Chapter 20
Zaid
Top of the Podium magazine
By Damian Larson, columnist
BACK TO BERGMüLLER
The championship is like a pendulum this season, swinging back and forth between Axel Bergmüller and Zaid Yousef.
After the Spanish and Austrian Grands Prix, Bergmüller is currently leading the charge following two back-to-back wins, while Yousef has fallen behind in the points after the disappointing weekends.
But what led to this lack of performance from Mascort’s number-one driver? While the reliability of the car has certainly been an issue lately, we can’t completely lay the blame at its wheels, as there’s been a dip in Yousef’s capabilities too.
There’s speculation that his personal life is serving to be a major distraction for the seven-time world champion.
Things seemed to be fine with Yousef before the public announcement that he was expecting a child with Ava Farahani, daughter of Specter Energy team principal Omid Farahani.
If that’s what’s causing his issues, it might be time for Mascort to put their foot down and insist Ava go back to Specter Energy – or leave the paddock completely.
There’s no room for distraction in a championship this tight.
As we head to Silverstone this week, can Yousef make a comeback for his home grand prix? Or will it be just another disappointment for the Iraqi Brit?
London
The Spanish Grand Prix didn’t end well for me. In fact, it didn’t even start.
A gearbox issue had me stalling on the formation lap and unable to make it to the starting grid, leaving me to watch the race with the engineers in their designated back room.
My mechanics were apologetic, promising they’d have the issues sorted by the next race of this triple-header in Austria.
I at least started that race. But everything about the car felt wrong, and I spent the seventy-one laps cursing and banging my fist against the wheel for a ninth-place finish.
Two shitty grands prix and I’ve lost my lead in the championship to Axel, trailing now by sixteen points after he racked up two more wins. It’s a slim gap, one I can close if I keep my head down and everything else goes right for me, but fucking hell, what an infuriating position to be in.
To top it off, my wrists have been giving me grief, and by the time I crossed the line in Austria, I could barely grip the wheel without pain lancing up my arms. I’ve been popping more anti-inflammatories than is healthy, my trainer has been working overtime trying to reduce my pain levels, and the team doctor has essentially told me there’s nothing else nonsurgical she can do to help me.
The stress I put on my wrists every grand prix weekend is simply more than the pins and screws holding them together can handle, and unless I want another surgery to possibly add more supportive hardware, I’m out of luck. I just have to push through the pain.
If I hadn’t already made up my mind about retiring at the end of this season, this would have been the nail in the coffin.
Sure, maybe a winter off for rest and recovery might be enough to get me back to a better normal than this, but what if it’s not?
What if racing is something I never should have even come back to this season?
The only reason I haven’t quit already and announced my early retirement is because of Ava’s encouragement and unwavering belief that I can keep going.
She’s now the first face I seek in the crowd after climbing out of the car, drawing energy from the endless well she possesses and using it to propel myself into the next weekend.
Without her, I don’t think I could do this.
I wouldn’t want to fight as hard as I am.
Because I do want this. I want to see this season’s championship through to the bitter end, and Ava’s encouragement is the constant reminder I need.
Having her in my bed every night has been some of the best motivation too.
There have been a fair few times we’ve woken tangled up in each other, our legs intertwined, her face buried in my neck.
I’ve heard her soft exhales and felt the press of her thighs against my hips, and had she not immediately rolled away from me with mumbled apologies, it would have been much harder to heed the warnings from her doctor.
We fit together like we were made for each other, and resisting that feels like pure torture.
We’ll be apart tonight, though, which is for the best. It’s back to separate bedrooms while we stay at my London house until we head up to Silverstone for the British Grand Prix.
It’s my home race, and for that reason alone, I’m determined to win, but even more so because it’ll be the last home race of my career.
My lack of performance has been the hot media topic of the past couple of weeks, and the press hasn’t been particularly kind about it. Worst of all, they’ve been ripping Ava to shreds, blaming her for distracting me. If only they knew she was the only reason I’m still out there fighting.
I know I need to tell the team about my retirement plans soon.
I’ve been in meetings regarding next year’s car, been asked for my input and expected to be very clear about what I want.
Each time, I’ve deferred to Dev, using the excuse that he needs to be happy with the car as well since it takes both of us to win the Constructors’ Championship, that maybe fresh eyes will find something I’ve missed.
Dev certainly suspects something, but he’s smart enough not to mention it in meetings. He’ll corner me soon enough and ask what’s going on, although I’m not sure if I’ll tell him the truth.
I’m doing my best not to think about my retirement announcement or the upcoming grand prix, because the only thing more stressful than racing at two hundred miles an hour is happening this evening – Ava is finally meeting my family.
Right now, she’s standing in my kitchen, holding a tiny metal contraption over the stovetop as something within it starts to pop and smoke.
‘I’m burning esfand,’ she explains before I can even ask, ‘to get the evil eye off us.’
I was only gone for five minutes while I dropped my bags in my bedroom and I’ve come back to this scene. I guess I can’t fault her for doing whatever’s necessary to protect us from negative energy. I’m not a superstitious man, but I’ll believe in all the things she does if it makes her happy.
‘You travel with all that?’ I ask, only slightly astounded that we haven’t been arrested by airport security if this has been in her bag the whole time. Bad enough that we already get extra ‘random’ screenings when we deign to fly commercial.
‘Don’t get sassy with me,’ she shoots back. Then she turns and waves the smoke around my head, murmuring something in Farsi. ‘There.’ She’s bright again, beaming up at me through the haze. ‘All better.’
I smile back at her in the way only she inspires. ‘Thank you, princess.’
I take a seat at the island as Ava returns the esfand to the stove.
She pauses there for a moment after she turns the burner off, her back to me, and I let my eyes rove over her.
Despite her brightness, her shoulders are nearly to her ears and her hands restlessly smooth up and down over her bump. She’s nervous.
‘Do you think your mom is going to like me?’
I focus on the side of her face that’s barely in profile. ‘Of course she will,’ I reassure. ‘I can’t imagine anyone not liking you.’
‘Plenty of people don’t, and that’s their right,’ she says breezily, and I wonder if she’s been sneakily reading the articles written about us in the moments I’m not looking. ‘I just really want her to be in the baby’s life. And if she doesn’t like me, it’s going to make everything harder.’
Even though her tone is light and she moves around the kitchen with a spring to her step, it’s obvious this is weighing on her.
It cracks my heart that she thinks my family will shun her, but I guess it comes down to losing her mother and the strained relationship with her father – she doesn’t expect anything other than to be abandoned.
‘Come here,’ I tell her firmly.
Ava hesitates for only a moment before she moves over to me, stopping about a foot away until I grasp her forearms and pull her closer. Once she’s standing between my knees, I slide my hands down until I’m gripping her fingers, her skin soft and warm against mine.
‘My mother’s going to love you,’ I say, determinedly holding her gaze so she won’t brush me off. ‘My whole family will.’
It would be impossible not to love you, I want to tell her. I can’t imagine there’s anyone easier to love.
‘You’re sure?’ she hedges, some of her brave facade falling away, letting me see the vulnerability she hides behind a smile.
I’ve always wondered how she does it – how she stays so positive even when facing such massive anxiety – but I see it for what it is now. It’s her defense. Defense against disappointment and against letting anyone down. Defense against getting her heart broken.
I appreciate this peek behind the curtain, and it makes me double down on what I’ve already realized – I never want to be the reason she puts on that front. I only ever want her joy to be genuine. And I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen.
‘Yes, princess,’ I murmur. ‘I’m sure.’
——
My younger brother is waiting just inside the door when we arrive at the redbrick semidetached house in Wood Green, the same one we grew up in and still can’t convince our mother to move out of.
‘I love this child with my entire heart,’ Elias says as he hands his babbling son over to me the second I step into the tiny entryway. ‘But I need a break. Emiko escaped by offering to help Mum cook, and then all the women kicked me out of the kitchen so they could gossip.’