Chapter 23 - Theo
Theo
I could feel the nerves building in me like never before.
Sure, the European Tour was only half of the overall championship, but it would be my first trophy if I was lucky enough to win it.
But the odds were against me, starting in third, and if I won then the love of my life would lose his career.
It tainted the thought a bit. But I’d been dreaming of this day since my aunt and uncle paid for my first go kart.
“All systems go, Theo. Let’s win this,” said my race manager through the comms.
“Affirmative. Let’s fucking go,” I replied.
“That’s a hundred-pound fine right there.”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Make it an even five-hundred and donate it to someone who needs it.” There was no reply through the comms. Good.
The formation lap only helped to amplify my nerves.
Grandstands were set up around the track, and despite the fact that the engines drowned out most of the cheering, I could still hear it every time I passed a different stand.
The British fans had turned out in force with grey and blue signs, life-size cardboard cut-outs of me and signs asking for my hand in marriage.
Birmingham was my home race, and whether or not I won I wanted to put on a show for the crowds.
At the end of the lap, I pulled into my space in third, behind Sebastian and Max. Even though it hurt me to do so, I had to think of them both as my competition. And I knew how to crush competition, especially on my home track.
The first light lit.
Then another.
Another.
Red, red, red, red.
Red.
And then they were out, and we were racing.
I floored the accelerator heading up the long finishing straight to the first turn.
Max had pulled out just in front of Sebastian, and I was so close to the both of them that I had to be ultra-careful with my braking.
One tap at the wrong time and I could take the three of us out.
The ironic thing was that one tiny ‘mistake’ could make me the winner.
We were all at least 25 points clear of Brooke in fourth place.
All it would take was a tap into Sebastian’s back wheel, spinning him into Max in just the right way and I would be European champion, putting me in the best possible place for the American Tour beginning in just over two months time.
I pushed my foot down on the accelerator, ending closer and closer to Sebastian’s rear end. So close that if I were in my Porsche, the parking sensors would be screaming.
Of course I wouldn’t jeopardise the both of us. Even if I was that much of a bad sport, Max could still escape from the both of us and win the whole thing. But a little bit of me did wonder if I’d have considered it were it not Sebastian battling me for the win.
With the next corner coming up, I positioned myself to the left of Sebastian, on the outside line, and tapped my brake at the last possible minute to cruise past him. My heart was beating an insane rhythm against my ribcage. I was ahead of Sebastian.
Max was ahead, and not by that far. He was perhaps a better racer than Sebastian and me. Some would say the best racer of all time. But he had a worse car than either of us, and that’s why we’d ended up in such close competition.
“Conserve battery power, you’ve been using a lot,” said my race engineer.
“I’ve got a handsome Spaniard up my arse, I need to go faster,” I grumbled.
“Great. Now tell us about the race,” came the snarky reply. I chuckled but flipped them the bird on my way past the paddock. Lap 2.
They were right, though. Sebastian was playing a hard game with me, one that required me to push and then recharge the car battery in turn. If I slowed down too much, I risked him getting past me. But if I pushed too hard, I’d be out of battery and unable to accelerate at any kind of decent speed.
“What’s the plan?” I asked the team.
“Currently looking like Plan C. Keep Sebastian at your back, keep an eye on Max ahead.”
I grimaced. Plan C was a one-stop strategy, when we’d originally planned a two-stop. That meant my speed likely wasn’t enough to overtake even if we went for fresher tyres.
So I pushed myself, my car, and those tyres to the limit. Lap after lap, I felt the car get less responsive as the tyres grained up against the road. Sebastian pushed hard, but seemed to be taking my cue. He was waiting for me to pit, I realised.
On the fifteenth lap, Max pitted himself onto soft tyres.
Though he lost twenty seconds and came out back in fifth, it was a statement of intent.
He was going to be stopping twice and hoping that his race-craft and tyre advantage would get him caught up and ahead of us.
It was only a 45 lap race, so I knew I wouldn’t be too far behind.
Taking their cue from Max, other drivers started dropping into the pits over the next few laps. Thankfully, Brooke was behind Sebastian, and she was providing something of a shield between us and Max as Alfons Schester drove into the pit for a fresh pair of tyres.
But still Max advanced. Over the course of the next ten laps, he got closer and closer. According to my comms team, he had nearly passed Brooke on a couple of corners. And Sebastian had kept pace with me for the whole race.
I was waiting for the signal, afraid to signal what I wanted in case it made Sebastian or Max try something tricky.
I was just a turn away from the box when the call came to box box box.
I switched on the pit limiter and swerved into the pit lane.
To no-one’s surprise, both Sebastian and Brooke followed me.
“Hards,” I grunted through the earpiece. Whatever their data was showing them, I knew I’d be fighting to keep control on a set of medium or soft tyres.
So when I approached the garage with a squeal of brakes and stopped right in front of the mechanic holding the tyres, I groaned in relief. In seconds, my old medium tyres were being switched out for a new set of hards and I was on my way.
Unfortunately, those seconds were not quite fast enough. “Two-point-seven,” said my race manager. But obviously, Sebastian had shaved half a second off that time as he was coming out of the pit lane just ahead of me.
I pushed down on the accelerator even though I knew it wouldn’t do anything whilst I was coming out of the pit.
I saw Sebastian accelerate suddenly away from me, and half a second later my engine kicked in and let me go too.
Schester was just behind me in my mirror, and I grinned.
The strategy had worked, and we hadn’t lost any places.
Except to Max, who was now so far ahead on his soft tyres that it was going to be difficult to catch up.
The difference between soft and hard tyres was one of differing advantages.
Out of the gate, his soft tyres were much faster than my hard tyres had any hope of catching up to.
But they would degrade quickly, leaving streams of rubber on the ground and making it harder for Max Burnham the more he pushed.
That’s why he was planning the two stop strategy.
He was confident enough that he could change tyres again once these softs degraded and then catch up to us anyway.
It was bold, but that’s why he had been world champion three times already.
I dropped my race pace slightly. Alfons Schester was dropping behind a little, likely to conserve his battery for a later fight with Brooke, who had fallen back a place.
Sebastian ahead seemed to be thinking the same thing, and I knew that as long as I kept relative pace with him that I had some time.
Neither of us was interested in fighting Max when he’d be pitting his car in a few laps anyway.
Marathon. Not a sprint, I chanted to myself internally as I tried to resist slamming down on the accelerator to pass Sebastian.
He might have just as many tricks up his sleeve, and a battle was sure to have us falling further behind Max.
I just cruised in his slipstream as he utilised the clear air in front of him to slowly but surely catch up to Max as Max’s tyres lost a couple of tenths a lap.
At lap 31, Max slipped into the pits. And Sebastian floored the accelerator so suddenly it caught me off guard. I scrambled to copy him, to avoid being dragged into and buffeted by dirty air.
Half a lap later, I heard the best news through the comms. But it was also the news I’d been dreading. “Burnham was speeding in the pit lane. We’re hearing rumours of a five second penalty.”
That took a lot of pressure off me. Burnham may have been able to catch up to us on brand new soft tyres and challenge for the title but there was little to no chance he’d be able to make up the five second penalty on top of that.
Even if he finished the race in first, it was very unlikely he’d have the power or tyres to build such a commanding lead over Sebastian or me.
And that terrified me. Because that meant that it was all between me and the love of my life for the championship.
I kept close to him over the following thirteen laps.
Every twitch of the wheel it was like he knew how to block me.
I had the race pace. I was keeping up with Sebastian.
But we knew each other so well now, had spent so long helping each other improve, that we seemed evenly matched one each corner.
I rued the day I’d ever let myself open up to those big brown eyes.
Underneath the current of frustration, I was proud that Sebastian was showing the world he was capable of a championship, just as almost everything had been taken from him.