‘Ithought we had something,’ he shoots back, eyes hard.
Very interesting. I gave him nothing of myself, he doesn’t even know my address, so how would we have something? I’m a figment of his imagination. A projection. He said he doesn’t care about optics, but he cares alright.
There’s no such thing as bad publicity for men like him. I’ve actually helped his image, not that he’ll accept it right now. He’ll come out as the unwilling participant in influencer chaos; the focused champion with an aversion to drama. Teams and purists eat that up.
I know him, he won’t talk about it in Mexico and, coupled with his track record of being intensely private, conjecture will spiral in his favour. He was blinded. He was manipulated. I’ve built arcs like this myself. He’ll hate every second, but the machine will reward him.
‘Is any part of you real?’ he asks.
I’m not sure what he wants me to say. ‘My nose,’ I offer, managing a small smile.
‘You’re a terrible person.’ He shakes his head, rubbing his hands along his thighs. ‘Everything you do means nothing.You’re just a vapid Barbie who cheats and lies through life. I wish I’d never met you.’
I can feel my body lock up.
My head’s suddenly swarming with flashbacks to the only other time I’ve been dumped. It was more brutal, more humiliating, but my hands are as cold and clammy as they were then. I feel like someone’s sitting on my sternum. Not just any someone.
Ellias’ girlfriend brings something to the table. What do you bring, Jules?
You have nothing. You are nothing.
You’re totally dependent on me. It’s sad.
How can you expect me to fancy you with a chest like a teenage boy’s?
If you tell anyone, I’ll leak that sex tape.
I’ve seen icebergs warmer than you.
I bet you got it from your mum.
No matter how many followers, likes, brand deals, cheques, or men I accumulate, Damian’s words land with the precision they did all those years ago. He’s everywhere, and I don’t know how to stop him.
I’m the same Jules he methodically tore apart piece by piece. Someone small and unwanted. I’m exposed despite the years I spent building careful boundaries. I’ve reduced myself to numbers and values despite leading a life of people and experiences. Even though I built a career I’m so proud of, somehow I’m still riddled with shame.
Everything I’ve done is in spite of him, and what good has it done?
‘Fine. Sit there in silence all you want. You know where the door is,’ Tom says, getting up and leaving the room.
Chapter 43
TIAGO
MARANELLO, ITALY
I’ve never been to Martinelli’s HQ before, and holy shit it’s ridiculous. Leone’s aerodynamic department could fit in their foyer. It’s not a single building, it’s a campus of aluminium and glass.
We walk through The Drivers’ Corridor lined as far as the eye can see with helmets, suits, and trophies, all glowing from below. The names of racing legends shine on plaques. I feel like I’m in the Avengers Compound.
Through a black door, we enter a giant sleek warehouse with a selection of race-used cars dating all the way back to 1935. My jaw drops. Their storied history’s so palpable it pulses through the air.
‘This was Cliff Roberts’ car!’ I gush, the cool façade JC and I talked about at the door where it belongs. ‘And this – Luca Zanetti won Malaysia in this. I was in F2 at the time, it was the most incredible win I’d ever seen. It made me feel like anything was poss—Shit!Is that Hans Glock’s car that won the 1978 Championship? Holy mother.’
The Martinelli guys smile. JC does not, face impassive, eyes drilling into me. He’s playing the game, but fuck that. Glock’s carright there topped the most ridiculous season in the history of the sport.
This is the first time I haven’t felt sick with worry since Logan’s ‘admission’, and sue me if I’m going to enjoy it. As soon as they get to the point, I’m going straight to London.
Cars with stick shifts, cars without power steering, cars with only two buttons, cars with Martinelli’s iconic eighties livery, the era when they were at their very peak. God I wish I was alive then. I try to find Walter Hatten-Meyer’s legendary 1984 beauty – father of Ackland World Champion Gunter Hatten-Meyer; grandfather of current Ackland driver Kurt Hatten-Meyer – but I can’t find it. It’s my favourite car and driver combo of all time. The synergy between them was pure music.
