Chasing Daisy

  Glamour? I decide against pointing out the wasted youth who has just vomited on the kerb.

  She takes a huge mouthful of champagne and reaches for the bottle.

  ‘Let me do that for you,’ Holly offers, making use of her hospitality skills. Alberta takes the refilled glass without so much as a thank you and sits back in her seat, crossing her legs so her mini skirt rides even further up her thighs.

  I look away, bored and unable to play the game like my friend, and see Luis emerge from the pub doors. Alberta sits back up in her seat, but is visibly deflated when Luis stops to chat to the lads. I know how she feels. I’d give anything to be able to gossip freely with Holly instead of watching my words in front of this beacon of bitchiness.

  ‘Have you been Catalina’s cousin for long?’ Holly asks, in all innocence.

  I look at her and crack up with laughter. She realises what she’s said and joins me in hysterics.

  ‘I’ve had too much to drink!’ she squeals, lifting up her champagne glass in one hand and her beer glass in the other.

  Alberta glares at us both before standing up, plucking the champagne bottle out of the ice bucket and going to join Luis.

  ‘Come on, Holly, please can we go somewhere else, now?’

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ she agrees, knocking back first her beer, followed by her champagne and then rising to her feet.

  We wind our way out towards the pavement, squeezing past the revellers already swarming to occupy our recently vacated chairs.

  ‘We’re off! See ya, lads!’ Holly calls to the group of mechanics.

  ‘Lightweights!’ Pete shouts.

  ‘We’re not going back to the hotel, we’re going partying, you pussy!’ Holly shouts, and I pull on her arm, laughingly trying to ignore Luis’s dark-eyed stare as we back away from the crowd.

  Chapter 2

  ‘I feel like a porcupine has rolled onto my eyelids,’ Holly moans.

  ‘I feel like a porcupine has lifted up my eyelid and stuck one of his spiky pine things into my retina,’ I reply.

  ‘I feel like a porcupine has lifted one of my eyelids and scraped five of his SPINES, I think you’ll find they’re called, into my—’

  ‘Girls!’ Frederick barks.

  We abruptly fall silent. The pain is worth it – we had such a laugh last night. We bumped into a couple of girls who work in hospitality for another team and they talked us into going on the rickety little rollercoaster in Luna Park, St Kilda’s oceanfront amusement park. It was seriously scary – I thought we were going to come off the rails – but damn, it was funny. Then they wanted to go to the beach to go night swimming, but Holly and I thought we’d better get to bed as we were only going to get three hours’ sleep as it was.

  Right now it’s the ludicrous time of five a.m. and we’re already at the track prepping food for the day’s menu. Holly’s mixing muesli with a variety of fruit and nuts, while I’m trimming bacon fat. I told you I always get the crappiest jobs.

  ‘I wonder how Luis is feeling this morning,’ I muse, when Frederick leaves us alone for a moment to harass a couple of other front-of-house staff, a husband and wife team from Germany called Klaus and Gertrude. They’re weird as hell when you chat to them socially, but scarily efficient at their jobs.

  ‘Concerned for Luis’s welfare now, are you?’ Holly raises one eyebrow at me.

  ‘No,’ I answer, annoyed.

  ‘I imagine he’s feeling on top of the world after his shag last night,’ she says.

  ‘You reckon they did the dirty deed?’ I struggle to keep my tone light.

  ‘I know they did the dirty deed,’ she says, ominously. ‘Alberta came out of Luis’s room at three o’clock this morning looking very much like the cat that got the cream.’

  ‘How do you know these things?’ I shake my head in awe.

  She just smiles secretively. ‘Never give away my sources. Anyway, Luis will be in for a tough time with Simon if he doesn’t pull out all the stops in qualifying today.’

  ‘Haven’t you finished yet?’ Frederick snaps, coming back over to us.

  ‘Yes, Chef!’ we chorus.

  ‘Then get outside to the serving table, both of you!’

  Ten minutes later, I’m trying not to let the smell of frying bacon turn my stomach when a dishevelled-looking Luis walks through the hospitality doors. He’s unshaven and wearing sunglasses, and everyone knows Simon likes his drivers to be well turned out.

  He comes straight over to us.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Holly asks, ever-chirpy.

  ‘Just a coffee. Strong,’ he adds.

  ‘Get lucky last night, did you?’ I give him a dry look.

  ‘You have got such a mouth on you,’ he answers, not amused.

  I should be careful, actually. I shouldn’t really speak to a ‘revered’ driver like this, but when it comes to Luis, I just can’t help myself.

  ‘You look a bit worse for wear yourself,’ he adds, still staring at me.

  ‘Why, thank you very much, sir. You sure know how to please a lady.’

  ‘That’s what I was told last night.’

  I look at him, open-mouthed. He takes his coffee and wanders off, nonchalantly.

  ‘Did you hear what he just said?’ My voice has risen an octave.

  ‘Yes, yes, I heard it. You don’t half ask for it, though.’ Holly rolls her eyes.

  ‘I knew Alberta was a Screwdriver the minute I clapped eyes on her,’ I say hotly.

  A ‘Screwdriver’ is a term we use in the business for women who chase after racing drivers. Or, to put it another way, for women who screw drivers. Nice, huh?

  ‘Why should you care, anyway?’ Holly asks. ‘You can’t stand the guy.’

  ‘He’s a jerk,’ I respond, just to reaffirm my feelings if they were at all unclear.

  ‘Freakishly good-looking though,’ she says.

  ‘Good-looking?’ I scoff. ‘How can you say that?’

  She just laughs. ‘Ooh, look, it’s Prince Charming.’ She nods towards the door and I glance up to see Will walk in.

  He heads over to the serving table, looking different to how I remembered him. I could have sworn his face was rounder.

  ‘Alright?’ he says.

  Holly gives me a discreet shove when I don’t immediately find my voice. ‘Hello! What can I get you?’ I ask him sweetly, coming to life.

  ‘That looks good,’ he says, eyeing up the bacon. ‘But I’d better go for some of that.’ He points to Holly’s muesli instead.

  I feel dejected as I watch her serve him.

  ‘Out last night with the lads?’ Will looks straight at me.

  ‘How did you know . . . Oh, looking a bit rough, am I?’

  ‘No, I just heard from a couple of the guys that you were out on the town. Good night?’

  ‘Great,’ I respond, delighted from the top of my head down to the tips of my rose-coloured toenails. He was talking about me!

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘St Kilda. It’s just on the other side of the—’

  ‘I know it.’

  ‘Skimmed, semi or full fat?’ Holly interrupts, indicating the silver milk jugs.

  ‘Semi.’

  She pours some milk into his bowl and he takes it from her.

  ‘Would you like a coffee or anything to drink?’ I ask.

  ‘An orange juice, thanks.

  ’ I pass him a glass, my hand shaking ever so slightly.

  He grins and nods at it. ‘Is that a result of your scooter accident or alcohol withdrawal?’

  Actually it’s because I’m so nervous about being this close to you. But I lie and tell him it’s probably alcohol related.

  ‘You should have come out with us!’ Holly gushes.

  ‘Nah,’ he replies.

  ‘Too dedicated.’ I smile at him warmly. I can see Holly out of the corner of my eye and just know she’s on the brink of cracking up.

  He raises his eyebrows in amusement and backs away, holding up his bowl o
f muesli and glass of juice. ‘Better get this down me. See you later.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I beam at him.

  ‘Way too OTT, Daisy!’ Holly exclaims when he’s gone.

  ‘Was not,’ I grumble.

  The hospitality area is situated directly behind the team garages, otherwise known as the pits, so later, when qualifying is already in full swing, Frederick allows us time out to go and take a look.

  The garage is a hive of activity. Mechanics in black, white and gold overalls are swarming all over Luis’s car. I think I can spot Dan hovering over the front wing, but it’s hard to tell. All the mechanics have to wear protective clothing from head to toe, so you can barely tell one from the other. But Dan sees me watching him and gives me a wave, before busily getting back to work.

  Will is out on the track at the moment, so we stand at the back of his garage and watch from every angle as six television screens broadcast the action.

  ‘Hey!’

  I glance up to see a big, tall mechanic looking down at me. He’s wearing a helmet so I peer into it and realise it’s Pete. He’s the chief mechanic on Will’s car.

  ‘How’s it going?’ I shout over the thunderous noise of the cars zooming down the straight on the other side of the pit wall.

  ‘Great guns!’ he shouts back. ‘WHOA!’

  His exclamation is mirrored by several other mechanics watching the TV screens. I glance up to see Will has taken first place, known in the industry as pole position.

  ‘Cool!’ I shout.

  ‘Got a little way to go yet,’ he shouts back, then to the lads, ‘He’s coming in!’

  They all swarm outside to the pit lane.

  As Will pulls up, Luis’s car zooms out of the garage next to us.

  The on-car camera is riding with Luis, and we watch as he speeds around the corners, car bumping over the kerbs as he takes the fastest racing line.

  Usually the drivers stay inside their cars for the duration of qualifying and watch the on-track action on a television stationed above their heads, but today Pete asks Will to climb out so they can make some adjustments. I stop watching Luis’s lap for the moment to focus on him. He takes off his helmet, a navy blue and silver design, and then tugs off his fireproof balaclava. His blond hair is damp with sweat, and as he pushes it back off his face, I’m hit by an image of him in bed with me.

  I shake my head involuntarily and force my gaze back up to the screens. Luis’s helmet is bright green, and I have to admit it does stand out, gaudy though it is.

  I feel someone’s presence beside me and turn to see Will standing there. Warmth radiates from him and the arm of his overall brushes against my elbow, freezing me to the spot. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he studies the TV screens. His jaw is rigid with tension, then he seems to relax. I look back up and notice Luis is currently in fifth place on the grid, but the positions are changing all the time, and suddenly another driver takes pole position.

  ‘We should go back,’ Holly says.

  Will glances down and acknowledges us with a nod, before checking the screens again to see he’s currently in third place for the start tomorrow.

  ‘Will!’ one of the mechanics calls.

  ‘Daisy . . .’ Holly urges as I distractedly watch Will return to his car and pull on his helmet before climbing back in. ‘Frederick won’t let us watch the race if we take the piss too much.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’m coming.’ I desperately want to stay and see if Will can win back pole position when he next goes out, but I guess we’ll have to wait for news after the event.

  Frederick isn’t even in the kitchen when we return and I can’t help but feel grumpy. I wasn’t that bothered about the racing last season, so it’s funny how much more riveting it’s become since Will joined the team. Holly ignores my mood and gets on with loading canapés onto a silver tray.

  ‘Are you coming?’ she asks me, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘You know you can watch it while you work, yeah?’

  I completely forgot about the big screen in the hospitality area. I hurriedly load up my own tray with kangaroo kebabs and mini burgers.

  As we approach the overexcited guests we realise that Luis has just scored pole position and Will is out on the track completing his last lap. I can’t hold the tray steady and no one’s interested in food at the moment anyway, so I pull back and focus on Will as he speeds around the final corner on to the pit straight. Can he do it?

  YES!

  Everyone cheers as he swipes pole back from under his teammate’s wheels, leaving us with a one/two start tomorrow. For two new drivers and a team that usually ranks fourth or fifth in the championship, this result is outstanding.

  I’m on edge as I wait for the drivers and team to return to the hospitality area. Frederick has instructed us to make sure champagne flows freely throughout the afternoon and evening and I’m just hoping that Will is going to join us for the celebrations. I soon spot him outside talking to the press along with Luis and Simon, but then I’m distracted with work and when I look back, all three of them have gone.

  ‘Off for a post-qualifying meeting, I guess,’ Holly says, reading my mind.

  I plaster a smile on my face and carry on with work, while waiting for them to return. When Luis emerges my heart lifts, but there’s no sign of his team-mate, and hours later when we finally call it quits for the night, I go to bed feeling oddly flat.

  Chapter 3

  ‘That was Kylie Minogue!’ Holly excitedly points outside the garages.

  ‘Come on, let’s stalk her!’

  It’s race day and the buzz is electrifying. All our most important sponsors are in the pits and Frederick has allowed some of his crew to watch the start. The build-up is just as exciting as the actual race because there are gazillions of celebrities and camera crews traipsing around. Holly and I really want to see who else we can spot aside from Kylie, so we squeeze our way through all the people to get to the pit wall. The drivers and their cars are already lined up in their positions on the starting grid, but earlier they took part in a parade around the track on the back of a truck, and we could hear horns and whistles blowing from far away as they passed thousands of cheering spectators in the grandstands.

  I look for Will, but only catch a glimpse of his car at the very front. Luis’s bright green helmet comes into view and I realise he’s surrounded by grid girls having their picture taken with him. What an idiot. Grid girls – or brolly dollies – are the models who stand on the grid holding umbrellas to keep the drivers out of the sun. Sometimes they just hold placards with the start numbers on them. It doesn’t surprise me that Luis is lapping up all the attention he can get from them; most of the drivers do. I spot Emilio Rizzo, an Italian driver in his mid-thirties, pretending to grab one of the girl’s boobs.

  ‘That’ll be nice for his wife,’ Holly comments, seeing what I’m seeing. ‘Crazy flirt, that one.’

  Most of the drivers have got wives or girlfriends. I’ve seen a fair few since I’ve been working here. Some of them are supermodel-stunning – in fact, Benni Fischer from Germany is going out with quite a famous actress – but others are just nice, normal girls. Almost all of them attend the races to support their boys.

  I wonder if Will misses his girlfriend. . .

  ‘If she loved him that much she would be here, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘If who loved who?’ Holly asks, confused.

  ‘Will’s girlfriend.’

  Holly whacks me on the arm. ‘Stop it, you. Anyway, I think Laura is organising a charity ball in London this weekend.’

  Laura. So that’s her name. ‘Have you seen them together? You know, in person?’

  ‘Er, yeah, she came to the British Grand Prix last year. His parents were there too, actually. Very cold and aloof. His dad is high up in banking or something, and his mother is a society wife.’

  ‘Oh, right. What’s Laura like? Is she aloof, too?’

  Holly gives me a look. ‘No. She seemed really nice
. Blonde. Sweet. Very pretty, too.’

  ‘Okay, okay! Enough!’

  She grins and looks away.

  It’s overcast today. It rained this morning, but the weather is supposed to hold out for the race. There’s little need for the Factor 30 I applied this morning. Yeah, yeah, I know UV rays can still get you and all that, especially down here where the ozone layer is so thin, but I’m just pleased Simon doesn’t make us wear hats.

  Today our uniform is skirts, not trousers. All the teams have uniforms created by top fashion designers, and different outfits are provided for different days. When we’re travelling we have to wear black and gold trouser suits, on Friday practice days we wear black trousers and white shirts, and on Saturdays and Sundays we wear black skirts with white trim and gold silk shirts. The outfits look better than they sound. And if you lose an item of clothing or sell it on eBay, you’re in serious trouble. In fact, one girl last year got the sack for it.

  The other things you must absolutely not lose are your race credentials. They’re a bit like ski passes. They hang around your neck and you have to swipe them to get through the security gates into the paddock area. The paddock is where the hospitality suites and garages are situated – areas which are strictly forbidden to the general public – but our passes are access-all-areas. They’re like gold dust – each team only gets a certain number of passes like this, so I know how lucky I am.

  The people on the grid are thinning out because it’s almost time for the race to start. I take one last look at Will’s car and manage to spot his navy blue and silver helmet in the cockpit. He’s already strapped in. Holly and I hurry back to the garages along with swarms of team members vacating the starting grid and stand in front of the television screens. The sound of the engines is deafening as the twenty-odd drivers set off on the warm-up lap, zigzagging from side to side along the straights to heat up their tyres. Finally they file around the last corner onto the pit straight and take their positions on the grid. The atmosphere is tense as the five traffic lights above the starting line glow red, red, red, red, red, then they go out and it’s GO!