A racing incident suggests both parties are to blame which, despite the FIA ruling, is categorically untrue.
‘They didn’t give each other space,’ agreed Krunal.
I can’t listen to this ridiculousness any longer. ‘From where I’m sitting, the blame lies solely with Micah. He misjudged how much space he had and ran right into Jack. It’s no racing incident,’ I say.
Brian bristles. ‘Jack gave him no choice. You probably don’t know this, but Jack moved under braking, which is?—’
‘—an FIA regulation,’ I finish. Surprise, I know the rules of F1. ‘But no penalty was issued for that so the stewards clearly don’t count it as a large enough infringement.’
Brian’s eyes narrow to little slits. Yes, I know you don’t like being argued with, but neither do I. ‘Jack broke the rules,’ he says with such pronounced simplicity that I want to ram my microphone on his balding head, ‘causing Micah to lose all front downforce and lock up. Jack knew that. Micah was at the point of no return.’
‘But—’
‘Let’s take personal biases out of this; we all know you want your boyfriend to win.’
My mouth gapes. I know I’m on live TV, I know I’m at work, I know I shouldn’t listen to a single word that comes out of hispuce-coloured mouth, but I can’t help it. I can’t believe what he just said.
‘…chance that Micah could lose his seat over this, which is entirely unfair,’ Brian’s rabbiting on.
I can’t pull myself together. My skin’s prickling all over. Mortification is so acute it’s morphed into numbness.
‘It’s time for our last break,’ Krunal’s saying, ‘but straight after, we’ll cover whether Jack’s Championship chances are scuppered, and what the heck happened to Maxim Performance? See you in a mo.’
‘Cut,’ says Greg wearily, itching his eye. ‘Brian, what did we talk?—’
‘I quit.’ The words are out of my mouth before they’ve even formed in my brain.
Everyone swivels to me, looking as shocked as I am.
I don’t regret it. I’m actually struck by how right it sounds out loud. I’m through being embarrassed. They don’t take me seriously and they never will. Jack’s team support him unequivocally; my team don’t trust me to say my own name at the beginning of each show. I’d rather be unemployed than subject myself to degradation every week. It doesn’t matter how much I love being back in F1, or how proud I am at having fostered a new skill, or how hard I’ve worked to get this far – nothing is worth this.
The mid-afternoon paddock’s alive with chatter, but all eight of us are mute.
Am I projecting or does Greg look relieved? He steps towards me. ‘Minnie?—’
‘I’m done.’ I point to Brian: ‘You’re a bully.’ Greg: ‘You’re pathetic.’ Krunal: ‘I like you, but you’re an enabler. None of you can preach growth and inclusion if you’re closed-minded to start with. I’m better than this, and I’m going home.’
‘Thirty seconds,’ says a small voice at the back.
My heart instinctively skips at having to pull it together in the remaining ad break, but then I remember: I just quit. I shove my microphone and earpiece in Greg’s hands and start walking to the media centre to collect my things.
It pains me that I’ve stooped this low. I’m the person who loves work. Give me Mondays, give me homework, give me thorny problems. Dreading opening my notes and forcing my feet to the paddock isn’t me. I need to feel passion again.
No more short skirts, no more plastic smiles, no more fighting for airtime, no more jet lag.Oh my godmy bed. My dogs. My oven. My towels. Holy shit, I have to permanently move back in with?—
‘Minnie, hold up!’ It’s Krunal, his tall quiff impressively rigid as he jogs up to me. For the second time in my life, I see he’s nervous. ‘I’m… really sorry, fam. You’re bang on.’
I square my shoulders. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘I’m cutting end of the year as well. Think I’ll go back to kids TV.’
‘Krunal!’ calls Greg.
His fist lightly pounds my arm. ‘Stay winning. You’re a sick presenter, Min. Don’t let Channel 3 take that away from you.’
I try for a smile and watch him jog back. As they congregate for the last segment of the show, a swell of emotion bubbles up. For everything I hoped it would be, and everything it wasn’t.
I ring Jack before tears start forming.
