The McCabe Girls Complete Collection: Cat, Fen, Pip, Home Truths. Freya North

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      STAGE 6

      Pradier-Bordeaux. 215 kilometres

      ‘Are you OK, Cat?’ Josh asked, handing her a can of Minute Maid orange juice at the Pradier village. ‘You look shagged.’

      Cat couldn’t even be bothered to muse upon the irony to herself. ‘I didn’t sleep well,’ she told Josh.

      ‘Are you homesick?’ Josh asked gently.

      ‘Homesick?’ Cat retorted, banishing an intrusive image of her sisters from her mind. ‘No way. Not at all.’

       Go away, Django. Derbyshire, be gone!

      ‘I am,’ said Josh, ‘I miss my wife and my dog.’

       Oh Josh, why don’t I just tell you that again I feel I shouldn’t be here, that I feel a little fragile, that it’s exhausting to feel I’m constantly swinging from new confidence back down to plain old inconsequential.

      Cat had no need to tell Josh any of this. He saw a tear smudge across her right eye and decided not to pry in case she broke down right then and there, in the middle of the village, twenty minutes before Stage 6 began, twenty yards away from five times Tour winner Bernard Hinault. But he did lay a hand on her arm and give it a conciliatory squeeze which made both of them feel a little better.

      ‘Let’s try and get behind a breakaway today,’ Josh suggested. ‘I’ll put money on some loopy Italian fucker going for broke.’

      ‘Look! There’s Vasily,’ Cat cooed, welcoming the all-encompassing distraction of the tall Russian tottering his bike through the throng of VIPs and media. They watched him ride to the barber’s booth where two other racers were having their hair cut.

      ‘Have you met Jawlensky?’ Josh asked her. Cat shook her head. ‘Come on, I’ll introduce you, he’s lovely.’ Cat looked at Josh and beamed. ‘Were you too tired to put your top on the right way round?’ Josh continued with a grin. Cat was horrified. Not only was her top inside out, it was back to front too. ‘Go and change,’ Josh said. ‘I assume you want to make an impression on Jawlensky – and the information that you’re a small, Dorothy Perkins, wash separately, no tumble dry, kind of girl might detract from your journalistic credentials.’

      Cat went hastily to the women’s portaloo, smiling to herself that a Banesto rider came out of it with not so much as a shrug of apology, let alone a glimmer of embarrassment. If the men’s loos were engaged, why shouldn’t a rider have priority for any cubicle currently vacant?

      Pro cyclists really do have the most uncouth urinary proclivities, Cat mused to herself as she took off her top, hitting her elbow against the formica partition and crying ‘merde!’ It’s a perverse reworking of Pavlov’s theory. Prior to the final départ bell, riders naturally use the conventional facilities – regardless of the gender ascribed to a cubicle. As soon as the bell has sounded, even if they’ve just emptied their bladders, the boys piss everywhere and in full view. Maybe Maillot would like a wry little piece about that? I’ll call them later.

      Cat righted her top, cleared her throat, tucked her hair behind her ears and wondered if the Tour barbers could trim her fringe. She gave herself a supportive smile. She was going to be introduced to Vasily Jawlensky and she was more than ready to meet him.

      She was not ready, however, to bump into Ben. But there he was, talking to Emma O’Reilly and Rachel, the two soigneurs and the doctor right in Cat’s path. It was impossible to pretend she hadn’t seen them, especially with Rachel calling to her. Cat waved swiftly and tapped at her watch and her brow to justify what she hoped was a plausible exit. At the entrance to the village a few metres later, a hand caught her by the shoulder.

      ‘Cat?’

      Ben, of course.

      ‘Oh,’ Cat said, not establishing eye contact, ‘I can’t talk, I’m expected elsewhere.’

      ‘Where were you?’ Ben asked with a hint of rejection which made Cat want to hit him.

      ‘Where were you?’ she countered, brandishing her pass at the sentries on watch at the village entrance. Ben, of course, had a pass too.

      ‘I was waiting for you,’ Ben said, following her through, ‘I thought we had a date?’

      Cat stopped, turned, and regarded him directly, wishing he wasn’t so handsome, nor that she should so crave a kiss right there and then. ‘You,’ she declared, ‘can have too much of a good thing.’ It irritated her that he should stare back and look perplexed.

       Don’t play with me, Dr York.

      ‘Now excuse me,’ she ordered, turning and marching purposefully СКАЧАТЬ