by Paige Toon
‘So what’s been happening?’ I ask.
‘Well, we’re off to Germany this weekend and Pierre, the test driver, has taken over Will’s drive—’
‘I don’t want to hear about that,’ I bluntly interject, feeling light-headed.
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry. I just . . . can’t.’
‘Alright,’ she says sympathetically.
‘How are Pete and Dan?’ I ask.
‘They’re, you know, okay,’ she replies. ‘And Luis is—’
‘I don’t want to hear about Luis, either.’ My tone is hard.
‘Oh, right. Sure.’
Silence.
‘Did I wake you up?’ I change the subject.
‘Um . . . No, I was just dozing, you know.’
‘Is there anyone else with you?’
‘Hey?’ She sounds startled. ‘No, no, I’m here on my own, just little old me.’
Right. So Simon is there, then.
‘Well, I guess I’d better let you get back to it.’
‘Okay. Well, it was lovely to hear your voice. I’ve missed you so much.’
I feel warm inside. ‘I miss you, too.’ But once I’ve hung up, I just feel cold again.
July turns into August and New York becomes stifling hot. I stay inside the air-conditioned apartment as much as boredom allows, and the rest of the time I go shopping or out to the movies. Yesterday I spent all afternoon at the Guggenheim Museum, just sitting in front of the paintings and trying to lose myself in the abstract colours.
Holly calls me a few more times – I usually miss her phone calls and rarely call her back, but I will speak to her soon. I’m still upset she won’t confide in me the way I confided in her.
Well, I didn’t tell her everything. And she still knows nothing about my life in America or Johnny, but that’s not the point. Is it? No, it’s definitely not the same thing. Anyway . . .
One day in early August, I’m flicking through the channels on the television and almost fall off the sofa when I come across Luis being interviewed. It’s a foreign channel, so I can’t understand much of what’s being said, but he looks distraught. I immediately try to dismiss it as him losing his latest race, but I know in my heart that’s not it. It bothers me for hours until eventually I call Holly.
‘Hello!’ She sounds delighted to hear from me. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m okay,’ I reply. ‘I just saw Luis on the television.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yeah. He looked a bit worse for wear. Is everything alright?’
‘I thought you didn’t want to hear about Luis?’ I don’t answer so she continues. ‘He hasn’t been that great, to be honest.’
‘What, isn’t he winning or something?’ Sarcasm kicks in.
‘It’s not that.’ Holly hastily corrects me. ‘Daisy, he pulled out of the last race.’
‘He pulled out? What do you mean?’ I’m confused. ‘Was this in Hungary?’ The Hungarian Grand Prix follows the German one.
‘Yes,’ she replies.
‘What happened?’
‘Well, he did this whole speech about how he was going to win it for Will.’
‘I bet he did,’ I interrupt nastily.
Holly continues. ‘But he just couldn’t get it together. He’s lost it, Daisy. He’s devastated about Will’s death. He blames himself.’
‘So he damn well should!’ I erupt. ‘It was his fault!’
‘Daisy, it wasn’t,’ Holly says reasonably. ‘The FIA’ – that’s the Formula 1 governing body – ‘looked into it and everything.’
‘Do they know that Luis called him a prick before the race? No!’ I don’t even give Holly a chance to answer. ‘They bloody well don’t! What happened in Germany?’
‘It was almost as bad,’ Holly explains. ‘He qualified sixth—’
‘I wouldn’t call that bad,’ I interject.
‘But he started poorly and just kept getting overtaken by back-markers. He ended up finishing thirteenth.’
‘Boo bloody hoo. I bet Simon wasn’t too happy about that.’
‘Simon understands,’ Holly replies.
‘And is he still leading the championship?’
‘No. He’s slipped down to third.’
‘Tough luck.’
‘Daisy, don’t be too hard on him . . .’
‘Why not? He killed Will! He killed him!’ My head feels like it’s swelling from all the pressure inside of me and then I’m sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Daisy, Daisy, I’m sorry . . .’ Holly tries to comfort me in the background, but I’m beyond help. I just need to cry.
Oh God, I want him back. I’d give anything to have him back.
‘Why did he have to die?’ I wail. ‘I miss him, Holly, I miss him so much.’
‘Oh, Daisy . . .’
I eventually calm down and take a few deep breaths while neither of us speaks.
‘Are you alright?’ Holly asks.
I take another raggedy breath and reply that I am. And then I remember the TV interview. ‘What was Luis doing on telly, anyway? You said something about a big speech he did?’
‘That’s right. Are you sure you want to hear this now?’ Holly sounds wary.
‘Yes. Go on, I won’t break down again, I promise.’
‘Well, after, you know, the funeral, the press turned on Luis. He got a terribly hard time about going on to win the race when his team-mate had had such a horrific crash. Simon fears someone from the team leaked the fact that Luis blames himself for Will’s death, because suddenly the tabloids cottoned onto the story and wouldn’t let it drop. Instead of feeling sorry for Luis, they became even more bloodthirsty. They managed to get an interview with Will’s father and he slated Luis for winning at Silverstone.’
‘Has Laura spoken to the press?’ I interrupt.
‘No.’
‘Oh. Go on.’ I can’t even feel angry with her.
‘Anyway, Luis did terribly in Germany, refused to do any interviews himself, and the furore finally seemed to be dying down. Then, just before the race in Hungary, an interviewer must’ve caught Luis at a weak moment because he broke down on the grid.’
I butt in. ‘What do you mean he broke down?’
‘In tears,’ Holly explains. ‘He started to cry as he was getting into his car.’
I’m dumbstruck. I can’t imagine Luis doing that.
Holly continues. ‘He told the interviewer he was going to win the race for Will.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘No, he pulled out after ten laps.’
‘Was there something wrong with the car? Was he doing really badly?’ I’m confused.
‘No. On the contrary, he started off really well. He started way down in eleventh place on the grid, but he overtook four people at the start, and was climbing up through the pack when suddenly he just seemed to slow right down. Seven people went past him before he pulled into the garages and climbed out of the car. Simon went bonkers.’
I listen intently as she continues.
‘Anyway, that interview you saw was probably the only one he gave after the race because he just couldn’t keep it together. He hasn’t been into team HQ since and I think he’s properly screwed up. I don’t know what Simon’s going to do.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know what Simon’s going to do?’
‘About Luis. He can’t keep him in the car when he’s so obviously affected by Will’s death.’
‘He can’t keep him in the car? What, he’s going to fire him?’
‘He might not have a choice.’
‘Of course he has a choice! He was leading the championship. Why would Simon get rid of him, just because he’s had a couple of dodgy races? His team-mate is dead!’ I can feel the sobs building up inside me again.
‘Hey, hey,’ Holly soothes. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to hear it.’
‘No. I’m not pleased,’ I tell her. In fact, I’m worried about Luis.
He doesn’t
deserve this. Do I really blame him for Will’s death? Do I? ‘When’s the next race?’ I ask.
‘In a couple of weeks. European Grand Prix.’
‘Well, wish him good luck from me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘Daisy . . .’ Holly’s voice is tentative. ‘Are you really going to stay in America?’
‘I don’t know,’ I reply.
‘Why don’t you come back? There’s still a job waiting for you. We all miss you.’
I pause. ‘I miss you all, too.’
‘You could come back in time for the next race. Stay with me. You wouldn’t even need to find another flat.’
For a moment I picture myself back at work, behind the serving table, dishing up greasy bacon, and then I see Will, asking for a quick word, and my throat closes up so quickly I have to gasp for air. I start to wail. Holly’s shock is immense.
‘Daisy, please stop crying!’
‘I can’t . . . I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’ I manage to say.
‘I know, I know,’ she hushes me. ‘It’s too soon.’
‘I can’t bear it!’ I promised her I wouldn’t break down again, but the floodgates have well and truly opened. ‘I can’t believe he’s dead!’ And that’s it, all Holly can hear for ages afterwards is the sound of me sobbing.
Finally I calm down. ‘I have to go,’ I say morosely.
‘I’m so sorry, Daisy.’ Her voice sounds husky, like she’s been crying, too.
‘It’s okay,’ I whisper. And then I hang up.
Moments later I hear a knock on my bedroom door. I don’t answer, so the door opens slowly and I look up to see my mother standing there.
‘Daisy? Are you okay?’
‘No, no, no, I’m not.’ I shake my head and stare down at the carpet in despair.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks quietly.
‘Just let me be,’ I tell her and collapse face down on the bed. ‘Go!’ I shout crossly when she doesn’t make any attempt to move. Seconds later I hear the door shut behind her and I’m alone once more.
Chapter 21
‘He’s seriously considering it.’
I’m on the phone to Holly. It’s a week after the European Grand Prix and she has just told me that Simon is thinking about replacing Luis with another driver. He qualified badly and then crashed the car into Naoki Takahashi after making a stupid mistake at the start.
‘I can’t believe he’d do that to Luis.’ I’m mortified.
‘He’s a businessman, Daisy, he has to do what’s right for the team,’ Holly says reasonably.
‘Yes, but is that right for the team? Do the team want Luis to be replaced?’
‘Well . . .’ She hesitates. ‘I guess not.’
‘Exactly! They all love Luis! They couldn’t bear to lose another driver!’ My eyes well up with tears. I quickly brush them away.
After my last conversation with Holly, I had a brief look on the internet to see if anyone else from the industry had been speculating about Simon’s intentions for Luis. I came across a photo of all the drivers before the race in Germany. They were standing with their arms around each other’s shoulders, taking part in a minute’s silence for Will. Several drivers – Kit Bryson, Nils Broden, Antonio Aranda – looked tearful, but Luis was the only one with his head down, unable to face the camera.
I don’t know how he’s able to race at all . . . That’s the hardest thing about this – or any – sport: carrying on when one of your own has died.
‘Did you tell him what I said?’ I ask Holly.
‘Who? Luis?’ Holly checks.
‘Yes.’
‘What did you say again?’ Holly sounds guilty.
‘So you didn’t, then.’
‘I’m sorry, I forgot.’
‘Don’t worry about it. But please will you send him my best?’
‘Of course I will,’ she replies warmly.
A few days later I call her again. ‘Did you speak to Luis?’ I ask.
‘About you sending him your best?’ she checks.
‘Yes.’ I smile.
‘No, I haven’t had a chance, yet.’
Oh.
‘I haven’t seen him at team HQ,’ she explains. ‘Why don’t you give him a call?’
‘Oh no, I couldn’t do that.’ I brush her off.
‘Why not?’
‘No. I just couldn’t.’
‘Well, I’ll tell him you’re thinking of him.’
‘He’s still got a drive, then?’ I ask.
‘Yes. For now,’ she replies ominously.
‘It’s Belgium next, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Next week.’ Pause. ‘Have you thought any more about coming back?’
‘No,’ I reply.
‘I really miss you,’ she tells me once more.
‘I miss you, too.’
‘Frederick was only asking after you the other day. He said you could have your job back anytime you wanted it. Simon said the same thing.’
‘Really? They haven’t replaced me?’
‘Other staff from Frederick and Ingrid’s business in London have been filling in, but no one permanent. I’ve been helping out Simon and the drivers since you’ve been gone, but I’ll happily step down.’
‘There wouldn’t be any need.’
‘No?’
‘No. I wouldn’t want to work closely with the drivers if . . .’ My voice trails off. I don’t want to say, ‘If Will’s not there’.
‘I understand,’ she says, before desperately adding, ‘Oh, please come back, Daisy.’
I close my eyes for a moment and cradle the phone to my ear, listening to her voice. I miss her so much. It’s just not the same being here. I was never happy in New York before, and now I know what it’s like to be happy, I feel like I’ll never be happy again. I don’t know if that makes any sense whatsoever, but it’s the closest way I can think of to describe how I feel.
‘I think it’s too soon,’ I tell her, my head ruling my heart this time.
‘Really?’ she checks.
‘Yes.’
That evening my father joins us for dinner – a rare occasion since I’ve been here. In fact, most of the time I eat out or don’t eat at all because I can’t bear to sit at the dining table in silence with my mother. He broaches the subject of the position with Martin’s firm.
‘He suggested the ninth of September as a starting date,’ my father tells me. That’s just over a week from now.
‘I told you before, I’m not interested,’ I say sulkily.
He raises one eyebrow and stares at me. I look away. I can never hold his gaze for long. ‘Just for the sake of argument, what is it you intend to do? Because you can’t sit around in your bedroom forever.’
‘If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.’
He doesn’t answer for a moment, but then he speaks, his voice laced with sarcasm. ‘And where will you go, exactly?’
‘I don’t know! England! Italy!’
‘Italy?’ my father barks. ‘Italy?’
‘Yes! To stay with Nonna!’ I latch onto this idea, fervently.
‘Ha!’ He lets out a sharp laugh. ‘In that hovel? You couldn’t stand it.’
‘How would you know what I can or cannot stand?’ I demand to know. ‘I haven’t been living it up for the last few years, I can tell you.’
‘Sure you haven’t,’ he says wryly.
‘I haven’t! And I would love to stay with Nonna! Have you ever even been to her house? It’s magical!’
‘Magical? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a crumbling mess. God knows why she’s still there. God knows why she’s still on this earth, for that matter.’
‘Stellan!’
I turn sharply to see my mother’s shocked face. She hardly ever speaks up. The sound of a chair scraping across the wooden floor brings my attention back to my father.
‘I’ve had enough.’ He throws his napkin down on his food and I watch as the gravy seeps up into the white line
n fabric. ‘YOU!’ He points at me. ‘You will take the job with Martin on the ninth of September. Otherwise you will not get another cent from me! EVER!’ And with that he stalks out of the room.
I sit there, white-knuckled, my heart beating fast. Only my father can make me feel this way. I hate him. I hate him.
I stand up, scraping my own chair across the floor.
‘Daisy, sit down,’ my mother says. Her tone is harder than I’ve ever heard it and it makes me freeze on the spot.
‘I’m going to my room,’ I tell her, but without much conviction.
‘Finish your dinner.’ She picks up her knife and fork.
But I suddenly feel angry and hot-headed and nothing she can say or do will keep me there. ‘No,’ I reply, and with that, I storm out of the room.
I will NOT go and work for Martin! I could go back to England and stay with Holly . . . That idea is becoming more and more attractive. Or I could stay with Nonna. Keep her company. How dare he say she lives in a hovel? And why does she live in a house that’s crumbling down around her ears when he has all the money in the world?
I halt in my tracks and spin around on the spot, storming back into the dining room. My mother is just standing up.
‘Why the hell does Nonna live like that in the mountains?’ I demand to know. ‘Water leaks through the walls when it rains, but she can’t afford to fix it! It’s disgusting! You’re her daughter! How COULD you?’
My mother stares at me calmly, then sits back down in her chair.
‘Answer me!’ I screech.
She answers in Italian. I’m surprised – my mother never speaks to me in Italian – but this time she does, and I have to concentrate hard so it doesn’t throw me off guard.
‘She wouldn’t take any money,’ my mother tells me.
I falter before speaking, also in Italian. ‘She wouldn’t take money from me, either, but you’re her daughter! She must know you’re rolling in it!’
‘It’s not my money, though, Daisy.’
‘It bloody well is. I mean, I know he might be the one who goes out to work, but you’ve stayed by his side. You earned it, too!’
‘Yes, but my mother doesn’t see it like that.’
‘Even so, who cares? Why won’t she let you help her? Or is it my father? Will he not let you help her?’ I’m starting to see red. ‘Is that it?’ Fury bubbles up inside me, but my mother puts a stop to it.