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

nodded reluctantly, concentrated on her cake and then brightened up. ‘When are we meeting Josh and Alex?’

      ‘In half an hour,’ Fen said, ‘at the apartment. Another drink?’

      ‘Let’s raise a glass to Vasily and Massimo – le maillot jaune and le maillot à pois,’ Pip declared, knocking her drink back in one.

      ‘And here’s to Fabian and Carlos,’ said Fen, doing the same.

      ‘We’d better have another,’ said Pip sincerely, ‘we must toast those who bowed out.’

      ‘And Luca,’ said Fen.

      ‘I wonder if he’s had a shower,’ said Pip, the sorry sight of the rider urinating over his hands indelibly printed on her memory.

      ‘Can we talk about anything but cycling?’ Rachel asks Cat, welcoming her in to her room.

      ‘Of course,’ says Cat. ‘You look ghastly.’ The soigneur has dark circles around her eyes, her hair hangs lank and there is a visible slump to her characteristic energy and poise.

      ‘I should toast the team,’ Rachel remarks, as if it were a requirement of her job, ‘taking two jerseys from Système Vipère in such fine style.’ She stifles a yawn and lies back on her bed. ‘Well done, Vasily and Massimo. Well done team for just making it today.’

      ‘I’ll nip down to the bar and bring a couple of drinks up,’ Cat offers sweetly. ‘Beer?’

      ‘Make it whisky,’ says Rachel, ‘and if it isn’t Scotch, bugger it, I’ll have vodka instead.’

      To Rachel’s delight. Cat brings her a large tot of Glenfiddich.

      ‘When were you last home?’ Cat enquires.

      Rachel scrunches her eyes. ‘Far too long ago – I miss it and yet when I return it doesn’t really feel like home. I soon miss the camaraderie, the familiarity of life with the peloton. Anyway,’ she says, taking a hearty glug, her eyes watering at the severity of the liquor, ‘enough about work. Let’s talk about boys.’ Though her eyes are slightly bloodshot, a sly twinkle courses its way through. ‘Let’s get He Who No Longer Exists out of the way first.’

      Am I ready for this? Cat wonders.

      Yes, you are.

      Rachel was so proud of Cat’s level-headed analysis of her failed love that she delved into a bedside cabinet and retrieved an immense block of Cadbury’s chocolate as a reward.

      ‘Bliss,’ said Cat, filling her mouth and closing her eyes.

      ‘The One Who Is No More,’ Rachel toasted, ‘well done.’

      ‘Any developments with Vasily?’ Cat asked.

      ‘The maillot jaune is the development,’ Rachel defined quietly. ‘Until the race is over, I would think the only thing he’ll desire next to his skin is yellow lycra.’

      ‘Are you frustrated?’ Cat asked. ‘Hurt?’

      Rachel considered this. ‘Frustrated?’ she mused. ‘No. Hurt? No. Confused – very.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I adore Vasily,’ Rachel defined, ‘but you know something? I don’t think I feel any true chemistry – I think I’ve been searching for it because when a man like Vasily wants to kiss you, you sit up and take notice.’

      ‘Because he’s such an enigma?’ Cat clarified.

      ‘Exactly,’ Rachel nodded, ‘no one knows of any woman Vasily has had. And yet it seemed he wanted me. That fact in itself was enough to turn me on. It was so flattering – I kept thinking, wow! What is it that I have that’s seeped through his armour?’ Rachel paused, cleared her throat and continued in a whisper, ‘I don’t actually fancy Vasily Jawlensky.’

      ‘That’s tantamount to blasphemy!’ Cat cajoled.

      Rachel shrugged. ‘It’s a fact.’ She munched on some chocolate. ‘I adore him, he’s a bloody good kisser, but I don’t burn for him. You won’t believe this – it’s taken me a couple of days myself – actually I quite fancy someone else.’

      ‘Who?’ Cat exclaimed, intrigued. ‘You slapper!’

      Rachel poked Cat. ‘André.’ She bit her lip.

      ‘André?’ Cat contemplated, not knowing anyone of that name in the peloton, let alone Zucca MV.

      ‘André Ferrette,’ Rachel said, beckoning Cat close for disclosure, ‘is the Système Vipère mechanic.’

      ‘Fucking hell!’ Cat declared, about to take a lump of chocolate. ‘A Viper boy? For a Zucca girl? We’re talking Montagues and Capulets here.’

      Rachel winced. ‘Don’t I know it – our respective directeurs are not going to be best pleased. I bet you we’ll have accusations of sabotage and espionage thrown our way before long.’

      ‘So what’s happened?’ Cat implored, curling up on the bed as Rachel had. ‘I can’t think when you’ve had time to form a new union, let alone theorize so lucidly on Vasily.’

      ‘Aye, that’s what’s weird,’ Rachel stated. ‘I haven’t even come close to kissing André, yet my lust for him is, um, fairly pronounced and something of a distraction!’

      ‘I rather think you hadn’t been kissed for way too long,’ Cat mused, ‘and perhaps you believed you fancied Vasily on account of all the oscular activity.’

      ‘In English, do you mean I was desperate for a snog?’

      ‘Something like that,’ Cat laughed.

      Gianni Fugallo knocked and entered, eyed the chocolate longingly, eyed the two women supine on the bed hopefully, but made do with a banana and a copy of Marie Claire.

      ‘Now let’s talk about Ben,’ Rachel said, her revelation having quite exhausted her. ‘I’ve heard quite enough about your Other One and anyway He Is No More.’

      ‘Yup,’ Cat smiled, ‘he’s firmly in the past.’

       See, no capital ‘h’.

      While Cat continued to gorge on chocolate and girlie gossip, her sisters, her colleagues and Ben ate liver, tongue and various indefinable parts of cow and pig at a hearty, rustic mountain-top restaurant. It was joyous and noisy, with yelling coming from the kitchen and animated chatter from the diners who were mainly presse apart from a hirsute group of men Pip decided were goat-herders, a comment which Alex reacted to with excessive chortling. Red wine flowed, as did the conversation. Especially, Josh noted, between Pip and Alex. Fen also noticed, but her attention was given to Ben.

      ‘Where do you live, Ben?’ Fen asked.

      ‘Boulder,’ said Ben.

      ‘In the New Forest?’ Fen exclaimed, heartened. ‘Near Lymington?’

      ‘Er, Colorado,’ said Ben, almost apologetically.

       What’ll happen to my sister when the Tour de France finishes? What is she to you, Ben? A French fling? Might you have another lined up for the Vuelta? Was there someone during the Giro?

      ‘I’ve invited Cat to visit,’ Ben was saying. ‘She told me about your mother running off with a cowboy from Denver – we thought we might track her down.’

      ‘What, on Cat’s paltry freelance pay?’ Fen derided, unnerved that Ben was so au fait with her family history.

       When has Cat ever wanted to track our mother down?

      Fen wondered why she wanted to dislike Ben; especially as, having now spent time with him, she could not dispute that his seemly exterior complemented a strong, likeable character.