – which had ‘Umpires Only’ written in square black letters over the entrance. A man with long grey hair and very dirty finger nails was sitting inside. He stood when Toby and Gerald approached, and Toby saw that his back was hunched in a permanent stoop.
“Hello,” said Gerald. “We’re new, we would like to train here, who do we need to ask?”
“If you need to ask, I doubt you’ll fit in,” replied the bent man. He nodded at them, and walked out.
“Oh!” said Gerald, “That wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped. Now what?”
“Well, he didn’t say we couldn’t join,” said Toby. “Maybe it’s a sort of test, like finding the entrance was. Maybe the rules are written somewhere.” He gazed outside, at all the brown drivers, who were still poring over their book, some of them shouting, raising their fists to emphasize their point. “Maybe we should try to get a copy of that book,” said Toby. “That might have some clues.”
They walked back towards the drivers, and Gerald went right up to a group who were all shouting at one driver who was holding his book high over his head and shouting: “It says it here, very clearly, on page 792!”
Gerald tugged the sleeve of one of the drivers, and said – loudly so he would be heard – “Where can we get a copy of your book?”
The driver stopped shouting and turned to look at Toby and Gerald. He frowned, then thrust his copy of the fat brown book at Gerald’s chest. “Here, have this one,” he said, before stalking away. Gerald clutched the book, only just catching it before it slipped to the floor. He glanced at Toby, raised his eye-brows, and led him away from the arguing drivers and to a small hill, where he sat and opened the book.
The hill was dried mud, no grass grew there, and it wasn’t very comfortable. Toby looked to see if there was anywhere better to sit, but there seemed to be no refreshment tent nearby, no spectator’s pavilion, no seats. He sat next to Gerald and peered over his shoulder.
The pages of the book were old and worn, in places the print had faded, and they had to peer closely to see the words.
“I know what this is,” Toby said, “It’s a manual, it has instructions for maintaining a car, and tips for getting good speeds and how to drive. But it’s old, very old. It refers to a car that was made years ago, I’m not sure that type of car will even exist today. I have a manual just like it, but written for modern cars, like we drive. I’m not sure this one will even be relevant any more. Look,” Toby pointed to a diagram of how to change a tyre. It suggested using a ramp, and the tyre was solid, not inflated with air like the tyres on their own cars.
“What about the chapter on training,” said Gerald, heaving the weight of the book onto his other hand and turning the greasy pages. “Look, here it is: How to Train. A Driver’s Guide.”
Toby peered over his shoulder. He noticed that Gerald smelt of strawberries, and he wrinkled his nose. “Funny smell for a driver,” thought Toby.
The manual had very clear instructions, though some of them seemed to not make sense, and Toby wasn’t sure how they would improve his driving. The manual stipulated that all drivers should dress appropriately, and avoid distracting colours.
“That explains the brown,” said Gerald, pointing to the words. “Perhaps we should get some brown overalls.”
There was a short list of other instructions. They were very specific:
Drivers should book the training track for at least 6 hours every day.
After each training session, drivers should ask other drivers for feedback, and point out any mistakes they have noticed in their fellow drivers while on the track. These should be recorded in the book marked ‘things to improve’. They should only be deleted from the ‘things to improve’ book when improvement has been verified by an umpire.
Drivers should read the training manual for at least 4 hours every day.
Drivers should discuss the training manual at the driver’s forum for at least 2 hours every day.
“Goodness!” said Gerald, “when do they eat or sleep or maintain their cars? It’s certainly not like the special features training ground. There we were surrounded by colours, and perfumes, and beauty. Some of it was a bit too much, if I’m honest.” He leant towards Toby. “Can you smell strawberries?”
“Yes!” said Toby, smiling, “I was wondering what that was all about.”
“It’s the perfume shower,” said Gerald with a sigh. “When I left, I drove too close, and because my clothes are red, they showered my car with strawberry scent. I did hose it down, but I can’t get rid of the smell. How embarrassing.”
“Not very ‘brown car’” said Toby, grinning.
“Ugh, I dread to think what they must smell like!” said Toby with a shudder. “But I think they’ll know how to drive, I’m sure all this seriousness must pay off, this training must improve their driving – doesn’t it?”
“I hope so,” said Toby.
“I’ve decided that I will spend two days with each training group,” Gerald was saying while still looking at the book. “That way, I can see which group are the best trainers, then I’ll go back and train with them until my log book runs out. The special features group was. . .” he paused, and looked up from the book, searching for the correct word. “Well, it was sort of okay. It was lots of fun, everyone used the special feature attached to their car, and they did have a training track, though it was quite a simple one, nothing like the one down there,” he glanced back towards the track in the quarry. “But I’m not sure how good it was, at training drivers I mean. It was a fun place to be, and drivers were improving, but I’m not sure how much. . .”
“Yes,” agreed Toby. “I want to be ready for the real track.”
“Yeah,” said Gerald, his voice distracted as he continued to flick through the contents of the manual. “Funny, it doesn’t say anything about the real track in here. . .” he turned to the index at the back, and ran his finger down the list of words. “No, nothing at all that I can see. That’s odd.”
“Maybe it’s mentioned throughout the book, rather than just having a single section about it,” suggested Toby. “The brown drivers are certainly serious about improving their driving skills, I’m just hoping I can keep up.
“Now, shall we go and try to find some brown overalls. At least we’ll look the part.”
The two young drivers stood up, and walked back towards the drivers. The cars that had been racing had followed the narrow road up from the racing pit, and were being rolled towards a repair point. One of the cars was being pushed by the driver, and the car that had grounded had two flat tyres and a piece of metal was dragging along the ground. The other drivers moved apart, making room for them to pass, but no one helped. Toby saw that the car with the flat tyres was veering off to the side, and the driver was struggling to push it.
“Shall we help?” he called to the driver.
The driver stopped, surprised.
Toby and Gerald went over, and placed their hands on the back of the car. “You steer, we’ll push,” suggested Toby.
The driver nodded, and climbed into the car. Toby and Gerald pushed, the car rolled forwards, and they made their way across the training ground, round to where the repair centre was. As he pushed, Toby was aware of the other drivers watching, and he saw a couple lean together, whispering. Their faces were grim, and Toby wondered what they were cross about.
“You should be training, not helping cars who have got it wrong,” someone called out.
“Yes, you’re not even wearing the correct clothes,” said another driver, scowling at them.
Toby glanced at Gerald, who shrugged, and they continued pushing the broken car.
When they reached the garage, a mechanic came to greet them.
“What happened here then? How did you damage this?” he asked.
The driver leaned from his window. “It was me,” he called, “they’re only helping me to push. My car grounded in the training track, and it was too hard to push on my own.” As he spoke, he passed a notepad from the window.
Toby watched as the mechanic wrote in it: “Not able to stay on the road on the racing track.”
“That must be his ‘things to improve’ notebook,” whispered Gerald.
It was a very thick notebook indeed.
***
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Toby left the refreshment tent, driving towards the section of training ground reserved for the brown cars. As he drove, winding his way between a motorcycle and the length of a stretch limousine, he caught sight of something pink in the corner of his eye. He eased his car to one side, slowed down to almost stand-still, and looked to the side. Sure enough, there was a small pink car with Clarissa driving. She noticed him, and began to wave madly.
A man was crossing the road in front of Clarissa, she noticed at the last moment, swerved to avoid him, there was a squeal of brakes, and the pink car came to a screeching stop in a hedge. Toby watched in horror, his mouth open. He stopped his own car, and raced across the road.
Clarissa was sitting very still, her eyes wide. She blinked, then collapsed into giggles.
“Oh dear, oh dear, did you see?” she said, her words breathless as she fought to control her laughter. “I am such a bad driver still! I saw you, and forgot all about steering. Oh dear! What a disaster!”
Toby thought that she did not sound worried at all. The man she had avoided was glaring at them from across the road. Toby waved at him, the man pursed his lips and strode away.
“Are you all right?” said Toby, turning back to Clarissa. Her cheeks were as pink as her car and her eyes were shining. She climbed out of the car and walked to the front.
“I seem to have acquired a few extra scratches,” she said. “But to be honest, it’s hard to tell, I had so many scratches already. How is your driving coming on?” she asked, looking towards Toby’s car. “Have you raced at all?”
“No,” said Toby, shaking his head. “Not at all, but that’s about to change, I’m going to join the brown cars.”
“Oh!” said Clarissa.
There was something about the way she spoke, a sort of darkening of her mood, that made Toby wonder what was wrong. “Don’t you like the brown cars?” he said. “They seem to take training very seriously, I think they’ll be very prepared for the real track, when their log books run out. I think I will learn lots there.”
“Maybe you will,” said Clarissa, her voice light. But she had turned away, and was no longer looking at Toby.
“What aren’t you saying?” said Toby, wanting to know.
“Nothing. It’s just that. . .” Clarissa paused.
“Just what?”
“Well,” said Clarissa at last, as if she had made up her mind and decided to be honest, “if the real track is full of drivers like the brown car drivers, then I’m not sure that I want to go there anyway.”
“You don’t want to go to the real track?” repeated Toby, shocked. “But that’s the whole point, that’s why we’re training, so that we’re ready.”
“Yes, I know that now,” said Clarissa, nodding. “And I have been training, I joined the special features drivers, and they have a training track in their area, and we race, and I’m getting better.” She glanced at the front of her car, jammed into the branches of the hedge. “I’m getting better but I still make the occasional mistake,” she continued. “But honestly Toby, if the brown car drivers are like most of the drivers at the real track, then I would rather stay here. They seem so. . . dismal.”
Toby stared at her. Clarissa shook her head, and her hair tumbled and bounced on her shoulders, and her eyes – which Toby realised were very pretty eyes – were serious and stubborn and staring straight back at him, as if challenging him to disagree.
“Well,” said Toby, thinking hard, “I think the brown cars will give me the best training, but I will think about what you have said. And I will try very hard not to become dismal.”
Clarissa flashed a smile at him, her teeth were very white and straight, and it was, thought Toby, an excellent smile. One that he would like to see more often.
“Here,” said Clarissa, opening the door to her car and delving inside. Her voice bubbled up to Toby as he waited, watching her back.“If you’re determined to go, at least take this. I bought it for myself, but I can go back and get another one, and you won’t have time if you’re training with the brown cars.” She was stooped, rummaging on the floor behind the driver’s seat, digging into a bag. “Where is it? I’m sure I put it in here somewhere. . . Ah! Got it!”
She emerged from the car, and handed Toby a heavy bag with blue and white stripes.
Toby took the package, and opened it. Inside was a book. A very large, heavy, book.
“It’s a training manual,” said Clarissa, “the latest version. We have modern cars, so we need the manual for new cars. It has hints about the sort of speeds we should be aiming for, how to take corners; as well as lots of advice about when to top up the oil, when to recharge, that sort of thing. You can have it, as a gift. A good luck, try not to become dismal gift!”
“Thank you – I think!” said Toby, grinning at her. “Listen, I’m meeting my mentor, Percy, back at the refreshment tent next week. Why don’t you come too? You can check whether I’m getting dismal or not.”
Clarissa grinned back at him. “Sure, I will.”
She climbed back into her car, and started the engine. Toby stood to one side, watching for traffic as Clarissa reversed, very slowly, out of the hedge. She waved, grinned, and drove away, stray leaves floating down behind her as she picked up speed. Toby watched her go.
To be continued. . .
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Toby found Percy in the refreshment tent. He wondered how much time his mentor spent in there. Percy was sitting with his friend in the large hat, and she stood up when she saw Toby.
“I expect you two have things to discuss,” she said, with a knowing look at Percy. Toby watched her leave, then slid into the seat opposite Percy.
“I can’t wait a whole week,” Toby blurted, “those cars don’t seem to train at all. They only want to look nice, which is fine, I’d like my car to look nice too, but then when it’s time for them to go on, to the real track, they don’t even want to go! It’s like all they care about is their training cars, and what they look like. Nothing else matters. I think they’ve forgotten the point of being here, what it’s all about. And one of them – quite a nice driver actually, I liked him – well, I met him yesterday and he was upset about his car being damaged in the race, and he told me that his log book must be nearly run out, which is why he entered the race, and then today, when I went to find him, he’d gone, to the real track, and his car was left behind because he didn’t need it any more and they were all. . . they were all. . . sort of. . . distraught. Yes, that’s the word, they were distraught. Over the training car. But that’s the point, isn’t it? They’re only meant to be temporary, aren’t they?”
Toby stopped, and swallowed. He had spoken very fast, the words tumbling from him in a sort of stream of confusion. He looked at Percy, suddenly aware that perhaps he was not making sense, that his mentor might have found the blurted explanation rather muddled.
Percy did not look muddled. His expression was as calm and unhurried as it had been yesterday, and he had the same smile, a sort of knowing smile, that Toby wasn’t sure he particularly liked.
“Why don’t we order some hot chocolate?” suggested Percy, waving at a waiter.
“Yes, but what about the shiny cars?” said Toby, not sure that he wanted hot chocolate. “They were chanting something weird: ‘From metal you were moulded. . .’”
“‘To metal you return,’” finished Percy, then turned to the waitress who had arrived.
“Ah yes, two chocolates please. And some of those rather delicious finger sponge cakes.” He looked back at Toby. “I will explain,” he said, “but first we drink.”
The mugs of steaming chocolate arrived. Toby placed his on the table, not at all in the mood for drinking. But Percy continued unperturbed, dipping the finger sponge into his drink and biting off the end. After a few minutes, when Toby realised that his mentor was not to be hurried, he picked up the finger sponge next to him. It was a thin blonde piece of cake, slightly dry, and perfect for dunking. He dipped the end into his chocolate, and nibbled it. The combination of softened cake, and bitter chocolate, was perfect. He dunked it again, momentarily absorbed by the delicious mixture of sweet and bitter, of hot and cold. He picked up his mug, sipping the creamy chocolate, allowing the thick, velvety texture to fill his mouth, finding it strangely comforting. He realised that Percy was watching him.
“Rather good, isn’t it?” Percy said.
Toby nodded, feeling the luxurious chocolatey taste fill his mouth.
“I find that hot chocolate has a tendency to make everything feel a little better,” said Percy, smiling. “But now, to your questions.”
Toby placed his mug, rather longingly, on the table. He would have liked really to continue drinking, and to forget all about his recent discovery with the shiny cars, but he realised that was not what he had come for. He had found Percy because he wanted some answers, so he gave one more lick of his lips, and folded his arms, waiting.
“You are right, of course,” said Percy. “The drivers of the shiny cars do tend to forget why they are here. Their training cars have become very important, and it tends to blot out the real purpose of why we’re all here. Their cars are very pretty, of course, and they have added all sorts of amazing features, so I am inclined to admire what they manage to achieve – but it’s so tempting for that to become the total aim, and as you say, the training cars were always only ever intended to be temporary. They are for us to train in, until we are ready for the real track.
“The chant you heard: ‘From metal you were moulded, to metal you return’ is all part of the same thing of course. The car, the training car, has become overly significant, so when it is no longer needed, they feel a huge sense of loss. The chant is correct, but it is not meant to be the focus. Originally, the first training cars were moulded from metal, extracted from ore in a furnace. As training cars become obsolete, they are crushed, and then melted down, back into metal, which can be used to make new training cars. The shiny cars look wonderful, in their way they are wonderful, but they are only training cars, lumps of moulded metal. The chant has become something of a lament for the drivers, hasn’t it?”
Toby nodded. “It was a bit spooky,” he whispered.
“As to your friend,” said Percy, his voice business-like, “that was unfortunate. I’m afraid that no one knows when their log book will run out, and they will be promoted to the real track. Usually it happens when we’ve been here for a while, after we have trained for several years and learnt all sorts of driving skills that will be useful on the real track. Your friend will have realised that his time was short, and that he was not as prepared as perhaps he should have been, which is why he entered that race.”
“But he still didn’t have long enough, did he?” said Toby.
Percy was silent, his lips pressed together, his brow furrowed. “That’s not for us to say,” he said at last.
Toby leant forwards and peered into his mug. There was a centimetre of chocolate remaining, so he lifted his mug and drained the last few drops. It was wonderfully comforting.
“Well, it’s not going to happen to me,” he said, his voice determined. “I’m going to be the best driver I can be, I’m not going to get sidetracked by filling my car with lots of prettiness that just distracts me from my main purpose.” He pushed back his chair and stood up, so that he was looking down at Percy as he announced:
“I am going to join the brown cars.”
For a moment, Percy was silent. Then he said, very quietly in his calm voice: “Very well. I will meet you here next week, and you can tell me how you’re getting on.”
Toby nodded, and marched away. “I’ve got this sussed now,” he told himself, striding away from the refreshment tent. “I’m going to join those brown cars, and train hard, and learn to be ready for the real track. Nothing else will distract me. I’m going to be ready.” It was not until later, that a worrying thought struck Toby. If Percy was his mentor, shouldn’t he know the best way to train? And if so, why was he still at the training ground after all this time?
To be continued. . .
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Percy was standing next to his car, staring at the new dent in the wing. He straightened as Toby approached and smiled.
“Well? Did you enjoy the race?” he asked.
“Oh wow! Yes!” said Toby, “It was the most exciting thing ever.”
He looked at the dent in Percy’s car. “Can that be fixed? You must be angry with those careless drivers—will they be punished somehow?”
“Punished?” said Percy, sounding alarmed. “Goodness no! Drivers do not get punished for bad driving. It doesn’t work like that.”
Percy shook his head. “You have lots to learn Toby,” he said, “let’s get a drink.”
Toby collected his car. A woman was standing, looking at the jaunty angle and the two wheels which were over the line, but she didn’t say anything. Toby’s face was very red as he drove from the car park, and back to the refreshment tent with the striped flags.
They collected steaming mugs of hot chocolate, and found a table near the back. Percy took a sip, then placed his mug very carefully on the table and looked at Toby.
“You asked if drivers are punished,” he said. “Well, that never happens, not directly, not here. This whole place is a training ground, everyone here makes mistakes – some are tiny, some are huge – but we don’t get punished. Life goes on, the opportunity for training continues, right up until we’re called to the real track. Then it’s a bit different, I suppose, though I still don’t think punished is the right word.
“You see, we are allocated cars, and tracks, according to how well we drive. Sometimes a driver has made lots of mistakes, but has become very skilful. Another driver might have made fewer mistakes, but have learnt very little. The better drivers have the better experience at the real track. That’s all. It’s not really punishment. It’s. . . fair, I guess.”
Percy stopped talking and stared at his drink, as if searching for inspiration.
“Anyway, it wasn’t the fault of the driver who dented me,” he said at last. “That driver has a car that’s very difficult to control. Occasionally, the steering wheel simply stops working, and the car zooms out of control, right across the track, crashing into whatever happens to be in the way. We have to learn to avoid them, the driver has to learn how to use his brake and accelerator to bring the car back under control. It isn’t easy. They’ll never be much good, not here on the training circuit, not with those cars. But the skills they’re learning while they struggle to control those cars. . . well. . .”
His voice faded away, and Toby looked at him. Percy’s face had a far-away look, a wistful glimmer in his eye, almost, thought Toby, as if he’s envious of those drivers. Almost as if he wished his own car was as difficult to control.
Toby shook his head. It made no sense to him. He wanted to win races, not struggle to control an unreliable broken old car.
“Shame about that pretty car at the beginning,” said Toby, remembering the spotted car that had lost control at the start of the race. “Was that car hard to control too?”
“No,” said Percy.
Toby looked up, surprised by his mentor’s voice. But Percy’s face was closed, his expression stony. He clearly was not going to elaborate.
Toby told him about Clarissa, wanting to change the subject, not sure if he had inadvertently said the wrong thing by mentioning the spotted car.
“She didn’t seem to know about the real track,” said Toby. “Don’t all the drivers go there, after their training?”
Percy was frowning. “Yes, all drivers go there. But some of them have forgotten, or never seem to care, or perhaps they weren’t told at the beginning, like you were.” He paused. “To be honest, I don’t know why some drivers don’t seem to know or care about the real track. It seems to be one of the choices here, if they don’t want to train for it, they don’t have to. But I don’t understand why – like your friend Clarissa – some of them never seem to know about it in the first place.
“But that doesn’t concern us. Not right now,” said Percy, sitting up straight. “Have you decided? Which group of drivers most interests you? Where do you plan to start your training?”
Toby was holding his hot chocolate with both hands. He took a long drink, wondering whether Percy would approve of his choice, and if he didn’t, whether Percy would try to influence him.
“The shiny, decorated cars,” said Toby over the rim of his cup. He felt that this was somehow the wrong choice, and he was sure that Percy would, in fact, say something negative. But his mentor simply nodded his head.
“Remember that you can change your choice, at any time, if you feel the training isn’t helpful,” said Percy. “Now, let’s plan to meet again, right here – in two weeks? Then you can tell me how you’re getting on.”
Percy nodded at Toby, and stood up, then without another word he walked, slowly, away.
For a moment, Toby sat still, watching his mentor as he made his painful way out of the refreshment tent. Toby felt uncomfortable inside, as if he had made the wrong choice, but also strangely determined to follow his heart. Of all the drivers he had seen, the ones with the shiny cars, with their many accessories, was the group that most attracted Toby. He wanted to be part of that group, he wanted to look like them, be accepted by them. He grinned, his worry dissolving as he thought about the colour and gleam and novelty of what he had seen. He placed his cup on the table, and went to find his car. He was going to be the driver of one of the best cars on the track.
***
Toby arrived at the place where the drivers of the shiny cars met. It was a sunny part of the training ground, an area of grass and tarmac with plenty of space for parking. Toby stopped in one of the wide bays, and stepped from his car. No one looked up when he arrived, so he walked over to where a driver was busy polishing a lime green car.
“Hi,” said Toby, holding out his hand. “I’m Toby, I thought I might join you?”
The driver stared at Toby, looked at the hand being offered, and shrugged. He turned back to his car, and rubbed the yellow duster across the paintwork, adding another layer of polish. While the driver polished, he glanced several times at Toby’s car, as if evaluating it. After a while, he straightened and came back to Toby.
“Your car is new?” he asked.
Toby nodded.
“Looks in nice condition, anyway,” said the driver, nodding his head. “Okay, you can join us – at least for now. Maybe you could look into having a roof design added or something.” He returned to his polishing.
Toby stood watching for a minute, then realised the conversation had ended, and he had – he thought – been accepted into the group. He decided to look around.
One of the main features of the area of shiny cars, was a shop. It was behind the parking area, and had a tall red tower and glass doors that hissed open when he approached. Toby walked inside, then paused, dazzled by the displays. There were golden cages for holding luggage or picnics that could be fitted onto the back of cars (Toby wasn’t sure they would add much to a driver’s speed). They had slim golden bars, and silver locks and the insides were lined with plush red silk.
One wall of the shop was devoted to cans of paint: rainbow paint, sparkling stars paint, paint that would flash, fluffy paint, plus paint of every possible colour. Toby stood, staring at all the cans and displays. He realised his mouth was open and shut it with a swallow.
The middle of the shop had a display of seats. Apparently, all car seats could be replaced with sofas in various colours, or swivel seats (Toby wondered how he would manage to drive if his seat was constantly turning in circles – but perhaps it would make reversing easier.) There was a mountain of cushions, and a great stack of mats to blanket the floor of the car. Toby went across to touch a furry mat, feeling the soft fur slide beneath his fingers.
“That would be a pain to wash if your shoes were dirty,” he thought.
“Oh, but one wouldn’t wear shoes in the car, would one?” said a voice next to him.
Toby realised he must have spoken aloud, and looked down. A tiny man, no taller than Toby’s waist, stood beside him. He smiled up at Toby and held up a fluffy white mat.
“Feel how soft this one is,” he suggested, his voice silky. “Imagine it under your feet, warm and comfy, helping you to relax. See how beautiful it is.”
Toby ran his hand over the mat. It enveloped his hand, was like touching a cloud, so soft he could hardly feel it, yet warm and comforting.
“It would go perfectly with our snow range,” the tiny man was saying, leading Toby across to a display of snowflakes that appeared to be floating down from the ceiling.
“One can attach the snow-maker to the ceiling of the car, they have a special dry-melt feature, so the driver remains dry, but the temperature remains cold. Go on, touch one.”
Toby stretched out his arm, placing his hand under the stream of snowflakes. He felt the feather-light touch of each flake, cold as ice for a second, before it melted away to nothing. When he removed his hand from the flow and looked, it was completely dry.
“They come with dancing lights,” the tiny man was saying. He pressed a switch, and beams of bright light shone from one side, touching the snowflakes so they turned silver, dancing in the breeze like a thousand stars.
“That’s beautiful,” breathed Toby, enchanted.
“They can all be attached to the inside of your car within the week,” the man said. “Shall we choose some seats to match? Something cuddly I think, to make you feel cosy.”
“But,” said Toby, his forehead wrinkling, “won’t they get in the way? The snowflakes I mean. Won’t they distract you when you’re racing? Stop you seeing clearly. Won’t it be a bit. . . dangerous?”
“Racing?” repeated the tiny man, his voice full of distain. “Racing? Well, of course, if one intends to risk spoiling one’s car by racing it, risking dents and damage, worn out tyres and scraped paintwork, then this is not the shop for you!” He stood up on tiptoe, reaching towards Toby’s ear.
“But is that what you really want?” he said, his voice soft and enticing. “Do you want to risk spoiling that car. You’ve only just received it, haven’t you? Don’t you want to make it look lovely, to enjoy it for a while, to enhance it before you start worrying about racing and spoiling it? After all, you’ll probably be here for some time, you have plenty of time to enjoy what you have been given, it seems to me that it would be rude not to. Plenty of time for racing and being rough later. Don’t you think?”
Toby nodded, feeling uncertain. “Well,” he said at last, “perhaps the cushions. If I only buy the cushions, they wouldn’t distract me too much. . . would they?”
They were undoubtedly beautiful. . .
***
The next driver that Toby encountered was the owner of the green and yellow spotted car that he had admired in the race. He found him in a corner of the shiny car section, surrounded by a group of other drivers. They were all staring in dismay at the green and yellow spotted car, which was hardly recognisable under the dents and scratches. In some places the paint had been completely worn away, and jagged metal, harsh and ugly, stuck out at sharp angles.
“Perhaps you could get the dents bashed out and a new spray job,” one driver was suggesting, his foot feeling the curve of a particularly large dent. “If you spend enough money, I’m sure it could be repaired.”
Another driver was shaking his head. He stood very upright, with his arms folded, and Toby could almost feel his disapproval before he spoke.
“That’s the trouble with those races,” the driver was saying. “You spend time and money trying to make your car look nice, and then it’s all wasted on a single race. I told you, I told you not to enter. But would you listen? No! You thought you knew best, and now this has happened. All that time and energy wasted, and all you’re left with is this! This ugly scrap of metal.”
Not waiting for a reply, the angry driver turned sharply round, and stalked away. The other drivers followed him, all shaking their heads, all showing their disapproval.
Toby was left with the driver of the wrecked car, who looked up at him.
“You’re new aren’t you?” he said.
Toby nodded. “Just arrived. Er, sorry about your car. I watched the race, it was exciting, wasn’t it?”
“A little too exciting for me,” said the driver. He glanced towards the departing drivers, who were walking away in a huddle, their voices low, their heads bent.
“It’s all very well for them,” said the driver, his voice very quiet, so Toby had to lean forwards to hear him. “Most of them haven’t been here for very long, they’ve probably got ages and ages with their training cars.”
The driver turned back to face Toby. “The time goes really fast though, you feel like it will never end, and then suddenly you realise you’re driving one of the oldest cars on the circuit, and – ” He bent low, and whispered to Toby, “and you know what that means. It means that you might not have much longer before, you know what.”
“What?” said Toby, feeling confused. “Oh! Do you mean the real track?”
The driver’s face turned very red and he drew back a step. “Shhh! We don’t talk about that here, not so loudly anyway. None of us likes to think it could be, you know, ‘our time’. Not yet.”
“But isn’t it good?” said Toby, even more confused. “I mean, don’t you want to go to the real track?”
The driver looked shocked.
“You do know what happens to your car don’t you? When you leave for the real track – you do know you can’t take your training car with you? Surely they told you that much.”
“Yes,” said Toby, still uncertain what the driver was trying to tell him. “But you won’t need it at the real track, will you? We all get issued with a new car, a real car.”
“But that could be anything,” muttered the driver. “We have no idea whether they’ll be coloured, or have features, or anything.
“And I realise I may not have long, I realise that I needed to improve my driving a little, before I go, before my log book runs out. And so I entered that race, thought I’d give it a try. And now look, look at what happened. All I did was ruin my car. Ruined it.”
Without warning, the driver sank to the ground, put his head into his hands and began to cry. Tears ran down his face and dripped from the edge of his chin, and he sobbed great heaving noisy sobs, as if something wild was living inside of him and trying to break free.
Toby was very unsure of what he should do, so he moved nearer and reached out a hand, and very gently he patted the top of the driver’s head.
“I have some white cushions,” he said, groping for something to say. “Would you like those?”
The driver stopped crying and grabbed Toby’s hand and started to shake it, up and down, very fast. Toby worried his arm might fall off.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” said the driver, his wet face beaming. “That will help so much, can I collect them right now?”
They walked back to Toby’s car, the driver snatched the cushions from the seats and bounded back towards the wreck that he owned. Toby watched as the cushions were placed lovingly inside, positioned on each seat.
“It’s a start, it’s a start,” Toby heard, as he slowly drove away.
“What a very strange man,” thought Toby as he left. “I’ll go and see him tomorrow, and find out if he plans to race again.”
But Toby had no opportunity to see the driver again.
When Toby returned the following day, there seemed to be very few people in the shiny car area. A few cars gleamed in the sunshine, but there was no sign of the drivers. Toby parked next to a particularly pretty blue car, which had fluffy clouds attached to the roof and rainbows that shone down each door. He walked over to the shop, the doors swooshed open and Toby peered inside.
The shop appeared to be empty. The displays shone at him, tempting him inside with their colours and textures, but there were no drivers. Toby started to walk away, when he spied the tiny man, sitting behind a counter.
“Excuse me,” Toby called. “Do you know where everyone has gone?”
The tiny man shook his head, his face somber.
Toby left the shop, and walked along the narrow pathway that led to the back of the area. It was lined with trees, and Toby could hear birds singing, and leaves rustling in the breeze. Sounds of cars drifted towards him from far away, where drivers in other areas were training, or improving their cars. Everything around him was still, and Toby walked on, wondering what had happened. Gradually, as he walked, he became aware of another sound, a low murmur, somewhere ahead. It didn’t sound like an engine, it was less regular, more like the sound of an ocean, of waves crashing onto a beach. He walked towards the sound.
The noise grew louder and Toby realised it was actually several sounds, the sounds of voices and groans and sobs, all merging together to make one single humming noise. He walked on, the noise growing louder and louder with every step, then he rounded a corner, and there were the drivers.
Toby stopped. Ahead of him was a huddle of drivers – he thought perhaps every driver of the shiny cars was there. Their backs were towards him, and they were staring at something, and groaning, and humming and moaning. Some of them seemed to be crying, as Toby saw shoulders shaking and hands being placed on heads in a gesture of despair. Whatever could have happened?
Toby walked forwards, he reached the huddle of drivers, and pushed his way through, squeezing past shoulders and backs, edging to the front of the pack. Then he stopped, and stared, and felt something like horror rise up inside.
In front of him, squeezed and crushed into an ugly cube, was the car of the driver he had spoken to yesterday. It was barely recognisable as a car, only the glimpse of a twisted wheel on one side, the remains of the painted spots at a corner, the deformed steering wheel at the front, made it identifiable.
“What, what happened?” said Toby, his voice no more than a whisper.
“His log book ran out,” answered the driver next to him. “He’s gone, and this is all that’s left of his car.”
“Oh. . .” Toby started to say, relieved, “that’s really nice for him now his training car is such a wreck.” But before he could finish speaking, his words were drowned by the screech and growl of a motor.
The crowd parted, and a large truck roared through the mourning drivers, and stopped next to the crushed car. Toby leaped back out of the way, and watched as the metal cube was hoisted up onto the truck.
Toby wanted to comment, to say how good it was that there was something to clear away the broken training car; he wanted to ask if anyone had managed to say goodbye to the driver before he left—but he didn’t. All around him were sad faces and worried eyes. No one looked as if they wanted to chat.
A driver sobbed, another reached forwards, and gently stroked the jagged metal of the crushed car, before stepping back, out of the way, so the truck could roar away, carrying its load to – where?
“Where are they taking it?” asked Toby.
“From metal you were moulded, to metal you return,” chanted the driver next to him.
“From metal you were moulded, to metal you return,” repeated the other drivers, all speaking in unison, heads bowed, words spoken on low voices.
Toby began to back away.
“Why are they so sad?” he wondered, “Isn’t it a good thing the driver has gone to the real track? What does it matter that his car has been crushed? He doesn’t need it any more, it was only ever meant to be for the training track. . .” Toby took a deep breath. He decided that he needed to find Percy, right now. He could not wait another week, he couldn’t train with these drivers, they didn’t even seem to train, all they wanted to do was decorate their cars so they looked nice. He reached his car, jumped into the driving seat and started the engine. With a lurch forwards – he still hadn’t quite mastered that skill – Toby drove away. He desperately needed to find Percy.
***
Thanks for reading. I will post the next chapter tomorrow.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Toby had almost decided to give up waiting, and to drive around the training ground by himself, when an old brown car purred up beside him. He glanced through the window, and realised that Percy, his mentor, was driving. Percy raised a hand, pointed forwards, and began to drive away. Toby started the engine, and followed.
Percy drove very slowly, and Toby was able to follow him and look around at the same time. They left the refreshment tent, with people coming and going, and drove along a narrow track that was empty of other cars. Every time they reached a corner, Toby clutched the wheel and held his breath, and concentrated hard on staying on the road, but when they drove along straight sections, it was easier to stare at his surroundings.
As they drove, Toby became aware that there were, as Percy had said, groups that were very different to each other. Along the first straight, near to the racing circuit, was a group of very smart cars. They were rainbow-coloured, and shiny, with fat black wheels and bright lights. The drivers stood next to the cars, chatting and laughing, and music floated through the window. Some were adding accessories to their cars; Toby glimpsed a golden chimney being attached to a roof, an animal cage being fitted to a boot, then he had driven past and needed to concentrate on the route Percy was taking.
There was a steep corner to negotiate, and then they passed a group of drivers, all in brown overalls, bending over manuals and looking serious. Their cars were parked, all in a line, looking as austere as the drivers. Toby saw bent bumpers, and rusty wings, and wheels where the tread had worn away to almost nothing. The drivers looked up as Toby passed, and stared for a moment before frowning and looking back at their manuals.
“Not so friendly then. . .” murmured Toby as he drove on.
The next group of drivers all seemed to be very busy. Toby watched someone struggle with a bucket of soapy water that was slopping over the edge as it was carried, and a mechanic with a large spanner, and another driver bending over his open bonnet, checking the oil level. One of them glanced up as Toby passed, and raised a hand, and the driver carrying the water nodded at Toby in a friendly way, before frowning back at the water which had whooshed out of the bucket and wet his shoe. Toby grinned.
Percy was now driving fairly fast, and Toby concentrated on keeping up. They wound their way past a garage, where several cars were being mended, and down to a refuelling station, where a row of cars was waiting in line. They doubled back, behind the refreshment tent, and up to start of the racing circuit. Percy parked his car and came up to speak to Toby.
“You park over there, in the spectator’s car park,” Percy said, pointing to a sign. “I need to get ready for the race now, so I’ll meet you afterwards. Go into the stadium, and someone will show you where to sit.
“It will be good for you to watch the race,” he added, nodding to himself. “Sometimes you can learn more by watching than by actually driving.”
Percy waved his hand, and his car glided away.
Toby lurched forwards, held the steering wheel tightly in his hands, and drove towards the car park sign. There were several spaces, and after a few shuffles, and one very near-miss, Toby managed to shunt his car almost into a space. He got out and stared at his parked car. Two wheels were over the thick white line, and there was enough room at the front to park another car. But Toby decided it was in the space enough, nothing was likely to hit it, and he walked away quickly, hoping that no one had watched him park.
He made his way to the stadium, and another man with a clipboard and long grey hair pointed to a seat, fairly near the back. Toby climbed the steps, edged into the narrow seat, and looked down. He was sitting on a raised seat, high above the race track, and the cars below looked like miniature toy cars. The sounds of revving engines drifted up. Toby stared down at the heads of the other spectators. Far below, near the front, he could see the large hat of Percy’s companion. Toby wondered how Percy would do in the race, he moved so incredibly slowly when he wasn’t in his car, it was difficult to imagine him racing.
Toby crinkled his eyes, and stared very hard at the cars near the start line. There, towards the back, he could see Percy’s brown car, waiting for the starter’s flag. There was some music playing, but it could barely be heard above the din of engines and the tangle of voices and the loud speaker, which was announcing the race, reminding everyone that this was the second training race of the season, and only experienced drivers were taking part. Toby saw the starter take his place, the large flag tucked under one arm, there was a flare, a blast of a siren, the flag waved, and they were off.
A shiny green car shot forwards, closely followed by a blue car with stars painted on the roof. Toby could see Percy’s car, it was passing several slower cars, advancing towards the leaders. A green and yellow spotted car zoomed away from the start line, Toby barely had time to enjoy its colours and the shine of the chrome, when it spun out of control and hit the barrier at the side.
Most of the cars were racing forwards, engines roaring, wheels spinning over the tarmac as the drivers fought to balance speed with control. There were a few near-misses as cars drifted too near to each other. The crowd in the spectator’s stand were shouting, some waving flags, everyone sitting forwards, straining to see.
Suddenly, a red car lurched across the track, almost hitting several other cars, spinning round in circles, crossing the lanes. It was heading towards Percy, and Toby held his breath, sure they would collide. Percy’s car braked hard, losing ground but avoiding the red car which crashed into the barrier and stopped. Percy was immediately back in the race, weaving between cars, making up for the ground he had lost. He had almost reached the blue car, when another car lurched into his pathway, crashing into his side and denting his wing. The lurching car spun three times, skidded on the black tarmac, righted itself and continued. Percy had been shoved into the barrier, but he was facing the right way; with a puff of smoke from the exhaust, he was back in the race. Toby was holding his breath, and he exhaled with a sigh, leaning forwards on his seat, his hands screwed into fists on his lap.
“Come on Percy, come on,” he shouted, bouncing on his seat.
Percy had sped forwards. He was passing the blue car, but a purple car was keeping up, overtaking on the inside. The red car had a clear lead, Percy and the purple were level as they raced after it. A brown car appeared on their tail, drew level with Percy, then dropped back as the back bumper detached from the boot and was dragged along the track, sparks trailing from it, the screech of metal reaching Toby. The brown car limped away to be repaired, the purple car and Percy were level, the red car kept its lead, the flag was lowered, the race was over.
Toby slumped back in his seat. He felt exhausted!
“Wow! That was sooo exciting!” said someone.
Toby turned to look.
The ‘someone’ was sitting next to him. She was leaning forwards in her seat, and all Toby noticed at first was a blur of pink. Then she turned to him, and he noticed eyes that danced and very white straight teeth when she smiled, and brown hair that curled to her shoulders.
“Hello,” said the pink someone. “I’m Clarissa. Are you new?”
“Yes,” said Toby, grinning back. “I’m Toby, and I just arrived this morning.”
“I thought so,” said Clarissa, nodding her head so that all her curls danced and tumbled on her shoulders. “You almost looked like you were taking notes!”
“It was thrilling,” said Toby, thinking about the race. “Who will get promoted to the real track now? Do you know? Is it just the winner or will all the leaders be allowed to go?”
“Real track?” repeated Clarissa, sounding vague. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything about that. . .” her voice faded. Then she said, her smile growing, “Is your car good? Mine is fabulous! I’m still not that good at corners, but I can start and stop just fine, and it’s pink. Pink! Oh, it’s sooo pretty. Is your car nice? Is it shiny? I heard that some people are given old cars, right from the start, I’m sooo glad I didn’t get one of those. I like new and shiny. Don’t you? What’s your fun feature?”
“Fun Feature?” said Toby, “what fun feature? I don’t know what you mean.”
Clarissa looked at him and frowned. “You are funny,” she said, “it’s the best bit about the cars. Each one has a fun feature included – you know, something that serves no real purpose when it comes to the boring driving stuff, but which looks pretty, or is fun to use.”
She leant closer and said in a breathless whisper: “Mine has music.”
“Oh,” said Toby, thinking about his car, and how it had a tendency to lurch when starting. “I hadn’t really thought about it.” He frowned, thinking hard. Then his brow cleared, and he smiled back at Clarissa.
“Bubbles!” he said. “My car has a bubbles button. I wondered how that would be useful.”
“It’s not meant to be useful,” said Clarissa, shaking her head again and giggling. “It’s meant to be fun!”
Toby smiled. “Well, I guess it will be,” he agreed.
“I ought to go and find my mentor now, Percy said he’d meet me after the race, and talk about my training, you know, to help me prepare for the real track. How do you plan to train?”
Clarissa was looking confused again. “Train? Real Track?” she murmured.
“Nope, I intend to enjoy the car I’ve been given and have loads of fun. I don’t have a mentor,” she added, shaking her head. “Perhaps not everyone needs one.”
Toby felt himself blush. He wasn’t sure that he liked the idea of needing a mentor if others didn’t. Then he remembered his rather crooked parking, and the way his car lurched, and how he nearly missed the road every time he turned a corner, and he grinned.
“Well,” he conceded, I do have a bit of technique to learn.”
Clarissa was standing up, and Toby noticed a very slim waist, and a waft of flowery perfume.
“Maybe catch you later,” she called over her shoulder. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Toby with the bubbles button and the mentor.”
Toby watched Clarissa as she skipped down the steps. He liked the way her hair bounced, and he thought that perhaps her idea of enjoying her car and having lots of fun was not such a bad one. Then he stood, and stretched his back, and followed the line of people descending towards the track. It was time to try and find Percy.
****
Thank you for reading. I will post the next chapter tomorrow.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Toby arrived at the training ground on a Wednesday, which was rather a good day to arrive because all the drivers were preparing for a race. Toby could feel a knot of excitement in his tummy, as he drove he stroked the steering wheel of his car.
“I’ve been issued with my car,” his mind sang. “My very own car! I own a car! I have my own. . . Oops!”
Toby stopped singing and clutched the wheel very tightly as his front bumper skimmed the edge of a cone that had been placed on the corner of the road. He turned the wheel quickly and too fast, nearly driving off the edge of the road. Gasping, he turned the wheel the other way, almost driving into a long yellow car that was passing him. The driver of the yellow car honked his horn before gliding past.
Toby giggled. “Not quite got the hang of driving yet,” he whispered, “but it will come, it will come.”
The racing circuit stretched out next to the road. At the moment it was being prepared for a race, with flags being raised and seats being cleaned. Toby noticed a brass band unpacking, and a man sorting great black cables that looked like giant snakes and were probably part of the sound system.
He drove slowly along the perimeter of the racing circuit, avoiding people rolling fat tyres, and mechanics dressed in grey overalls splattered in oil, and important looking souls striding around with clipboards.
He edged his car towards one end of the circuit, where a group of people were standing together in front of some monitors. As Toby approached, a tall man with grey hair that reached his shoulders noticed him, and waved his hands to stop the car.
Toby pressed the brake, and the car stopped, but not until it was well passed the man. Toby sighed, swivelling in his seat so he could see behind him, reversing the car. He managed to stop slightly too far ahead of the man. Very slowly, his foot hovering over the brake pedal, Toby edged forwards. He stopped, with a jolt, level with the man.
“You must be Toby?” said the man, glancing towards the monitors before staring at Toby very hard with his grey eyes. A lone bubble floated in the air above him, and sank slowly out of view.
Toby looked up at the man and felt suddenly worried, aware that this man was someone important and perhaps Toby should have known that and not approached him quite so boldly. Another bubble had replaced the first, and was drifting on the air towards the man’s head. The man was still staring at Toby, his long neck craning towards Toby, his mouth a thin line of disapproval. He seemed oblivious to the bubbles. Toby nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m Toby.”
“You’ve been allocated a mentor,” said the man, looking cross. “You’ll find him over by the refreshment tent; ask for Percy.”
“A mentor?” repeated Toby, confused. He hadn’t realised they would be expecting him, he had hoped to simply watch and try to work out for himself what was happening.
“Yes,” the man was saying, “a mentor.”
Several bubbles were now floating around the man, the sunlight giving them rainbow patterns as they drifted down. One landed on the man, popping in a miniature shower of soap droplets. The man glanced up, looked at Toby and scowled.
“I realise you haven’t had time to learn your car yet, but could you do something about these bubbles? Hardly the right time for them, is it?”
“Me?” said Toby, wondering why the man would think he had any control over the bubbles. Did he expect Toby to get out and start popping bubbles?
The man sighed – an exasperated rush of air – and pointed behind Toby’s car.
Toby turned, and was surprised to see a whole shower of bubbles—tiny dancing bubbles, great swollen floating bubbles, groups of bubbles that clung to each other as though in a family, lone bubbles that drifted independently—all seemingly being pumped from the rear of his car.
“That switch?” said the man, nodding towards a red button on the dashboard.
Toby pressed it, and the bubbles stopped appearing. The few remaining bubbles continued to float on the air, a lazy drift towards the ground.
“That’s better,” said the man. “Now, your mentor. Someone to explain things and help you to improve. You do want to improve, don’t you? You want to be accepted?” The man was frowning now, beginning to look seriously cross.
Toby nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. Great. Thanks.”
The man stepped back, obviously expecting Toby to leave. Toby released the brake and eased the car forwards, heading towards the refreshment tent with its red and yellow striped flags.
As he drove, Toby noticed the sights and smells and sounds of the racetrack as they seeped through his open window. On his left were the stands—row after row of seats, each row slightly raised so that the back row was almost floating in the sky. Toby doubted that anyone would see very much from the back row, but perhaps simply being there, watching the race and listening to the noise would be exciting enough. The stands were almost empty, only the first few rows beginning to fill as the spectators arrived. It was still very early, and the people arriving would have a very long wait before the race began.
On his right, Toby could see the circuit, a wide expanse of black tarmac scarred with tyre marks. There was a small white fence between the track and the small road that Toby was on, but he could almost imagine he was part of the same circuit, that he was making his way to the start-line, about to compete in his first race. He imagined the cheers, people shouting his name, the car underneath him growling in impatience to speed along the track, his fingers clenched the steering wheel, his foot hovering over the accelerator. . .
Then someone stepped into his path, and Toby had to brake suddenly, and his daydream finished.
Toby sighed. He wondered how long it would be before he entered his first race. He knew that some drivers had to wait years and years, and he frowned. He hoped he would be one of the lucky ones, and that perhaps in a few short weeks he would be whizzing around that circuit, learning new skills, testing his ability against other trainee drivers.
He was almost at the refreshment tent now. The tent had flaps that were drawn wide, revealing small round tables inside, where people rested glasses of beer and mugs of cocoa. A woman in a very large hat covered in daisies was leaving, walking carefully over the grass in her high-heeled shoes, calling to someone behind her.
“Do hurry Percy dear, or I shall have to scramble for my seat with everyone else. I do like to be settled before most people arrive.”
“Percy?” thought Toby. “Percy was the name of my mentor.”
He stopped the car and leaned forwards on his seat, waiting for Percy to emerge. Would he be very large, wearing a leather jacket and driving goggles, like drivers from the past? Or would he be in tight jeans and a tee-shirt, with long hair and a wicked smile, like some of the wild drivers he had heard about? Toby rather hoped that his mentor would be one of the wild drivers, full of skill and daring, not afraid to take risks, a little frightening but admired by everyone for the speed at which they spun corners and raced the straights.
The daisy-hat woman had stopped walking, and Toby peered round her, staring hard into the gloom of the tent. But he couldn’t see who Percy was, because there was an old man in the way, a tall thin man who walked with a stoop and leaned heavily on a stick.
Toby sighed in frustration, waiting for the man to pass, so that he could see his mentor.
The old man made his way from the tent. He walked very slowly, as if worried something might break, using his stick almost like another leg. Step, move the stick, lean on the stick, step, move the stick, lean on the stick, step.
It was almost unbearably slow, and Toby felt like screaming. He was at the training ground, and for Toby that meant speed and daring, learning skills so that he could drive even faster. It was not about waiting, for what felt like several hours, while a stooped old man inched his way closer. Toby tried to peer round him, searching for a sign of his mentor, when, horror of horrors, the old man glanced up at the woman, and pointed at Toby and said: “He’s here. Go ahead without me.”
Toby gasped. Could this old man, this slow old man be his mentor? What could he possibly teach Toby about how to get the fastest speeds from his car?
By the time the man reached him, Toby was scowling. The elderly man leant down, and peered in the window. He smiled, and Toby saw yellow teeth and watery eyes. He felt something heavy lodge in the base of his stomach, and sit there, cold and heavy and full of disappointment.
“Hello Toby,” said the old man, meeting his eyes. “I can tell from your face that you weren’t expecting me, you were expecting someone young and colourful and fast?” He didn’t bother to wait for Toby to reply, he simply smiled and shook his head.
“First lesson,” he continued, “don’t judge a driver by his appearance. I know I look old and slow. I am old and slow. But put me into a car, and I’ll leave you standing at the start line while I finish the race!”
Toby felt his face turn red. “I wasn’t, I mean, I didn’t think. . .” he began to stammer.
“Yes, you did,” said the man – Percy – but his voice was calm, he sounded more amused than annoyed, even though he was correcting Toby, letting him know that he was wrong.
Toby wasn’t sure that he liked being corrected, but there was something about the way Percy spoke, about his complete assurance, that was somehow comforting. Toby began to wonder if perhaps this driver could, after all, teach him to drive faster.
“Now then,” said the man, leaning on his stick and turning his head away. “My car is parked round the back. You wait here, and then when I come back, follow me.” He grinned, flashing those yellow teeth at Toby again. “Don’t you worry, I’ll make sure you can keep up!
“I want to take you for a quick tour of the training ground. You’ll see that there are all kinds of drivers, and all kinds of cars. No one gets to choose the type of car they’re given, but how you use it is up to you, and drivers vary in how they think it’s best to behave.
“Drivers tend to keep close to drivers who think the same as they do, so as we drive around, you’ll begin to spot the different training methods. Each type of driver has a special area, their training area. It has a training track to help drivers prepare for the racing circuit, and of course that helps you to prepare for the real track. Which is what it’s all about!”
He glanced at Toby, who felt as if he was standing under a waterfall of words, and he didn’t understand any of them.
Toby must have looked as confused as he felt, because Percy stopped talking and patted his arm.
“Never mind about understanding it all now, it will be obvious when you’ve seen it for yourself. Let’s start with a little drive around.
“When you’ve seen it all, looked at all the groups of drivers, seen how they have decided to train, I want you to choose.”
“Choose?” repeated Toby, not quite sure what he was being told.
“Yes, choose,” said his mentor. “It’s up to you, like I said, you can choose how you want to train. You can choose which group you want to belong to. You can always switch, of course, if you realise you’ve made a mistake.”
“Switch?” said Toby.
“Yes, if you change your mind,” said his mentor, nodding his head, his lips pressed together.
As if, thought Toby, he expected Toby to change his mind.
“You see, it can be hard at first glance, to know who has the best training method. Everyone is here for the same reason, we all want to be the very best drivers that we can be, and to improve our speed and skills, ready for the real track.
“No one knows for sure how long their training will be, that’s all decided by The Engineer. But everyone wants to be ready. We don’t know exactly what the real track is like, but we do know that the best drivers will get the best cars, and the most interesting route. No one wants to end up being given a bus that can’t turn corners or make it up hills! Do they lad? Think how awful that would be!”
Toby nodded, but he was not quite sure what the old man was talking about. He had heard of the real track of course, everyone had. And he did know, sort of, that he was at the training circuit so he could improve his skills ready for the real track. But if he was honest, simply arriving, and being given a car—his own car!—well, that was exciting enough in itself. That had rather focussed his thoughts on the present, on what was happening now. He had, he was forced to admit, forgotten for the moment what it was all about.
But Toby did not feel inclined to explain all this to an old man with yellow teeth. Instead, he nodded, trying to look both wise and bored, as if to show that the man was telling him nothing that he didn’t already know.
The mentor grinned, and flashed a look at Toby that conveyed he knew exactly what the young driver had been thinking.
“Now, you wait here, I’ll collect my car. We’ll have a short drive around, then get back for the race. You can watch, try to spot some of the groups of drivers, decide how you want to train. We can talk properly after the race.” He patted the top of the car, and began his slow walk back towards the tent. Step, move the stick, lean on the stick, step. . .
Toby watched him go, yawned, and closed his eyes. This was not going to be quick.
He opened his eyes. Percy had moved about an inch. Toby sighed, reached forwards and pressed the red button on his dashboard. When he turned to look, bubbles of all shapes and sizes were being pumped from the back of the car. Now what, wondered Toby, could possibly be the point of the bubbles?
*****
Thank you for reading. I will post the next chapter tomorrow, please share with anyone you know who might enjoy a story.
Thank you for reading
anneethompson.com
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
Anne E Thompson 