Chapter 18
Niki
Watching the cars fly around the Australian track, I bite back the jealousy that’s poked me since I arrived.
Jacs sidles up to me. “You okay?”
“I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” I grumble. I dig my nails into my palms as I remind myself that I need to be old Niki before I can race professionally again.
“I don’t want to know your emotional shit, but Senna worries, and when she worries, I do, too.”
“She means a lot to you.”
“Aye. She’s the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t have many, especially female ones. I blame my dad, although Tawny survived his obsession with racing and cars.”
We stare at the screen, where Tawny, Jacs’s sister, takes a corner. I catch a hint of Tawny’s anxiety in the way she edges over the white lines. I had similar issues years ago. I make a note to chat with her.
“But Senna gave me a job when I burned my bridges in Vessa,” Jacs says, referring to the best team in Formula One. “Technically, they were burned for me.”
I stare at her. She’s not talked about the past like this before. “What do you mean?”
“It doesn’t matter. But I understand the struggle to meet everyone’s expectations when you have things to work through. I’m here for you. Not for the emotional shit, but if you ever want to get drunk and raise hell.”
I laugh. “I see why Senna’s more relaxed when you’re around. She needs you and Connor.”
“She needs you, too.” She needs the old me, not this shell of a man. “Are you enjoying the race? You were smiling.”
“I miss racing in F1,” I whisper as if it’s a confession.
“Good, because I want to see you out there again soon.”
I can practically taste the fight between Tawny and Billy Nister, an Australian driver.
Billy takes too many risks, and sometimes they end in near crashes.
I was like that. Most of us believed we controlled the car and did what we wanted.
The crash that could have killed me taught me that wasn’t the case.
I tap my cap, the scars a reminder of who I’ve become.
But if I manage my health anxiety, maybe I can race professionally again.
Drivers have less control, more overnights away from home, and risks I can’t manage.
That’s why I ran away to my health anxiety shelter in Greece, where the days dragged because nothing changed.
Rosie was the joy in the middle of it. Maybe that’s why I was attracted to her.
She was a soft breeze on a monotonous, blistering hot day.
“You should ask Senna if you can drive in one of the practices,” Jacs says. “You’re a reserve driver. It would be helpful for you to drive the car for real rather than just on the simulator.”
My stomach balks. I’m not there yet. I can’t be here for that many days and get in unclean cars others have used.
Word goes around the garage that Tawny will be brought in for a tyre change. The energy around me climbs. The pit crew dive around the garage, collecting equipment and sprinting to the entrance.
Jacs returns to her team. I join Senna at her desk and watch her screen.
Every second counts for a tyre change. Any mistake can cost a team a race or worse.
When I drank with the crew, they often spoke about the biggest mistakes in races, including when Vessa gave their driver who was leading the race the wrong tyres.
He got a puncture, needed another change and eventually crossed the line in ninth position.
If that had happened during our last race of last season, we wouldn’t have achieved fifth in the championship.
Every millisecond counts, and I’m hungry for it.
“Box, box,” sounds from Senna’s headphones as Johannes, Tawny’s engineer, uses the special call sign to get her into the pits for a tyre change.
The tension around me is palpable. If this goes according to plan, she’ll be back out and will only lose one track position, which, with fresh tyres, she can get back within a couple of laps.
She nears the garage.
This is it.
I lean closer to the screen.
The change should only take three seconds.
I hold my breath as the crew jumps at her car with their well-developed skills. It’s like time stands still as the car’s jacked, the tyre gunners remove wheel nuts, tyres are removed, fresh ones go on, and the wheel nuts are fitted.
It’s nearly seamless, and within 3.2 seconds, Tawny drives away.
As much as I’m considering improving the workings of the team, I wish I were in that car.
I want to be fighting for my track position.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly, but the ache to be out there, adrenaline coursing through me as I make last-minute decisions and risk everything, is like a pain in my chest that won’t disappear.
“Niki,” Senna says, pulling me from my thoughts, “what did you think of the tyre change?”
“It was good. I’m curious to study it again, though. I might review the videos when I’m back in the office next week.”
“To see where they can improve?”
I catch the glint in her eyes she would get when she was Director of Comms and dreaming a new social media strategy. “Yes. I want Coulter Racing to be the best, and if something can be improved, I’ll find it.”
“You had good ideas about our tyre strategy and advised me about racing today.” Her voice wavers a little. This was a big race for her. Last season, she was a newbie boss, but now she’s a contender and, for some, the enemy.
“You already had a great race strategy. It’s paying off.” I point at the screen. “I’d like to chat to Tawny. She’s drifting closer to the track limits. I watched some of last year’s races on the plane, and it’s one of her common errors, especially when certain drivers are close.”
“You watched last year’s races?”
“I saw most of them while away, but I refreshed while on the plane.” To attempt to control the unrelenting panic.
Senna holds out her hand, but I don’t take it.
This trip has increased my anxiety, although Rosie lessened some of it with the changes she’d requested for my room and things like packing my stuff in plastic.
She included sealed junk food in my bag in case I got too anxious about eating and needed a sugar boost. I wouldn’t have left the plane if not for her, and yet now I’m here, I’m a little like the old me.
I smile at Senna, and she returns it as if grateful, even though I rejected her. I hope she knows I’m trying.
“Would it be cheeky to book Tawny into the simulator with me this week?” I ask. “I could talk her through her races.”
“Not if you’re our team advisor.”
“Excuse me?”
“I want you to be an advisor for the team. You’ve got boundless knowledge, and we need you to improve. We can talk through it further when we’re back from Australia.”
I prepare my no. The travel and the hotel stays would be too much. But Senna holds her palm up. “Just consider it. And decide your terms and conditions.”
I rub my lower lip with my teeth.
“For me?”
I nod slowly as I recall Jacs’s words. Senna needs me.
My phone buzzes with a message.
Rosie: How are things? Is the team doing well? Are you doing well?
I tap my quick response.
Niki: Everything is fine. How are you, and why are you awake at 5 a.m.?
Rosie: I’ve watched Peppa Pig for the last hour with Tabi. She had a nightmare. It’s because of something at preschool. I wish I could see the race and check if you’re okay.
I make a note to arrange a subscription to the television channel that shows Formula One for her.
Rosie: Sorry, was that too much?
Niki: It wasn’t too much. I hope you get sleep later.
I bite the inside of my mouth, trying to remain professional and not imagine what she wears to bed or what she looks like when she first wakes.
Rose: No chance. Tabi wants to visit the farm park again. Three weekends in a row. It’s not the glamorous life of an Australian Grand Prix.
I laugh.
Niki: No, but it sounds fun. I’ll join you one day. I look great in a pair of dungarees.
I suck in a breath. That’s not professional boss behaviour. But before I can try to make it less weird, she sends another text.
Rosie: I bet you do, sir. Catch you later.
Niki: See you next week. And thank you for everything this weekend.
My cheeks flush, and I sense Senna’s stare.
“By the way,” Senna adds, “Clara tried to get into the garage before the race, but I sent her away.”
I wince. “Why is my ex in Australia?”
“Modelling job. But you don’t need her around after she dumped you. I told her she wasn’t welcome.”
“She didn’t dump me.”
But Senna doesn’t hear me. I shove my shaking hands in my pockets at the prospect of bumping into the woman I last saw from my hospital bed.