“Hello, Matt.Just a warm-up question to test sound.How are you enjoying being back in Singapore?”
“I just got here last night.”What does she think I’ve been doing?Clubbing?Sightseeing?I could be in Peru right nowfor all I know—having seen the inside of a private jet, the airport tarmac, the lights of the city through tinted car windows, and the cookie-cutter luxury hotel room.God, I’m angry.How am I going to get through this interview without coming across as a megawatt asshole?I look at Archie, who nods at me encouragingly.
“The sound is fine,” confirms a voice from the back.The producer smiles tentatively as I blink a couple of times, trying to get my eyes used to the ring light.
“Great.Straight into it, then.Matt.How are you feeling about your move to Arden?”
I clear my throat.“I’m um...”Shit.My mind goes completely blank.How do I feel about it?I feel furious.Blindsided.Confused.Devastated.I pluck through the negatives until I find one tiny kernel that I can cling to.I glance at the producer, who is starting to look panicked, and I decide to just fucking do this.
“I’m excited for a fresh start at a team based closer to my hometown, Brackley.It will be good to be back in England.”
“Is it okay if you sayI’m excited for a fresh start at ArdenRacing?Just to be really clear for our fans.”
“Sure.I’m excited for a fresh start at Arden Racing.I’m happy to be on a team based closer to my family in Brackley.I’ve really missed the weather.”
She smiles merrily.Archie gently pumps a fist in encouragement.
“And what about your new team principal?Brilliant, yes, to be working for your first female boss and only the second ever in Formula 1’s history?”
“Er...”I try hard not to frown, conscious that the camera is on me.
This is an annoying question, directed, I suspect, by Barry Arden.Archie is right.He wants to maximize the cachet of this men’s club having a woman as a team principal.The producer didn’t even use her name, for fuck’s sake.My hesitation is not because she’s a woman; it’s because I’ve had about thirty minutes to get used to the idea of that woman being Chloe Coleman.
It feels like a lifetime ago when I actually knew her.I think back to the eight-year-old with the braces and the vintage racing shirts who outpaced half the dudes on the track in our tiny karts.The teenager with the goofy smile and the wild hair who I looked out for because, as my dad explained, “the circuit can get tough for girls.”But what had started as an annoying chore from my dadhadturned into a friendship.Archie was right.Shewasmy friend once.
I was about twenty when I left for Rossini.She’d just finished her first year in F3 at what—seventeen?And then we drifted apart.
I feel the clock ticking.I’d better answer something and fast.
“It’s great.”It’s all I can manage.
“You mean, ‘It’s great to be at Arden Racing working for my first woman boss,’” says the producer.I summon all my chill.Then I parrot the line back, trying to smile as I do.
“Barry Arden has declared that Arden has been grafting hard in the garage and is ready for its fairy-tale finish.You were off pace at Rossini, can you come back?”
I want to reply sarcastically, “With the shittiest car on the grid and a team more famous for its partying than its pit performance?”But instead, I take a deep breath and roll out a list of PR classics.
“Nothing I like more than the chase.I drive at my best when I’m on the ropes.Sure, there’s gonna be challenges ahead, but that’s motor racing.”I wait for something to stir inside me, but I feel nothing.Not even a faint hint that maybe, just maybe, the driver I was before the crash is still inside me somewhere.“I’ll be taking my Rossini points with me, and I want to keep adding to that total.As always, I’m here to win.I’m never happy unless I’m standing on the podium.”
“That’s great, Matt,” she crows.“Can you give us an update on your old teammate Stavros?”
“I ahh...”I tip my head, holding a hand up to cover the light shining into my face.“Sorry.I don’t want to talk about Stavros.”
The producer grins apologetically.“I know, Matt.It’s just, you haven’t spoken about it publicly, and we think it’s contributing to the...ah...lack of goodwill toward you on the paddock, and among the fans.”
Because they blame me for Stavros ending up in hospital after the crash.And of course they do.It was my fault.
“We’d love to get those Rossini fans to come to Arden with you,” she continues, and then she gives up beating around the bush and comes out with the financial heart of the matter.“It helps so much with merch sales for you to be popular.You know, like Daniel Ricciardo.Everyone loves that guy.”
“Fine,” I say, sighing.The producer taps the lens again.
“Stavros is on my mind every day, and it won’t be the same without him.”I have to dig deep to keep my voice even.I see a flash of his car, in my mind’s eye, flames licking out the front of the engine.I clear my throat.“But Stavros is agreat competitor, he understands the sport, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to see me back on the track.”
I imagine my best friend watching me from his hospital bed and my stomach contracts like I might be sick.It’s my fault he’s there.And it’s fucking unfair I’m back and he’s not.I think about all the messages I’ve sent him over the past few months.All the times I’ve tried to reach out.But he doesn’t want to speak to me.He’s made it clear.
I stand and yank the battery pack free from the back of my shorts and unclip the little mic on my collar.“I’m sorry, I can’t do this.You’ve got enough footage?”I ask the producer, who looks momentarily panicked before painting on a big smile.“We’ll make it work, Matt,” she replies eagerly.
I turn to Archie, the only person in the room I can truly trust, and he motions for us to escape.I move toward him, palms sweaty, chest tight.
