Jett’s lips twitched upwards and he reached for her face, but realised his hand was coated in silvery, grey grease. She noticed his hesitation and cupped his hand in hers, bringing it against the cool skin of her cheek anyway. ‘You ruined my life a long time ago,’ he said. ‘You ruined every date I tried to go on, every woman I tried to convince myself was attractive, every night I tried to drift off to sleep peacefully ...’
‘I knew it,’ she said. ‘I knew you used to think about me naked!’
He ignored her. ‘And now you’ve ruined this car’s second chance at life by driving it unlicensed and with no concept of how—’
‘Oh yeah, about that ...’ She stuck a hand in her back pocket and produced a small plastic card. ‘It’s not fake,’ she said, as he squinted.
‘I can tell it’s real – that’s the ugliest photo of you I’ve ever seen.’
‘I know.’ She puffed her chest proudly.
‘Really, Nella, you look hideous. Did they deliberately set the camera filter on serial killer gre—?’
Her mouth stopped his last word and he felt the dry, drought-cracked ground crumble beneath them. He tasted the coffee she’d had on the drive; he met the fierceness of her tongue with his own. It was impossible that she’d missed this as much as him. It was impossible that she was here now. The groan in her throat was thunder to the storm brewing between them. The feeling within them was stirring the black clouds of their souls.
When they pulled apart, Nella’s face was twisted with concern. ‘What will you do in Bindi Bindi?’
‘I’ll work for Clarkson’s dad’s company.’ The answer came out of his mouth before his brain had sifted through those old records of memory. ‘He needs someone to take over the driving – he’s got no one else. He’ll have been throwing money away these past six months.’ Jett was rambling, a car with no tread, skidding on a gravel road. In the back of his mind, deep in the attic, had he secretly been plotting a way to return? A job, a life he could call his own? ‘Unless,’ he said, taking her in, ‘you’d rather I stayed and worked for you?’
‘What use do I have for a driver when I am now a certified Lewis Hamilton?’ Nella waved him away, her eyes sparkling.
‘Nice try. What was that, the top hit for Google search:who is the most famous race car driver?’
‘Sports cardriver, thank you. And I don’t want you to work for me. I don’t care where you work, although I think working for Mr Lieu is the most amazing choice if you do decide it’s the right thing for you. But it’s your decision. It’s still your life. I just want you to drive home to me.’
There was more she wanted to say, he knew. There would always be more Nella Barbarani wanted to say. And there were things he needed to tell her too – pieces of him he’d been picking up off the attic floor, unsure where to place. But that time would come and they’d pick up the pieces together, one by one. But it would be in the same house, in the light of the day, not in the windowless, suffocating darkness.
Because now,this, him and Nella, was home.
