‘I know.’ She turns back to the beach, and a smile lights up her face as she watches the crazy football game. ‘We lived along 63 Beach in Guyana until I was maybe ten.’
‘Not far from here.’
‘A little far.’ She tucks a wave of hair behind her ear. It gets caught in the back of her gold heart earring, and even the breeze doesn’t make it budge.
I think about that for a moment. Obviously, Brazil is big, and Guyanaisfar, but we share a border. Maybe we’d have crossed paths somehow. Maybe if Shantal had stayed in Guyana, she’d be up in Teresópolis with the CBF, running their football training programme instead of ours. I wonder how the world can be so big and yet so small all at once.
‘Let’s go!’ calls Miguel. Looks like he’s enjoying this unusually jam-packed version of the beach much less than he’s letting on.
‘Wow, he’s loving all the buzz,’ Henri jokes. Shantal purses her lips as if holding in a laugh. I notice that about her: she keeps her feelings to herself, unless you lie to her about your identity, in which case you’ll have your ass handed to you on a platter.
We stick to following the boardwalk for a while, though I’d argue the experience is inauthentic without visiting the favelas just past the beach. I’m biased, with my aunt and uncle living near one of the two in thebairro, Cantagalo. Sandwiched between Copacabana and Ipanema, Cantagalo-Pavão-Pavãozinho is what I’d call a safer favela. It used to be pretty nasty back when I was younger, but it’s gotten a lot better. The food can’t be beaten.
‘What’s up there?’ Shantal gestures to the houses and buildings built against Cantagalo Hill like a landslide of life, as if she’s read my mind. ‘That’s a neighbourhood?’
‘Yep, neighbourhoods,’ I tell her. ‘Favelas.’
‘Favelas,’ she repeats. ‘Is it true what the guides say about staying clear?’
I shake my head. ‘Not quite. Some are worse than others.But it’s like in any big city: crimes, gangs. Mostly, it’s just people trying to make a living. They have shops, crafts, food, all of that.’
‘Can we go there?’ asks Shantal, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looks up at the hill.
‘Maybe when we have more time. It’s a bit of a hike.’
‘What about that tram up there on the arches, back towards Santa Teresa?’ Shantal continues to enquire. It’s almost funny how methodically she’s extracting information from us.
‘Well, that’s a way off,’ Henri helps out. ‘I remember this. My mom’s from here, Dad’s from Perth. We came here once when I was younger. That tram’s on the other side of Christ.’
‘Right,’ I say, searching for the appropriate analogy here. ‘Rio is like a … Pac-Man. IfCristois the eye, Santa Teresa is the top of the mouth. We’re on the chin.’
Miguel stops and blinks at me. ‘Pac-Man?’
‘We have Pac-Man here,’ I say by way of explanation. Miguel just rolls his eyes.
We just make it to Ipanema on foot before giving in and buying ice pops for the walk back. We weave through some of the streets, glimpse storefronts, residentials, and the beginnings of the favelas. It’s always brought a smile to my face, so I feel pleased to see it does the same for Shantal. Except beneath her smile is a layer of melancholy. This reminds her of something else, something sad, and I don’t think it’s just Guyana.
And as much as I’m sure it’s intrusive of me, I wonder what this girl is hiding. I barely know her, just met her, but it’s the way she looks at our beach. Something in me wants to find out more.
Chapter Ten
Shantal
Iarrive at Heidelberg Hybridge Ring the next morning at seven a.m. for the first track walk of the new facility. In tow, I’ve got my things for the rest of the week. The hotel is not, according to Afshin Demir, as convenient as having the team in one place, hence living quarters. So naturally, he’s indicated we try to stay at said living quarters during the week. I’m not complaining – each room is huge and beyond comfortable.
I find this when I scan into my room first thing after getting inside. The living quarters building is ultra-secure: fingerprint to get in, ID to unlock your room. It’s just two floors with ten rooms total. We’ve got the five on the upper floor, because of the views.
The promise delivers. My suite’s sitting-area window opens straight out towards Sugarloaf Mountain, the big rock-like slab surrounded by greenery that we drove past. Yes,sitting area. I have well-cushioned leather couches, a TV, and a kitchen space with appliances and an island in an adjoining wing. Mybathroom and bedroom are connected, just down a short hall. You can tell it’s designed for athletes: the shower has these acupunctural pressure jets, and you can adjust the mattress all kinds of ways for customized support. The physio side of me says it’s smart, but the business side only sees the expense.
I just have time to drop off my bags and change before heading down. At Crystal Palace, as a training specialist on the coaching staff, we had red and blue team windbreakers designating our roles, intended to be worn with as many layers as possible. I remember wearing leggings under my sweats to combat the chill. But Brazil is baking. Rather than layers, I’ve got running shorts and a bright white team livery T-shirt matching the rest of our drivers and staff.
‘Morning,’ I greet the trainers with a yawn when I arrive in the garage for the track tour. They murmur echoed good mornings all around with bleary eyes. We nurse iced coffees that are already beginning to melt in the scorching heat. Someone mentions that the cars are still somewhere in Germany being worked on for the great reveal come February, which is slightly disappointing, at least to me. Testing will be the first time I’ve seen F1 level cars live and, unfamiliar as I am with the sport, I’ve got plenty of questions.
‘Do they just adapt to the new car, then, when winter testing comes round?’ I ask Henri’s trainer, Jack. Jack Lyons is world renowned, I’ve learned (from googling, something I clearly should have done long ago). Before he became Henri’s physio, Henri weighed maybe sixty kilos, struggling to hold his head up against Gs. He’s nearly seventy kilos now, with the F2 G record under his belt.
Jack nods firmly. ‘New car’s always a bit of a challenge, but they’ll be great.’
‘Is there a reason they don’t, I don’t know, turn down thepower and crank it up as they get used to the car or something?’ I carry on around a sip of coffee. ‘So that when they max out, the team can obtain a pretty true baseline safely?’
