‘You’re about to.’ I detect a chord of envy in Raya’s voice. ‘All the guys on that Formula 1 grid are … lord, I’d at least learn to pick out Darien in a crowd, if I were you.’
Okay, this may be true. I am going into the chance of a lifetime poorly armed. My heart clenches as I think of all the deep googling my sister would have had us doing.
‘Sorry, all, but like I said, I’ve got a bunch to get done.’ I gesture to the sticky notes all over my monitors. ‘Heidelberg Hybridge Ring isn’t going to get its own sims up and running.’
Maybe doing this entire thing halfway across the world while my family’s in a state of emotional fragility isn’t a part of my dream – I’d have loved to stay in London – but it’s an opportunity to bring my brainchild to the very top of motorsport certainly is. I’ve worked for Conquest since midway through university, picking up an internship that became a career. Since that point, our company’s been primarily linked to one of the many SouthLondon football clubs we share home base with, Crystal Palace. I’d always dreamed of working in sport, maybe coaching or something, so running training using virtual reality and simulation for world-renowned footballers, bridging my physiotherapy education with new-era machinery … it’s pretty close. And now, with a little help from our friends in the programming and tech departments, our task team has finally finished the motorsport simulator I hope can completely change how drivers practise – starting, unbelievably, with Formula 1. We worked for ages on this, and everything is ours from the ground up: the parts for the sim, the program we wrote.
It’s still hard to believe that Conquest has given me the chance to manage an entire operation across the ocean on my own, not to mention in a whole new sport.Team simulator specialist. A title they’ve created just for me. It’s amazing, but it’s a terrifying burden, and without Sonia, this giant step just feels like one I can’t take.
‘All right,’ Marcus gives up, voice shrouded in an air of annoyance. ‘But don’t work yourself into the ground, Shantal. Have some fun. This trip is a chance for you to test your limits, yes, but it’s also an opportunity for you tofinallylet loose. You’ve been … kind of tense lately.’
Oh?I know for a fact I’d become aggressively highly strung in the past couple of months, but I take that one straight to the chest with a look of irritation at Marcus.
‘Exactly,’ adds Joel enthusiastically, which doesn’t help at all. ‘An opportunity to … get funky.’
Raya shakes her head, looking away with a roll of her eyes. ‘Please never say that again.’
As the two of them get straight to bickering as usual, I turn to my monitors. The wallpapers, our Conquest team posingwith Crystal Palace FC’s, remind me of everything we’ve built here. I can’t back down out of fear now.
Like any project this far from the normal for us, the stakes are high. I’ll be with Heidelberg for at least the first half of the season, up until summer break, with the second half optional if I do my job well enough.
Everything pertaining to the simulator technology in that building, all Conquest’s doing, has to pay off. If this doesn’t benefit Heidelberg – if they don’t see significant improvement from their standings last year, and move up from third in the Championship – then they won’t find any value in spending millions on us any longer. They’ll sever ties with Conquest, the tie in question being me.
I open the tab holding the immersive floorplan for the Heidelberg Hybridge Ring Complex, just landed in my inbox fromtheprincipal of Heidelberg’s F1 team. It’s a humongous facility, nestled within its own track, two expansive storeys high, even equipped with drivers’ living quarters. All of this is wonderful, but I immediately click and zoom in to the gym, stacked with what will be a state-of-the-art simulator room. As always, it’s not the building but the powerful technology inside I’m interested in, waiting to take Heidelberg Hybridge to Championship victory.
I adjust the photo of my sister on my desk, beside my tiny portrait of Shri Ram and Sita. I think of nearly breaking down over the phone to my mother.Go and enjoy your life.
‘Those birds went extinct years ago!’ Raya’s voice soars over the open tops of the cubicles.
‘I refuse to believe that. Macaws areresilient,’ insists Joel.
They could have chosen Joel or Raya or Marcus, anyone who worked on this sim, but it’s me going to Brazil.
You earned this, I think to myself as I click into the technology menu.Now come through.
Maybe I’m not going to Brazil to let loose, but I’ve never been one to half-ass a project. This could be my big break, and I’m not letting it go, no matter how wrong all of it feels.
Chapter Five
Darien
On account of getting thrown onto a new flight two weeks before my mother to reach Rio in time for training, there’s no one to keep me awake on the plane. I sleep through most of my trip in the cushy cabin, but my eyes flutter open to breakfast. This is perfect because, as I eat, I get to watch us begin the stunning descent into Rio de Janeiro.
We soar over the expansive city, so close, yet so high up. I make out the beaches of Copacabana, dotted with umbrellas, the psychedelic mosaic sidewalks of Ipanema and Leblon, where all the hotels stretch up to the sky and the rich tourists do their shopping and bar-hopping. Just past it, I can see Rocinha, the biggest favela in Rio, a mishmash of brightly coloured buildings perched precariously all over a massive hill – my mother’s home. And the backdrop to it all, our national park, Tijuca, with its seemingly never-ending greenery, climbing upwards till it reaches a peak, where Christ the Redeemer stands, arms wide.
It’s the best welcome I could ask for.
We touch down at Rio de Janeiro International Airport in Galeão. I don’t actually enter the airport; stairs are folded out from the plane, and I’m shepherded down them by several security guards.
‘It’s good, man,’ I try to tell one on my way out, but he just shakes his head, stern-faced. Funny, the security is never this tight in the Euro countries. I don’t think all the people putting it in travellers’ heads that Rio is one of the most dangerous cities in the world are doing Brazil any favours. Either way, I know how to get around here much better than anyone on my detail, so escaping their clutches won’t be hard.
We get out of the airport unscathed using a deserted back gate. My car will be in the garage of my Santa Teresa house, not far from the neighbourhood where I grew up. I offered to let Mãe use my house when she’s here, but she stays in our old one, telling me I’m grown and need my own space. Truthfully, I know that’s partly bullshit. Other than me and the Chevy, the house is all that’s really left of my dad. Mãe keeps her distance from the memories all year, but the break is her chance to feel close to Pai again, even if it’s only for a moment.
Before I know it, the driver has pulled our black Porsche right up to my front gates and scanned in, the journey quick due to the clever route he took to get here. The fact that there are no fans around is really refreshing. Of course, I love them, but sometimes it’s worth lying to the media about your date of arrival to get a day’s peace. I’ll let myself drown in a sea of hats, posters and driver cards tomorrow, when training at the new facility will begin, and my team will place a new weight on my shoulders. For now, I’m afforded some semblance of calm in this place.
Santa Teresa is on a hilltop. All the roads here are very curvy and very narrow. We are beautifully untouched; our town neverquite left the nineteenth century. We have the only tram in the city that still operates, canary yellow paint peeling just slightly, but charm still fully intact. My childhood here plays out in my mind like a dream. Santa Teresa is so stunning it’s surreal, like someone has drawn this caricature of a small town nestled in a crazy city and thrown me into it. I could have chosen a place anywhere in Rio, but nothing will ever top Santa Teresa for me. Even San Francisco can’t match it. This will always be home.
I feel that the moment I enter my house. It’s not much flashier than anywhere else in town. One floor, white plaster walls, arched windows, a roof of curved terracotta tiles. It bakes during the day and simmers at night. I kick off my Sambas once I’m inside, and slip on the well-worn pair of flip-flops lying on the tiled floor. It’s just the way I left it from summer break; even the houseplants look the same. Granted, they’re fake because I’m away half the time, but it matters to me. This house is my order among the chaos, my safe haven, my breathing space.
