by Paige Toon
‘Why?’ my father demands to know.
‘Thank you.’ My mother gives Martin a pointed look as he scuttles away.
‘How dare you embarrass me like that!’ my father erupts.
My mother ignores him. She turns to me and speaks in Italian. ‘What time is your car coming?’
‘I just planned on hailing a taxi downstairs.’
‘But you should have taken the car!’ she exclaims.
‘What are you saying? What are you saying?’ My father is glaring at each of us in turn. He looks almost comical.
‘A taxi is fine,’ I tell my mother. ‘I’m going now,’ I say in English to my father. ‘I have a plane to catch tonight.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ he warns. ‘You will never get another cent from me. Don’t you dare!’
‘I don’t want your money,’ I say, and for once my voice does-n’t shake. ‘I want to make it on my own.’
‘What?’ he barks. ‘By washing dishes? Peeling potatoes?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘You’re a disgrace!’
‘Goodbye, mother.’ I turn to look at her.
‘I’ll see you out,’ she says.
‘Get back here!’ my father shouts as we both exit the room. ‘Get back here!’
‘He doesn’t mean it,’ my mother says as the elevator whooshes downwards.
‘He does. And it doesn’t matter, because I meant what I said.’
She nods. ‘I know. You’re just like your grandmother in that respect.’
At least I know she’s my blood, I think sadly.
‘What will you do? He’s going to be very angry when you go back up.’
‘He will be. But he’ll calm down. And Candida has cooked a lovely leg of lamb so that will cheer him up.’
What an odd thought.
It’s raining when I board the plane, and as it zooms off down the runway and soars up into the sky, I only catch a glimpse of New York before we fly through the clouds. I lied to my mother. It will be a long, long time before I come back again.
Chapter 23
‘Will you have a glass?’ Holly is holding up a bottle of red wine.
‘Sure.’
Her face breaks into a grin.
‘But you won’t need that.’ I point at the bottle opener she’s just grabbed from the kitchen drawer. She looks at me in confusion. ‘It’s a screw top,’ I tell her.
‘Aah. . . And you could see that from there?’
I’m sitting at the kitchen table and she’s at the counter top a few paces away.
‘Of course. When it comes to opening bottles of booze, I’m a pro.’
‘God, I’ve missed you.’ She cracks the bottle open, pouring out two very large glasses and bringing them over.
‘Thanks for letting me stay,’ I say.
‘No problem. Stay as long as you like. Oh, I know you’ll want to find a place of your own again, but there’s no rush and no pres
Right, enough of this.
‘Holly, I know about Simon.’ I look her straight in the eyes.
‘You what?’ she asks weakly.
‘I know you’re having an affair with him.’
The blood drains out of her face. ‘How did you find out?’ she whispers, sinking into a chair. ‘Does everyone know?’
I immediately feel sorry for her. ‘No, no, no. Just me. And Luis,’ I add.
‘Luis?’ She looks shocked.
‘He won’t tell anyone.’
‘How do you know? Why? How did he find out? How did you two end up talking about it?’ Her voice is rising more with each question.
‘Listen, it’s okay,’ I say sympathetically. ‘I just guessed after seeing the way you were with Catalina. And all those times you weren’t around when we were staying in the same room.’
‘Was I really that obvious?’ she asks worriedly.
‘Only to me,’ I reply.
‘What about Luis?’
‘He saw you coming out of Simon’s room in the early hours of the morning when we were in Italy filming that advert.’
I go on to explain how Luis and I both ended up figuring out how the other person knew. ‘He won’t tell another soul, I know he won’t.’
‘You sound very sure,’ she says, half warily, half hopefully.
‘I am sure,’ I tell her. ‘I trust him.’
‘Okay.’
‘So are you still seeing him?’ I ask.
She nods guiltily. ‘And I know what you must think, especially considering I gave you such a hard time over Laura at the beginning.’
I don’t answer.
‘But I really like him,’ she continues. ‘I know he’s a lot older than me, but he’s just so much more worldly than the boys I’ve been out with in the past, and, underneath that serious exterior, he’s a really kind and gentle man.’
So kind that he’s cheating on his wife. . .
‘I do feel bad about Catalina,’ she adds.
I take a sip of my wine.
‘I do!’ she insists. ‘But she’s such a bitch and they don’t get on.’
‘So why doesn’t he divorce her?’ I ask.
She looks down at the table. ‘He said it would cost him too much money. They don’t have a pre-nup,’ she explains.
I nod. I don’t really understand, but what can you do?
‘I know you must think it sounds dodge, dodge, dodge, but . . . Oh, I don’t know.’
‘Where do you see it going?’ It’s a question I’ve been wondering for some time.
‘I don’t know.’ Her shoulders slump dejectedly. ‘I’m trying not to get too. . . attached to him. Just in case.’
‘And what about your job? You love working for the team.’
‘He’s not going to fire me!’ She frowns.
‘I’m not saying he’d do that, but if it all ended, could you keep working for him?’
‘Maybe not,’ she admits. ‘But I guess I’ll deal with that if I have to.’
‘Aren’t you worried about Catalina finding out?’ I ask.
‘Every day. She almost did in Hockenheim.’
‘Really?’
‘She wasn’t going to come to that race at first, so Simon booked my room next to his, and then she did come and it was a total surprise to me.’
‘Were you in his bedroom?’
‘Oh no, he told me she was coming the day before, but I was a bit peeved, to be honest. He had to make it up to me in the directors’ suite. . .’
She smirks and I feel a bit queasy.
‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘Catalina came in when we were finishing up . . .’ Sorry, but ew! ‘. . . and luckily just thought I was there to iron . . . What? What are you looking like that for?’
I must be pulling quite a face because Holly has stopped mid-sentence. ‘It just seems a bit weird to me,’ I say.
‘What? What seems weird?’ She’s confused.
‘You and Simon.’ I’m still screwing my nose up, I can’t help it.
‘Why?’
‘Well, he’s just so. . . middle-aged.’
‘He’s not middle-aged!’ she says hotly. ‘Well, okay,’ she concedes, ‘he is, but he doesn’t seem it.’
‘I just. . . Sorry.’ I flap my hand and look away.
‘No, tell me,’ she urges. ‘What?’
I lean in and look at her. ‘Do you actually fancy him?’
‘Of course I do!’
‘So it’s not just the money?’
‘No!’ She looks horrified – and a little annoyed. Am I taking this too far? ‘It’s him. There’s something about him. Sorry if you can’t see it,’ she says petulantly.
‘Catalina obviously sees it, too,’ I say.
‘Now she is in it for the money,’ Holly snaps.
‘And she’s going to end up with quite a bucketload if he ever divorces her.’
‘If he ever does,’ she says sadly.
I’m vaguely curious as to how Holly and Simon got together in the first place, b
ut the thought of him coming on to her, of him sticking his tongue down her throat . . . God knows how I’ll feel if I spot him here, going into the bathroom with his boxer shorts on. I shudder and change the subject.
‘So what time do we fly out to Italy on Wednesday?’
The next Grand Prix is at Monza, Italy, and it’s Sunday night now so I only have a couple of days to settle in and get over my jetlag before we head off again. Holly is working at the team’s headquarters in the canteen and she’s not at home on Monday or Tuesday, so I spend my time sitting on the sofa in my pyjamas watching rubbish daytime television while eating bowls of nachos. I’m bored out of my brains – I don’t know how I ever lasted two months in New York doing little more than this – and by the time Wednesday morning comes around, I’m dying to get back to work.
We’re catching the first flight of the day and, as usual, the hospitality staff are setting off to the track the day before anyone else arrives, so I have time to prepare before facing the lads. But I hadn’t factored in seeing Frederick again, and as I stand in the terminal, waiting to check in for our flight, I remember what he said the last time he saw me.
‘We’re ALL upset, Daisy!’
He didn’t know about Will and me. And I didn’t even tell him I was quitting. I just left. I’m lucky he’s taking me back. Nerves flutter through me as I wonder how he’ll be with me again. I don’t have to wait long. He arrives with Klaus and Gertrude, the latter of whom embraces me warmly.
‘Daisy, you’re back!’
Gertrude’s hug is hefty and I gasp for air as I pull away before Klaus happily clumps me on my back. I start to cough, while Holly tries not to laugh, but comical as we must look, I am absolutely delighted to see them again. I turn to Frederick. He nods down at me. ‘Welcome back.’
‘Thank you. Thank you for having me back.’ I can’t help sounding formal.
‘Are you well?’ he asks.
‘Much better.’
‘Good. Because no one fries the bacon as well as you. Let’s go.’ He motions to the check-in queue in front of us, and that for the moment, is that.
I’m nervous in the car on the way to the track. I’m worried about being in the motorhome again. When we pile out of our standard black people carriers the others file off inside, but I look up for a moment at the team’s shiny, portable hospitality building. Holly glances back and sees me.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks, concerned.
I nod and hesitantly follow her in.
The hospitality area is always empty two days before the first practice session, although this afternoon it feels eerily so. Holly walks off towards the kitchen with the others, while I take in my surroundings slowly. I try not to look to my left where the stairs are, the stairs that used to lead me to Will’s private room, but I can’t help myself. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow in quick succession, forcing it back down again. I need to keep busy.
By Friday, I feel like I’ve settled in somewhat. It was weird seeing Pete, Dan and the lads yesterday. They arrived at the track to start getting the cars ready and I don’t think they knew I was going to be back at work. They were definitely pleased to see me, but the atmosphere here seems changed. It’s more strained, somehow. Maybe it will be different when race day comes around, I don’t know.
On Friday morning I’m serving breakfast when I see a dark-haired guy walk through the hospitality doors. I don’t recognise him at first – he has a beard for starters – but suddenly he takes off his dark glasses and I’m floored. It’s Luis. He’s halfway across the room before he notices me and falters. He’s a shadow of his former self, and right now he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
He reaches the table. ‘Daisy?’ he asks quietly, as though not believing it’s me standing there.
‘Hey,’ I reply, my face softening.
‘I didn’t know you were back.’ He looks unsure of himself, so different to the Luis from a couple of months ago. His usually olive-skin tone seems paler and even his beard can’t disguise the fact that he’s lost a lot of weight.
I nod. ‘I thought it was time.’
He doesn’t say anything, just meets my eyes for what seems like a long while.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
He shrugs and looks down.
‘Can I get you some bacon?’ I smile, trying to cheer him up, but he barely looks at me as he shakes his head.
‘No, thanks. I’m not really hungry.’
My blood runs cold.
‘I’m just going to head upstairs.’ He backs away from the serving table and then turns and walks off with his head down. I look after him worriedly.
‘Was that Luis?’ Holly asks, coming out of the kitchen.
I glance at her. ‘I didn’t know he was that bad.’
She nods. ‘I told you he wasn’t good.’
‘But Holly, he looks awful,’ I murmur. ‘Isn’t he eating?’
‘He eats,’ she says. ‘Just not a lot. He doesn’t stray from the diet designed for him and you won’t catch him out on the town with the lads for beer nor money.’
‘Maybe I should go and check on him.’ I look towards the stairs. The thought terrifies me. I haven’t been near Will’s old room since I’ve been here and have been wondering how I can get through the rest of the season by avoiding it completely.
‘I wouldn’t,’ Holly says.
I look at her in surprise. I didn’t expect her to disagree.
‘Maybe just leave him be for a little while,’ she explains. ‘He’ll need to get his head together before practice.’
I avert my gaze, feeling a little put-out. The last thing I want to do is upset Luis even more, and I’m sad she thinks I’m capable of it.
By Saturday, it’s become quite clear that Luis is avoiding me. He now seems to prefer eating in the privacy of his upstairs room, and as Holly is the drivers’ new on-hand front-of-house girl – and I certainly don’t want the position back – she’s the person who deals with him.
I haven’t been into the garages yet, but on the morning of qualifying, Frederick sends Holly and me there to handle the catering. I try to keep my breathing steady as I head across the asphalt to the pits, but my heart jolts when we walk through the door to see Pierre, the test driver who took over Will’s drive, standing in Will’s garage.
‘Daisy, can you sort out the coffee cups?’ Holly asks firmly. I know she’s trying to distract me and I’m grateful. I get on with my work.
Luis comes in just before qualifying is due to start.
‘Come on, man,’ Dan urges and even from the other side of the garage I can see frustration etched across his face at Luis’s late arrival.
Luis glances my way and quickly averts his gaze before walking unhurriedly towards his car. He climbs in and Dan helps him get settled. The atmosphere in here is tense, but it’s a different kind of tension to the one I’m used to. There’s no anticipation or excitement, just stress and strain. For the first time I wonder if it was a mistake coming back.
Q1 goes badly. Luis just scrapes into the top fifteen, meaning he’ll get another chance to qualify better in the second session. He climbs out of the car.
‘It’s not handling well,’ he exclaims hotly, ripping off his helmet.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Dan asks.
‘It’s just not right!’ Luis tugs off his gloves.
‘Mate, we can’t help you if you don’t tell us what’s wrong.’
‘I don’t know what’s wrong!’ Luis shouts, before Dan leads him away towards the private meeting room.
‘Is this what it’s been like?’ I ask Holly.
She nods. I don’t think I can watch any more.
Luis qualifies twelfth in the end and doesn’t even make it through to the third qualifying session. Pierre does better and will start sixth tomorrow, but that’s hardly anything to get excited about.
That night, Saturday night, Holly tentatively broaches the subject of the evening’s plans. We’re staying at a hotel in t
he middle of Milan and it’s only a short walk to the Piazza del Duomo in the centre of town and a whole host of super-cool bars and clubs.
‘I’m not going out,’ I tell her flatly.
‘I understand,’ she says, perching on the end of my bed. I’m lying down, my head propped up on three pillows as I reach for the television remote.
‘You go out, though,’ I insist. ‘I don’t need you to keep me company again.’ We stayed in the room last night, watching a chick flick and eating room service.
‘Well . . .’ She looks on edge. ‘I might pop up and see Simon later. Only if you don’t mind,’ she quickly adds. Catalina isn’t at this race, and last night Simon had to attend dinner with the sponsors.
‘Oh, sure,’ I say. After all this time wishing she’d open up to me, now I find it very strange hearing her talk about him.
Holly goes to get changed in the bathroom and I flick through the channels trying not to think about the fact that she’s probably putting on lacy underwear in Simon’s honour. When she eventually heads out looking sheepish, I sigh and turn the television off. Perhaps I’ll read a book? But no, three pages in and half an hour later, I realise I haven’t taken in a single word.
Something makes me think back to Bahrain and the sight of Luis speeding around the desert track. The commentators were comparing him to Ayrton Senna, one of the greatest drivers of our time. There’s no word of such comparisons now. I wonder if the British press still have their knives out?
I could go and see him . . . If Holly is right, Luis won’t be out on the town with the lads. I wonder if he’d let me in? He may just slam the door in my face. Only one way to find out. I leap off the bed full of determination and grab my door key. I don’t bother to change out of my work clothes or check my reflection.
Luis is staying in a room three floors above me. I run up the stairs instead of taking the lift and I’m slightly out of breath by the time I get there.
He answers after twenty seconds, opening the door and staring at me with a confused frown.
‘Hello,’ he says.
‘Luis, hi.’ I try to catch my breath and give him a hopeful look. ‘Can I come in?’
He stands back to let me pass, not speaking.
His room is a tip. Clothes are strewn across the floor and living area. A quick glance through to the bathroom and I can see dirty towels discarded on the floor. The television is blaring out at high volume.