“Oh,Teodoro,I’ve been going easy on you. Monaco is where I fly,” I said. “I better get back before your team principal thinksI’m stealing team secrets. Like the out-of-regulation brakes you’ve been using.”
“That is defamation and you will be taking that back!” I heard Theo’s team manager shout as I walked away. But over that, I heard Theo’s laughter, which was the most beautiful sound in the world.
The third qualifying session had gone fantastically - so fantastically, in fact, that I had found myself at the very top of the leaderboard for the race. If I could perform during the race, then I might be able to stave off the niggling feeling I had that my head was on the chopping block.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Magnus asked. We were both in the garage, with me suiting up and him standing over the monitors that analysed my qualification speeds. The amount of green on the diagrams showed just how much faster I was than the other drivers around the track. I scanned the screen for Theo’s name, a few spots behind mine. I hoped he didn’t catch up. I couldn’t deal with the nerves or deja vu of us battling it out at Monaco.
I walked over to Magnus, zipping up my overalls as I did. “What’s up, chief?”
“I just wanted to wish you well in the race today. And if you win…don’t get too wasted tonight. Meet me in the hospitality suite tomorrow and we can talk about the future, OK?”
I smiled. That was a coded message if I ever heard one.Do well and we’ll reward you with a contract. Take that, Max Robertson.
I grabbed my helmet from its hook on the wall, situated myself in the car and put my balaclava and helmet on. I awkwardlysnaked my little drinks straw into the helmet and took a quick sip. No one ever said that being a Moto 1 driver was glamorous or easy. I was grateful for the ice packs under my suit, but even they would be full of warm water after seventy laps at Monaco.
The team wheeled out my car into the pit lane on its trolley and then let me down. I made my way to the front of the pit lane and took the car for a leisurely drive around the track, waving occasionally at the crowds assembled in the stands and leaning over hotel balconies for a better view.
I drove up to my place at the front of the grid and waited for the flag to indicate we would drive the formation lap. This lap was a slow one prior to the race actually starting, to allow us to warm up the tyres and brakes before starting the race. No overtaking allowed, we just drove in formation with me at the very front of the pack. I zig-zagged across the track to get some heat into the tyres, and used the lap as one last practice for the race. Monaco’s streets were narrow and difficult to overtake on, and the sharp corners and sudden changes in lighting between its famous tunnel and the sunny track had caught many a driver out.
I pulled into my space at the end of the track, right at the front of the pack, and waited for those lights. One two, three, four, five. Then the lights went out, and away we went.
The first corner was crucial. Theo’s teammate Graham Evans was almost level with me, and if I could just take the first corner then I would shut out his chances of overtaking for most of the track.
I took the apex of the Saint Devote corner, and for one brief second in my peripheral vision I thought that Graham was about to crash into my car, as hard as he was trying to keep up. But then he dropped backwards and I took the corner, then sped up into the next straight. Behind me, I was aware of the wholepack closing in at an attempt at stopping me from gaining an unstoppable lead. But Ifeltunstoppable.
Turn six was a particularly difficult hairpin, but I braked at the very last minute to keep Graham behind me. As I pulled out of the hairpin and into the straight, I heard thecrunchof a car crash, but I couldn’t see in my mirrors who had crashed out, and whether they’d hit a barrier or whether multiple cars were involved.
The rest of the race was without incident, which was typical of Monaco. Seventy laps of very tough driving, but with few overtakes only made possible by very fast or very slow pit stops. But that didn’t matter to me. Because as I crossed the finish line with the cheering of the crowd in my ears, I felt on top of the world.
I wiped the sweat from my brow with one arm before situating my race cap on my head as Albert Stevenson got a microphone ready to hand to me.
I took the microphone from him and did my best to smile for the camera. I was elated to have won, but I was also completely exhausted. Behind me, a big screen played the best moments from the race, including where both Aston Martin cars had started a minor pile-up, crashing into one another and leaving no room for anyone else to get around them.
“So, how does it feel to have won your first race in over a year?” asked Albert.
“It feels fantastic,” I said, “to have come from such a rough string of results, I feel ready to take on the championship again.”
“Those are bold words. Do you really think you’ve got what it takes to go all the way?” Albert was probing for clickbait, as washis job. I just hated knowing my words were going to be snipped into tiny pieces and used for whatever agenda the racing press wanted to sell. So I considered my words very carefully.
“I think every driver in this championship is here because they think they have a chance at winning. Today was just the start of me proving I still have what it takes.”
“Of course, we’ve got the rest of the season to play out, the first half of the tour in Europe and the second half in America. Do you think you’ll be racingnextseason for Remini? There have been rumours that Max Robertson is in negotiation to join the team.”
“I can only hope my performance today staves off those rumours. I am very keen to continue racing with Remini for next season and seasons beyond.” At that, Remini’s publicist tapped my arm to let me know the interview was over, so I said my goodbyes and headed up to the balcony over the garages for the trophy ceremony.
The trophy ceremony was messy fun. The Prince of Monaco handed out the trophies; Erland Inglesson of Alfa Romeo in third, then Graham Evans in second, and finally to me. Then we were each handed bottles of Magnum Champagne to shake and open, spraying them all over each other and Magnus as team principal. The Royal Family of Monaco stood back at a respectful distance, and I had been warned on pain of death not to get any champagne on them. So naturally, I ended up sticky and covered in sweet champagne in the Monaco heat.
I made my way back down the stairs and into the more private drivers’ rest area. At the back were inflatable ice baths set up for all drivers to use, more like plunge pools. I took a quick look around to make sure there were no camera crews following me, and stripped off into my briefs, leaving my race suit on the concrete floor.
I stepped into the ice bath and lowered myself quickly before I could reconsider my life choices. It was fuckingcold. But Iknew my body needed it after hours spent under the Monaco sun in a hot race-suit, encased in a heat-generating machine. I was submerged up to my neck and let myself get used to the water for a minute before steeling myself to completely soak.
I took a deep breath and submerged myself completely under the water. I ran my hands through my hair to get rid of any lingering champagne stickiness. Under the water, I let myself enjoy the steel-cold feeling as my body finally relaxed, the adrenaline leeching away. I was a winner. I had won my first Moto 1 race in a year, and I knew I could win more with this mindset.
When I emerged, I swept my hair back and wiped the hair out of my eyes. Only to realise there was someone stood watching me.
“How long have you been there?” I asked Theo, who had tied his bulky race suit around his waist.
“Only long enough to worry you were drowning,” Theo grinned. He looked like he’d been sweating, and I averted my eyes as he dropped his race suit and base layers and submerged himself in the nearest ice bath to me. He kept his head out of the water but cupped water to his face. “Fuck, that feels good.”
