‘That doesn’t sound like Johannes at all.’
I hope it’s not worse than I’ve been imagining.
‘If you find out what’s going on, will you please let all of us know? Because he refuses to talk about it and it’s beginning to piss off his friends.’
‘Yeah, of course. Have a good rest of your evening. See you tomorrow.’
Thinking about Johannes keeps me awake. I toss and turn, trying not to ruminate on his issues. They aren’t mine and I should not be this worried about him, but I am. I can’t help it. I don’t want whatever it is to eat him up inside and leave nothing but bones. I couldn’t bear that.
But what more can I do without invading his privacy or crossing a line he’s clearly drawn around his personal life?
The next day, I watch him complete his third practice. He finishes sixth in the standings, but he’s 1.2 seconds off Harper at the top, which is a big gap for Hungary. He can’t perform like that in qualifying if he wants to be anywhere near the front row.
He’s whisked away to do some media before I can even check in with him.
‘I need a coffee. These triple headers aren’t for the weak.’ Ian groans as he stretches himself out next to his pit wall.
A big cup of coffee sounds very much needed right now.
Coffee.
Coffee.
His face in that café… The way his eyes lit up as the barista described the different kinds of beans they used… The pure relief on his face as he cradled the cup at his lips…
If a coffee was all it took to put a driver on top of the podium, they’d all be doing it. But it’s not about the coffee itself. It’s about what the coffee represents– how it might make him feel to have someone notice him, care about him, do something nice for him.
I’m hotfooting it out of the garage before I can stop myself. I don’t have any free time, but my job is to make him perform better, and if this could help, then I have to try.
I summon a car and while I wait for it to arrive, I google independent coffee shops and check the reviews. I choose one that’s a little further away because it has the best customer feedback. When we get there, I ask the car to wait. I have no idea what it’ll cost, but it’ll be worth it to get back to the track quickly.
Inside, I scan the menu, struggling to decipher what’s what. Thankfully, the barista speaks English and I tell her about my friend and his coffee preferences and what I saw him order last time. She recommends something and I agree, because I know absolutely bugger all about roasts and blends and syrups and foams and whatever.
I just want this to cheer him up. At the last minute, I spot a fudgy-looking cake on a display stand and ask for a piece of that, too. He won’t be able to consume it before the qualifying race today, but it can be something to look forward to afterwards. I saw how he was eying up the brownies and my pain au chocolat in the coffee shop and I may have heard him say in an interview how much of a sweet tooth he has. Hopefully this will satisfy that.
I’m in and out in less than five minutes, to the taxi driver’s delight, and I make it back to the garage within forty. When I get back, Johannes and Nils are nowhere to be seen, but the garage is filling up with engineers, strategists and analysts. Nathan’s also roaming about, so I need to be swift like a ninja to get in and out of Johannes’s room without them asking what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’d tell them if I was caught, because a sweet coffee right before qualifying is not in his race plan or dietician’s schedule, but I don’t care.
Keeping my head down, I weave through the garage to his room. I knock lightly in case he happens to be in and count a couple of seconds before I open the door and slip inside.
I put the takeaway cup and sweet treat on the table beside his bag.
I contemplate leaving a note, but I’m not doing this for recognition. I tell myself it’s for the team, for his performance, for my job, but I know it’s also because I can’t bear to see Johannes hurting like this. I’m in and out of his room in the blink of an eye, but as I close the door behind me and walk away trying not to look suspicious, mentally I’m back in his room, waiting to see his face when he takes a sip.
* * *
I can’t help how aware I am of where Johannes is and whether he’s been back to his room yet. I linger, trying to get a glimpse of him, but I’m due in the pit and have to leave before I see him. I feel wired– like I’m the one that’s had too much coffee– bouncing from foot to foot, unable to sit still. Ian gives me a look and I force myself to calm down.
Then, just as I’m beginning to lose my mind, the teams start their grid walks and I see Johannes with his arm around Nils taking a selfie on the track. They’re both smiling but I’m focused only on Johannes. I see crinkles in the corners of his eyes, his mouth stretched wide, and his shoulders relaxed. In one hand is the takeaway coffee cup.
He takes his last sip and bins the empty cup as he comes off the track, and I feel myself holding my breath.
‘Looks like we’re in for a good time this weekend,’ Ian comments from beside me. Nils has only been getting better and better this season, which is only giving Ian more confidence. ‘Nils should score points, maybe even decent points if the practice today is anything to go by.’
But all I can think about is Johannes.
While we’re probably too far down the rankings now for the constructor’s championship this year, Nils has another year on his contract and with Nils showing so much promise, we could be real contenders next year.
‘Johannes looks slightly more alive this afternoon.’
