Cat. Freya North

darling, Django here – are you switched on? The bike race is starting in five minutes or so.’

      ‘God, I almost forgot,’ said Fen, untying and then rebunching her pony-tail two or three times, the telephone receiver tucked under her chin. ‘Does Pip know?’

      ‘Isn’t she with you?’ Django enquired, a little perturbed. For some reason, Fen actually looked around her flat before replying.

      ‘No, she isn’t – should she be?’

      ‘Well, you two live in the same town, I thought perhaps you’d be sharing the experience together.’

      ‘Django,’ Fen laughed, ‘London’s a sprawling metropolis. I don’t think the bike race is an experience I, or Pip, have been waiting with bated breath for.’

      ‘I didn’t really mean that,’ said Django, ‘not those shiny boys and bikes themselves, I meant your sister. I meant Cat. This is her experience – I think we should take an interest.’

      Fen felt humbled. Suddenly, she wished Pip was here. ‘You’re right,’ she said quietly, ‘maybe we might catch Cat on screen. She’s there, after all, in the thick of it. So we should switch on and tune in.’

      ‘And share,’ mused Django, quite relieved he was on his own and could have his biscuits to himself.

      ‘Don’t worry about phoning Pip, I’ll do that right now,’ Fen said. ‘You warm the TV up,’ she told her uncle, using a phrase Cat had frequently employed in childhood.

       (‘Cat? Where have you disappeared to? Pip’s clearing the table. Fen’s washing up and there’s a tea towel with your name on it.’

       ‘Oh. Sorry. I was just warming the TV up.’)

      ‘Hey, Pip, it’s me.’

      ‘Hi, Fen. Get off the phone. The Tour de France is about to start.’

      Half an later, the phone lines of Django, Fen and Pip were jammed engaged as each tried to contact the other. Ten minutes on, Pip arrived at Fen’s flat and they called Django together.

      ‘Wasn’t that exciting!’ Django boomed, wishing they could see the two uneaten biscuits as proof.

      ‘It was,’ Fen agreed, ‘I had no idea!’ Pip, bobbing up and down on the spot, took the phone from her.

      ‘That famous bloke won!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. ‘I remember Cat talking about him.’ She handed the telephone back to Fen and executed a handstand against the wall in celebration.

      ‘Josh,’ Cat asked, ‘might you cast your expert eye over my piece?’ Though she was confident about the quality of her copy, her request had a twofold function. She was rather proud of her first race report and felt it warranted immediate approval before she wired it to London. Also, she still wanted to consolidate her new colleague’s respect for her journalistic abilities and her cycle sport knowledge. Josh was flattered, more so when Alex looked up from his laptop, regarded Cat with a ‘Why not me?’ glance and bestowed on Josh a glare that said ‘Wanker!’ a little enviously.

      ‘I like it that you’ve explained the gap of 53 seconds between first and last rider being in contrast to the hours that will develop as the race progresses,’ Josh defined and read on, sometimes to himself, sometimes out loud.