I focus hard on the blanket of cloud so dark it’s almost charcoal, and the fat droplets bouncing off the tarmac. So thisis Britain in July. No wonder I live abroad. Minnie must be freezing in her little pink dress.
Stop thinking about her.
Breathe, Jack.
Q3 is the final round of qualifying that sees the top ten drivers from the two previous sessions battle to put in the fastest lap humanly possible. The RaceX of Gustaf Henriksson heads onto the track, the third car out. I wait for my instructions to go. All the teams have careful strategies in place. For us, it’s about finding a gap in the traffic after other drivers’ rubber give it more grip but before the track gets too slippery. Most cars need a few laps to warm up; I just need an out lap and a single push lap, so the timing must be perfect. You don’t want to waste rubber if you don’t have to.
Eilo, Tom and Micah go, all spotting the same gap.
PissingMicah. He deserves to catch a puddle wrong and skid into oblivion for his little stunt this morning. Hell, I’d push him into it if I didn’t mind throwing qualifying. Lucky for him, I do mind. I mind very much. I’m going to win P1 and watch his Silverstone dreams wither and die and I don’t give a flying fuck if his aunts are over from Nigeria – they can watch.
‘It’s time, Jack,’ says my race engineer over the radio.
Here we go.
As I emerge from the pits, a Volare flies onto the gravel just ahead. An Ackland wobbles around Village like it’s drunk. Fuck me, it’s carnage out here. Visibility’s even poorer than I thought. There’s sprayeverywhere.
This is good. Carnage forces me to focus. I can do rain – I grew up here, for Christ’s sake. I ease on the throttle and take a wider racing line around Village, avoiding the more polished racing line Eilo chose.
Micah shoots past me on his push lap, and all the mental ground I’ve made up vanishes. What a twat. I’d like to see himtry those tricks he pulled with Minnie on me. Matter of fact, I’d like to do a hot lap with him in the passenger seat. I’d have him chucking up before Turn 4.
I pick up speed on the Hanger Straight, preparing to start my push lap after the next three corners.
God I hope she’s ok. If she’s pulled her neck or torn a muscle or hurt her back, I’m going to punch that git’s lights out. I wonder what she’s doing now. Can she work? Has she gone to the medical centre?
I need tostop thinking about Minnie. Why can’t I let this go? It’s like I’m whipped or somethi?—
Fuck, whipped?
WHIPP—
The car loses grip under me. Before I can blink, I’m skidding headlong towards the run-off area at 124mph, clipping an Alpha Prime on the way. I know where I’m headed. My chest tightens. There’s nothing I can do but prepare for the blow.
Front then rear, I ricochet off the barrier in a vicious double hit.
It takes a second to collect myself. I test my neck, shoulders, back, and smell for fire. All good. Jesus that was some shunt. The car must be totalled. There’s no way I can continue with Q3.
‘You alright, Jack?’ asks my race engineer.
‘I’m ok.’ Physically, at least.
‘Car is safe.’ He means the battery’s safe – I won’t have to spring from an explosion like I’m Bruce Willis.
It’s not really a car anymore, more like half car and half pancake. Front left wheel’s gone. Probably back left too. Christ.
Did I really oversteer around Stowe? How could I make such a rookie error at a circuit I know like the back of my hand?!
It’s Minnie’s fault. No, wait, it’s my fault – for how I respond to her. I let her cloud my judgement, preoccupy me, become a bigger priority than she should be. How couldIget distracted byagirl? It’s unthinkable. She doesn’t mean anything. We’re not even dating! What the hell was I doing stressing that she hasn’t called me back, and worrying about if she’s cold. What do I care? This is what matters.
I haven’t been in a crash this bad for years. The yellow flag’s in place, the medical car’s been deployed, and I don’t even want to think about the wreckage that was my car. Micah will seize pole, and the worst part is he didn’t just get what he wanted – I gave it to him.
I’ll be lucky to start tenth. We probably need so many new parts I’ll be booted to the back. Under FIA regulations, if you need a new chassis, it’s considered a new car, so you have to start from the pit lane. Utter bullshit.
I have to cut ties with Minnie. I can’t let anything like this happen again. Not now, not ever will I let a girl sidetrack me.
I allow myself a moment with my head in my hands before I jump out the car and face the damage.
It’s just gone midnight and I’m staring at a deconstructed car that doesn’t look it’ll be fit to race in fifteen hours, but it will. Pagari’s mechanics are some of the best in the world. People say the same about me and my driving. Funny, because I feel like the most monumental failure, with an extra helping of guilt for good measure. Sorry to the mechanics working overnight to rebuild my car. Sorry to the Alpha Prime I took with me into the barrier. Sorry to my team who need to create a whole new strategy. Sorry to my fans who’ve spent their hard-earned money to watch me be a tit.
