‘There’s a whole chapter dedicated to him in my binder,’ I quip.
Jack throws me a weary side-glance. ‘Knowing where he made his debut and how many pole-starts he’s had isn’t going to cut it.’
‘It’ll be fine.’
‘Well, if everything goes to shit, you know you can belt out “Raspberry Beret”.’
I burst out laughing as we pass our first road sign for Silverstone.
Jack was right about one thing: I don’t even make it inside the Pagari Team Hub before Micah’s dad pounces on me. He’s waiting by himself at the foot of the outside stairs, hands linked behind his back. I force my legs to keep walking towards him. He’s not a large man, like his son, but he has powerful presence.
‘Good morning, Ms Roberts,’ he says in a strong Nigerian accent, and extends his hand for me to shake.
‘Good morning, sir. I’m very excited to be interviewing your son today.’
‘Good.’ There’s a stiff formality to his nod. ‘He is eager also.’
‘Great,’ I make to step around him, ‘so I’ll?—’
‘Just one minute.’ His tone stops me dead. ‘I have some rules, Ms Roberts. Is that alright with you.’ It’s not a question. I offer a small smile. ‘You will not bring up our family or my son’s life outside of Formula 1 – it is intensely private. You will not broach allegations of safety concerns and regulatory disputes. Last year’s British Grand Prix is also forbidden.’ The team orders incident, on its anniversary. How can I not bring it up? ‘Finally, you may not ask about Micah’s relationship to his teammate or with Pagari.’
Those last two are ridiculous. ‘I have to maintain some level of journalistic?—’
‘You may not.’ The full stop at the end of that sentence is loud and clear. ‘If you broach any of these topics, the interview will terminate and you will not be able to air any of the footage. Do I make myself clear?’
My nod is tiny.
‘I wish you a good interview,’ he says, turning on his heel and leading us inside.
What the hellcanI ask Micah about? He’s ruled out basically everything – everything that will interest viewers, at least.
Maybe my questions should be open and broad, that way I can let him lead. Surely I can’t get in trouble if Micah revealssomething restricted of his own accord? But then what if Micah’s as manipulative as Jack says? I get visions of the interview being a series of bland questions followed by monosyllabic answers. Oh god.
My stomach sinks even more when I spot Greg across the hospitality suite. He doesn’t have to be here – the entire London office doesn’t have to either, including the Big Boss – and yet here we all are. Greg rushes over to me, grin so wide it looks like it hurts.
‘Today’s the big day,’ he says, gripping my arms and giving them a little shake. ‘Do you have everything you need?’
I gulp. ‘Think so.’
‘Excellent. We’re all set up here for the interview, and then we’ll head over to the track and do the hot lap. You should try the coffee here – it’smolto buono.’ He makes a chef’s kiss sign with his fingers that I hope I’ll never see again.
I spot Micah on the far side getting powdered. He asked for this interview; he won’t jeopardise it. Right? It’d damage his reputation – not as much as mine, but enough to sting. F1 is a spectator sport and Liberty Media like drivers to play ball and appease fans. They’d be pretty pissed if Micah looked like he was finally getting on board only to spit on said board.
It doesn’t need to be a spectacular interview. His presence alone will guarantee record ratings, and if he’s tedious and taciturn, it could be explained away as normal Micah behaviour. So long as I do my best, that will be enough, right?
Right?
The set up isn’t exactly conducive to him being vulnerable. There are about forty crew members from Channel 3 and Pagari squeezed in here, and the tension’s mounting by the minute. Mr Adetunji positioning himself behind one of the cameras isn’t helping either. The operator is having to awkwardly lean around him to perfect his set-up.
I kick things off before nerves can climb any higher.
‘How do you feel coming to Silverstone this weekend?’ I ask once the cameras are rolling. My question could be interpreted as prying into last year, or simply asking any driver about any upcoming race like any interviewer would. Where the conversation goes from here is up to Micah. I catch his dad tensing nevertheless.
‘Good,’ Micah says coolly, not like I’ve pressed on a very tender bruise. ‘I came second last year, we had a British one-two, and a double win for the team. The car’s really strong around this track and I’m keen to see how far we can push it this year. Also, obviously, it’s my home Grand Prix, so I’m always happy to be here.’
Good for him. That’ll gain him some fans; no one likes a sore loser. He even spoke nicely about Jack.
‘Do you think there’s a win on the table?’ I probe.
