by Paige Toon
Luis doesn’t apologise for the mess as he leads me to the sofa. I pick up his helmet and team overalls and place them on the coffee table, then perch on the edge of an armchair and wait while he digs around down the side of the sofa. Eventually his hand emerges with the remote control. He points it and turns the volume down on the TV before leaning back on the sofa and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He doesn’t look at me.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘What are you doing here?’ he hits back.
‘I wanted to see how you are,’ I reply, flummoxed.
‘Why should you care?’ His dark eyes meet mine and I’m taken aback by the intensity of them.
I glance away at the flickering, soundless television for a moment before looking back at him. ‘I do care.’
He scratches his beard. ‘I thought you’d left for good.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’
He rests his head down on the back of the sofa and takes a deep breath.
‘You don’t look well, Luis,’ I say eventually.
He shrugs.
‘What are you going to do about it?’ I press.
He shrugs again. ‘Nothing.’
‘You can’t keep hurting yourself like this,’ I say. ‘You have to forgive yourself.’
‘Have you forgiven me?’ he bites back.
‘Yes!’ I exclaim. ‘There wasn’t really anything to forgive! It wasn’t your fault!’
His face crumbles and I stare on in shock as I realise he’s about to cry.
‘Oh, God, Luis, I’m sorry.’ I get up from my chair and go to sit next to him on the sofa.
‘No, no.’ He puts his hand out to wave me away, but I grab it and hold it tightly. ‘Please,’ he begs, turning his face away.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I say again, quietly and sympathetically.
‘Don’t!’ He chokes and I pull him to me, wrapping my arms around his neck as he buries his face into me and starts to sob. My throat swells and tears well up in my eyes because his pain is hurting me, too. I can’t let myself think of Will, otherwise I’ll be in an even worse state than he is, and I need to be strong for him right now.
Eventually he pulls away.
‘Do you want a tissue?’ I ask belatedly, digging around in my pocket for one. I never go anywhere without them these days.
‘Thanks,’ he answers groggily, taking it from me and loudly blowing his nose. I edge away to give us both some space.
‘Nossa Senhora,’ he sighs, leaning back on the sofa and staring up at the ceiling. ‘You didn’t go out tonight?’ He turns to look at me, his eyes red and still a little teary.
I shake my head. ‘No.’
‘Holly?’
‘She’s with Simon.’
He nods and looks up at the ceiling again.
‘It’s strange being back,’ I comment.
It’s a while before he answers. ‘Where did you go?’
‘New York. To see my parents.’
‘How was it?’ He glances at me.
‘Awful.’ Pause. ‘How are your family?’
‘Good. Well, yeah . . .’ He hesitates.
‘What?’
‘No, nothing.’ He brushes me off.
‘Tell me. How’s your mother?’
‘Um . . . All this . . .’ He waves his hand around the room. ‘You know, it’s bothering her,’ he says with difficulty.
‘What do you mean? The racing is bothering her?’
‘Everything. It’s all bothering her.’
I’m confused. ‘Has she been reading about you in the papers?’
‘Mmm, yeah.’ He sits up straighter and looks jittery.
‘Luis, she can’t believe everything she reads. Maybe she should just avoid the tabloids like I do.’
He nods, clearly on edge.
I sigh. I hate seeing him like this. I want to try to make it better. ‘I’m sorry I ran away from you after the funeral.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘I wasn’t myself, you know?’
‘I know.’
‘Luis, please!’ I just want him to return to normal. I can’t handle this!
‘What? What? It’s okay,’ he adds absent-mindedly. Even his voice sounds strange.
‘You have to let it go,’ I plead. ‘You have to let him go.’ My eyes well up again as he turns to look at me.
‘Have you let him go?’
We stare at each other for a long while before I shake my head. He looks away again. ‘No. I didn’t think so.’
‘Are the press still giving you a hard time?’ I ask after a moment.
‘It’s not so bad.’
‘Good. They’ll lay off soon.’
‘I didn’t mean to win the race,’ he says suddenly in a detached voice.
‘What race? The one that. . . Silverstone?’
He nods. ‘I didn’t know the accident was as bad as that.’
‘I know. I’m sure everyone understands.’
‘No, they don’t.’ He slowly shakes his head. ‘I don’t know if I can do this anymore.’
I grab his hand again and clutch it tightly. ‘Yes, you can,’ I tell him fervently. ‘Yes, you can. You’re a brilliant racing driver. They were comparing you to Ayrton Senna, for Christ’s sake!’
‘They’re not anymore.’
‘Well, they will be again. You just have to get back on your feet, get back behind the wheel. You said you wanted to win a race for Will, well do it!’
He looks at me in surprise. ‘You heard about that?’
I nod. ‘I saw you on the telly in America.’
‘Huh.’ He looks away again. ‘I didn’t do a very good job of it.’
‘No, well, don’t worry,’ I say lamely, before clutching his hand fiercely once more. ‘You can do it now. Tomorrow!’
‘From twelfth?’ He gives me a wry look, and for the first time I get a glimpse of the Luis I used to know.
‘Well, maybe not win it, but you know, finish it. Or something. I don’t know! Just stop being such a lame-arse and get out there. I’ll be proud of you.’
He grins at me and squeezes my hand, then almost instantly snatches his away and covers his face as his body starts to shake with sobs.
‘Oh, Luis . . .’ I rub his back, feeling utterly mortified. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ I rest my head on his shoulder and just stay there for a while, waiting for him to calm down. Eventually he sits up and composes himself, brushing his tears away.
‘You’d better go,’ he says morosely. ‘I need to get to bed.’
I stand up unsteadily. I don’t know if I’ve made it worse by coming here. He follows me to the door and pulls it open. I step out onto the landing and turn around.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry for all of this. I don’t know . . .’ I hesitate. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come back.’
‘No,’ he says fervently, meeting my eyes. ‘That’s not true. I’m glad you’re back.’ And then his face crumbles again and he quickly closes the door in my face.
Chapter 24
I don’t tell Holly about my visit to see Luis. She stayed in Simon’s room anyway, so the first I see of her is in the morning when I’m putting on my team uniform. I had terrible nightmares last night, about a man or a monster hunting me down. I kept waking up in cold sweats, trying to tell myself it was just a dream, but then I’d fall straight back into it again. Needless to say, I’m in a vile mood today.
Luis turns up at ten o’clock and goes straight up to his room. I’m in the kitchen looking out, but he doesn’t see me, just keeps his head down and walks quickly. I suppose he’s feeling embarrassed about losing it in front of me. . .
To hell with this! I go to the serving table and grab a plate, loading it up with bacon and eggs.
‘What are you doing?’ Holly asks, frowning.
‘Don’t try to stop me,’ I reply, coming out from behind the table and walking towards the stairs.
‘Daisy!’ she calls in dismay, but I
ignore her.
At the top of the stairs I inadvertently glance to my right and see that the door to Will’s one-time driver’s room has been left open. I halt in my tracks and stare inside. There’s a black team carry case, identical to Will’s – identical to all of ours – resting on the table. I feel like the blood is literally draining from my face. The door to Luis’s room opens and he comes out with his head down. And then he looks up and sees me.
‘Daisy? Are you alright?’
I shake my head quickly as my nose starts to prickle. He ushers me into his room. My hand is shaking so I put his plate of food down onto the table with a clatter.
‘Is that for me?’ he asks.
I nod, silently, unable to meet his eyes.
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You have to eat!’ I exclaim, suddenly cross.
‘I don’t want to eat,’ he replies nonchalantly.
‘Well, tough! Because you’re going to!’
He raises one eyebrow at me with amusement. ‘And how are you going to manage that, exactly?’
‘I’ll shove it down your throat if you’re not careful,’ I warn.
He sighs and collapses onto the sofa. ‘Give me one piece of bacon,’ he demands. I grab the plate and sit down next to him, picking out the crispiest piece I can see. He takes it from me, reluctantly, and chews along the edge of it before finally popping it into his mouth.
‘If João could see me now . . .’ he comments.
‘João would just be damned relieved you’re eating at all,’ I say hotly.
He holds out his hand for another piece.
‘Are you coming to watch the race today?’ he asks after a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘Luis, you know why not. I’m just trying to, you know, break myself in gently.’
He chucks the piece of bacon back onto the plate and slumps into the sofa. ‘Fode-se,’ he mutters.
‘What does that mean?’ I ask, but he ignores me. ‘Fuck it? Luis, did you just say, “fuck it”?’
He doesn’t answer.
‘Well, fuck you,’ I tell him.
‘Fottiti?’ He glances at me hopefully and my face breaks into a grin.
‘You’re such a testa di cazzo. When are you going to have a shave?’
He shrugs. ‘Who gives a shit?’
‘I do. You look weird with a beard.’
‘Weirdy beardy?’
‘Yes!’ I laugh.
‘I’ll have a shave if you come and watch the race.’
My face falls and I stare at him. ‘I don’t know if I can.’
‘Sure you can.’ He pats me casually on the knee before standing up and stretching his arms over his head. His T-shirt rides up and I can see his far-too-skinny torso underneath.
‘Eat another piece – no, two more pieces – of bacon and you’ve got yourself a deal,’ I say, joining him on his feet and offering up the plate. He gives me a wry look, but reaches down and grabs two pieces, shovelling them both into his mouth at the same time.
‘That’s disgusting,’ I say, grimacing at the sight. He grins at me, making it even worse. ‘Oh, stop!’ I insist, but he swallows and puts me out of my misery.
‘Where’s my coffee?’ he asks suddenly, looking on the table.
‘I didn’t bring one,’ I reply.
‘Jesus. And you’re supposed to be a bun tart.’
‘Oi!’ I go to slap him on his arm, but he blocks me. ‘I don’t know why I’ve been worrying about you, Luis Castro.’ I shake my head and start to head out of the room. He follows me.
‘See you in the pits in a couple of hours.’
‘I’ll be there,’ I promise, as a chill goes through me.
Red, red, red, red, red, GO! I can barely make out Luis’s car so far back, but it looks like he’s overtaking several cars at the start. After a while the race positions flash up on the television screens above our heads and my thoughts are confirmed: Luis has made up four places on the grid and is now running eighth. That’s not bad. At least it’s in the points. Pierre, in the other car, is still sixth.
Luis is now hot on the tail of Germany’s Benni Fischer in seventh place.
‘WHOA!’ a few people in the garages shout as he nips out from behind him and outbreaks him into a corner. Seventh!
‘Bloody hell!’ Holly exclaims from my side. ‘What’s gotten into him?’
I don’t answer, just stare up at the screens in anticipation. We’re standing in Luis’s garage. I’ve made a concerted effort not to look through to Pierre’s.
It was raining this morning, but when the race started it was dry. Suddenly the heavens open again and the mechanics go into overdrive as Luis pulls into the pits for a tyre change. Cars still wearing their ‘dry’ tyres are spinning off the track and fear begins to creep back into my heart.
A few laps later and on his ‘wet’ tyres, Luis has climbed another two places on the grid. He’s now running sixth and Pierre has climbed a place into fifth. Suddenly the camera cuts to Nils Broden’s car, wrecked and smoking in a gravel pit. The television screens show a replay of the accident which put it there, and I watch, white-knuckled and sick to my bones, as Broden’s car smashes into a concrete wall and shatters across the track.
And then I see Will, clear as day, in my mind. His car is upside down on the gravel pit as an ambulance crew brings out a white sheet. I start to feel dizzy. I hear Holly’s voice beside me asking if I’m okay. She puts her hands on my arms to steady me and tries to tell me that Broden is fine, that he’s climbed out of his car and is already over the wall and on his way back to the pits, but I’m in another place, another time. All I can see is Will’s car, the front end completely gone. And then I see Will, staring at me in the darkness as we lay side-by-side in bed.
I break down in uncontrollable sobs.
‘Daisy . . . Daisy . . .’ Holly’s voice tries to soothe me, but I’m beyond help. I fall to my knees and am vaguely aware of people in the garage turning to stare at me.
‘Daisy, please,’ Holly begs. ‘Come back to the hospitality area.’
‘I can’t . . . I can’t . . .’
‘It’s okay.’ She crouches beside me and puts her arm around my shoulder while several mechanics worriedly look our way. I know it will be a struggle for them to concentrate with this going on.
Klaus comes into the garage with Frederick. He must’ve gone to fetch him.
‘Come with me,’ Frederick says firmly. He pulls me to my feet and I stumble out of the garage with him. Holly follows.
‘I’m sorry!’ I cry. ‘I can’t be here!’
‘No, Daisy, please don’t leave again!’ Holly begs, her hand on my arm. ‘Chef, don’t let her quit!’
‘Enough!’ Frederick snaps at her. ‘Take a couple of days,’ he tells me as my sobs quieten. ‘Go and stay with your grandmother. Call Ally to arrange a car.’
I nod dumbly as Holly relaxes her grip on my arm.
‘But I want you back at work next week,’ Frederick adds. ‘And after that we’re off to Singapore, so don’t let me down.’
We return to the kitchen in the hospitality area where Holly helps me gather my things before walking me outside to one of the team’s people carriers.
‘Can you take me back to the hotel?’ I ask the driver, who’s leaning up against the front of the car, listening to a hand-held radio.
‘Sure,’ he replies.
‘I’ll call Ally from there,’ I tell Holly. ‘And I’ll see you back in the UK.’
‘You will come back, won’t you?’ Her face is etched with worry.
‘Yes,’ I tell her, although at this stage I’m really not sure.
Chapter 25
The track in Monza is on the outskirts, north-east of the city, but I have to collect my bag from the hotel and arrange a car before I can set off. Nonna lives about three hours’ drive south-west from Milan, so I have a lot of time to think as I stare
out of the window. To the far right I catch occasional glimpses of the sea, while to my left there are hills and forests, but the route is mostly dull – long stretches of motorway until we finally reach the bendy mountain roads north of Lucca.
I remember Will driving me around here in the Aston Martin that he was thinking of buying. There are so many things he wanted to do. Sometimes it hits me how his life was cut short and I have to gasp for air before I can push yet another memory to the back of my mind.
Nonna comes out of her front door as the taxi pulls into the lane outside her house. I called her from the hotel so she’s been expecting me.
As soon as she engulfs me in a warm hug, I start to feel better.
‘La mia stellina . . .’ she murmurs into my hair, before pulling away and studying my face. ‘You have lost even more weight.’ She shakes her head in dismay.
I glance around at the mountains, which are shrouded in dark clouds. A storm is imminent.
Nonna leads me inside to her warm kitchen and immediately starts to serve up some ribollita soup. It’s made from the leftovers of minestrone and it’s delicious, but I’m not hungry, so I swirl my spoon around and take the odd mouthful while Nonna looks on sympathetically.
‘Are you okay, my love?’ she asks eventually.
I shake my head. ‘Not really, no.’
‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘Maybe tomorrow,’ I reply softly. ‘I’m very tired.’
The sky outside the window begins to flash with lightning. Nonna gets to her feet and pulls pots and pans out of a cupboard before exiting the kitchen. I get up wearily and put my bowl in the sink before following her through to the sitting room. Old bits of rag are still stuffed in the walls from the last time I was here. I sigh, too drawn to comment.
‘Come,’ she says to me, indicating the sofa. I falter for a moment, remembering the sight of Will falling asleep there, but she takes my hand and pulls me down to sit beside her. I curl up and lay my head on her lap as she quietly and soothingly strokes my hair.
The sound of a car screeching to a stop outside the house wakes me up. I look, bleary-eyed, up at Nonna.