‘With all this praise flying around, what have you got to say for yourself, Aidy?’
‘It’s all deserved.’
Now, I got a laugh out of the crowd.
‘I love a confident man,’ Rags said.
‘But are you overconfident?’ Easter added.
‘I don’t think so. I’m very excited by the opportunity and the faith in me shown by Rags and the team. I’m going to do my best to win.’
‘After me, you can be first,’ Haulk said.
‘Not if I can help it,’ I fired back with a smile.
A collective ‘Oh’ rose from the crowd.
‘It looks as if you’re going to have your hands full with these guys.’
‘I like to think they’re going to have their hands full with me,’ Rags said.
The interview was going really well and actual enjoyment seeped into me. I looked over to the side of the stage where Steve and my best friend, Dylan, stood. Dylan flashed me a thumbs-up and Steve beamed at me. They couldn’t be more proud.
‘What would your dad say if he were here today?’ Easter asked me.
‘He’d want to know why the bloody hell I was driving tin tops and not sticking to single seaters.’
Dad was a purist. His interest began and ended with formula cars. Me, I was more like my racing hero, Jim Clark. He was a double Formula One champion, but he’d driven everything — sports cars, saloon cars, Nascar, and even rally cars. While my dream was to reach Formula One, I’d drive anything.
Easter hit me with a couple more questions and eventually wrapped up the interview. The crowd applauded and Easter went down the line shaking everyone’s hand. When he reached me, he said, ‘I’m looking forward to keeping up with your progress. If you can emulate your old man, you’ll go far.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
Rags dropped an arm over my shoulder. ‘Nicely done.’
We all filed off the stage. Claudia was there to welcome us.
‘You did very well, gentlemen. Performances like that make my job very easy.’
As I went to pass, Claudia hooked an arm in mine and guided me away from the others. ‘Aidy, can I ’ave a second? Your story and the Westlake name ’ave a lot of media potential. I want you to be the face of the championship this year. You represent the next generation in this sport.’ She grinned at me. ‘Expect to be at my beck and call.’
I didn’t know if I should read something into that last remark. I can read a track I’ve never seen before, but I’m clueless when it comes to women. She pulled out her mobile, punched a number into it and disappeared before I could find out.
Steve and Dylan walked up to me.
Dylan grabbed me in a bear hug and since he’s a foot taller and four stone heavier than me, he lifted me off the ground. ‘I knew this would happen. I’m so pleased for you, mate.’
‘Put him down,’ Steve said.
Dylan released me and I straightened my clothes.
‘I think Madame Touchy-Feely likes you,’ Dylan said.
‘She’s not married, so that would make her Mademoiselle Touchy-Feely.’
‘Pardon my French.’
‘Ignore him,’ Steve said. ‘You did well up there.’
‘You didn’t make a tit of yourself,’ Dylan said.
‘Classy. Thanks.’
‘Just trying to keep you grounded before you forget who your real friends are.’
‘You got time to wander through the exhibition?’ Steve asked.
‘No. I’m booked solid with one publicity thing or another. I’ll be back at the ESCC stand later this afternoon. I can talk then.’
I saw the disappointment on Steve and Dylan’s faces. This was a bittersweet moment. Up until now, they’d been there for every part of my racing career, from karts to Formula Ford last season. It had seemed as if we’d always be a team, but after one season, I was leaving them behind. Growing up. Moving on. As much as the upcoming season was going to be a full and fun one, I could see it being a lonely one.
‘Go do your thing and we’ll see you at home,’ Steve said.
I left the guys and headed for the exit. Next up for me was a private luncheon with Honda at an Italian restaurant a few streets from the exhibition hall. As I reached the main concourse, I was walking towards Brian DeYoung and Chloe Mercer who were coming the other way. They were the Brad and Angelina of motorsport. Brian was tipped to have a ride with Lotus F1 next season and Chloe was the top female driver in European motorsport. She’d been the only female driver in the Pit Lane driver shootout last November.
I put out my hand and said, ‘Hey, Chloe.’
They ignored me and kept walking.
‘Ouch,’ someone said from behind me.
I turned. My predecessor, Tim Reid, was standing there. I hadn’t seen him since the shootout either. Like Haulk, he’d put me through my paces during the competition.
‘That was awkward,’ Reid said. ‘I guess not everyone is excited about your success.’
I glanced over at Brian and Chloe, who were striding away through the crowd. ‘It sure looks that way.’
‘She really thought she had the shootout in the bag,’ Reid said. ‘But not everyone is like her. I’m so pleased for you.’
‘Thanks. How are you set this season?’
‘I’ve got some very interesting offers on the table.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Enough of that,’ Rags said, appearing behind me with Haulk in tow. ‘You’re back on the clock, my boy.’
The rest of the day descended into a blur of meetings, interviews and greeting the public at the ESCC exhibit. The day’s highlight was the head of marketing for Honda presenting me with my privately leased Accord. It would have been even sweeter if I got to keep the car and not hand it back Cinderella-style in twelve months. Up until now, I’d been underwriting most of my racing costs, which meant sacrificing luxuries like home ownership, holidays and a personal vehicle. If I needed a car, I either borrowed Steve’s much-cherished Capri RS2600 or his Transit van. Tonight, I’d be driving home instead of taking the train back to Windsor.
The day ended with a team dinner that stretched into the night. Rags told us to enjoy it because after tonight it was work, work, work. By the time he settled the bill, it was after ten p.m. Everyone headed back to their hotels and I walked back to Earls Court to collect my new car. I could have stayed at a hotel, but with Windsor so close, I preferred to spend the night in my own bed. The European season was going to keep me away from home a lot over the next six months.
I walked past my car and stopped in front of the massive Ragged Racing transporter. It was big enough to hold two cars. A larger-than-life representation of the Honda Accord covered each side of the trailer in full racing colours. Painted on the rear door were two names — Kurt Haulk’s and mine. I choked up at the sight of my own name. The drive was real. Not a fairytale. I didn’t give a shit what Chloe Mercer thought. I deserved this.
The big question was where it would all lead. A good showing could result in a renewed contract or a contract with a different team. If I wanted to realize my dream of following my father into grand prix racing then I couldn’t afford to dawdle too long in tin tops. I’d be turning twenty-two in April and I was already behind in the age stakes with my peers. Chloe had two seasons on me and was a year younger than me. If I worked this opportunity to my advantage, I could use it to land a Formula Renault or Formula Three drive next season. It was all pie in the sky stuff, but it looked pretty delicious from where I was standing.
I reached up and touched my name on the transporter. I closed my eyes and said, ‘Please be a good year.’
The sound of choking snapped me from my moment. A rush of embarrassment washed over me at my display and I jerked my hand away.
A scrape of heels drew my gaze downward to an outstretched leg sticking out from under the rear of the transporter. It kicked at the ground but the person it belonged to never got to their feet. The sound of the choking intensified.