by Paige Toon
Luis arrives soon afterwards, his expression far from ecstatic, but his reception from his team-mates is just as joyous. The driver in third place, a Spaniard called Antonio Aranda, also receives rapturous applause from his home-town crowd.
Later, when we’re all back in the hospitality area, Holly and I are run off our feet making sure everyone has a full glass of champagne. I’m on edge because I can’t see Will anywhere. I know he has interviews to do, but Luis arrived back ten minutes ago and I’ll be devastated if Will goes home to England without saying goodbye. The next race is in Istanbul in two weeks’ time and that feels like a lifetime away.
When Will finally makes an appearance to the sound of rapturous applause, I can’t keep the smile from my face or the spring from my step. My heart is soaring, and then I’m distracted because everywhere I go I’m acutely aware of Will’s presence in the room as he mingles with the sponsors and the rest of the team. I keep trying to manoeuvre myself in his direction, but there’s always another glass to fill and, in the interim, he moves off.
At one point, I find myself amongst Catalina and her Spanish posse. She holds out her glass for me to top up, but doesn’t acknowledge me or say thank you. She’s barely come out of the directors’ suite all weekend. I notice Alberta beside her and attend to her glass, too. I didn’t realise she was here. My champagne bottle is almost empty so I hurry back into the kitchen and return to the hospitality area with a fresh one.
‘Fill her up, bun tart.’
I almost bump into Luis standing just outside the kitchen. He’s changed out of his racing overalls into jeans and a T-shirt.
‘I see your girlfriend’s here,’ I say wryly, pouring fizzing liquid into his glass.
He raises one eyebrow at me. ‘She’s ignored me all weekend.’
‘Oh dear,’ I reply. ‘It’s not really your day today, is it? What with losing to Will and all that . . . How did that happen, anyway?’
‘Were you asleep?’ he asks.
‘No, I watched most of it.’
‘Well, he had a much better car today. Simple as that.’
‘What was wrong with yours?’
‘Too much oversteer.’
‘Oversteer? Is that the same as understeer?’
‘Er, no, otherwise it would be called understeer, wouldn’t it.’
‘She’s not talking cars again, is she?’
I spin around at the sound of Will’s voice. I feel light-headed as he grins, his blue eyes sparkling.
‘Want me to help you with that?’ He points at the almost-full bottle of champagne I’m wielding.
‘Do you want some?’ I check.
‘Please.’ He holds out his glass and I tilt the bottle, willing my hands to keep steady as the fluid hits the flute. The bubbles threaten to spill over the top and I hold my breath, but they subside again so I top up the glass with a little more.
‘I’m gonna switch to beer.’ Luis excuses himself, nudging me as he goes past. I look back at Will. He’ll leave, too, now. I just know it.
And he does. He walks away without saying a word. Dammit!
Hang on, he’s coming back again. With a champagne glass!
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
‘It’s called a glass. They come in quite useful if you work in catering.’
I smack him on his arm and smile. ‘I know that, you jerk. What are you doing with it?’
He hands me his almost-full glass. ‘Hold that.’ I do as he says. Then he takes the bottle of champagne from me and tops up the empty flute. He puts the champagne bottle down on a nearby tabletop and hands me the fresh glass, removing the other one I’m holding.
‘Cheers.’ He takes a sip and leans back on the tabletop.
‘Cheers,’ I say warily, before adding, ‘I can’t really stand here, drinking.’
‘Why not?’
‘I should be working.’
‘There are enough of you. God,’ he says, looking around the room, ‘it’s like a beehive in here.’
I cast my eyes around the room and see all of the front-of-house staff, and even a couple of caterers, hard at work. The guests can barely walk two feet without coming face to face with a bottle of champagne or a tray of canapés.
‘Well done, by the way. Congratulations,’ I say.
‘Thanks.’
‘You managed to sort out that understeer problem, then.’
He smirks at me. ‘So where are we going tonight?’
‘Tonight?’ My eyes widen. ‘Did you change your flight?’
He nods.
‘Brilliant!’ Oh my God, I’m so happy I could hug him! Calm down, Daisy, otherwise he might get a restraining order. ‘Well, I think we’re heading to Las Ramblas again.’ I try to keep a straight face.
‘Cool. What time?’
‘We have to finish cleaning up here, so maybe eight o’clock? Are you going back to the hotel, soon?’
‘Yeah, in half an hour or so.’
‘I’ll come and get you if you like?’
‘Okay.’ He takes a sip of his drink and looks around the room.
‘I should get back to work.’ I pick up the champagne bottle and put my half-full glass down on the table.
‘See you later, then.’
‘Bye . . .’
Two hours later, the hospitality area has finally cleared out and we’re hard at work, scrubbing down the kitchen. I glance at my watch. It’s already seven thirty.
‘What time did you tell him?’ Holly asks me.
I look at her, worriedly. ‘Eight o’clock.’
‘We won’t be finished before nine,’ she says.
‘I know.’ I wasn’t thinking when I told Will otherwise and now I’m feeling quite sick about it.
I hear the sound of male voices outside the kitchen.
‘That’s Pete and Dan!’ Holly says. ‘Go with them!’
‘What? Back to the hotel?’
‘Yes!’ she urges. ‘Hitch a ride! I’ll see you at that tapas bar later!’
‘I can’t leave . . .’ I look around the kitchen. Everyone is hard at work.
‘Go!’ she insists. ‘Chef!’
‘What?’ Frederick turns around.
‘Holly!’ I whisper.
She continues, unperturbed. ‘Can Daisy be excused? She has an errand to run for Will.’
‘Is Daisy not capable of asking for herself to be excused?’ Frederick asks, irritably.
I shift on my feet.
‘Go on, then,’ Frederick says, turning away.
Holly beams at me so I quickly take off my apron and grab my bag before he changes his mind. The lads are just walking outside to one of our people carriers.
‘Pete! Dan!’ I call breathlessly. ‘Can I get a lift back to the hotel?’
They look surprised, but step back to let me into the car first. ‘Sure.’
‘Where are we off to tonight?’ Pete asks me, when we’re all belted up.
‘Holly wants to meet at that tapas bar we went to on Friday.’ ‘What, the one with the bright lighting?’ Dan asks me, screwing his nose up.
‘Yeah. And all the sexy barmen.’ I grin.
‘Bollocks to that,’ Pete exclaims, nudging Dan. ‘We’ll go to that other one, won’t we, mate? The one on the other side of the road?’
‘What, the touristy one?’ I frown.
‘They’re all touristy,’ Pete rebuffs me.
I sigh. ‘Okay, I’ll call Holly when I get back to the hotel.’
But when I do, her mobile goes straight through to voicemail. Her battery could be flat, but I’ll keep trying.
At ten past eight, I’m still in my hotel room desperately trying to decide what to wear. I did have a change of clothes with me at the track because Holly and I usually get ready there, but now that Will’s coming, nothing I have will do. I’m torn between a mini skirt or my black Rock & Republic jeans that I wore on Friday and eventually I decide on the latter, teamed with a gun-metal-grey Diesel T-shirt. The outfit is a bit rock chick, bu
t I decide to run with that look. I have to wear my hair up in a bun for work, but now I take the pins out and it falls dark and wavy, halfway down my back. I go into the bathroom and hurriedly apply some more make-up – black kohl around my green eyes and a smudge of shimmery silver eye-shadow on the lids, followed by black mascara and just a touch of lipgloss. I look at my watch. It’s twenty-five past eight. A quick spritz of perfume and I’m ready.
Nerves flutter through me once more. I take a deep breath and try to still them. This is ridiculous. It’s not like I’m going on a freaking date, is it? I pull a face and shake my head at my own ridiculousness as I grab my bag and go to the lift. Will’s room is on the top floor.
I knock on his door and distractedly survey my fingernails. The beige-pink polish doesn’t really go with my rock chick look. I wish I had some rouge noire . . . Oh! I jump as the door swishes open.
‘Hello!’ I chirp, resisting the urge to take a step backwards. Will is standing in the doorway wearing khaki-coloured G-Star trousers and a black T-shirt. The smell of his aftershave wafts out, but I can see from here that he hasn’t shaved. In fact, his jaw has the beginnings of stubble and he looks even hotter than usual. I don’t know how I’m going to cope with this.
‘All set?’ he asks, coming out of the room and pulling the door closed behind him.
‘Yes, sorry I’m late.’
‘That’s alright.’ He follows me down the corridor to the lifts and I push the button. ‘Is everyone else downstairs?’ he asks as the lift doors open and we step inside.
‘They should be by now. Holly’s meeting us there. She had to stay back at the track a bit longer.’
He nods. A moment later we arrive at the foyer. Pete, Dan and the rest of the lads – about ten in total – whistle at me as we walk towards them.
‘Gawd, check you out,’ Dan says, wrapping his arm around my neck. ‘Are you on the pull tonight, love?’
‘Get off.’ I push him away, good-naturedly. I’m blushing, but I’m secretly delighted the guys just made a fuss of me in front of Will. I glance at him, but he’s chatting to one of his mechanics.
‘Shall we go?’ I say to Pete.
He turns to Dan. ‘Is Luis definitely not coming?’
‘No, he said he had a headache.’
Pete scoffs. ‘Like that’s ever stopped him in the past. Still pissed off at you for that overtaking manoeuvre, I imagine.’ He gives Will a mischievous look, but Will just shrugs.
It’s only a short walk to Las Ramblas, which are a set of busy shopping streets, crowded with tourists and full of cafés and bars. Because it’s race weekend, Barcelona is even more packed with people than usual. I find myself walking between Pete and Dan as we try to avoid street musicians on the bustling pavements. I’m looking at the back of Will’s head for most of the way and desperately hoping it’s not going to be like this for the rest of the night. If I don’t get a chance to speak to him, I think I’ll die.
It’s standing room only at the bar and when a stool becomes available, the guys insist I take it. I’m the only girl here, and it’s quite sweet that they’re looking out for me. They get the drinks in, opting for beer while I avoid Sangria and go for a vodka and lemon instead. Then I perch on my stool and make chitchat with one of Luis’s mechanics. But twenty minutes in, I’m struggling to focus on what he’s saying. Will has just cracked up laughing at something Pete has said. This is driving me nuts. The mechanic I’m talking to excuses himself to go to the gents’, and another one of the lads appears in his place. I feel like I’m stranded, but I don’t want to seem rude so I smile and try to think of something to say. And then I remember Holly.
‘Sorry,’ I apologise to the mechanic, Karl, as I pull my phone out of my bag. ‘I just have to call Holly,’ I explain. ‘She’s supposed to be meeting us somewhere else.’
I dial her number for the umpteenth time and, once again, it goes straight through to voicemail. I snap the phone shut, impatiently.
‘No answer?’ Karl asks.
‘No.’
‘Want another one?’ He indicates my almost-empty glass.
‘Um, no, I shouldn’t.’ I stand up. ‘I’m going to have to go to the bar to meet her. I’ll bring her back,’ I promise.
‘Cool.’ But he’s already turned around and is trying to get the bartender’s attention.
I squeeze past the other lads in the direction of Pete and Will. Pete steps aside and ushers me into their gang.
‘I have to go,’ I tell him regretfully.
His face falls. ‘Where?’
‘Holly’s meeting me at that other place. I can’t get hold of her.’
‘PETE!’ Karl shouts.
Pete looks over at the bar.
‘ANOTHER ROUND?’
‘YEAH, GOOD ONE!’ Pete lifts up his beer bottle.
‘Where’s Holly meeting you?’ Will asks me while this is going on.
‘Only across the road. But her phone battery must be flat so I’m just going to have to go and wait for her. Hopefully she won’t be late.’
‘Want me to come and keep you company?’
I stare at him and my spirits lift, but I mindlessly shake my head. ‘No, it’s okay, you don’t have to.’ He’s only being polite.
‘Are you sure?’
No! Please, come with me!
I waver and he notices.
‘Come on.’ He puts his hand on my back and starts to guide me towards the door. ‘Pete.’ He reaches back and taps Pete on his shoulder. ‘I’m just going to go with Daisy to get Holly.’
‘Sure, mate.’ Pete turns back to the lads.
I lead the way out, my heart pounding in my chest as we step onto the crowded pavement.
Chapter 10
‘It’s just over here,’ I say.
We go inside the bar and I scan the room for Holly. ‘I can’t see her,’ I tell Will, ‘but she should be here soon.’
‘Okay. Let’s get a drink.’
At that moment I notice a table come up by the window.
‘You grab it,’ Will says. ‘I’ll go to the bar. What are you having?’
I decide to stick to vodka. Will returns shortly afterwards with our drinks and by then I’ve managed to rack my brain for some things to talk about.
‘Thanks for coming with me,’ I say, once he’s seated.
‘Of course, no problem. I didn’t want you to have to come on your own.’ He’s drinking a bottle of beer.
I screw my nose up. ‘Do you think Luis has really got a headache or is he just being a sore loser?’
‘Probably a bit of both,’ Will answers wryly, then adds conspiratorially, ‘He thought I was a bit aggressive with my driving today.’
‘Did he? Well, he would, wouldn’t he? You won and he didn’t.’
‘Exactly. He’ll get over it by the next race.’
‘You drivers do seem to forgive and forget pretty quickly. I overheard one of the mechanics yesterday saying something about Emilio Rizzo slating Antonio Aranda to the press for almost taking him off the track at the last race. And then today when Aranda came third, I spotted them slapping each other on the back and acting like best buddies.’
‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘That’s the nature of the business. You can’t hold grudges. Saying that, there’s a lot of jealousy in this sport, which is probably why Rizzo mouthed off to the press. Aranda’s only been in F1 for a year and Rizzo’s been around forever. There’s talk he’s going to retire soon.’
‘Oh, right.’ I’m not actually that interested in hearing about the slimy old Italian, so I change tack. ‘How did you get into racing?’
‘My grandfather started taking me karting at the age of seven. He was a bit of a race enthusiast.’
‘Seven? Wow.’
‘Mmm. Anyway, he left me some money when he died—’
‘How old were you when that happened?’ I interrupt.
‘Twelve,’ he replies. ‘So I was able to fund myself after that. Eventually I secured a drive with a half-de
cent team, scored a few race wins and that was it, really. Next stop, Formula 1.’
‘You make it sound so easy.’
‘That’s not my intention.’
I lean forward in my seat, interested in his past. Interested in everything about him, actually. ‘Your parents didn’t help at all?’ I ask.
‘Nope.’ He takes a swig of beer and glances out the window.
‘Do they not like racing or something?’
‘No, they just don’t care what I do.’ He stares at me directly for a good few seconds before I tear my eyes away. He’s scratching candle wax off the table when I look back.
‘Were you close to your granddad?’
‘Very.’
‘You must’ve been devastated when he died.’
‘Yeah, I was.’ He glances up at me, then laughs sharply. ‘Can we talk about something else?’
I shift in my seat with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to pry, but if he notices my discomfort, he doesn’t show it.
‘What do you want to talk about?’ I try not to sound as brittle as I feel.
‘You.’ He leans forward and I resist the urge to lean backwards. ‘Are you close to your parents? Grandparents?’ he asks.
‘Grandparents, yes, parents, no.’
‘We have that in common, then. Why not?’
‘My father is an arsehole.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She puts up with it. But I adore my grandmother,’ I continue. ‘She’s the only grandparent I have left. She lives in Italy, though, so I hardly ever see her.’
‘Where in Italy?’
‘Northern Tuscany, in the mountains near Lucca.’
‘No shit? You know we’re filming an ad for a petrol company around that area next week?’
‘No?’
‘Yeah. You should come along.’
‘Do you think I could?’ My voice speeds up in my excitement. ‘Won’t the hotels already be booked and everything?’
‘Ally will be able to squeeze you in.’
‘Actually, I could stay with Nonna,’ I think out loud.
‘Does “nonna” mean “grandmother” in Italian?’ he asks.
‘Yes. I would love to see her again . . .’
‘How long has it been?’
‘Too long. I was hoping to catch up with her when we go to the Italian Grand Prix later this year, but I didn’t think I’d manage to work in a trip beforehand. I wonder if Frederick and Ingrid would release me from a couple of catering jobs?’