‘That’s alright. Coco didn’t need me much.Are you all excited to meet Min Min? Yes you are.’
‘Don’t teach them Min Min, I hate that name. Then they won’t respond to Minnie.’
‘Is Min Min getting the grumples?’
‘Mum! Don’t teach them Min Min!’
She slips out and heads back to the kitchen. Slaps of bare feet against the wooden floorboards are chased by the light pitter-patter of paws. She settles at the table and asks, ‘Are you ready for tomorrow?’
I sigh. ‘Technically, yes. I’ve made reams of notes, and I’ve memorised all the big stats.’
She squints into the phone. I can’t tell if she’s sceptical or has the wrong glasses on. ‘I feel a “but” coming.’
‘Not a but!’ I squeak. ‘Definitely not a but.’
She’s right, there is a but.
My imposter syndrome’s growing by the day. Sexism aside, I haven’t done a sports journalism degree, I wasn’t a driver, and I didn’t cut my teeth on kids TV like Krunal. I can add value to the show, I know I can – I work my socks off and have extensive knowledge of F1 and its history – but… it’s hard not to feel inadequate. I know the guys in the London office think I’m a nepo baby. Does it count as nepotism if you haven’t seen your dad in twelve years?
None of this can be said to Mum, of course. She was passionately against this career change from the beginning. It’s taken weeks for her to even be lukewarm about it. She’s putting on a front because she knows I really,reallywant it to work.
I shrug. ‘This working malarky’s hard. It’d be so much easier to do what you did and marry a racing driv?—’
Her eyes bulge. ‘Don’t you dare, Minnie Macklin Roberts!’
‘I’m joking. I’m joking!Obviously.’
But it’s too late, Mum’s already on her soap box. Oh good.‘Don’t eventhinkabout getting involved with a driver. Your dad and his antics aside, it’s a horrible life.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re terrified every time they step on the track. Everyone’s claim to them is higher than yours. Their ego blows out of control?—’
‘I know.’
‘—distractions are all around. When they retire, they don’t know what the hell to do with themselves?—’
‘Iknow.’
‘—and aftereverything, they leave you.’
Oh, I thought we were leaving my dad and his antics aside. Silly me.
‘You give up your whole life for someone and they bin you for someone half your age. It’s hideous, Min. You should know better than to go near them. I forbid you!’
I roll my eyes. ‘Save your histrionics. If I’m too commitment-phobic to date at home, it’s quite a stretch to suddenly acquire emotional availability in Australia, don’t you think? That vitamin D’s powerful stuff.’
‘Alright, smart arse, point made.’
At the ripe old age of twenty-five, I’ve never had a boyfriend. It’s pretty embarrassing to admit. I have the apps, sure, and I’ve been on obligatory dates with guys who lied about their height, forgot to ask about me, and talked endlessly about their ex. I do want a boyfriend, and I love romance and meet-cutes and romcoms, but there’s something inside me that’s too scared to let anyone close.
‘He left me too, you know,’ I say quietly.
With that Mum loses steam. ‘I really don’t understand why you’re doing this. It’s not as if you want a relationship with your dad.’
‘It’s not about my dad.’ At least not entirely, and not directly.
‘You will see him, though. He always goes to Monaco, and sometimes Silverstone too.’
