‘You know what I mean. Where are the Pagari boys anyway? I haven’t seen them around.’
‘Jack sometimes comes for a bit and leaves early, often with a girl,’ says Kurt. What a surprise.‘And Micah?—’
Étienne’s chortle cuts him off. ‘If you see Micah Adetunji at an afterparty, I will give you one million euro.’
‘He doesn’t go out?’ I dig.
Kurt reels off on his fingers: ‘He doesn’t go out; he doesn’t do press; he doesn’t greet fans; he doesn’t do charity work?—’
This I half knew. ‘But why?’
‘Not why–’ow?’ Étienne thumps his fist on the table. ‘’Ow does ’e get away wiz it? None of us like doing press – no offences, Minnie.’
‘None taken.’
‘It’s literally written into our contracts,’ Kurt explains. ‘The only thing he does do are some press conferences, but nothing else. As soon as they’re over, it’s AirPods in and private jet back to London. No talking, no hanging around.’ He takes a contemplative swig. ‘But you want a driver to rival Jack? He’s your closest man.’
Étienne lets out a superfluouspfft.
‘I’m serious, and you know it too.’ Kurt cocks his glass to the Martinelli driver. ‘Pagari’s car is unstoppable. The way to beat a Pagari is with a Pagari. Plus, Micah’s a dirty, dirty driver. I hate wheel-to-wheel with him. It’s like he’d rather us both crash out than let me beat him.’
Heads around the table nod gravely – heads I didn’t even know were listening.
I remember watching Imola last year where Kurt and Micah collided with the barrier. Kurt’s chassis caved in like it was made of rice paper. A shiver runs up my shine.
‘He hasn’t been much of a threat to Jack in the past. Jack was streaks ahead at the end of last season,’ I point out.
‘Don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t match Jack’s tyre management, and he’s nowhere near as good at quali,’ says Kurt. ‘He’s reliant on Jack making mistakes. But Jack strikes me as complacent this season; two consecutive World Championships will do that to a guy. We’re counting it. Micah, in particular, is counting on it.’
Interesting. Very interesting.
Chapter 4
MINNIE
MELBOURNE
‘Minnie? Minnie where are you? I can’t see you. Is this broken?’
‘Hang on, Mum. I need a second,’ I say, desperately searching my hotel room for anything resembling a robe.
‘All I can see is white. Is my phone broken again?’
‘No, you’re looking at the ceiling.’
‘Why?’
‘Hang on!’ My search is coming up dry. I commit to angling my phone very specifically to only show my head.
‘Why are you naked?’
‘Mum! Don’t look! I’ve just fake tanned. It’s still wet.’
‘Oh. Leave it for ten minutes or you’ll smudge it.’
‘I know.’
‘How did you do your back? I always do your back,’ she pouts.
