by KT Shears
‘Willis Mechanical I think they’re called,’ Anna replied, reaching over for a slice of pizza.
‘They’re quite new,’ Dan said, with the air of someone who knew what he was talking about. ‘Still trying to find their feet, but they’ve got a good engine and two promising young drivers.’
Jules and Anna caught each other’s eyes. Good engine? Anna shook her head. Lord, was she ever about to be totally out of her depth…
‘Ooh, are the drivers sexy?’ Jules asked, suddenly, and Dan looked back at her sternly, gesturing at the children sitting at the table. They were oblivious though, creating some sort of pizza mountain on Ben’s plate.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, ‘I watch for the racing.’
Anna snorted as Jules waved a dismissive hand at him. She loved them as a couple; they complemented each other so well. Dan’s serious streak reined in Jules’ slightly wild one, and they loved each other with a real intensity.
Anna thought back to Scott and the many times she had forced Jules and Dan to sit there, listening to his drivel and his patronising comments about their lifestyle, and felt guilty. Jules and Dan had never said anything of course, they loved her too much for that. They had been nothing but nice to Scott, always inviting him to family occasions and buying him thoughtful birthday and Christmas gifts. Scott, on the other hand, had sneered at their ‘simple’ lifestyle: Jules a stay-at-home mother and Dan assistant manager at a bank.
‘Let’s go find out,’ Jules said, jumping up from the table and disappearing from the room.
Anna looked at Dan quizzically and he rolled his eyes, but there was humour in them. Jules was back in a second, carrying her iPad.
‘What are their names?’ she asked, fingers poised over the screen.
‘Erik with a K Jonasson, that’s J-O-N-A-S-S-O-N, and Devlin Carter.’
Julia tapped furiously and then let out a whistle. Dan elbowed her and she laughed, passing Anna the iPad. Anna took it and looked down. She could see why Julia had whistled – staring broodily back at her from behind the tablet screen were two extremely attractive young men. Anna read the caption: ‘Willis Mechanics drivers Erik Jonasson, left, and Devlin Carter are ready for a battle to the top.’
She looked at Erik Jonasson, left. He was quite tall, or seemed tall from the photo. He was certainly taller than his teammate beside him. He had blonde hair, she presumed due to his clearly Scandinavian heritage, and piercing blue eyes. He looked muscly too – that surprised her; she hadn’t really thought you would need to have the body of a sports star to race a car. She had assumed you could be as fat as you liked, if all you were doing was driving a car. Anna voiced this opinion outloud and Dan laughed, shaking his head at her.
‘No, no, it’s really physically intensive and their weight is really monitored, too, so the weight of the car isn’t too heavy and it breaks the rules.’
Oh. Anna drew her eyes away from Erik Jonasson’s chiselled cheekbones and surveyed his teammate, Devlin Carter, right. He was stockier than his teammate, with brown hair that was arranged in a way that looked so careless, she was sure it had taken hour to get right. He had a slight smirk on his face, which was covered with his stubble, and his eyes looked challenging.
She put the iPad down and Jules looked at her, waiting.
‘Well? Aren’t they hot?’ she asked, ignoring Dan’s pretend ‘hmmph’ noise beside her.
Anna had to agree, they were an attractive pair.
‘They are hot,’ she admitted. ‘But I doubt they have a brain cell between them.’
‘Who needs brains when you look like that?’ Jules laughed at the expression on her sister’s face. ‘Maybe they’ll surprise you.’
Anna doubted it.
***
After she got home that night, she decided it would be wise to invest in a couple of books that explained at least the basics of the sport. She was determined to at least keep up with the conversation, even if she wasn’t able to actively take part in it. Dan had very kindly given her a brief overview of how the season worked, and the number of racing teams taking part, but she definitely needed something a bit more substantial before she met the team and was thrown in at the deep end.
Anna browsed online, wading through the seemingly never-ending catalogue of tomes purporting to be the definitive guide to racing. She eventually decided on two suitable-looking books that looked like they were written in an engaging enough manner to at least hold her attention for an hour or so. With a couple of clicks, they were ordered, and she sat back, feeling proud of herself. What now? She thought back to the picture of the two men on the iPad screen and, after a moment’s pause, she brought up YouTube and typed their names in.
A long list of videos greeted her, and Anna scrolled through, surprised by how popular this pair seemed to be. She clicked on a video that seemed to show them racing against each other. She didn’t know much about racing, but it seemed quite aggressive to me, the cars almost touching at times. She looked down at the comments, and read, with some amusement, a heated argument between two girls, ‘Eriksgirl87’ and ‘MrsDevlinCarter’, about who the better driver was. Evidently, tensions were high here.
Anna scrolled down further and found another video; this time of them out of the cars, and at a press conference. She clicked play, intrigued to see what they sounded like.
The two of them were sitting in a sort of tiered seating area with, she presumed, some of the other drivers around them. She could tell in the first few seconds that something had obviously happened between them – and it hadn’t been good. The body language told her that much, and she skipped forward a bit until she saw one of them speaking. She rewound a few seconds and pressed play.
‘Erik, you and Devlin got quite close on the track at some points. Were you worried at any point that your car might sustain some damage?’
Erik Jonasson leaned towards the microphone on the table in front of him, smiling slightly at the question.
‘It can be intense out there.’ His English was impeccable, but there was definitely a slight hint of an accent in there. ‘But I can control my own car and my own race. As for my teammate, you’ll have to ask him.’
Gosh, that had seemed like a bit of a challenge. Anna’s eyes sought out Devlin Carter’s face on the screen, and it was like thunder. The journalist repeated her question to him and he, too, leaned forward to speak into the mic. Erik Jonasson was watching him, his face impassive.
‘I was faster than Erik,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. Anna saw his teammate bristle. This was evidently some sort of pissing contest in racing speak. She was fascinated. ‘I just couldn’t get a clean pass on him. He’d been holding me up for a few laps, but I knew the team would want both cars home safe.’ He smiled, looking pleased with himself, and sat back again.
She closed the laptop lid. Maybe this would be a more entertaining endeavour than she had imagined – these two seemed to have some rivalry going on, and it might be quite fun to watch it play out. Even the other drivers had looked uncomfortable as the two traded verbal blows.
***
Anna had paid for express delivery, as her meeting with her old pal Gary Freeland and the rest of the team was drawing ever closer. Her new racing books arrived at work the next afternoon and her colleague Eleanor popped out from behind her computer, curious.
‘What’s that you’ve got?’
Anna had told her about her new assignment the previous day – everyone had wanted to know why she had been in Stella’s office. Eleanor had been jealous, Anna thought, and she was tempted to go in and tell Stella to send her instead. But Eleanor would not be a good choice and Anna knew Stella would never accept it. Eleanor was too flighty – and prone to being star-struck when encountering celebrities, even really awful ones from terrible reality shows.
Anna gestured at the books and then threw her hands up into the air.
‘Idiots’ guides to racing. I really haven’t a clue.’
Eleanor laughed and
came round to stand beside Anna, picking up one of the books and flicking through its pages.
‘Tyre choice is extremely important – there are a range of tyres that drivers and their teams must choose from, depending on race strategy and track conditions,’ she read, in a solemn voice.
‘Tyres?’ Anna asked, her mind spinning. ‘There’s more than one type of tyre?’ This was news to her. She remembered something vaguely about snow tyres and wondered if that was what the book meant. Did it snow often during the racing season? She made a mental note to check all the race locations for the season. She was only going to three – the first race of the season, in Australia; Germany, about two-and-a-half months’ later, and then the final race of the year in Brazil, about three months after that. That seemed like plenty to her.
Eleanor nodded.
‘Soft tyres are used when the driver needs a shorter burst of speed; they wear out faster than their harder alternatives,’ she parroted.
‘This is going to be awful,’ Anna wailed, grabbing the book from Eleanor’s hands and chucking it into her bag.
Eleanor patted Anna’s shoulder sympathetically.
‘I don’t want you alarm you,’ she said, ‘but I also noticed a whole section about something called “kers” when I was flicking through.’
Great, Anna thought. Now she had to learn a whole other language.
Chapter three
By the day of the team meeting, Anna had managed to get through exactly three chapters of one of the books. She had learnt what a grand prix was – seemingly just a posh name for one of the races – and she had learnt that each team had two drivers, as well as test drivers, mechanics, and a host of other personnel. That was pretty much it. She was sure there had been more information in the pages she had read, but if any of it had even made it from her eyes into her brain, it was long gone now. Anna hoped that meeting the team would be over quickly, before her lack of knowledge and interest became apparent. Nod and smile, that would be key, she thought.
Anna had dressed up, knowing that first impressions would be crucial, especially in a sport where glamour and fashion were part of the lifestyle. She had settled on a smart top and skirt and her new knee-high boots. She spent more time than usual on her make-up, too, thinking that if she could at least look the part, she might get away with not knowing her soft tyres from her, well, non-soft ones. And at least if she did look stupid, she might not look as if she’d crawled through a hedge to get there.
Anna arrived, bang on time, at the Willis Mechanical HQ. It was located in the country, to her surprise, but she supposed they needed the extra space for all the cars, or racing tracks, or whatever it was they needed. The building was large and predominantly made of glass – which seemed like a recipe for disaster with overpaid prima-donna drivers and cars racing around at 200mph. Anna introduced herself to the receptionist and she told her to take a seat, saying Gary Freeland would be along to collect her shortly.
She idly flicked through some of the magazines on the coffee table next to her. The one on top had Erik Jonasson and Devlin Carter head-to-head, staring at each other with barely disguised fury. The large headline over the top read: ‘Clash of the Titans’. Anna leafed through the glossy pages until she came to the article in question, and scanned it, feeling it was never too late to try to glean a little bit more information.
As preparations for the new season hot up, the question on everybody’s lips is ‘who will win this year’s championship?’ It seems almost inevitable that one of the Willis Mechanics drivers, Erik Jonasson and Devlin Carter, will seize the opportunity. But, as we saw last season, the pair pulled no punches when racing each other, and the team must surely be concerned about the potential impact this personal grudge match could have on their fortunes.
So, Anna hadn’t got the wrong end of the stick from the videos she had watched online – there was an intense rivalry here. As she flicked through some of the other magazines, ending up reading an incredibly dull article about some engine changes that were due to come in the following year, a door opened to her far left, and a man in his late 40s strode out. He was wearing a t-shirt with Willis Mechanics on it, combined with suit trousers and shiny shoes, and Anna had to suppress a smirk. He looked absurd – who mixed and matched a t-shirt slathered in logos and branding with a pair of clearly expensive suit trousers and shoes? She had no doubt that this was the fabled Gary Freeland, her telephone amigo of the other day. Anna stood up as he approached, placing the magazine she had been reading back on the pile.
‘Anna Sawyer?’ His tone was clipped and brusque. It seemed the passage of time had not warmed him to the idea of her joining his entourage.
‘Yes, you must be Gary,’ Anna said, reaching across to shake his hand. It was limp and clammy, like a dead fish. She dropped it as soon as was polite, and wondered if it was appropriate to wipe her hand on her skirt. Probably not.
‘Yes, I’m Gary Freeland. I’m the team principal.’
Anna hadn’t the faintest idea what that meant, but it sounded important, so she nodded, sagely.
‘Follow me please.’ He turned and headed back through the door he had come through at a stride, and she was forced into a jog to keep up with him – not ideal when she was wearing brand new knee-high boots. As they hurried down a long corridor, Anna tried to look at the photographs that adorned the walls. She couldn’t see them in any great detail, as she and Gary passed them at the speed of light, but she could see glimpses of trophies, of men in helmets cheering, of champagne bottles being popped on a large podium.
Gary stopped abruptly, and Anna almost crashed into the back of him. They had reached a large set of double doors and she tried to peer inside, but to no avail – Gary blocked her vision as he turned to her.
‘We’re just about to go and meet the team. Did your editor run through the rules with you?’
She had, Anna confirmed. Stella had sent her a long list of requirements from Gary, which included promising not to write anything about the private lives of the drivers or teams, or relate any conversations without explicit permission from him. Her columns were evidently to be frilly and without substance. It was a shame, Anna thought. Perhaps she could do a column on the clearly fantastic style pulled off by Gary Freeland. She had to disguise a smirk at the thought.
Gary seemed like he was gathering himself, preparing to plunge into a pool of cold water. Then he nodded at Anna, and opened the door, beckoning her to follow.
Anna felt like she had walked into one those Westerns, the ones where someone enters a bar and everyone stops what they are doing and stares. She hadn’t thought that actually ever happened in real life, but here she was, standing awkwardly at the door while about 30 men, and a couple of women, looked at her. She resisted the urge to wave, thinking it probably lacked the professional air she was hoping to exude.
‘Everyone,’ Gary said, gesturing at them to come closer, ‘This is Anna Sawyer. I’ve mentioned her to most of you, but in case anyone is in the dark, Anna is a writer for Stylish magazine, owned by James O’Hare. He thought it would be nice-’ He spat the world slightly and Anna glared at him. Gary noticed but carried on in much the same vein. ‘Nice, if she wrote a monthly column on travelling with the team and the lifestyle. She knows the rules: no personal stuff, no team talk, nothing without going past me. If you have any problems with her, come and let me know.’
Anna gave him a withering look, and she heard a snort of laughter off to her side. She turned and was surprised to see it had come from one of the drivers – Erik Jonasson. She hadn’t even noticed he was there, she was so absorbed in looking knowledgeable. He looked just like he had looked on the videos she had seen; tall and handsome, blonde hair slightly scruffy. In person, though, his blue eyes were even more piercing, and they sparkled, now, obviously finding her annoyance at Gary amusing.
‘Yes, Erik?’ Gary snapped, turning to look at him too.
Erik shrugged languidly and Gary glared at him for a moment, then con
tinued. Anna’s eyes roved over the crowd looking for Devlin Carter, but she couldn’t see him. Her feet were getting sore from standing, and Gary had now started talking about some sort of travel arrangements for getting the cars to the first race. Anna cast around for a chair, finally spotting a couple of free ones on the other side of the room. She scurried across and sat down, pretending to listen.
Gary was in mid-flow about something called a ‘front wing’ when the double doors banged open, and Devlin Carter walked in. He looked just like he had in the videos too, stocky but still attractive, his carefully blown-dry hair sweeping across his head. Anna wondered how he handled helmet hair.
‘Good of you to join us, Devlin.’ Gary looked meaningfully at his watch and at the clock on the wall.
‘No problem, Gaz,’ Devlin said, to sniggers from around the room. Anna noticed Erik Jonasson didn’t smile – apparently he didn’t find Devlin particularly amusing. Gary looked furious for a second but then waved a hand, indicating Devlin should sit down and shut up pronto. Devlin looked around for a chair and spotted the empty one beside Anna, making a beeline for it.
She sat, primly, ignoring him as he gawped at her with obvious curiosity. Gary droned on, and Anna fished in her bag for her notepad, deciding that trying to take notes would at least help to keep her awake. Gary caught the sudden movement, though, and glared at her. Anna got the hint and she placed her notepad back in her bag with a sigh.
‘Oh, you must be the reporter that’s going to be following us around.’ Devlin grinned at her, raising an eyebrow. ‘What’s your name?’ He had at least bothered to lower his voice slightly, but it still felt like they were naughty children at the back of the class.
‘If you’d been here at the start then you might have found out,’ Anna hissed back.
He laughed. It wasn’t the effect she had intended to have, and she made the mistake of making eye contact with him, which he seemed to take as encouragement to continue.
