TWENTY-NINE
‘DO YOU WANT brEAKFAST?’ Ava calls from the kitchen.
‘No, thanks,’ I answer, though I keep my eyes glued to the television, where coverage of the Japanese Grand Prix has just started and Mark Haddon is already being interviewed about the relationship between Gio and Luc. It must be infuriating, how obsessed the media are with personalities when all Mark wants them to do is race, especially today of all days, but his responses are a masterclass in diplomacy.
‘I’ve brought some tea and toast anyway,’ Ava says, depositing a tray on the coffee table. ‘But we can move on to gin whenever you want. These are special circumstances.’
‘Way ahead of you.’ I pick up the bottle I’ve already stashed beside the sofa.
‘Good thinking.’ She cups a hand round my shoulder. ‘You know you don’t have to watch. You could go back to bed. I’ll wake you when it’s all over.’
I give her a look because the chances of me getting back to sleep are smaller than the chances of me winning a Grand Prix myself.
‘Maybe a cycle, then?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. I could be pelting down Helvellyn right now and my mind would still be on Gio. I just wish it wasn’t quite so early. Ava says the dates for specific GPs move around each year and Japan is back to being the decider, which means a five thirty start for us.
As if my thoughts have conjured him, Gio appears on the screen. He’s standing beside his car, his overalls rolled down to his waist, talking to a technician. It’s only a few seconds before the camera moves on, but I feel my heartbeat in my throat, remembering our night together, the way he kissed me like nobody else in the world existed, the way his fingers slid over my skin, the way it felt when he …
‘I hope he wins,’ Ava says, startling me out of my reverie. I’ve told her what happened when Gio came to see me, as well as his reasons for not apologizing sooner, and she seems to have forgiven him. Either that or she just loathes Farron more.
‘Me too.’ My voice is rough.
‘Actually, I hope he laps Farron and then rubs his face in it afterwards.’
I laugh and then turn sober. ‘Even if he does, he might not win the championship.’
The television coverage is saying something similar, that Farron’s lead makes him near unassailable. He and Gio seem to have been alternating wins recently, but since Gio missed Singapore, Farron now only needs a single point to win the championship. According to the commentator, whose gleeful tone makes me want to hurl something at the TV, Suzuka is exactly the kind of track Farron enjoys too – fast, technical, and both physically and mentally challenging, the only figure-eight circuit in the world.
I find myself doing deep breathing exercises as the drivers climb into their cars. My body is rigid with tension – shoulders hunched, teeth gritted, my feet tapping like they’re battery-powered – and the race hasn’t even started yet. I don’t know how I’m going to stand it over the next fifty-three torturous laps, but I know that I have to, for Gio’s sake. Whatever the result, it won’t change anything between us. Win or lose, I won’t call him, not for the three months we’ve agreed to anyway, but I still need to watch, not just because I promised I would but because I know how much it means to him – and to me now, too. If we’re going to have any chance of a future together, I need to work on getting over my fears.
The cars return to their starting positions after the formation lap and sit there, revving their engines. Gio is in second place alongside Farron.
The lights start to go on. I’m not egotistical enough to imagine that Gio is thinking about me at this moment. A clear head is vital for any kind of racer, but I hope somehow he knows that I’m watching. I fix my eyes on his car, willing him not do anything stupid or dangerous. Success is everything, but I want him to be safe.
And hopefully win.
The lights go out and they’re away, racing down to the first corner.
BY LAP FIFTY-TWO, I’M emotionally drained. Ava and I have both jumped up and down so many times, our downstairs neighbours must think we’re doing early morning aerobics. Gio seized the lead at the very first corner and is driving a textbook race, according to the commentators. He hasn’t put a wheel wrong, holding off every challenge as he gradually pulls away from the pack. Meanwhile, thanks to a drive-through penalty for speeding in the pit lane, Farron has dropped down to tenth, which means he’s a long way back, but unfortunately not far enough. If he can hold his place for one more lap and finish the race in tenth place, he’ll still get the one point he needs, enough to be world champion.
I cover my eyes with my hand, watching through my fingers. Ava says our last hope is Farron’s tyres. He hasn’t changed them for twenty laps, trying to eke out their life to avoid losing time on another pit-stop, but according to the team radio they’re worn and overheating.
‘The chequered flag!’ Ava leaps up from the sofa one more time as Gio carves round the last corner. ‘He’s going to do it!’
‘He’s almost there.’ I spring up too, clutching hold of her as he passes the line.
‘Yes!’ she whoops, bouncing us both up and down. ‘He’s won! Gio’s won!’
‘Wait!’ I stop bouncing. ‘What about Farron?’
She lowers herself to the floor in front of the screen. ‘That’s Marr in second. Go, Quezada! Then Zaragoza …’
‘I need to sit down.’ I sink back on to the sofa, watching as the rest of the cars pass the finish line. Shimizu in fourth, a Gold Dart in fifth … Meanwhile, Farron’s still in tenth and approaching the flag.
‘Oh no.’ I sink my head into my hands as my heart plummets. ‘He’s going to get a point, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Ava groans, and then sucks in a breath. ‘Wait! Olsen!’
‘Who?’
‘Leif Olsen. He’s the reserve driver for Chiltern. They brought him in because Cooper is sick. He’s going round the inside of the Casio Chicane!’
‘What?’
‘He’s passed him!’ she shrieks. ‘Olsen’s overtaken Farron!’
‘So Farron’s out of the points?’ I jolt my head up just in time to see crumbs of rubber falling off his tyres, first a little, then a lot. It’s like they’re falling apart before our eyes.
Other cars race past him, one, two, three, four of them. By the time Farron limps over the finish line, his tyres are in shreds and he’s in fifteenth place, way out of the points.
The camera switches to Gio at parc fermé, hugging members of his team. They all look ecstatic, hugging and shouting and fist-bumping each other. Even Mark is smiling. Marr and Zaragoza are congratulating him too, all their rivalry forgotten.
‘We need champagne!’ Ava declares.
‘Do we have any?’ I watch, perplexed, as she hurtles towards the kitchen.
‘Yes! I hid it in the vegetable drawer.’ She lifts a bottle in triumph. ‘I got it just in case.’
‘You’re a genius!’ I open the balcony door so she can pop the cork over the garden, then hurry back to the television. Gio is already climbing on to the podium for his two trophies, one for the race, one as the new world champion, as the crowd erupts into cheers. He sprays them with champagne in return, before lowering the bottle to one of his mechanics.
‘Gio! How does it feel to be the youngest ever Formula 1 champion?’ the interviewer asks. ‘Has it sunk in yet?’
‘No.’ Gio grins, looking so happy and exhausted I wish I’d gone with him after all, just so I could wrap my arms round him. ‘I think it’s going to take a while.’
‘You made the race look easy. Tell us, how much does it mean to you?’
‘It definitely wasn’t easy.’ He pushes a hand through his hair. ‘The last part of this season has been difficult for a lot of reasons and some people I love have suffered because of that, so I want to dedicate this win to them, to my family and Maisie. This trophy means a lot, but they mean more.’
‘Really?’ The interviewer’s voice hitches with excitement. It’s almost as high-pitched as the squeals Ava and I make at the same moment.
‘Yes. Maisie especially helped me get my head in the right place this season. Without her, I would probably have lost my seat altogether, and in return, all she got was a load of abuse in the press, all of it lies.’
‘So the two of you are still together?’
‘I’m not going to talk about my personal life any longer. All I want to say is that this trophy is half hers.’ Gio looks straight at the screen. ‘Maisie, ti amo !’
‘I have to sit down.’ I collapse on to the sofa as my knees give way.
Ava sinks down beside me, clasping the bottle of champagne. ‘ Ti amo? Doesn’t that mean “I love you” in Italian?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he just called out all the people who’ve been saying horrible things about you and said he loves you live on television?’
‘Yes.’ I blink because my eyes are filling with happy tears.
‘And do you have anything to say to your teammate, Luc Farron?’ the interviewer continues.
For a moment, Gio’s expression hardens, before he simply shrugs his shoulders. ‘Yes, but I’ll do that in private.’
‘But—’ the interviewer tries to go on, but Gio’s already moving away.
‘He loves you.’ Ava sounds like she’s welling up too. ‘That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. That’s it. I formally transfer my allegiance from Quezada to Fraser.’
‘Before you do that –’ I fumble in my dressing-gown pocket for the card Gio gave me – ‘you might want to give Quezada a call. Apparently they’re expecting you.’
‘Quezada communications team?’ Ava gives a jolt, splashing champagne over the top of the bottle. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘But you’ve just transferred your allegiance to Fraser, so …’
‘I’ll support two teams!’ She clutches the card to her heart. ‘This is my dream job!’
‘I know.’
I look back at the screen, where Gio is now posing for a photo with his mechanics, and blow him a kiss. ‘ Anch’io ti amo .’