Chapter 4
MINNIE
MELBOURNE
‘Minnie? Minnie where are you? I can’t see you. Is this broken?’
‘Hang on, Mum. I need a second,’ I say, desperately searching my hotel room for anything resembling a robe.
‘All I can see is white. Is my phone broken again?’
‘No, you’re looking at the ceiling.’
‘Why?’
‘Hang on!’ My search is coming up dry. I commit to angling my phone very specifically to only show my head.
‘Why are you naked?’
‘Mum! Don’t look! I’ve just fake tanned. It’s still wet.’
‘Oh. Leave it for ten minutes or you’ll smudge it.’
‘I know.’
‘How did you do your back? I always do your back,’ she pouts.
‘I did it myself.’ Like the self-reliant queen I am.
‘You probably missed bits. You can’t reach between your shoulder blades. You have disproportionately short arms.’
‘Thank you,’ I snap, trying to remember whether I did, indeed, miss that bit.
Mum wraps her long hair in a bun on top of her head and secures it with the band around her wrist. She has this innate ability to always look put-together even when she hasn’t done anything.
She’s wearing pyjamas, reading glasses, and her face is make-up free, and she still looks every bit the model she was before I came along.
‘How was the flight?’ she asks.
‘Fine. Long.’ I forgot how brutal long-haul economy is. Bloody TV budgets.
‘And the hotel? Are you in The Langham? We always loved The Langham. Glorious views of the city.’
‘Erm, no.’ I look around at the functional room with its crisp white sheets and tiny window. ‘Press don’t stay where the drivers stay, Mum.’
‘Right.’
‘We’re outside Melbourne, and get a bus to the track.’
‘An F1 bus?’
‘Yes, but the room’s clean, there’s space for all my things, and I also have a lovely view of,’ I peer outside the darkened window, ‘a car park!’ I finish as brightly as I can.
When I look back at my phone, Mum’s brow is deeply furrowed. ‘Right,’ she mumbles.
‘Frown lines!’ I growl, and her forehead unravels. ‘So, what’s new with you?’
It takes a moment for her to soften. ‘I do actually have news.’
‘Spill.’ I shuffle on the bed to get a comfier position.
‘The puppies were born last night.’
I nearly bob up and flash my naked chest. ‘What?! I can’t believe I missed it! How do they look?’
‘Like… little blind moles.’
‘And Coco? How’s Coco?’
‘Fed up with them already. She’s already scrunched her nose up twice this morning.’
‘Can I see them?’
Mum exhales. ‘Fine, but you best appreciate this. It’s a nightmare trying to keep the others out.’
She tiptoes lightly from the kitchen, but being stealthy is impossible in that house. A trail of dogs immediately start following her like the Pied Piper. ‘Go and lie down. All of you: go and lie down!’ she orders.
She slithers into the dining room unaccompanied.
In the middle is a big pen with a stirring Coco and seven tiny black and brown border collie puppies.
I can’t even. They’re the most adorable things I’ve ever seen.
We’ve had ten litters (from six dogs) since my mum became a professional breeder, and you’d think it would get old. It doesn’t.
My hand claps over my mouth. ‘OH MY GOD,’ I breathe. ‘The cuteness.’
Mum smiles indulgently as she rubs behind Coco’s ear.
‘Did they all make it?’ I whisper, and hold my breath.
‘They sure did. It was touch-and-go for the runt at around two, but she pulled through. At least I think she’s a she. The vet’s coming this afternoon and he’ll confirm.’
‘Sorry I can’t be there to help.’
‘That’s alright. Coco didn’t need me much. Are you all excited to meet Min Min? Yes you are.’
‘Don’t teach them Min Min, I hate that name. Then they won’t respond to Minnie.’
‘Is Min Min getting the grumples?’
‘Mum! Don’t teach them Min Min!’
She slips out and heads back to the kitchen. Slaps of bare feet against the wooden floorboards are chased by the light pitter-patter of paws. She settles at the table and asks, ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’
I sigh. ‘Technically, yes. I’ve made reams of notes, and I’ve memorised all the big stats.’
She squints into the phone. I can’t tell if she’s sceptical or has the wrong glasses on. ‘I feel a “but” coming.’
‘Not a but!’ I squeak. ‘Definitely not a but.’
She’s right, there is a but.
My imposter syndrome’s growing by the day.
Sexism aside, I haven’t done a sports journalism degree, I wasn’t a driver, and I didn’t cut my teeth on kids TV like Krunal.
I can add value to the show, I know I can – I work my socks off and have extensive knowledge of F1 and its history – but…
it’s hard not to feel inadequate. I know the guys in the London office think I’m a nepo baby.
Does it count as nepotism if you haven’t seen your dad in twelve years?
None of this can be said to Mum, of course. She was passionately against this career change from the beginning. It’s taken weeks for her to even be lukewarm about it. She’s putting on a front because she knows I really, really want it to work.
I shrug. ‘This working malarky’s hard. It’d be so much easier to do what you did and marry a racing driv—’
Her eyes bulge. ‘Don’t you dare, Minnie Macklin Roberts!’
‘I’m joking. I’m joking! Obviously.’
But it’s too late, Mum’s already on her soap box. Oh good. ‘Don’t even think about getting involved with a driver. Your dad and his antics aside, it’s a horrible life.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re terrified every time they step on the track. Everyone’s claim to them is higher than yours. Their ego blows out of control—’
‘I know.’
‘—distractions are all around. When they retire, they don’t know what the hell to do with themselves—’
‘I know.’
‘—and after everything, they leave you.’
Oh, I thought we were leaving my dad and his antics aside. Silly me.
‘You give up your whole life for someone and they bin you for someone half your age. It’s hideous, Min. You should know better than to go near them. I forbid you!’
I roll my eyes. ‘Save your histrionics. If I’m too commitment-phobic to date at home, it’s quite a stretch to suddenly acquire emotional availability in Australia, don’t you think? That vitamin D’s powerful stuff.’
‘Alright, smart arse, point made.’
At the ripe old age of twenty-five, I’ve never had a boyfriend.
It’s pretty embarrassing to admit. I have the apps, sure, and I’ve been on obligatory dates with guys who lied about their height, forgot to ask about me, and talked endlessly about their ex.
I do want a boyfriend, and I love romance and meet-cutes and romcoms, but there’s something inside me that’s too scared to let anyone close.
‘He left me too, you know,’ I say quietly.
With that Mum loses steam. ‘I really don’t understand why you’re doing this. It’s not as if you want a relationship with your dad.’
‘It’s not about my dad.’ At least not entirely, and not directly.
‘You will see him, though. He always goes to Monaco, and sometimes Silverstone too.’
Oh I’m counting on him not being a problem until Monaco, which gives me two and a half months to make a plan. A daddy-daughter reunion is Future Minnie’s crisis.
‘Did you ever think F1 is a huge part of my life that I’ve missed?
’ I ask. ‘That my options are limited because I don’t have a degree, and this job could be a great way of using the one subject I know infinite amounts about?
Don’t you think I could be good at presenting?
’ I leave out the part where I need to resolve years’ worth of trauma if I’m ever going to enter my healing era.
‘Of course I do, sweets! I just… oh forget it.’ She absent-mindedly pets whoever’s by her leg.
‘I’m going to pretend not to know where that “but” was going, but know this: you’re far more than flawless skin, great posture and my bone structure.
You can do anything you set your mind to.
You fit in every room, and if you let anyone make you feel differently, it’s not them you’re hurting, it’s you. ’
She has to say that, she’s my mum. Also, she doesn’t get it. She’s never done anything like diving head-first into a man’s world.
Mum’s gaze catches on something behind the camera. ‘Oh, Minnie Me, I made this delightful courgette cake yesterday, but it’s missing something. You’d know immediately what. You could…’ I’m already shaking my head, ‘try the recipe when you’re—’
‘I don’t make cakes anymore, Mum.’
‘But if you just tr—’
‘I don’t. Make cakes. Anymore.’
The disappointment in her eyes makes me feel like an ogre, which isn’t fair because she shouldn’t have brought it up to begin with. She knows that.
‘I should go and try to get some shut-eye. We have an early start tomorrow,’ I say.
‘Alright, my girl. Good luck interviewing Jack Bowden. We’ve got all our fingers and toe beans crossed for you.’