My helmet thwacks against the door. The strong smell of leather’s turning my stomach even more than his driving. I can’t cry on camera.Focus on what Jack said.The racing line, the— What were the other things?
The car jerks right and we’re spinning.
And spinning.
And spinning.
I swallow down a‘FUUUUUUUCK’and grapple for the door but there’s nothing to grip. I clutch my seatbelt but even that doesn’t feel secure enough. I’m going to die in pursuit of a ‘well done’ from my boss. Micah’s oblivious to my suffering; he’s beaming from ear to ear doing doughnut after doughnut.
He doesn’t brake until the last second, skidding to a halt on the start-finish line. I immediately unbuckle myself and scramble out the car before the crew are anywhere near us. I’m trembling all over. My hands are chalk white. The blood’s drained from my entire being. I mumble a ‘thanks’ to Micah but don’t have time to wrap up the segment because I’m already sprinting towards the toilets, a hand locked on my mouth.
I make it just in time, heaving up everything I’ve ever eaten. The smell of leather, the corners, the weightlessness, the doughnuts, the humiliation, the stench of sick.
When it’s all out, I lean back against the cubicle door, panting. My head’s thumping like I repeatedly smacked it against the car door. I probably did.
I don’t know how long I’ve spent in here but no one’s disturbed me. There are some benefits to being a woman in a man’s world – the ladies’ toilets are always quiet. It takes three attempts to make it to my feet. I’ll hide out in the media centrefor the rest of the day. Greg surely won’t want me in front of the camera after such a disastrous feature. When it airs tomorrow, I’ll be a national laughingstock. It’ll probably get decent views on social, that’s something at least – the internet loves people making fools of themselves. Simply lovely.
As I walk down the corridor towards the makeshift media centre suite, trying to trick myself into being hungry for a granola bar to give me some semblance of energy, I collide with Greg.
‘Minnie!’ he sings, wearing that same grin from earlier as he steadies my shoulders. ‘You wereincredible!’
Am I dreaming?‘What?’
‘You shouldseethe footage.’ He makes wild gestures with his arms to show me it was a full arm-span worth of incredible. ‘Geniuscall on hamming up your reactions. I really believed you were terrified. You injected so much drama, and you looked horrendous!’
‘Oh… yes. That was intentional.’
‘Best feature of the year – and withMicah Adetunji! We’ll be up for an SJA, I know it. I could kiss you—but I won’t,’ he steps back, ‘because… HR.’
‘I’m s-so glad you liked it.’
‘Wonderful journalism. Keep it up, champ.’
He makes a fist, dithers about where to place it, and settles for my upper arm, giving it a tiny punch. It wasn’t worth the wait, but ‘keep it up, champ’ clanks emotionlessly around my head. When I’m feeling less faint, I’ll be over the moon.
‘Go and freshen up, you look terrible,’ he says, checking his watch. ‘Pit Stop Practice is in an hour and we need to get some footage. We have averybusy morning ahead of us catching up on everything we’ve missed doing the feature.’
I nod. Pit Stop Practice. Busy morning. Right. I’m really presenting after very nearly shitting myself inside a two-million-pound car.
Come back to Earth, Minnie. It worked. Jack was wrong. Micah’s answers were decent – great, even. He disobeyed his dad, he was easy to work with, he opened up, and he made good TV. He did everything he needed to do.
Holy shit, I did what few broadcasters have ever done: I interviewed Micah Adetunji, and it was a success!
Maybe… maybe the hot lap horrors were all in my head. Maybe I was being a wuss. Maybe he was going easy on me, and I’m just not used to the speed. I think back to his doughnuts and my stomach makes a violent gurgle. Ok, it wasn’tcompletelyin my head. But who cares? Greg’s happy. I’m happy. Everyone’s happy.
I look up to find him still standing there, eyes narrowed. ‘What are you waiting for?’ He points towards the suite. ‘Chop chop!’
Chapter 28
JACK
I’m fucking shaking. I’m going to kill that sadistic son of a bitch. I knew he’d go hard on her, buteightdoughnuts? And drifting around Copse, MaggotsandBecketts? He might as well have done a handbrake turn around Vale for all the care he was taking. Could’ve unbuckled her and opened the door while he was at it.
Minnie’s not answering her damn phone. It’s been six hours and I’ve heard nothing. Is she injured? Traumatised? I don’t know how many times I’ve called her but it’s bordering on stalker. Probably a good thing I’m in the car ready to start qualifying, out of temptation’s way. She’d better reply by the time I get back or I’ll… I don’t know. Probably be as frantic as I am now.
No, enough. My hands are quaking around the wheel. This is no way to start Q3. I need to calm down, like I did in Miami over sockgate. I managed to channel my anger and snag pole position. I can do it again. I’m the master of my own mind.
But I can’t stop seeing Minnie sprinting from the car covering her mouth.
