Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Caleb
A triple header is the busiest period of the racing calendar, so when I board the plane for Hungary just a couple of days after the race at Silverstone, I can feel the exhaustion in my core.
Ian takes a solo seat and cracks on with a race report he says is overdue.
The rest of the plane is full of chatter, until I reach the back and find Nils sitting quietly, not chatting his teammate’s ear off like normal.
I wonder what’s wrong with him until I turn and see Johannes with his knees tucked up on the other side of the aisle, headphones on, hood pulled up, eyes closed.
We’ve been flying together all season, and I’ve never seen him like this.
I look at Nils but he just shrugs and puts his own headphones on.
I hate to disturb Johannes, but the seat opposite him is pretty much the only one remaining and the flight’s only a few hours. I take the seat and he doesn’t even flinch. If I hadn’t seen him board the plane a few minutes ago, I might have believed he was asleep.
The flight takes off without drama and I’m quick to open my laptop to get some work for my PhD done. At some point during the flight, whatever Johannes is listening to must end and his eyes shoot open, clearly shocked to see me.
‘Sorry. I hope I didn’t disturb you.’ I apologise quickly, half closing the lid of my laptop.
‘No, you didn’t. Don’t worry. Just forgot I was on the plane for a moment.’ He tucks his headphones in to the side of the seat and plucks a neck pillow from the top of a backpack.
‘Late night?’ I say. It’s my way of asking what’s going on without actually asking him what’s going on.
At first he doesn’t say anything, but I catch an expression crossing his face that I can’t quite read. It’s fleeting but also … desperately sad.
‘Long weekend, you know.’
I get the impression he wants to say more but he doesn’t.
‘Oh? You and Nils went out last night? I saw some photos from what looked like a party. Guess he’s enjoying scoring points.’ We both turn at the sound of heavy snoring from across the aisle. I can’t help but laugh, but Johannes doesn’t even crack a smile.
‘Nah, just an event for a friend. Didn’t expect it to be such a late one, that’s all.
’ He doesn’t have to tell me if he doesn’t want to, but I still wish he would.
He’s obviously not okay, and something tells me it’s more than his P10 finish at Silverstone.
‘They have you working on the flight?’ He asks, gesturing to my laptop.
‘This? No. I’m working on my PhD. I have to cram it into every bit of free time at the moment, which has been difficult with the triple header.
’ It’s been hard all season, to be honest. My thesis has had to take a back seat really and I’m probably going to end up having to ask for an extension because I can’t see how I’ll get it done in time as well as do my job. But that’s the cost of living my dream.
‘Oh, so you’re super smart? Is that what you’re telling me?’ It’s the first drop of real emotion I’ve heard from him today. ‘What’s it about?’ His next words are tight, like it’s an effort to find them and speak them aloud.
If he’d prefer silence, I wish he’d just say so. I could do with the extra time to finish the chapter I’m writing.
‘It’s Automotive Engineering. My thesis is on aerodynamics.’ I’m not shy about my achievements – it doesn’t pay to be in this industry. It’s cutthroat and they only employ people who will help their team win.
I’ve earned my promotion to race engineer, working my way up from the bottom. With my undergraduate degree and a master’s under my belt already – and almost a decade of experience, the PhD will be the icing on the cake.
‘Get you. Very fancy. But good for you. Honestly. I only just about finished school, so I can’t imagine doing all that studying.’
‘I think you’re doing pretty good for yourself, superstar.
’ He makes more in a year than I will earn in a lifetime, so he’s doing perfectly fine without an education.
I’ve managed to save a little bit, though, because I’m mostly on the road and my living expenses get covered.
One day I’ll put down roots somewhere. Maybe.
If I meet someone who would want to do that with me.
‘Caleb? You got a minute?’ I hear the team manager calling me over. It looks like he’s having a meeting with some of the other higher-ups, so I unbuckle my seatbelt and slot the laptop into the side of the seat.
‘You want anything from the bar while I’m up?’ I say to Johannes.
‘Nah, all good, man.’ He waves me off and tucks his long legs back up under his body. It’s a sad sight to watch him sink back into himself. I’ve never seen someone look so lost.
It can’t just be the bad performances. He’s missed the podium a few times in the last couple of years – he’s even had a couple of DNFs after crashes and car failures – but normally he rallies so well and comes back fighting even harder.
I join the bosses and make some contributions to their discussion.
When they move on to a new topic, I excuse myself and take a piss in the fanciest plane bathroom I’ve ever seen.
It still gets me, even after all this time, that I get to do my business in luxury.
It’s bigger than the one bathroom my entire family shared growing up.
It even has a shower. What plane has a damn shower? And why? I guess it makes more sense for long-haul flights, but, like, still. It seems really over the top.
When I get back to my seat, I’m quickly stopped in my tracks by the saddest sight I’ve ever seen.
Thick, fast tears are sliding down Johannes’s cheeks. Headphones on, hood up, eyes closed, he probably doesn’t realise I’ve returned. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how I’m meant to handle this. Why doesn’t the team therapist fly with us? I look around, but no one else seems to have noticed.
It definitely can’t be the race result – no way in the world.
We might not be close friends, but the Johannes I’m beginning to get to know doesn’t cry over a bad result or two.
They happen, he knows that. He spent a whole season at another team in a poorly performing car, barely scraping points every week, and he never gave up.
He worked harder and got better and he started winning.
No, I know those tears. They are heartbreak tears. Break-up tears. I haven’t shed them since I was twenty-two years old and I refuse to ever let them ruin me again. No man is worth that much heartbreak.
The tears don’t stop as he stuffs his face into his pillow. I will say he’s mastered the art of crying quietly.
What should I do? I want to give him the biggest of hugs, but I can’t imagine that would be well received and I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to draw attention to him after all his efforts to keep his pain private.
I scan the plane, hoping that there’s a spare seat so I can give him some space, but without forcing my way into the senior-management meeting – I would rather die – there is only my original place opposite him.
Well, here goes…
‘Hey, sorry, um, sorry… I don’t want to interrupt your …
invade your privacy but there’s just nowhere else to sit.
’ That wasn’t too bad, I think, so I carry on.
‘Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?’ I reach into the mini fridge by our seats and hand him a bottle of water.
Crying on a plane has to make you dehydrated.
He wipes furiously at his face with his sleeve, but even without the tears his bloodshot eyes paint a pretty clear picture. He takes the bottle and chugs down several swallows.
‘Ignore me. I’m just … having a bad time.’ A fresh tear starts to fall and the second he feels it, he swipes it away. ‘Things are shit right now and it’s hard because I can’t talk about it. It’s just a lot.’
‘Look, even if you can’t talk about whatever’s going on, I’m here if that changes, or if you just need someone to sit with you.
Also, never apologise for crying. It’s the healthiest way to process things, trust me.
You haven’t seen tears until you’ve seen me crying at 4 a.m. over a paper that’s threatening to beat me. ’
A laugh gurgles in his throat and a snot bubble forms out of one nostril. It’s not a pretty sight, but it might be the most human I’ve ever seen him. This is weirdly the most connected I’ve ever felt to Johannes since becoming his race engineer – and I keep him alive on the track for a living!
I hand him one of the fancy private-jet napkins from on top of the mini fridge so he can blow his nose. He takes it and once he’s cleared himself up, it hits me that I just watched Johannes Müller cry.
I don’t know why I feel shaken at having seen him look so broken. He’s usually so happy, posing up a storm, flashing his good looks, his dazzling smile. When he wins, he celebrates like no driver I’ve ever seen before. It could not be more different from the crumpled shell of a man in front of me.
He takes a big breath and starts to sit up straighter.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly, eyes flicking around the rest of the jet. I hope for the sake of his pride that no one’s noticed.
‘You never have to apologise to me, Johannes. We’re all human, we all go through bad times, and if you needed a big cry then that’s what you needed.
End of. If you ever want to talk about what’s going on, I promise I’m a great listener.
’ I offer him a smile and he smiles back tightly, before pressing the button on the side of the chair to raise the leg rest.
‘I’m going to try and nap for a bit,’ he says. ‘I have an interview right after we land and I’d prefer not to look a mess on camera.’
I almost go to tell him that I don’t think he could ever look a mess. Even in his current state, he still looks like absolute perfection. He’ll always be one of the most stunning men I’ve ever seen.
Except I don’t, because that would be inappropriate for our professional relationship.