“That’s not very nice,” said Frankie, resting a hand on my shoulder. I shook him off. “No luck getting a team interested, then?”
“I do not want to talk to you about this, Frankie,” I said. “Go and enjoy the party.”
I studiously avoided looking at his face, fearing he would be smirking, or worse, pitying. I could not handle either end of that emotional spectrum in the moment.
“I have plenty of interest,” I finally said. “Not from the teams that I would most like, but it is there.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers, right?” said Frankie.
“You thinkIam a beggar?” I asked, unable to hold my tone any longer. “I have been second in both the European and American tours. I am still young, and have another chance at the title now this year. But that doesn’t matter. Because the team has chosen Max Burnham in my place! I could go and race for Dragon Racing, and I would be the best fifth-place driver this sport has ever seen. I could race for Alfa Romeo, and push their car to its very limit. But I still would not win. I should be racing here, at the apex of the sport, because I am one of the very best.”
Frankie was quiet for a moment. “I’m only here because my father owns the team,” he finally said.
It took all of my strength to hold in my laughter. “Are you only just realising what we all know?” I asked.
There was a longer silence now, and I risked a glance at Frankie. I could see tear tracks making their way down his face, glistening in the red and blue lights of the British Racing hospitality suite opposite us. That he was doing his best to hold it in, not to make a scene, impressed me more than anything else he’d ever done. Finally, some restraint.
I stepped closer to him and put one arm over his shoulders. “Apologies. That was harsh,” I said.
“True, though.”
“True. But not for lack of talent. You are twenty-one years old. You are not the worst driver on the grid, which means you are definitely one of the best twenty race drivers in the world. It’s just your attitude that lets you down. Typical rich kid.”
Frankie sniffled, and took a sip of the champagne in his hand.
“Mi abuelaused to buy in Prosecco from Lidl for every karting race win, and then my wins in Moto 2,” I said. “I did not taste champagne until I was your age. But I think you have grown up on the taste of champagne. You have not experienced the taste of cheap booze, the horror of wondering how you will pay for a kart upgrade, so you cannot appreciate where you are now.”
“I wanna live like common people,”Frankie mumbled the lyrics to the old familiar song, and I laughed.
“We are not common people, we are extraordinary people. But we must appreciate that fact.”
“I wish I had seen this wise sensei side of you before I started being a total asshole,” said Frankie.
“Impossible.” I patted him on the back as I stepped away. I had another man to go and see, a better man. One who might just throw as much of a diva fit as Frankie just had. “You were always an asshole, Frankie. There was nobefore.”
And on that bombshell, I left the confused young man in the office with his champagne.
“I know, I’m late,” I said. “Sorry. Took me a bit longer to get out than anticipated.”
Theo gave a small smile as I sat opposite him, and I brushed my leg against his under the table. I still wasn’t sure what wasOKbetween us in public, so I kept things friendly.
The sun had not long set over Budapest, and the bar Theo had chosen was gorgeous. It was set on a rooftop, with views over the whole of the city. In the middle distance was the dome of the Hungarian Parliament Building, silhouetted by the last glow of the sun.
“How are you doing?” I asked Theo. He looked as beautiful as ever, but tired. His eyes roved over me, but not in a lustful way. More like he was appraising me.
“I’m…OK. How are you doing?” he asked.
“You’re OK. And…we’re OK?” I hated asking such stilted questions, but I had no idea what kind of ground we were standing on. We were level in points. The start of our relationship had been at what felt like the nadir of my career. Now, just as it was improving, I was sat worrying about whether me being good at my job would be enough to put cracks in the foundation we had been building.
“We are OK,” said Theo, reaching over to take my hand in his. He held up his other hand to the waiter. “A bottle of that lovely Spanish wine, please?”
“Treating me?” I asked, teasing.
“Bastard.” Theo knew I was messing with him. Our bet pre-race had been that Theo was paying for all the drinks if he lost. I don’t think either of us had thought that he might lose so spectacularly.
“So, who has lost their job in ZX Computing?” I asked.
Theo laughed hollowly. “No one. Freak engine blowout, we think. I’ll just be upgrading my engine unit a couple of weeks earlier than anticipated. I’ll be back to whooping your arse in two weeks.”
