Oh I’m counting on him not being a problem until Monaco, which gives me two and a half months to make a plan. A daddy-daughter reunion is Future Minnie’s crisis.
‘Did you ever think F1 is a huge part of my life that I’ve missed?’ I ask. ‘That my options are limited because I don’t have a degree, and this job could be a great way of using the one subject I know infinite amounts about? Don’t you think I could be good at presenting?’ I leave out the part where I needto resolve years’ worth of trauma if I’m ever going to enter my healing era.
‘Of course I do, sweets! I just… oh forget it.’ She absent-mindedly pets whoever’s by her leg. ‘I’m going to pretend not to know where that “but” was going, but know this: you’re far more than flawless skin, great posture and my bone structure. You can do anything you set your mind to. You fit in every room, and if you let anyone make you feel differently, it’s not them you’re hurting, it’s you.’
She has to say that, she’s my mum. Also, she doesn’t get it. She’s never done anything like diving head-first into a man’s world.
Mum’s gaze catches on something behind the camera. ‘Oh, Minnie Me, I made thisdelightfulcourgette cake yesterday, but it’s missing something. You’d know immediately what. You could…’ I’m already shaking my head, ‘try the recipe when you’re?—’
‘I don’t make cakes anymore, Mum.’
‘But if you just tr?—’
‘I don’t. Make cakes. Anymore.’
The disappointment in her eyes makes me feel like an ogre, which isn’t fair because she shouldn’t have brought it up to begin with. She knows that.
‘I should go and try to get some shut-eye. We have an early start tomorrow,’ I say.
‘Alright, my girl. Good luck interviewing Jack Bowden. We’ve got all our fingers and toe beans crossed for you.’
Chapter 5
JACK
Ifeel like a fully grown driver as I take the media centre stairs two at a time. Pagari have finally agreed to me doing press without a minder. It’s pretty unheard of across the sport, but I’ve done more media training than pole starts, and there are six years of proof that I’m a safe pair of hands in front of the camera.
Did I put pressure on them to fly solo for Channel 3’s interview in particular? Maybe.
Does it have anything to do with the extraordinarily fit new member of their team? Who can say…
Chelsea girls are my kryptonite. She looks like she throws around words like ‘joyous’ and ‘compelling’, and is too posh to know what a chippy tea is. She looks like Instagram’s her personality, and she does yoga with farm animals on weekends. Oh yes, I know her type. There’s no explicit FIA regulation or team ban around sleeping with journalists, but it’s implied that drivers don’t. That’s not to say I couldn’t make an exception for someone exceptional…
I peer through the glass panel of our designated room. There she is, back to the door, sorting out her things. Fucking hell she’s something. Tiny skirt, tanned legs, long blonde hair with a pink bow in it. I resist the urge to bite my fist.
Before I get too excited, I open the door and… she’s singing to herself.
‘Is that “Bitches and Marijuana”?’ I interrupt her mid-chorus. It’s taking every ounce of my restraint not to laugh.
Her delicious scent comes with her as she spins around. Floral, but not too sweet.
‘You’re early,’ she says like an accusation.
I walk deeper into the tiny room, happy to see it’s just us. ‘Was that a Chris Brown song?’
Her hand flies to her chest. ‘No!’
‘Sounded a lot like “Bitches and Marijuana” to me.’
‘That would be very unprofessional, on many levels.’ She smooths out her skirt and it takes herculean levels of willpower not to watch. ‘Chris Brown is highly problematic.’
Fuck me, she said ‘highly’. That’s in the same league as ‘joyous’.
She turns away to finish unpacking and, face glued away from me, mutters the end of the line so quietly I almost don’t catch it, ‘—gotbitches and marijuana.’
I sing the next line and her gaping surprise has me creasing. ‘I knew it!’ I sink into the couch with a grin.
Looking at her properly, she reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on who. It’s her facial features, her mannerisms, her posture, her accent. This is going to irritate me.
