Three Heats

Fenna had to give her name twice because the woman behind the table was talking to someone else at the same time. Then she was handed her things and it was the next person's turn. There was something reassuring about it. Here she wasn't gone yet, or almost leaving, or someone people looked at carefully. She was one of the eight women in the sprint tournament.

At their kit area Madelon had opened her bag and laid most of its contents beside it. Her helmet sat on a towel. She held up two different gloves.

'It's a choice,' she said before Fenna could speak.

'A brave one.'

'I knew you'd understand.'

Gita approached carrying two coffees, both for herself. The second, she claimed, belonged to the previous order and someone had put it in the wrong place. Fenna didn't believe her, but she had her own preparation to think about. She undressed, folded the ordinary shirt she'd been wearing and put it at the top of her bag. She saw she had everything, then checked again that her shoes were there.

Aydin checked her bike while she got ready. He had stuck a little tape to the edge of his worktable to keep the constantly slipping cloth in place. Every movement loosened it again. He pressed it down without thinking. Fenna said he could probably find better material.

'I'm waiting for a delivery,' he said.

'From us?'

'No. I'd have left by now.'

She laughed while he finished. It was good that nobody was leaving her alone with her thoughts all morning. When she looked up, Marten was on the other side of the infield with Bram. He wore his ordinary clothes and was listening with his hands in his coat pockets. His race was tomorrow. Today he belonged in this space, but not to her programme.

He saw her and raised a hand. She did the same. She wanted to add something personal, something that would make the distance between their two places feel less strange. Gita called her. Fenna looked at him once more and went.

During her preparation she felt ready too soon. She'd eaten, knew when she was due to ride and had nowhere to put the energy building up inside her. She made a comment about an announcer still discovering how loud his voice could be. Madelon said she might be glad later that someone knew who she was.

Qualifying began. One time after another appeared. Saskia rode so fast that the other women stopped what they were doing for a moment. Fenna tried not to keep watching her. She had her own effort to ride. Gita spoke briefly to her, then left her looking at the place she would soon be going.

When it was her turn, she first felt the unnatural space around her. No wheel ahead to watch, no rider beside her with plans of her own. Just her movement and the track. She built up as she'd prepared to do. The wood swept beneath her, the lines came round faster. What she'd spent weeks working on in separate pieces now had to fit together in one go.

At speed there was little left to put into words. She heard her breathing as though it belonged to someone behind her. She held the movement, wanted too much and only just avoided getting in her own way. She kept riding beyond the line. Her legs wanted to know whether they'd done well before she could look.

Gita called her back and gave her the time. Eleven point six three. Third.

Fenna said nothing. She looked at the list to check that was really where she stood. Saskia first, Lotte second, her own name beneath them. Satisfaction arrived with the urge to see what could have been better.

'Now you know,' Gita said. 'A different kind of ride next.'

She drew Eline Bakker in the quarter-final, sixth in qualifying. One heat to go through. Eline stood a little way off, tying her hair back again. She greeted Fenna and asked whether she'd seen the other results. Fenna said yes. She looked at the elastic between Eline's teeth and knew that in a few minutes all she'd be watching was what Eline did on the bike.

At the start she didn't look towards the spectators. After the whistle they began slowly, a world away from the flat-out effort she'd just made. Eline was close. Fenna saw her opponent look at her and then ahead again. Her third-fastest qualifying time hadn't already won this heat.

For a lap Fenna wanted Eline to do something sooner. She mustn't mistake her own impatience for an opening. When the pace changed, it was fast enough to take away the rest of her hesitation. She heard the bell, saw the space change and drove on. Eline came closer than Fenna liked. She felt every one of the last few metres.

Beyond the line she didn't know straight away. She kept her hands on the bars, kept riding, and only Gita's voice told her she'd gone through. Pleasure struck so suddenly that she began to grin while her mouth was still open for breath.

Back at their kit she wanted to explain at once how close it had felt. Gita made her settle first. Eline came over later, tapped her shoulder and asked whether she'd had anything left at the end.

'Not much. You?' Fenna said.

'A bit less, apparently.'

Fenna laughed. Madelon didn't. Her own quarter-final had ended her sprint tournament, and she sat on the bench with her jacket half on. Fenna sat beside her. She didn't ask anything that required a long, sensible answer.

'Want anything?'

'A different quarter-final.'

'We've run out.'

'Water, then.'

Fenna fetched her bottle and put it beside her. They talked for a while about the announcer's loud voice, which Madelon now found irritating too. It was good that her friend didn't have to pretend to be pleased for her. When Gita interrupted, Madelon squeezed her leg.

'Keep going now. Otherwise I've just watched you for nothing.'

During the break Fenna went to the toilets. Marten met her at the passage. He stayed to one side to let two riders and their kit past. She wanted to take hold of him, which seemed such an extravagant movement that she put her hands in her coat pockets.

'Good ride,' he said.

'Yes.'

'You looked very friendly over those last few metres.'

'I've been practising.'

He smiled and she had to as well. She'd missed how quickly it could happen, seeing him and feeling a little less alone. A difficult conversation hadn't made that disappear.

'Good luck later,' he said.

'Thank you.' She looked at the crease in his sleeve. She wanted to tell him how qualifying had felt. She also wanted his mouth against hers. Someone else came past and she stepped back. 'Your turn tomorrow.'

'Yes.'

She left him before either could say something that would turn it into a different afternoon. In the toilet she looked at her face and thought she looked as though she was in a hurry to cry. She washed her hands, dried them and went back.

Lotte Veld was her next opponent. Two heats to win for a place in the final. Fenna had seen her launch quickly before, then change her approach just as easily. She could prepare for that, not for every individual decision. Gita asked how her legs were. Fenna said they were still there.

'I can see that. Can they still do anything?'

In the first heat Lotte gave her less time to think. Fenna had to follow an acceleration she hadn't chosen. For a moment something moved through her body that she would once have mistaken for panic. She kept riding. At the bell she was still there. On the last lap a space opened and she used it. Across the line, the way Lotte rode out beside her was enough to tell her she'd won it.

Back at their kit she sank onto the bench. One. She needed one more. Such tiny numbers to lose a whole afternoon in.

In the second heat she relied too much on what she'd just remembered. Lotte waited differently, raised the pace at another moment and then kept her where Fenna didn't want to be. Fenna couldn't come back far enough. By the time she got off her bike she was angrier with herself than with the result.

'That was stupid.'

'What was stupid?' Gita asked.

'I thought I knew what she'd do.'

'She rode the first one too. She's thinking as well.'

Fenna looked up. She wanted to find that irritating and could think of no reply. Gita let her drink and pointed out what had actually happened in the heat. Fenna nodded, listened, and disagreed once because she'd felt that moment differently. The conversation stayed with the riding.

For the third heat she had no new body and no surprise plan. But her eyes were open. Lotte hadn't got worse because Fenna wanted so badly to win. She stood ready, feeling how afraid she was of letting something go when she'd come close enough to reach it.

After the whistle she listened to the other bike. She saw Lotte's knee beside her for a moment, then further off. There was time she didn't want to give away and space she mustn't use up too soon. She concentrated on what was actually happening. When they went, it wasn't the moment she'd have chosen. But it was there.

The bell rang. She wanted to go faster than she already was, and knew her face probably wasn't expressing that sensibly. Lotte was still beside her on the last bend. Fenna rode on, saw the line coming and kept driving until she was over it.

Then it took a while to understand what Gita was saying. Won. Two–one. The final tomorrow.

She walked back with her bike and only began to laugh when Madelon stood. Her friend put an arm round her and said something by her ear that she couldn't hear. Fenna asked what. Madelon repeated that she was incredibly irritating. This time she heard how happily she meant it.

Further off Saskia was gathering her things. She'd won the other semi-final. She came over to Fenna and held out a hand.

'See you tomorrow.'

'I'll be on time.'

'I hope so. Otherwise I'll have to ride round on my own.'

Fenna held her hand a moment longer, let go and went to pack. Her phone was at the bottom of her bag. She saw the brief message Naja had sent on Friday about the final allocation of the funds already available; individual confirmation would follow after the weekend. She didn't read it again. She wanted to beat Saskia tomorrow. She needed no other prize for that.

As she wheeled her bike outside, she didn't see Marten. She felt the disappointment, then her legs, warm and exhausted, and had to smile again. She sat in the car for a while before starting the engine. She sent one message to Madelon, who was five metres away struggling with her bike bag: Final.

Madelon looked at her phone, then through the window at Fenna. She raised her middle finger. Fenna started laughing and waited until her friend was in her own car.