NINE
‘WE HAVE A PROBLEM!’ Vienna announces, marching into the office where Charlotte and I are working on a content plan for the Hungarian GP.
We’re also trying to liaise with Emika, who’s already in Budapest coordinating magazine and TV interviews.
Having Hungarian maternal grandparents makes Corey one of the most popular drivers on the grid this weekend, so we decided to take advantage by sending both him and Leif straight there to do press after Belgium.
‘If it’s that the coffee machine is broken, we already know.’ Charlotte lifts her head with a reproachful look.
‘One of the engineers is coming to fix it soon,’ I reassure her. ‘We just have to survive until then.’
‘In the meantime, I’m caffeine-deprived.’ Charlotte pretends to shudder. ‘Somebody should probably send me home before I pass out.’
‘Nobody’s going home, especially now.’ Vienna’s tone is ominous. ‘Yuto is sick. Gastroenteritis.’
‘Ew.’ Charlotte cringes. ‘Wait, he didn’t get it from here, did he?’
‘No. He was only in yesterday and he says he didn’t go to the canteen. The point is that he’s definitely not well enough to come to Hungary with me this afternoon. So which of you is going to be his replacement?’
‘One of us?’ I sit up straighter.
‘Yes. Leif’s diary is all set up, so you’d just need to be his minder for the next few days.
You know – record everything he says to the press so we can prove if he’s misquoted afterwards, and make sure he gets everywhere he needs to go.
Emika will be minding Corey and I’ll be doing trackside content capture, so you won’t be alone. ’
I feel my pulse accelerate because it sounds so exciting …
and if it were any other driver I’d be biting Vienna’s hand off to go, but the thought of spending the next four days with a stony-faced Norwegian isn’t hugely appealing.
Plus I’m still faintly mortified about touching his cheek last week. What if I do something else stupid?
‘You should do it,’ I say to Charlotte. ‘You’ve been here longer.’
‘I would …’ Her expression wavers. ‘Only I have a bridal fitting on Saturday, and if I cancel it’ll be months before I can get another appointment.’
‘Then I guess it’s you.’ Vienna swivels towards me. ‘Unless you have some kind of urgent dress emergency as well?’
‘No.’ I’m still hesitant. ‘But I thought I was supposed to cover the desk here this weekend?’
‘Maya can do it.’ She waves a hand when I look around quizzically, like I’ve missed somebody in the office. ‘She’s in Merchandising. So?’
I bite the inside of my cheek. It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest that she call Leif to see what he thinks of the idea, but what if he says he doesn’t want me?
It would only draw attention to the awkwardness between us and ruin Charlotte’s weekend.
And why shouldn’t I go? It’s an amazing opportunity – a chance to really flex my organizational muscles – not to mention great for my career.
Why should I let one man’s opinion hold me back, even if that man is a driver with a million-pound contract and I’m just a replaceable nobody?
‘I’d love to,’ I say eventually. ‘What time are we leaving?’
‘Two o’clock.’
‘But that’s –’
‘An hour and a half away. I know. Can you get home and back in that time?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then do it. We’ll give you team clothes, but make sure you pack comfy shoes. And sunscreen. It’s going to be hot. Be back here as quickly as possible.’
‘Right. Are you OK to finish the content plan?’ I ask Charlotte.
‘Yes, don’t worry. You go and enjoy yourself.’ She lowers her voice to a whisper as Vienna strides off towards her office. ‘And thank you!’
I’m going to Hungary! I text Maisie from a taxi on the way to the airport. The last two hours have been a whirlwind, though as usual my belongings are well-ordered enough that I was able to find everything I needed in record time (passport, underwear, toiletries, shoes).
Ooh! How come? She responds instantly.
Leif’s minder has food poisoning so I’m taking over.
That’s amazing (but poor him). You’ll be doing commentary next!
I wish! Any message for Gio?
I wait while she types. The three little dots are there for so long I’m expecting an epic reply, so it’s a surprise when No finally appears, quickly followed by Have fun. I’ll look out for you!
I frown at the screen. I have a sneaking suspicion that she and Gio are having more problems than she’s letting on, but I don’t want to pry.
I’m sure she’ll tell me when she’s ready, so I send a heart emoji, then drop my phone into my bag and get back to worrying about Leif.
Presumably Vienna’s told him about Yuto by now, as well as the fact that I’m filling in, but I can’t bring myself to ask what he said in response.
If he objected, I don’t want to know. I’ll just have to live with the knot of tension in my stomach.
We land at Budapest airport around 8 p.m., then head straight to our hotel.
The Grand Prix at the Hungaroring is one of the longest-standing races in the F1 calendar, set amidst beautiful rolling hills to the north-east of the capital.
The crew have been here for two days already, unloading and setting up the garage, team motorhome and race base, which explains the number of exhausted-looking roadies and technicians we pass in the lobby.
The amount of planning and coordination that goes into every single race weekend is phenomenal.
It’s like building, deconstructing and then rebuilding a massive Lego set twenty-four times a year, only one that comes with computers, screens and several miles’ worth of cabling.
There are no big social events planned for tonight, only meetings, so Vienna checks us in and then sends me to my room with a stern lecture about getting a good night’s sleep.
I’m just emerging from the lift on the fourth floor when my phone pings with a message from Emika.
Hey! Are you at the hotel yet?
Heading to my room now. Do you need any help with anything?
No. I’m still in Budapest, but we’re almost done. How’s Yuto?
He’s been lying on his bathroom floor all day.
!!!
I know!
So I probably shouldn’t mention food, but breakfast is at 7.30 in the team motorhome. I’ll see you there and don’t worry about anything. We’ll be fine.
Thanks. I appreciate that!
I open the door to my room. According to the team programme, I’m sharing with Sarah, one of our hospitality ambassadors, but she’s on her way out to a meeting with her manager as I come in, so I unpack my bags, grab a bottle of sparkling water, kick my shoes off and curl up on the bed to look over Leif’s schedule for the next few days.
I knew race weekends were intense, but I never fully appreciated it until now.
Everything is planned, down to the minute, and the timetable needs to be followed exactly, which means I need to be 100 per cent focused.
Tomorrow, for example, is Media Day, which means interviews, a press conference, a couple of hours in the Fan Zone and sponsorship activities, all interspersed with time in the garage with the engineers.
There’ll be another press conference on Friday, as well as two hour-long practice sessions so the drivers can get accustomed to the track and the team can gather data and make any necessary adjustments to the car set-up.
Then on Saturday, there’ll be pit-stop practice in the morning, followed by a third practice session, followed by qualifying, followed by yet another press conference.
Finally, on Sunday, there’s a strategy meeting, a drivers’ parade and a team briefing, all followed by the actual Grand Prix at two o’clock. They’ve even scheduled nap time.
Just thinking about it is exhausting.
I read through tomorrow’s schedule four times, making sure I know it by heart, then reach for my phone. I’ve never messaged Leif directly before, but it’s time I made contact. With any luck, I’ll be able to gauge how he feels about me being here.
Hi, it’s Ava! See you in the morning. Excited to work with you!
I close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath.
I don’t expect him to answer quickly, or at all, but at least I’ve reached out.
Now I just need to stay calm and professional and not give him any additional reasons to object to me.
Most of all, I need to step up and not waste this opportunity to show Vienna what I’m capable of.
I jump as my phone vibrates in my hand.
See you tomorrow. Leif.
That’s it? I stare at the screen for a few seconds, then fall back on to the bed with a groan of frustration. At least he replied, but so much for gauging his reaction. How am I supposed to interpret that?
I guess I’ll be waiting a little longer to find out how he feels about me.