The Race is On

Will Lisa come out on top?

The only method of PROPULSION is GRAVITY and a good hard shove

Tonight I have four large men crammed into my garage. They’re not out there preparing to start some home improvements. No, they’re out there building some kind of go-kart, of all things.

My son and daughter have joined in too. Harry, my youngest, has turned into their tea boy. I sit in the kitchen nursing a glass of white wine and reading a magazine while he fills the kettle.

“It’s going really well tonight, Mum,” he reports since this isn’t the first evening this go-kart build has taken place.

“That’s good,” I reply while wondering if I’d look good in a leather coat a model is wearing in my magazine. I peer a little harder at the page. She has some lovely boots on, too.

“We’re going for a test run in a minute,” Harry adds excitedly. “Another one? That’s nice.” No, the coat will be far too long. It’ll drag round my ankles. And those boots will be too warm for a sweltering August. “Mum! Are you listening to me?” “Yes, of course I am.” The kart will race down the hill of our local high street on Sunday the twelfth during the annual Soap Box Derby. Apparently, when this wonderful sport began that’s what the karts were made from – old packing crates. Any local business can enter the contest.

My husband, Dan, is leading the team of plumbers he employs this year. He wants the kart to reflect his business as a bit of free publicity which is why he’s made it out of a modified (and shortened) plastic bathtub.

“Is your sister still drooling over Noah out there?” I ask my son in the kitchen. He pulls a face. “Yes.” She has a bit of a thing for him. That’s fifteen-year-olds for you.

“Oh well – he’s a nice enough lad, I suppose, isn’t he?”

Harry’s disgusted expression dials itself up to eleven.

“Are you going to come out and have a look?” he suggests.

At the kart, I assume he means, not his sister worshipping a lanky, floppy-fringed plumber’s apprentice.

“Mmm. Maybe later.” I turn a page of my magazine as he carries on making his fellow workers their refreshments.

Have you ever seen a bathtub roll down a pavement? I bet you haven’t but it happens so often in our street, our neighbours don’t take any notice. Lately, I swear, Dan’s building that kart in his sleep. Every evening he comes in from tinkering with it and collapses into bed.

One night, after nodding off, he’d definitely muttered, “The jump’s coming up. The jump. The jump.” The organisers are adding a small one to the course this year to make things more exciting. Though from what I’ve heard, contestants have the option of driving round it if they don’t mind adding a few extra seconds to their time.

“I’m sure there were five men in my garage,” I murmur as I watch it go from the door when I step out to water the front garden. Only three of them are helping to push the kart round tonight, Gavin, Noah and Dan himself.

Harry sits at the wheel on the seat bolted to the bottom of the kart. The contraption doesn’t have any pedals like a bike. The only method of propulsion allowed on the day is gravity and a quick, hard shove from your team mates.

Out on the pavement, young Noah staggers aside. His face has a turned a rather sickly shade of green. Dan goes trotting back to him as my love-struck daughter rushes over to offer first-aid too.

Then Noah does something not very nice on the grass. I won’t describe it but the tea Harry made definitely hadn’t settled very well.

Noah has that bug that’s going round,” Harry reports when he finds me in the kitchen minutes later. I stand loading the washing machine. “Dad’s driving him home. Jack and Rob have got it, too. That’s why they weren’t here yesterday – or today either.”

“I wondered where they’d got to,” I say as I shove whites into the washer’s drum.

“Didn’t Dad tell you? You do talk to Dad, don’t you, Mum?”

I rummage under the sink for the washing powder. “Of course I do.”

“Anyway,” he goes on. “That means only Gavin, me, Dad and Lucy will be going to the race on Sunday now.” “Well, isn’t that plenty?” He grimaces. “Actually, Gavin said he felt a bit queasy before he went home.”

A full scale summer epidemic has struck half our town. Its spread across the country, news of it has even hit all the tabloids. I’ll be washing everything down with bleach at this rate. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Harry looks worried nonetheless – more worried than he ought to, really.

The race is only two days away, I remind myself. Soon, he’ll have nothing to worry about.

“There is one good thing,” he says. “It looks like I might be driving on the day now, with Dad. You have to have two drivers – one for each heat. That’s the rules, you see.”

“Oh, great.” I smile. “I’ll watch you from the crowd and wave.”

He frowns at my words, though I have no clear idea why.

Sunday morning finally arrives. Only poor Harry has locked himself in the bathroom. “Ugh.” His moans echo from inside.

He hasn’t kept a morsel of food down all morning.

His sister is locked in the downstairs’ loo making similar noises. The local plague is rife in their school and is felling pupils like trees in a wood.

“I had noticed you’d taken NOT BEING INVOLVED to a new level”

I stand in the kitchen as Dan wanders up and down, his mobile pressed to his ear. “No, no, you look after yourself, Gavin. Don’t worry about it. Bye now.”

He tucks away his phone and frowns. “It looks like it’ll be just me…and you… in the race today. Gavin’s sick as well. I’ll have to call my mum and ask her to come over and look after the kids. She’d better bring a face mask and some rubber gloves with her, I think.”

“Sorry?” I blink, latching onto the first past of his sentence. “What do you mean ‘in’ the race?” “Well, I’ll need a new second driver.” I shake my head. “No. No, this isn’t my thing. It’s yours. I’m not involved.” His grimace turns his face to stone. “No, you’re not, are you? I had noticed how lately you’ve taken ‘not being involved’ to a whole new level. You didn’t even bring us any drinks out. You’ve never even taken a proper look at the kart. Only the thing is, I need you on my team now.”

Love, honour… and drive in a soap-box derby? I get the impression he thinks that ought to have been into our vows.

“Make up your mind. If you’re coming, I’ll need to push you round the street a few times so you can get a feel for how the kart handles.” “Oh… er… erm…” The expression on his face as I dither finally makes the decision for me. I’ve never seen him look so disgusted… and, believe me, as a plumber he’s seen some pretty disgusting sights.

What am I worried about? I’ve had ten minutes training. Actually, that isn’t at the forefront of my mind as we drive into town with the kart in the back of Dan’s van. Instead, I examine my own lack of interest in my husband lately. Then I recall my son’s words from days ago. You do talk to Dad, don’t you, Mum?

If my marriage is a kart does it have four flat tyres? Instead of a jump, has it met a huge bump in the road?

Before I reach any conclusions, Dan turns into the car park by the church. There everybody’s unloading their efforts. I can see a kart shaped like a magic carpet complete with decorative fringes. Another’s modelled to look like a rocket.

“I’ll help you unload,” I say to Dan as he finds a place to draw in. I begin to overdo trying to be helpful and he sends me a withering gaze as if thinking, too little, too late.

After unloading, we walk the course. Bordered by hay bales to protect the crowds, the road slopes down into the wide marketplace below.

“You’ll be driving first,” Dan tells me. “Try not to crash. Try to remember how much work we’ve put in… without you.” Point taken, I think and clear my throat. “I do love you, you know.” “Do you?” His question leaves me breathless. If he isn’ t sure whether you love him at all, then this isn’ t a hum pin the road. This is more like… Ever est.

I’ll be good. I’ll be fine. I’ll drive just like The Stig,” I insist after the race starts and kart after kart goes whizzing down the hill trying to be the fastest. The gathered crowd yells and screams encouragement at each and every one.

Dan jams a crash helmet on my head. His kart stands in line, waiting to go. “Get in,” he tells me. I clamber into the seat and he fastens my seat belt. My blood roars in my ears. I haven’t felt so nervous in years but it isn’t the race that’s scaring me witless.

As Dan and the marshals in high-vis vests push me to the starting line, the compère of the event scuttles over. His voice booms all down the course as he speaks into a microphone. “It’s the turn of number fourteen. Driving the first heat for Dawson’s the plumbers is…”

“…Lisa,” I tag on when he waves the mike under the chin-strap of my helmet. “Nice bath!” He smiles. “Yes, my husband, my family and his friends made it. They couldn’t be here today. They all have the lurgy.”

“Oh dear.” He backs away as if I might be contagious.

“I’m driving for them,” I yell anyway. “And for Dan my husband… because he asked me to… and because I love him… completely and utterly with every fibre of my being.” As I gush, the compère recoils even further. Not that I care, I only have eyes for Dan. His lips quirk up into a smile. Well, I have just declared my love for him to a couple of hundred spectators. He leans down to me. The crowd’s appreciative whoop booms in my ears as I give him the best kiss I think I’ve ever managed. As our lips part he says, “Don’t risk the jump. Go around and stay safe.” Staysafe – his concerned words echo in my mind as a hooter blares and he gives the tub a great big shove. Off I rumble, trundling by the crowds. As I gather speed I try to steer straight and true, though I know I’ll have to turn a little if I want to avoid the ramp of the jump. Only… you can’t ignore the bumps in the road, can you? That’s either cowardice or plain stupidity. The best idea if you want to deal with them is to charge at them pell-mell. The crowd gasps as Dan’s bathtub flies. She flies rather well, actually. The trouble is as she thumps down to the Tarmac again, I over-steer then clip a hay bale. While yellow stalks flutter skywards, my wrist strikes the wheel and my knee cannons off the bath’s plastic side. The crowd goes “Ooooh!” but do I give in? Do I heck. Even wincing in pain, I give it everything I’ve got. I wrestle the tub straight again and set her back on course. I might not win this race for you Dan, I think as she clatters onward, but I will save our marriage. Not just for us but for our kids. In the years to come we’ ll all remember what happened on this day and how it changed our lives. As the end of the course looms, I vow never to stand on the sidelines and just watch ever again. I’ll give my family one hundred percent instead. I will, I promise, I’ll do it even if I have to make another billion bathtubs fly.

“I’ll be GOOD. I’ll be fine. I’ll DRIVE just like THE STIG,” I insist to Dan