Page 38 of Start Your Engines

Waves sound in the background of the call. “Where are you, Niki?”

“Nowhere important.”

“Are you coming home soon?”

“I will when I’m ready.” Whatever that means. “It’s the crash and what happened, okay? I can’t be around people. Anyway, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call again soon. By the way, Dad is coming to the race today. I told Senna, although he didn’t want me to. Keep Antoine away from her.”

“Sure, mate. Take care, yeah?”

“You too, Con. Laters.” He’s my one friend, and I can’t tell him I’m too scared to drive, that I fantasise about his sister, or that I’m messier than a British stag party on a night out in Amsterdam.

CHAPTER 17

Senna

“And I said to her,‘You want to be a racing driver?,’ and we all laughed, but she was a good driver until the accident,” my dad says to his guests.

He’s brought four men to the Spanish Grand Prix and hasn’t explained who they are. If they’re investors, he should introduce me so I can tell them about our team.

It doesn’t matter how many times I tell him I’m the boss; he won’t step away from the company. I need to get better at confronting him, but things like this remind me of the times he wouldn’t listen when I told him about the drivers who were bullying me.

He’s sat here for the entire race, sharing stories of his greatest moments as the team boss, lauding how excellent Niki was and adding me as a footnote. “And she became a great communications director.”

The men nod. The race has finished, and we’re waiting for Antoine and Connor to return to the garage as everyone packs up.

“And now I’m the boss,” I add, although the men aren’t listening.

“An incredible one,” Jacs says, but they’re not listening to her either.

I shrug as I watch videos from the day. Anything to not engage with my dad when he’s willy wanging. I shouldn’t let his adoration of Niki’s career and ambivalence towards mine affect me. At least he said I was a great comms director, though he didn’t want me to do that, either. I worked my way up from intern during my university years and then, over time, convinced the board I should have the job.

I rub my scar. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks. I know what I’ve achieved.

“Boss, can I show you something?” Jacs says. “One of the pit crew pointed it out to me earlier, and you should see it.”

Something to distract me from Dad’s booming voice. He moves to the edge of the garage, still sharing stories of the team’s wins. Obviously, he doesn’t mention all the damage he’s done to the company.

Jacs runs through the footage. It’s a hot day in Barcelona, and I fist my hair into a tiny ponytail and push my sleeves up. It looks a lot sexier when Connor pushes his sleeves up, and not just because he has tattoos relating to everything from his wins to his childhood on his body. My favourite is the map of the Silverstone racetrack on his bicep. It was the first race he won in Formula One. Since our truce, I’ve googled him a couple of times, and I may have languished over a semi-nude shoot.

“You okay, Sen? You’re red,” Jacs says.

I choke on my breath before stuttering, “It’s June, and we’re in Spain at a racetrack, and I’m dressed for business.”

“Someone, get this woman a handheld fan, please,” Jacs shouts across the garage.

My assistant, Jimmy, appears with three fans. He’s feeling guilty because I told him not to gossip with anyone about me. He’s apologised every day since. I explained there was a positive,as it helped bring a truce between me and Connor. He’s still been attentive as hell, though. He doesn’t usually join me at races, but his development is important.

“Thank you, Jimmy,” I reply. He nods sheepishly and walks away.

I turn one of the battery-operated fans on, catching a glimpse of my scar. It’s still something I hate and am ashamed of. I could have been an F1 driver and made my dad proud. Guilt creeps up on me for making that truce with Connor and enjoying his semi-nude photo shoot. Why hasn’t he apologised for the crash? He’s always attempted to justify his actions. My head tells me that he ruined my life, but my heart wants to believe that everything he’s said is true and that he looks after others no matter the consequences.

When my heart ruled me, I bought a fluffy toy for him that resembled Coults. He’s probably ditched it, thinking a fan left it for him. No one needs to know I slept with it a few nights before leaving it anonymously at reception.

“Watch this,” Jacs says, nudging me.

On-screen, the team are lined up on the grid before the race. As it’s a sweltering day, the drivers are getting into the cars while covered by umbrellas. I catch Antoine talking to another driver. He mouths the wordcrasher. The other driver, Antoine’s friend in those days when we raced together, throws his head back and laughs.

“That little shit. What’s he saying about me?”

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