TWELVE
I KNOW THERE’S A problem as soon as I set foot outside the shop. I’ve changed out of my Suds T-shirt into one of Ava’s Quezada ones, to make a passive-aggressive point, but maybe I’ve gone a little too far. For one thing, yellow really isn’t my colour. For another, Gio’s shoulders hunch the moment he sees me.
‘What is it?’ I say, as he crosses the street.
‘I can’t explain,’ he answers without preamble. ‘About Farron, I mean. I thought I’d be able to, but I can’t.’
‘Oh.’ I’m disappointed. My imagination has been in overdrive, coming up with increasingly bizarre scenarios over the past couple of days. ‘You could have texted me that.’
‘If I’d texted, you might not have agreed to see me again.’ He flinches at his own words. ‘I know that sounds manipulative, but the thing with Farron … It isn’t my story to share, but trust me, there is a story and it has nothing to do with racing rivalry. It just goes back a long way and … it’s complicated.’
‘OK.’ I nod because he sounds sincere. ‘I believe you, but it still doesn’t change the way you behaved towards me.’
‘I know. It won’t happen again.’ He lifts an eyebrow. ‘Will you please still come out with me tonight and let me make it up to you?’
I tap my foot as I consider the uninspiring contents of my kitchen cupboards, and then sigh. ‘Fine, but only because it’s a free dinner.’
‘Understood. There’s just one problem.’
‘What?’
‘That restaurant you like doesn’t open for another hour.’
‘Oh.’ I scrunch my face up. I hadn’t thought of that.
‘But I have another idea for passing the time. A fun one, I promise.’
‘What kind of fun?’
He drops his gaze to the Quezada logo emblazoned across my chest. ‘The kind where that T-shirt will fit right in.’
THE RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC is thinning by the time Gio turns his Maserati into an industrial estate on the outskirts of the city. I was nervous at first about getting into a car with him, worried he might treat normal roads like race tracks, but his regular driving style is smooth and steady. I have no idea what we’re doing here, though. The large grey unit in front of us looks depressing rather than inspiring, with a large green sign above the door that says …
‘ Go-karting? ’ I twist in my seat to confront him.
‘Yep.’ He grins.
‘This is what you want to do in your spare time? Aren’t you sick of driving?’
‘I never get sick of driving.’
‘But don’t you think that us racing is a little unfair?’
‘How about I knock five seconds off all my lap times?’
‘I’ll need more than that! I can’t drive.’
He stares at me blankly for a moment. ‘Not at all?’
‘No. I’ve never tried. What if other drivers try to ram me?’
‘They won’t. I’ve booked the whole place so it’ll only be you and me.’
I narrow my eyes accusingly. ‘So you simply assumed I’d still come out with you?’
‘I hoped.’ He looks sheepish. ‘And I wanted to be prepared just in case.’
‘Mmm.’
‘So why haven’t you learned to drive?’
‘Because I can’t afford a car, let alone tax or insurance, so there doesn’t seem to be much point in wasting money on lessons.’
‘But you’d like to learn one day?’
‘I guess.’
‘Huh.’ He looks thoughtful and then opens his door. ‘This is a good place to start then …’
AN HOUR LATER, I have to admit Gio was right. This is really fun. I think I’m almost ready for my own F1 car.
I put my foot down and whizz up the ramp, then make a hard right. The back of my kart swings wide, but I’m still in control. It took me a few laps to figure things out, but now I’m used to the track I’m hitting the apex at each corner, getting faster and faster. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gio, trying to overtake, so I veer sideways, blocking him. I’ve lost count of the times he’s lapped me already, but not this time.
I laugh, equal parts surprised and exhilarated because it turns out I love go-karting. I love it so much I don’t want to stop, even when the lights start flashing orange and I see the chequered flag ahead. On the plus side, Gio is still behind me. Ha! I’ll take that as a win.
‘Come on, that was fun, right?’ He high fives me as we park up.
‘Yes,’ I admit, pulling off my helmet and balaclava, then looking up at the lap times. My fastest lap is still twelve seconds slower than Gio’s. ‘Urgh, you beat me!’
‘But you were giving me a run for my money towards the end.’ He grins, sitting down on a stool at one of the tables, where a couple of icy drinks are waiting. ‘You’re a natural. We’ll have you driving in no time. If you want lessons, that is, free of charge?’
I give him a sceptical look. ‘I’m not sure somebody who routinely drives at two hundred miles an hour would make the best teacher.’
‘I can drive at thirty as well.’
‘Wouldn’t that imply we’re going to keep seeing each other?’
‘Ah.’ He makes a face. ‘You spotted that?’
‘It would mean extra time together too. That’s not in the contract.’ I waggle a finger at him.
‘Neither is breaking up with me in public.’ He gives me a pointed look. ‘I think we’ve established that neither of us are sticklers for details.’
‘Fair enough.’ I gesture at the track. ‘So, is this how you started driving?’
‘Yes, I got my first kart pretty much before I could walk.’
‘And you never looked back?’
‘Never. Driving is all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s in my blood.’ He pushes his hands through his hair where it’s been flattened by his balaclava. ‘Sometimes I think my life would be easier if my brain was wired differently, if I didn’t need to race, but it’s who I am. Without it, I’d feel like there was a part of myself missing.’
I nod because I understand what he means. I used to feel the same way about biking. Does that mean there’s a part of me missing now? I force the thought out of my head.
‘But you had a pretty serious accident when you were sixteen, right?’ I say. ‘Didn’t you ever think about giving up?’
‘No. I would have got back in a car the next day if they’d let me. I’m not a quitter.’ He sees me wince and mutters something in Italian. ‘Sorry, that was insensitive of me. I was lucky I could carry on. My body healed much faster than my doctors expected. I didn’t mean that you were …’ He grimaces. ‘This is coming out wrong. I mean, your accident sounded like it was really bad too. I read you had a concussion?’
‘A concussion, a broken collarbone, a dislocated shoulder, two fractured ribs, a knee sprain and four broken fingers.’ I recite the list by rote.
‘So you were advised to stop riding?’
‘No.’ I twist my balaclava between my fingers. ‘It was my decision.’
‘Why?’ He sounds taken aback. ‘You were only sixteen too, weren’t you? And really high in the rankings. Why give it up when you were that good?’
‘Because I had to. I couldn’t do it any more.’
His brow furrows. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I couldn’t get back on a bike. When I tried to …’ My voice trails away because I still can’t articulate how it felt, having my own body betray me. I don’t understand why I’m telling him any of this either. I haven’t even said this much to my dad; he thinks I just decided to focus on my A-levels.
I clear my throat. ‘Long story short, my career was over, so I put it behind me and decided to focus on sports psychology instead.’
‘But that was, what, almost four years ago? Maybe you could try again? It doesn’t have to be downhill. What about road cycling? Trail riding? Cyclocross?’
‘I can’t.’ I shake my head as my heart starts to thump heavily against my ribcage. ‘Anything with bikes reminds me of my accident. It’s too painful.’
‘Maybe you should talk to someone about it? I have a psychologist who’s really good at this sort of stuff.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘She wouldn’t mind.’
‘I said there’s no need.’ The words come out more harshly than I intend, but I have to shut the idea down.
‘OK.’ Gio’s expression reminds me of the way Dr Meyer looked just before I left her office.
‘So, you see a sports psychologist?’ I ask to distract him.
‘Yes. Her name’s Daphne. I started seeing her after my accident and we talk every couple of weeks.’
‘Oh.’ Somehow I wasn’t expecting him to be so open and forthright about it. ‘That’s great. What about Leon?’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Leon’s a great performance coach. He watches my diet and routine and makes sure I do all my exercises, but Daphne helps me get my mind in the right place to drive, or she tries to. I haven’t always paid attention, but I’m making more of an effort now. Plus she helps me process stuff that’s going on in the rest of my life, all the distractions and worries and comparisons.’
‘You mean, comparisons with your dad?’ I ask.
He flinches slightly, then flexes his neck in a visible effort to relax. ‘Yes. I know I’m too sensitive about it and I have a lot of work still to do, but it just pisses me off that people always mention my dad. I don’t like the implication that I wouldn’t have got a seat in F1 if it wasn’t for him. It makes me feel that everyone is waiting for me to fail so they can all say they knew I wasn’t up to it.’
‘Is that why you’re so determined to be the youngest world champion?’
‘Other than wanting to win in general …’ He lifts a shoulder. ‘Yes. My dad didn’t win until he was twenty-four. It would be nice to beat him at something.’
‘Then I hope you do it,’ I say, meaning it too.
‘Thanks.’ He catches my eye and his lips curve. I’ve never noticed before how full they are. ‘You know, Leon’s going to be at my cousin’s restaurant launch in London this weekend, making sure I don’t eat too much. It would be a good opportunity to talk to him about your assignment. I know social events aren’t in the contract, but there’ll be more free food.’
I hesitate. I’m definitely tempted, but I need to remember what I promised Ava, and also what this evening is supposed to be about: me yelling at him. ‘I’m still angry with you,’ I say.
‘I understand.’ He nods. ‘And if you say that my behaviour the other night was a deal breaker, I’ll respect that and we can forget this whole fake relationship thing, but I’d be really grateful if you could give me one last chance.’
‘Or you’ll sue me?’ I ask nervously.
He gives me an incredulous look. ‘Maisie, I’m not going to sue you.’
‘Will Bo?’
‘Not if I tell him not to.’
‘Oh. Good. In that case, I guess we could treat Silverstone as a practice lap and start again,’ I suggest, letting my eyes roam over his face. ‘Although you really don’t need me any more. You won a race. Everyone says there’s no way Haddon will fire you now.’
‘Probably not,’ he agrees. ‘Bo says my sponsors have calmed down too, but I guess I’m enjoying getting some good press for a change. Have you seen how popular we are? There are stan accounts dedicated to GioMai.’
‘GioMai?’ I do a double take. ‘Is that us?’
‘Yep. There are fan edits and everything.’
‘You’re joking?’ My thoughts shoot off in a hundred directions. ‘Have you watched them?’
‘I’ve had a look. Some of the fan fiction is pretty X-rated too.’ He grins. ‘Whatever you do, don’t look up mechanophilia.’
‘That’s … wow.’ I have no idea how to respond to any of that.
‘You know, all those people who called me a dumbass also told me how much they liked you,’ he goes on. ‘Nobody suspected a thing about us.’
‘Except Farron. He asked me how we really met.’
‘Fuck Farron.’ Gio waves a hand dismissively. ‘He doesn’t know anything.’
‘Are you sure you can’t tell me why you dislike him so much?’ I coax him.
‘I wish I could, but it would mean betraying a confidence.’
‘Well, I guess I can respect that.’ I purse my lips, looking from him to the track and then back again. ‘You really still want me to be your fake girlfriend?’
‘I do.’
‘All right,’ I agree, even while I’m shaking my head. I can’t believe I’m actually agreeing to continue with this crazy scheme. ‘One more chance. Don’t make me regret it.’