NINE
I DIDN’T THINK IT was possible, but Ava is even more excited today. We’re both dressed exclusively in Fraser merchandise and we totally fit in. Izabel comes to fetch us for breakfast, where we meet some of the team, who all moan about the weather forecast of more rain. Then Ava gets into a discussion about wind tunnels with one of the engineers that seems like it might last all morning, until eventually his co-workers have to drag him away.
After breakfast, Izabel takes us to the paddock and gives us a quick rundown of the track, as well as our timings for the day. We don’t want to get in the way, so we decide to wander across to the Fan Zone, where we try an F1 simulator, take a few rides at the funfair, then grab a coffee and doughnut at the artisan market before making our way back past the grandstands to the team motorhome, barely missing another short, sharp downpour.
At half past two we head down to the track for a grid walk. It feels so surreal to be here in real life after watching it on television that I half expect us to be turned away despite our VIP passes, but instead we find ourselves admitted into a crowded throng of mechanics, camera crews and celebrities. There are actual Hollywood A-listers here, as well as a few footballers, at least three Grammy winners, a World Heavyweight Champion and an entire K-pop boyband.
‘This is wild!’ I whisper to Ava, as we weave our way between the two rows of cars.
‘I know. I think my life has just peaked!’ Her head is swivelling from side to side, like she’s trying to take it all in. ‘This is going to be such an exciting race tactically too.’
‘Because of the rain?’
‘Yep. There are still damp patches on the track and the forecast is really patchy. The rain might miss us completely or there might be another downpour. It means no one’s quite sure which tyres to use. From what I’ve heard, most of the teams are starting on intermediates because they’re usually the best in damp conditions, but the cars at the back of the grid will probably go for slicks.’ She catches a glimpse of my blank face. ‘Dry-weather tyres.’
‘Why would they choose those?’
‘Because if you’re in twenty-second place, you might as well gamble on the track drying up sooner rather than later so the intermediates will overheat. Then hopefully they can make up a few places while everyone else is changing in the pits.’
‘OK.’ I understand this part. ‘That’s clever, but isn’t it dangerous to use dry tyres when it’s wet?’
‘Totally. If they hit a puddle, they’ll have no grip at all, which means there’s a danger of aquaplaning.’ My stomach drops. That doesn’t sound like something I want to watch. ‘But don’t worry, Gio’s on intermediates. I already checked.’
‘So, what you’re saying is that if the track dries quickly, he’ll need to pit and change sooner than he wanted to, but if it stays wet or rains again he’ll already have the right tyres?’
‘Exactly.’ She nods. ‘Personally, I like a wet race. It means the teams have to adapt their strategies as they go along, so it’s less predictable – Oh!’ She grips my arm abruptly.
‘Ow.’ Her nails, painted blue and silver for the occasion, are sharp. ‘What is it?’
‘That’s Jaxon Marr!’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I follow her gaze towards the yellow Quezada car. ‘I met him last night.’
She opens her eyes wide. ‘What was he like?’
‘Nice.’ I open my mouth to say more, but then I see Gio up ahead and everything else slips out of my mind. His fireproof overalls are rolled down to his waist, and the way his undershirt clings to his chest shows every muscled contour. He also has a towel round his neck while he makes one, presumably final, inspection of his car.
‘There’s Gio.’ Ava sees him at the same moment. ‘Let’s go say hi.’
‘I don’t know.’ I stop walking. ‘He looks busy.’
‘He expects people to talk to him, especially his girlfriend.’ She pulls on my arm. ‘Come on, we can wish him good luck.’
Our timing is a disaster. We reach Gio at the exact same moment as one of the many camera crews. A red-haired woman shoves a microphone in his face and asks a question in German that I don’t understand, but which he starts to answer, also in German, a split second before he sees me. Then he grins, says something else I don’t understand and reaches a hand out, wrapping it firmly round my waist and pulling me against him. Unlike last night, it’s no accident when our hips bump this time.
I’m aware of the cameraman’s attention swinging towards me. Suddenly I feel like a gazelle being stalked by a lion.
‘Nice outfit.’ Gio smiles, as he looks over my Fraser ensemble.
‘It was a gift.’ I dip my head, as the camera comes closer. ‘How many languages do you speak?’
‘Fluently? Five. My Japanese and Mandarin are still pretty basic.’
‘Amateur.’
He chuckles and then smiles over my shoulder at Ava. ‘Hey. How are you enjoying the atmosphere?’
‘It’s like a dream come true. I’m fan-girling so hard right now.’ She waves a hand in front of her face for emphasis. ‘Thank you so much for letting me come along.’
‘Anything for my favourite podcaster.’
‘Maybe we should leave you to it?’ I say nervously, as I spy more cameras heading in our direction. ‘Izabel says we can watch from the garage.’
‘Absolutely. There’s just one thing I need to do first.’ He turns serious, gazing deep into my eyes as he slides a hand round the back of my neck. His palm isn’t sweaty this time, but his passionate expression is so unexpected and over-the-top I’m actually tempted to laugh.
‘This OK?’ he murmurs in my ear as he moves closer.
‘Hmm-mm.’ My throat feels dry all of a sudden.
‘Good.’ He angles his head to avoid bumping my cap and brushes his lips softly across my cheek. It’s not much more than a peck, but, just like that, all of my amusement dissipates into thin air.
I guess he’s got over his nerves finally because he’s a much, much better actor than he gave himself credit for last night, practically Oscar-worthy. Meanwhile, I have no idea what my face is doing. I know what I agreed to, but I didn’t envisage anything like this , being filmed by at least four different camera crews speaking in as many languages. Or maybe it’s just a couple of languages and my brain has lost the ability to process words because I’m too distracted by the spark that’s suddenly flickered to life inside me.
Gio pulls back again to look at me, an intense look on his face that only gives the spark oxygen when what it needs is a large bucket of water. His eyes seem darker, the pupils swollen until I can hardly see any blue. I feel like I could drown in them …
Oh.
‘See you afterwards.’ His voice sounds different, huskier than usual.
‘Yes.’ My voice sounds deeper too, and I feel slightly breathless.
‘Good luck!’ I add, grabbing Ava’s hand and hurrying away, trying not to look flustered by the heat now raging through the lower half of my body.
Fortunately, by the time we reach the pit lane I’ve managed to extinguish it, mostly by telling myself that anybody might behave weirdly in such a new and overwhelming situation. Being here is a complete sensory overload. The whole place is buzzing with excitement and tension. It’s no wonder I’m overreacting.
‘Are you certain we’re allowed to be here?’ I ask Izabel, as we enter the garage. The place looks like organized chaos. People are rushing about everywhere, although they all seem to know what they’re doing.
‘Of course, but you’ll need to wear these.’ She hands us each a pair of headphones. ‘They’ll protect your hearing and you’ll be able to hear the team radio too.’ She gestures towards some chairs at one side. ‘I’ll leave you here, but you have my number. Text if you need anything.’
We sit down, put on our headphones and look up at the monitors. The track has already been cleared and the drivers are now lining up for the national anthem, which turns out to be a slightly strangled rendition by one of the Grammy winners. Everything must have been timed to the second because his performance is barely over before the Red Arrows fly overhead and the drivers climb into their cars for the formation lap. A couple of minutes later, they’re all back in their places on the grid, power barely leashed, ready to go.
The lights go out, the engines roar and then they’re hurtling down the straight. Everything here is so much more than it seems on television. More noise, more speed, more adrenaline. There’s some swerving and jostling going into the first corner, but thankfully nobody drives into anyone this time. Gio is in third place, but then … I gasp as he takes the inside line at the second corner, expertly slipping past Jaxon, and the team around us go crazy, leaping up from their seats and cheering.
From that moment, however, the atmosphere in the garage shifts and becomes strained. With the two Fraser cars in the lead, you’d think they’d be pleased, but instead they seem uneasy, as if they don’t want to pick a favourite. Either that, or they’re afraid that whatever the argument is between Gio and Farron it’s going to spill on to the track.
I pay close attention to the team radio, pleased by how much I understand already. Gio tries to overtake Farron on the straight, Farron blocks him. Gio tries again at the next corner, Farron moves over again. It’s exhausting to watch – and there are fifty-one more laps of this to go. It’s almost a relief when, after twelve laps, both drivers come on the radio, saying the track is too dry and they need to change tyres. By the look of it, most of the other teams who started on intermediates are doing the same thing. I have no idea how many cars can come into the pits at once, but I have a feeling it’s about to get busy.
Farron comes in first, immediately followed by Gio. The pit crew springs into action and only a few seconds later, impossibly quickly, they’re both off again. By the time they’re back on the track, however, the two Rilke cars that started near the back of the grid are ahead by seven and eight seconds.
It takes fourteen laps before Farron is close enough to start applying pressure, but Gio is right there behind him. Meanwhile, Jaxon Marr, also on fresh tyres, is coming up fast. I thought it was nerve-wracking watching this on television, but it’s almost unbearable watching it live. I’m covered in goosebumps and I feel like my heart is wedged in my throat.
‘Coming up to DRS zone on Hangar Straight,’ a voice says, which must be a good thing because both Farron and Gio charge past the Rilkes, retaking the lead. There’s no time to celebrate, however, as the sky suddenly opens and rain starts pouring down on to the track, blurring the visibility on the helmet cameras. Beside me, Ava clenches her hands so tightly her knuckles turn white, making me think she’s changed her mind about wet races, while around us a collective murmur of unease fills the garage. All we can do is watch helplessly as the cars scramble for grip on their dry tyres, leaving them no choice but to dive back into the pits. Unfortunately, it’s too late for some, as one of the Gold Darts goes spinning off the track into the gravel.
‘Matti Erikkson is off,’ the team radio reports, which seems to be enough for the stewards. The safety car comes out just as the cars reemerge from the pits.
I breathe a sigh of relief because the conditions seem way too treacherous for the race to continue, although I can’t help but feel sorry for the people in the uncovered grandstands. Some of them have paid a small fortune to be here and now they’re watching a race that’s basically a procession and getting drenched for their trouble.
It’s fifteen dispiriting minutes before the rain finally peters out and the stewards decide it’s dry enough to start racing again, earning a roar of approval from the crowd. There are still puddles on the track, so none of the drivers change tyres this time, but with just eighteen laps to go Gio is still where he was after the second corner, right behind Farron. If he doesn’t overtake soon, he’s going to end the race in the same position.
‘Take it easy, guys. Bring this one home.’ Mark Haddon’s voice comes over the team radio. It’s obvious what he’s really saying: Don’t take risks by racing each other when the track is still wet and the team is so close to a one–two result. Most of all – Gio, don’t try to overtake.
I exchange a glance with Ava. I understand Haddon’s argument, I honestly do. The problem is that Gio is a racer, and racers race. It’s what they live for, what they need . Telling them not to, no matter how much you’re paying them, is wrong, like telling a fish not to swim. If someone had ever told me to hold back during a downhill race … I don’t think I’d have been able to.
I clamp my fingers round the seat of my chair to stop myself leaping to my feet and shouting encouragement. I’m anxious for Gio, but I feel weirdly exhilarated too. Energized, like I want to get out there and start racing myself, which is pretty insane when I can’t even drive.
They’re on the penultimate lap, entering a corner, when Gio veers sharply to the left, seemingly to take the outside line. Farron moves to defend it, but he’s still crossing the track when Gio suddenly swerves in the opposite direction, slipping up the inside and causing everyone in the garage to gasp in unison. Somebody starts shouting on the team radio, but I’m too focused on the screen to process the words. It’s a massive risk for Gio. If he takes Farron, or himself, or both of them, out of the race, then he won’t need a fake girlfriend any more because he’ll lose his seat for certain.
I’m holding my breath, I realize, but I can’t seem to let it go. There’s one horrible moment when a crash seems inevitable, but then Gio’s ahead and pulling away.
‘ Yes! ’ I shout, though the mechanics are still subdued. If Gio had been overtaking anyone else, they’d be on their feet, jumping for joy. As it is, their cheers are muted as they cast nervous glances in the direction of the pit wall, where Mark Haddon looks like he’s ready to punch someone.
Fortunately, the crowd agrees with me. They wanted a race and they got one. By the time Gio passes the chequered flag, the roar of the spectators is so loud it feels like an earthquake. Ava has no qualms about celebrating either. She springs out of her seat, saying something I can’t hear because of my headphones.
‘What?’ I yell.
‘Come on!’ I lip-read, as she gestures frantically towards the door. The next thing I know we’re outside in a world that smells of burning rubber and wet tarmac, running with a group of mechanics towards parc fermé, where Gio is already climbing out of his car and removing his helmet.
He notices us immediately and comes rushing over, leaning over the barrier to pull me into a big, bone-crushing hug. He’s sticky and sweaty and smells absolutely terrible, but I don’t care. I hug him back because I’m so relieved that he’s OK and I’m genuinely happy for him. This is his dream, his very first win! We’re both so elated that there’s no need to fake anything.
‘You did it!’ I gasp when he relaxes his grip a little. ‘You won!’
‘You said you wanted a memorable race.’ He clasps his hands on either side of my face and presses his forehead to mine so that our noses are almost touching. There are cameras everywhere, and I have to hand it to him – this is going to make a great picture. Anyone would think we were a devoted couple.
‘You’d better go and get your trophy,’ I say. ‘Save me some champagne.’
‘You two are the cutest!’ Ava nudges me as Gio fist bumps and high fives his way along the barrier, then walks straight past Farron without so much as a nod of acknowledgement.
I laugh, too exhilarated to feel guilty right now.
‘Hopefully he won’t get into too much trouble.’
‘What? He just won a race!’ I look at her incredulously. ‘Why would he get into trouble?’
‘Because he disobeyed team orders.’
‘But he wasn’t told not to overtake, was he?’
‘Not explicitly, but it was still clear.’
‘Oh …’ I feel a pang of unease as Gio comes out on to the podium and waves at the crowds, still sweaty and dishevelled, with a huge, face-splitting grin. ‘What do you think Mark is going to say?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Ava bites her lip. ‘But I guess we’ll find out soon.’