Page 3 of Falling Fast
I glance at my phone. There are only five minutes to go before lights out. Barely time to order a champagne cocktail and make our way to the stern to watch. My own exams finished three days ago, but Maisie has two left this week and I know she’s been feeling overwhelmed. It’s not easy studying for your finals in sports psychology while trying to get on to a competitive MA programmeandtraining for downhill mountain bike races,as well asdating a world champion F1 driver who spends most of his time travelling. She’s being pulled in several different directions at once. That’s why she recently moved out of our flat and into Gio’s house, because at least that way they get to spendsometime together when he’s at home. I’m happy for her, truly, even though my own life feels a little emptier now.
‘You know,’ I say, swinging my legs over the side of the daybed and glancing around surreptitiously. ‘You don’t have to watch every second of the race. You can keep revising and I’ll let you know if anything interesting happens.’
‘Would you?’ Her brown eyes widen. ‘I feel like such a bad girlfriend, but if I keep working now then I can take tonight off.’
‘You’re not bad – you’re busy.’ I give her a wink. ‘I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’
‘This is why I love you.’
‘I love you too.’ I blow her a kiss as I grab my wide-brim sunhat and head to the railing at the stern of the yacht. I look out over the red-roofed buildings of the principality and the craggy cliffs that tower behind them. As views go, it’s kind of incredible. The weather is perfect as well, sunny but not too hot, with a gentle breeze stirring the hundreds of red-and-white Monégasque flags. Every grandstand and balcony is packed with spectators, and a mood of hushed expectation fills the air.
Despite my mixed feelings, I’mveryaware how lucky I am to be here, watching from the harbourside. From this vantage point, I can see the tunnel exit and the Tabac chicane, one of the fastest sections on the narrow street circuit. If anyone tries to overtake, it’ll likely be here, though the chances of that happening are small. The average race speed in Monaco is generally lower than on other circuits, and the winding roads and tight corners make overtaking difficult, as well as potentially perilous. This is the race every driver wants to win and desperation can sometimes lead to reckless decisions, but generally speaking whoever starts in pole finishes there, which in this case is good news for Gio.
I focus my attention on the giant harbour screen as the drivers climb into their cars for the formation lap – Gio for Fraser on pole, Jaxon Marr for Quezada in P2. Right behind them is the biggest surprise of the weekend. Like most pundits, I expected to see either Noa Shimizu in the other Quezada car, or Gio’s new teammate, Hayden Quaid, inP3, but instead it’s Leif Olsen for Rask, whose impressive qualifying time sent shockwaves through the entire paddock.
Of all the eleven teams, Rask Racing have had the most tumultuous start to the season. Alongside their mechanical problems, it’s no secret that their billionaire former owner disapproved of the appointment of the new team principal. But nobody expected him to sell his remaining stake a month ago and simply walk away, along with a large percentage of the staff, leaving his former team in free-fall.
Personally, I like Bastian Aalto, a softly spoken Finn who’s worked in F1 for almost two decades – first as an engineer, then as a racing director. Given a chance, I think he’ll do great things as team principal at Rask. Leif Olsen, too. Of all the new drivers on the grid, he’s the one I’m most intrigued by. Though, apart from Gio, I don’t support individual drivers.
My loyalty is still to Quezada, which means I support whoever’s driving for them, no matter who they are or what I think of their racing style. But something about Leif Olsen appeals to me, and not just because, as a reserve driver for Chiltern, he overtook Luc Farron on the last lap of the Japanese Grand Prix last year – a move which gave Gio the championship.
It doesn’t hurt that he looks like a modern-day Viking, all square jaw, high cheekbones and platinum-blonde hair. In interviews he comes across as polite but reserved – the kind of driver who keeps to himself and avoids the spotlight when he can. But, in a car, his style is utterly compelling – sleek and smooth rather than aggressive – the closest thing I’ve ever seen to poetry on a race track.
When his car behaves, like it did back in the very first Grand Prix of the year in Australia, he’s up there with thebest. Admittedly, he was helped out that day by a sudden rainstorm that sent five other drivers into the wall, but he still came third in only his second F1 race.ThenRask’s mechanical issues began, and he’s had to withdraw from three of the six races since. Fingers crossed he can go the distance today.
I hold my breath as the cars finish the formation lap and line up back on the grid. There’s a moment of stillness before the screen cuts to the five lights on the gantry above the track, turning red, one by one. Waiting for them to go out never fails to send a shiver down my spine. The majority of car-to-car contact takes place on the first lap, as the drivers jockey for position, so if there’s going to be a significant change to the running order, it’s usually now.
The lights go out. Engines roar, the crowd cheers and away they go.
‘WOW!’ MAISIE DECLARES, STANDING in the doorway of my cabin five hours later.
‘Do you think?’ I slide one last hair grip into my low bun and then pluck anxiously at the scooped neckline of my black jumpsuit. I don’t remember it clinging to my curves quite so snugly when I bought it, but I have done a lot of stress-eating recently.
‘Yes!’ She bats my hands away. ‘You look gorgeous.’
‘So do you.’ I step back to admire her shiny blue mini-dress. ‘I can’t believe how toned you are from cycling. Your legs look incredible.’
‘Thanks.’ She strikes a model pose. ‘If you can’t dress up for Monaco, when can you?’ She checks her phone for the time. ‘We’d better go. We have a lot of celebrating to do.’
‘I guess Gio’s in a good mood after his win?’ I say, reachingfor my clutch before we head up the stairs to the main deck. ‘I won’t ask where you two went after he got back. I barely had a chance to say hi!’
‘Yeah, sorry about that.’ She gives me a teasing smile. ‘But you can congratulate him at the club – he’s meeting us there.’
We leave the yacht via a gangplank. It’s bizarre to think the street beside the quayside was a race track this afternoon. The clear-up is already well underway, as the temporary barriers are taken down and life returns to normal, but there are still plenty of people around, giving the whole place a party atmosphere.
Personally, I wish we could stay out here in the open air, but this is Gio’s night so I don’t complain when a member of Fraser’s PR team takes us to a club on a side street. It’s guarded by a small army of doormen, who give us suspicious looks as we squeeze past them to the dance floor. There’s a raised booth in the centre, flashing with gold and green lights, where a DJ is playing dance music, but it’s hard to tell how big the room is because there are mirrors on all the walls, reflecting everything back on itself. Bizarrely, there are also trees placed randomly about the floor, actual palm trees stretching up towards a domed glass ceiling. I daren’t ask how much it costs to get in here because I already know I can’t afford it. Fortunately, tonight is courtesy of Mark Haddon, Gio’s boss.
‘There he is!’ Maisie shouts over the thump of the music, pointing towards a private area beside the bar. ‘Come on.’
I take a deep breath to calm myself before following her. Experience has taught me to keep a tight rein on my emotions in crowded spaces like this. The last thing I need is any old memories leaping out to sabotage my progress, but thankfully, after six years of practice, I’m an expert at staying in control.
‘Heyyyy!’ Gio steps forward to greet us, dressed in a rumpled button-up and white chinos, looking as handsome as ever with his curly dark hair and striking, turquoise-blue eyes. ‘You two look stunning!’
‘Thanks.’ I smile, though I know he only has eyes for Maisie. ‘And congratulations. That’s two wins in a row. You should really give the other drivers a chance.’
‘Ha! Maybe next year.’ He wraps an arm around Maisie’s waist and presses his lips to her forehead, like he can’t get enough of her. ‘It was a good day for Fraser, especially since Hayden came second. And who came third?’ He smirks at me. ‘Oh, that’s right,notQuezada.’
‘They made a couple of mistakes with their pit stops, that’s all,’ I reply defiantly. One of the Gold Dart drivers finished third, putting the Quezada cars in fourth and sixth place.
