We mounted the mossy, uneven steps up to the drive. The highly polished, scarlet California sat proudly in the centre of the newly laid cobbles, framed by a Bugatti blue sky. Its top already lowered, I could see the rich, leather interior of Marcus’ most prized possession. I had only ever seen a Ferrari on a Top Trumps card before. As I walked towards the low, swoopy racing machine I couldn’t help but notice how grand it was compared to my Punto. The go-faster air vents made the car look space age. Noticing the prancing horses on the shields I put my finger out and stroked the rearing black image.

‘New wheels?’ I joked.
Marcus was obviously flattered.

‘How much does one of these cost then?’

Thinking I meant the shield Marcus replied ‘A thousand pounds.’

I gulped and gave him one of my, your not fucking serious, looks.

‘What?’

‘Oh the car, It was a hundred and fifty thousand brand new. The shields were a thousand pounds, optional extras, I didn’t see the point of spending all that money on a car and not splashing out the extra few quid for them.’

I took a sharp intake breath and realised he was serious.
A thousand pounds an extra few quid?

I was staggered, and stuttered ‘Well, quite.’

‘It has a folding hard top too,’ he said, as I glanced over at the large back-end that concealed the folded roof.
All of a sudden I felt intimidated by my brother’s wealth.

Marcus’s eyes beamed with pride, the corners of his mouth turned up just a touch as he held up his orange, tinted arm and disabled the cars alarm.
He glanced at his Panerai watch. It was four thirty.

‘Are you in a hurry?’ He asked.

‘Yeh. Sort of.’ I replied.

In a hurry to get away from here I thought, and by the look of Marcus’ testosterone filled, boy’s toy it wouldn’t take very long.

Holding desperately onto the windscreen pillar, I eased myself into the car’s leather and aluminium cabin as gracefully as I could. I hoped no one was watching as I pulled down on my retreating denim hem.
The first thing that struck me was the luxury of the leather upholstery. A complete contrast to the bobbled, scratchy, polyester cloth in the Punto. My fingertips caressed the soft skin. A thought crossed my mind. Marcus couldn’t bring himself to eat meat but, vanity came before his principals and he could, however, drive around sitting on a couple of dead bovines. I remained quiet and glanced over at dial packed dashboard. It resembled the cockpit of a small plane.

I squeezed my handbag between my feet. The sun forced me to squint. With the top down, there was no escaping its glare. I reached into my bag to retrieve my sunglasses and gave them a quick wipe on the bottom of my T-shirt before putting them on. Marcus positioned himself behind the wheel, arms outstretched, feet hovering above the pedals. He pushed his back into the seat, lowered his Oakleys, and turned the key.

Obliterating the silence, the thunderous eight cylinders jumped into life. Marcus fiddled with the sat-nav and without even asking if I was buckled in, swiftly reversed the car into a three-point turn and straightened her up. The car paused for a moment, it’s perfectly tuned engine spat and sizzled. Marcus put the car into gear, pushed his foot down on the accelerator and we rocketed out of the driveway.

The storm was imminent. As we raced through the village and onto the quiet country lanes, hedgerows flew past in a blur of green merging with the darkening clouds overhead like a modern abstract oil painting. The speeding wind blew my hair around my face, obscuring my view. I struggled to hold it back with my hand, I didn’t dare ask if we could put the hood up.
The prancing horses galloped along the lanes at break neck speed. I was deafened by the sound of the powerful engine that continued to pump and throb in front of me. It was scarier than the rides at Alton towers. I sank into the seat and closed my eyes.

We turned in to the neatly block paved Beech Court. The Rosso Corsa dream machine pulled up in the small, already overrun car park. The Ferrari’s engine continued to roar as I heaved myself out of the seat.

I hollered out to Marcus. ‘Thanks, see you later.’

He gestured a nod, revved up the thunderous engine, and sped away.