As I walk through the main door, I see the room is already buzzing with people. A waiter in a suit, standing by the door, hands me a complimentary glass of bubbly, which I take gratefully. A bit of liquid courage.
I know it sounds a bit crazy for me to be so nervous about seeing a car, but this car represents and holds most of my best memories with my dad. So the thought of seeing it leaves me feeling a little shaky.
I haven’t seen his car since my mum sold it at the charity auction, right before we left England to move to Brazil. I was so angry with her at the time. The others, I could let go of, but this one, this was our car. In this car, he took her out on their first date, he drove them away from the church after they’d gotten married, he took me to my first day of school. He always took me out in that car every chance he could, just for a drive.
He loved that car. He’d bought it as a wreck and restored it. That car was an extension of him, our family, everything that he represented.
It took me a long time to realize why my mum had gotten rid of it. Having it would have been a constant reminder of everything she had lost.
And after meeting Carrick and having him in my life, even for a small portion, I understand it even more.
I look down at the pamphlet, looking for my dad’s car. I want to see the others, but I need to see his first.
It’s in the center showing. Looks to be one of the main attractions here.
I fold the pamphlet and put it in my bag. Then, I down the bubbly. I give my empty glass back to the waiter, thanking him. I take a deep breath and make my way to my dad’s car.
I glance at other cars as I pass, noting which ones I’m going to come back and pay more attention to, but my focus is on the black Jaguar XK120 M Roadster that I can see on the podium up ahead.
My heart starts to beat faster with each step I take.
It hasn’t changed. It looks exactly the same, and it’s as pristine as ever. The wheel trims are still painted bright red to match the red interior lining and red leather seats.
It looks like it hasn’t been touched since the day it left my family.
As I move near it, I press my hand to my beating heart.
There’s a placard in front of the podium, asking people not to touch the car. Then, another one is beside it, detailing the car’s history with my father’s name right at the top. It briefly talks about how he restored the car and how he had it up until his death in 1991. Then, it was bought at an auction and has remained in this collection ever since.
I take a step closer to the car. I can smell the fresh wax coming from the paintwork. I quickly glance around to see if anyone is watching, and then I gently touch my fingers to the car. The memory of the last time I was in it with him comes back to me like it was only yesterday.
“Come on, Dad. Drive faster!” I said over the sound of the breeze whipping through my hair. “You’re driving like an old-aged pensioner!”
“I’m doing seventy.” He laughed.
“Like I said, driving like a pensioner. How can the world’s number one racing driver go this slow? Seriously, how do you win your races again?” I was winding him up to get my own way. I knew just how to play him to get what I wanted. He was so easy, my dad.
He slid me a glance and grinned.
I loved his smile. There was just something about it that always told me just how much he loved me.
“Fine.” He gave a little huff. “Just don’t tell your mother I was speeding again with you in the car because she’ll have my arse—head,” he quickly corrected. “She’ll have my head if she finds out.”
I giggled at his slip up. “My lips are sealed.”
I did the lock-and-key action and pretended to toss the key out of the car, making him chuckle.
“Seriously, I just don’t get why Mum hates you driving fast, why she worries so much. It’s your job, for God’s sake.”
“And that’s why she doesn’t like it.”
I gave him a funny look.
He cast me a look and smiled. “She worries because she loves me.”
“I don’t worry.”
He gave a soft laugh before looking back to the road. “It’s different for your mother. One day, when you’re a grown woman and you have a man of your own—preferably when I’m senile, blind, and deaf—then you’ll understand.”
“Ugh! God, Dad!” I squealed, shoving him in the arm, causing him to laugh loudly. “I’m never going to have a boyfriend,” I told him huffily, folding my arms over my chest. “Boys are idiots.”
He looked at me again, tension in his brow. “That kid Patrick still giving you a hard time?”
Ugh, Patrick Webber, the bane of my existence. Seriously, the guy wound me up all the time. Constantly going on about how tall I was, calling me lanky and saying I was like a boy just because I was into cars. Honestly, one of these days, I was going to punch him right in his perfect nose.
“Nothing I can’t handle.” I shrugged.
“Well, if it gets to be too much to handle, you tell me, and I’ll sort him, okay?” My dad chucked my chin with his finger.
I smiled back at him. “Okay, Daddy.”
He looked back to the road.
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“I just…I want you to know that I don’t worry like Mum does when you drive ’cause I know you’re the best driver in the whole world. Not because I don’t love you.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Then, he reached over and put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me to him. He kissed the top of my head. “I know, kiddo. I love you, too. And you’re right. I am the best driver in the world.” I could hear the grin in his voice. “So, are we taking this baby up to maximum speed or what?” he said, releasing me as he turned onto a stretch of clear country lane.