Page 49 of The Fast Track

Before I can wonder what Cameron’s mother could possibly need from here, a woman with salt-and-pepper hair waves at us through one of the open windows. “Yoo-hoo!”

“Nan?” The shock in his voice is comical. “Mum said you left this morning.”

“We got as far as Liverpool when your granddad realized he forgot his medicine.” The woman lowers her head and squints at us. “Who’ve you got there? Is that a girl? Don’t just stand there; invite her in before she freezes!”

“It’s nineteen degrees. No one is freezing,” Cameronprotests, but she’s already disappeared from the window.

He groans, running his hand over his face.

“Are we… at your grandparents’ house?” I ask tentatively. It’s so far from the stately country house with a garage of Aston Martins I imagined that I wonder if there’s something I’m misunderstanding.

He stiffens beneath my arms, still wrapped around his waist. Then he draws in a deep breath. “I grew up here, actually. It’s my childhood home. Me, my parents, my grandparents.”

I’m glad he’s facing forward on the bike so he can’t see how startled I am.

I always assumed Cameron was, if not a bajillionaire’s son, at minimum from a well-to-do family. He looks so at home hanging out with Pat and Georgios, I never thought for a second he didn’t grow up in their world.

But.

I think of all the tedious trainings Orbital puts us through. How Cameron pays full attention and takes scrupulous notes while everyone else dozes off. How he’s studying for A-levels. How he shared a bathroom with his sister growing up. How he winces at overpriced bar drinks when most of the guys don’t even look at the check.

Somehow, I’ve missed that he, in his own way, is as much of an outsider as I am.

“I never knew” is all I can think of to say. Before I joined Orbital, I researched (stalked) every single driver on the F3 grid. I must have read hundreds of articles featuring Cameron,down to a ten-year-oldNorthampton Chroniclepiece about his local karting feats. Not a single one mentioned his humble beginnings.

He turns and looks at me over his shoulder. “Why would you? It’s not like I make a point of talking about it.”

“But you’re always dressed so…” I motion at the designer calfskin band around his smartwatch.

“Brands send me free stuff. I haven’t got a thousand quid to burn on something like this.” His laugh is humorless, tinged with longing. “What you said the other day, about feeling like you don’t belong, that’s how I used to feel when I was starting out and meeting Pat and Grayson with their yachts and holiday homes.”

He’s still looking at me. A lock of hair falls over his eyes.

I have to work very, very hard to keep from reaching out and brushing it back. “Thank you for telling me.”

Before I can say more—that I get it, that I misjudged him—the front door bangs open. Nana Evans strides briskly toward us. “Absolutely horrific manners!”

I don’t know if she’s shouting at me or Cameron, so I quickly drop my hands from his waist and scoot backward.

She comes to a stop on the sidewalk next to us, hands on her hips. “You must be Justine!” She glances at Cameron. “This is your female teammate, innit?”

“The one and only,” he says.

“Have you lot had dinner yet?” she asks.

I shake my head at the same time Cameron nods.

She tuts and swats him on the arm with her spatula. “Where are your manners?” Then she waves at me. “Come on, love, let’s get you inside. I’m so keen to hear more about you.”

“Nan,” he groans, but he’s glowing in a way that can’t hide how much he loves her.

I hop off the motorcycle. With some pointed grumping, Cameron gets off after me. Nana Evans ushers us into the house, chattering the entire way. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve been hearing so much about you from Ron-Ron!”

My lips twitch. Cameron’s ears have gone scarlet.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” he mutters. “I’m sure you’d rather eat at a proper restaurant.”

“I’d like to eat here, actually, if you don’t mind.” I want to see where he grew up. I want to see his awkward prepubescent photos andStar Warssheets. Now that the entire mental picture I have of him has been tossed out the window, I want to see the real him.