It’s entirely by chance that she meets Irene again in the hotel lobby on Thursday evening. She’s on the way up to her room when she catches Irene coming down the staircase and stops instinctively. It takes a moment for Irene to see her but when she does she stops and smiles that small and restrained smile Seulgi has come to treasure in recent months. Seulgi stands there a moment. Whether to go on up to her room or whether to stay and talk to Irene is a conundrum running in her head. It takes her a lot longer than she thinks is reasonable but in truth there is only one answer.

‘Hey,’ she says.

‘Hi.’

‘Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.’

‘Must be fate or something.’

‘Must be,’ Seulgi says with a smile. They stand there quiet for a moment. Irene so palely beautiful in the warm lobby light, Seulgi playing with her hair. ‘Were you on the way out or something?’ she asks.

‘Just on the way to the bar for a drink or two.’

‘Oh. I could come with you. If you want, I mean. I mean, like, I don’t have to. Just, you know.’

‘Sure,’ Irene says, smiling again.

The bar is quiet this time of evening. Long amber light and empty tables and the bartender already busy cleaning the glasses from earlier. They order Martinis and sit silent for a while. It’s become somewhat of a ritual since Japan, to sit in hotel bars and have one or two drinks and to talk about nothing at all. To ask each other how they’re feeling and not just about the race. Never giving anything away. Just small smiles and subtle glances. Seulgi runs an idle hand up the stem of her glass. ‘Do you normally do this?’ she says.

‘Do what?’

‘Go drinking the night before practice. Or even after practice. I mean, I know I’ve been drinking with you before, I just never asked you. Never thought about it, really.’

‘Most races, yeah. Helps me relax a bit.’

‘Makes sense. As long as you don’t get drunk, I suppose.’

‘I don’t,’ Irene says with a giggle. It’s the same giggle that sets Seulgi at ease every time she hears it, a disarming laugh that tells her immediately everything is okay, everything is just fine. Irene sips her Martini. Her eyes never leave Seulgi, and if she were more in tune with the world around her Seulgi thinks she might be able to pry some fonder meaning out of those eyes, out of that stare, what it means and what it does. What it says where words are absent. She finishes about half her glass and puts it down and smiles at Seulgi again.

‘What?’

‘Do you always do that?’

‘Do what?’ Seulgi says.

‘Play with your glass like that. You’ve been doing it for about five minutes. Just running your hand up and down it.’

‘Oh.’ Seulgi looks at the glass and stops. ‘Sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘I don’t know. Just a nervous reaction, I suppose.’

‘Nerves.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What are you nervous about?’

‘The race,’ Seulgi lies.

‘Good. It’s good to be nervous.’

She tilts her head a slight at Irene. The truth is she still might be nervous for the race but the butterflies twisting and righting in the pit of her stomach are something else. Something unexplainable. ‘Why is it good?’ she says.

‘Because you’re driving a ten million-dollar rocketship around a very narrow race track at two hundred miles per hour. If you weren’t nervous, you’d be stupid.’

‘Well then.’

‘Well then.’

‘Good thing I’m nervous, isn’t it?’

Irene laughs again. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I suppose it is.’

‘What about you? Are you nervous?’

‘Well, I’m not stupid.’

‘So yes.’

‘Yes.’

‘What’s Spa like for racing? I mean, I know what it’s like from the sims, but sims aren’t real life. What’s it like?’

‘Heaven,’ Irene says with a smile. She sips her Martini and sets it on the table. ‘It’s the best track in the world for racing on.’

‘I thought you said Monaco was better. And Korea.’

‘That’s different.’

‘Different how?’

She thinks about it for a minute, eyes asquint, smirk playing decidedly on her face. ‘Okay,’ she says, ‘Monaco is beautiful. Truly beautiful. It’s rich people heaven. Casinos, fancy cars, fancy dresses, the whole seven yards.’

‘You mean the whole nine yards.’

‘Sure. However many yards. It’s all the yards, is Monaco.’

‘All the yards,’ Seulgi teases out.

‘Alright, I’m not good with my expressions. But still, that’s what I meant. For the experience of the weekend, there’s nothing like Monaco. You get to pretend you’re a hot-shot for a couple days. It’s great. And everyone else there has the same idea, so it’s like this little paradise where you can just do whatever you like for a weekend while still driving a Formula 1 car. Pretty neat, right?’

‘I guess.’

‘And Korea has the best atmosphere. The last race of the season is always the one people get excited over, for obvious reasons, but when it’s in your home country? And when all the fans there are your fans, and they’re cheering you on like never before? There’s something about that I just can’t describe. It’s incredible.’

She drinks off the last of her Martini and nods in the direction of the bartender with a polite smile. ‘Well,’ Seulgi says.

‘Well.’

‘You didn’t finish.’

‘Korea is my favourite for the home vibe. Monaco is my favourite full stop. But for driving? For being out there on the track? Spa is the best course in the world, bar none. So, yeah. When it comes to racing, Belgium is unbeatable. It’s pure driving bliss. Just the right amount of tight corners and challenging straights and so much more. I can’t even describe it. Just trust me on this one. When you get out there tomorrow, you’ll see. I know you said you’ve done it in sims before, but yeah, you were right about it being different in real life. So different.’

‘Your favourite?’

‘To drive? Absolutely.’

‘That doesn’t fill me with much confidence.’

The bartender passes Irene a second Martini and takes the empty glass and Irene thanks him and sips it. Seulgi watches her very carefully. It’s become a dangerous and strange habit of hers, from Japan, from before. To watch her. To observe how she does each minor thing. Drinking, laughing, pushing her hair away from her face. Talking to people. Talking to Seulgi. She sets her glass on the table and says, ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you calling it your favourite track doesn’t inspire me to win. I can barely beat you when your strategy is all wrong and your car is messed up. An even fight between us, on your favourite track?’

‘Impossible?’ Irene asks.

‘Probably.’

‘Where’s that cockiness you showed me before?’

‘Oh, I’m still confident I can get a podium. Maybe I can sneak a win if you mess up again or something.’

‘I won’t mess up.’

‘Well then.’ Seulgi sips her own Martini. Over the rim of her glass she eyes Irene and Irene catches her staring and giggles and Seulgi isn’t sure if Irene's noticed and she’s playing along or if she’s still oblivious but it doesn’t matter. It has Seulgi blushing all the same. When she puts the glass back on the table her fingers are on the stem again, fiddling. Always fidgeting. ‘How many more races do you need to win?’ Seulgi says.

‘Four, I think. Four to make sure I’ve got the win secured.’

‘Feels weird knowing half the season’s gone already.’

‘More after Sunday, technically.’

‘Yeah. Doesn’t feel like it at all. Can’t believe you’ve practically won and we’re only halfway through the year.’

‘I’ve not won,’ Irene says. She looks at how serious Seulgi is and laughs again. ‘What? I’ve not. Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘I mean, you’ve practically won.’

‘Four races, Seulgi. That’s a lot.’

‘Not for you.’

‘For anyone. Doesn’t matter how many times you win, the next one never gets any easier. It’s still a hurdle. It’s still that massive roadblock you have to overcome if you want to succeed.’

‘Maybe that’s why you win so much.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you treat every time like the first time.’

‘I think you have to in this sport. You can’t become complacent in one of those cars. You just can’t. One slip and that’s it, your whole season’s finished. Alright, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic, but you get what I mean.’

They sit a while in the silence following sipping their Martinis alone. The low lights of the bar looks like soft gold on Irene’s face and it’s hard for Seulgi to look away. They’re silent all the way up until Irene breaks out into a low laugh that catches Seulgi off guard. She looks at Seulgi, eyes alight in the overhead glow. ‘What?’ Seulgi says, to silence. ‘What is it?’

‘I like this, you know.’

‘Like what? Sitting here? Talking?’

‘Yeah. With you.’

‘I like it too,’ Seulgi says. They raise their glasses and toast and fall silent.

‘I hope you do well in practice tomorrow,’ Irene says. ‘And qualifying on Saturday.’

‘Thanks. I hope you do too.’

‘In Spa? You’d have to wrestle me out of that car if you wanted me to get anything except pole.’

‘I’d hold you to that, but I think I’m going to get it.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Figured I’d might as well.’

The giggle that escapes Irene’s mouth is so pleasant it has Seulgi smiling as well. ‘That’s cheeky,’ Irene says.

‘No. It’s confidence.’

‘Fair play. Here’s to tomorrow.’

‘Yeah. To tomorrow.’

The day is long and surprisingly overcast on Friday and there’s the taste of a bitter storm in the air and darker still is the sun, sat swaged against the dark clouds in the high west like tungsten. By the end of the second session of free practice it still hasn’t rained and when Seulgi pulls the car into the garage and steps out the first thing Wendy tells her is that it won’t rain for the rest of the day.

‘Good,’ Seulgi says. ‘I’ve never driven in the rain before.’

‘It’s the ultimate test. When it rains, it’s not about which car is faster on the straights, or the downforce through the chicanes, or anything like that. It’s just who’s the better driver. Which is you, by the way, but still.’

‘Thanks. How’d I do?’

‘Incredible. Seriously incredible. You’re looking so good you don’t even need to do the last session if you don’t want to.’

‘I do,’ Seulgi says. ‘Just to see if I can do any better.’

‘I’m serious. I haven’t seen you this fast before. Not since maybe Bahrain, and even then I think you might be faster now.’

‘What about Joy?’

Wendy looks over her shoulder and nods. ‘I’m doing okay,’ Joy says. When Seulgi turns to her she offers a smile and tosses her helmet onto the table. ‘Not as good as you, but good.’

‘Where’d you end up?’

‘Fourth, behind one of the Renaults. Congrats on second.’

‘Thanks. It was the best I could’ve hoped for.’

‘Yeah?’ Joy asks. She fiddles with the straps on her gloves and tosses them with the helmet. Seulgi nods. ‘I couldn’t hope to beat Irene,’ she says.

‘Why not?’

‘She said it’s her favourite track to drive on. And I can’t beat her on her favourite track. It’s just not possible.’

‘How’d you know it’s her favourite?’

‘I asked her.’

Joy gives an amused nod that Seulgi can’t quite read. She looks at Wendy with a familiar smile. ‘Sometimes I wish I still had you as my race engineer,’ she says.

‘Only sometimes?’ Wendy says.

‘It’s fifty-fifty. I know what you’re like when you’re angry.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Angry?’ Seulgi says.

‘Ignore her.’

‘You’ve never been angry with me.’

‘That’s because you’re the team newbie,’ Joy says. ‘First season. But don’t worry, if you’ve still got her next year, you’ll know all about the anger.’

‘Great.’

‘She’s winding you up,’ Wendy says. ‘Ignore her.’

‘Yeah,’ says Joy, ‘ignore me. Anyway, I’m going back out for FP3. What about you?’

‘I’ll be right there,’ Seulgi says.

‘Bet you can’t beat your FP2 time.’

‘Bet I can.’

‘Okay. Fair. I bet you can’t beat your FP2 time by three tenths of a second.’

‘I bet I can.’

Joy just laughs. She runs a hand through her hair and grabs her helmet and fixes up her gloves again. The mechanics on the other side of the garage have just about finished seeing that the car is alright. Somewhere along the distant reaches of Spa a V6 growls in the cold. ‘Three tenths of a second?’ Joy asks.

‘That’s what you said.’

‘Your confidence is endearing, you know that?’

‘So I’ve been told.’

‘How about twenty thousand won?’

‘On the bet?’

Joy nods under her helmet.

‘Fine by me.’

‘I’ll see you out there.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says with a smile. ‘In my rearview mirror.’

The only response Joy can give with her visor pushed down is a laugh. When she’s gone Wendy taps Seulgi on the shoulder. ‘You know you’re going to lose that bet, right?’ she says.

‘What? Why?’

‘Three tenths would put you on pole, unless Irene beats her own time again.’

‘And?’

‘And you’ve just said you’ve got no chance of beating her on this circuit.’

‘Confidence,’ Seulgi says with a knowing grin. ‘I’m all about confidence. And besides, it's like you just said. If I beat her time, she’ll just beat me right back.’

‘You sure about that?’

‘Sure as sure. I’m willing to bet on it.’

Wendy laughs. ‘How much?’

‘Twenty thousand again?’

‘Alright, partner. Twenty thousand that if you beat your own time, Irene will beat you right back?’

‘That’s the deal.’

They shake hands and Seulgi laughs. ‘Man,’ she says, ‘I’m going to make a lot of money today.’

Wendy only laughs. It’s a laugh that says: Fat chance of that. But when Seulgi pulls into the pit garage and shuts the car off half an hour later, it’s Joy and Wendy handing over their money.

She doesn’t see Irene at all before qualifying on Saturday but that’s okay. Part of her is glad because it keeps her mind from wandering too much as she’s taking the car around in the first stage of qualifying. It’s no longer: Irene Irene Irene. It’s: I could win pole. I really could.

And then it’s Irene.

‘Keep it up,’ Wendy says through her ear. It’s the same thing she says every time but it works because Seulgi knows it means she’s doing good. The day is grey and miserable but there is no rain, no mist. The crowd at Raidillon and Eau Rouge are on their feet as she passes and the straight-line speed feels incredible on the hill, much better than in Japan. On her third lap coming around the turn at Pouhon she begins to think Irene was right. Spa is the best track in the world.

By the time she pulls the car into the garage most of the other drivers have already finished. She doesn’t see Irene anywhere. Wendy waves at her and Seulgi tosses her the helmet and gloves and hauls herself out and wipes the sweat away. She doesn’t even bother looking at the rankings. The car felt amazing but the first round of qualifying is never her fastest because it never has to be. It’s the same as the Samsungs, the same as the Renaults, same as the Ferraris. No use ruining the tires on easy laps.

‘How are you feeling?’ Wendy asks her when she’s cooled down. The crowd across the straight are rabid. They’re watching replays of her and Joy and Irene from earlier. ‘I’m good,’ Seulgi says, and it isn’t a lie. ‘Feeling really good.’

‘You looked solid out there. A little slow, but it’s only qualifying.’

‘I was taking it easy.’

‘I know. What about the softs? They feel okay?’

‘Felt fine,’ Seulgi says. Wendy only nods. They glimpse at the rankings only briefly to see Seulgi in fourth behind Irene and both of the Renaults. ‘Seems everyone’s taking it easy today,’ Seulgi says.

‘Well, like I said, it’s only the first round. But they’re looking fast. They’re sandbagging as hard as you are.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah. You’re going to have to put in some serious laps if you want pole over the Samsungs. Like, really push it.’

‘I will,’ Seulgi says. ‘I know I can do it. Irene was right.’

‘About what?’

She smiles. ‘This is the best track in the world.’

She breezes through the second round of qualifying in fourth place again. It’s only marginally faster than the first round but that’s okay and Seulgi knows it. On her outlap in the final round she flies by Kemmel Straight and the people in the grandstands disappear in her view and reappear like apparitions up ahead at Les Combes. Everything moves so fast. The car feels lighter and stronger and more responsive than it’s felt in a long time and she tells Wendy the same.

‘Good,’ Wendy says. ‘We knew we’d have a good car coming into this weekend.’

‘How are the times looking so far?’

‘Only three have put in a time so far. Everyone else is still on their outlap.’

‘And?’

‘The Renaults are one and two. One of the Ferraris is third.’

‘Not for long, I don’t think.’

‘Well.’

‘Well what?’

‘Well step on it then.’

She does step on it. Every corner is smoother, every straight just a little bit faster. The car snakes around the chicanes and hits every apex just right and by her third lap she’s really pushing it. Maybe it’s Irene or maybe it’s the track or perhaps it’s just the desire to succeed. Her winner’s ambition. Whatever it is doesn’t matter. She crosses the line to start her penultimate lap and her earpiece crackles into life again. ‘Alright,’ Wendy says. ‘So what I said earlier? About the Samsungs sandbagging in practice?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Turns out I was right. They’re fast. Like, really ing fast.’

‘How fast is really fast?’

‘Irene’s just put in a one forty-five point nine. That’s a new track record.’

‘Jesus,’ Seulgi says. She overtakes one of the slow Hondas around La Source and watches it disappear in her rearview mirror. ‘What about the others? All of them, I mean. How’s it looking?’

‘Good so far. You’re in third.’

‘What? Third?’

‘Like I said, the Samsungs are fast.’

‘Yeri’s in second?’

‘Yeah. And Joy’s in fifth. But you’ve still got it in you to get pole. Just keep your head down and make these last two laps count. Really count.’

‘What time have I put in?’

‘You did a one forty-six point three on your last lap.’

‘I’ve got four tenths of a second to lose.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’ve got to break the lap record if I want pole.’

‘Yeah,’ Wendy says again.

‘Wendy.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t know if I can lose four tenths of a second.’

‘You can. Just give me that confidence you had yesterday.’

Alright, she says, without ever saying it. The corners fly by faster and harder. The tires are wearing thin and the car slides a slight going through Les Combes and the back end almost kicks out but she’s quicker on the acceleration coming out of the turn and the pace is strong and the people are still hollering like animals in the stands. She doesn’t know where Irene and Yeri and Joy and the Renaults are. Perhaps they’ve already finished. All she knows is four tenths of a second is the hardest thing she’s ever done in her life and the sweat is soaking against her skin and her hands are shaking on the wheel. When she crosses the line to start her final lap Wendy’s in her ear again.

‘A one forty-six point two.’

‘What? Are you kidding me?’

‘You’re up to second, so that’s something.’

‘I don’t think I can go much faster.’

She waits for a response but there isn’t one. On Kemmel Straight DRS propels the car shuddering and tireworn into Les Combes and Seulgi pushes it as hard as she can push it. Every turn later, every chicane tighter across the apex. Nothing else in the world matters. Through Pouhon she holds her breath. She’s still holding her breath when she crosses the finish line a good thirty or forty seconds later and realises they’re all on their feet in the stands again. On her cooldown the world comes slowly into focus. Things, places, the slowly forming shapes of the track and the walls and the stands.

‘Well?’ she asks. She waits and there’s no reply. ‘Wendy? Wendy, how did I do?’

The wait feels like an eternity. Her hands are shaking and her fingers are like ice and her heart is pumping so madly she can almost feel it straining to leap out of her chest. Then the static shatters the silence.

‘Your last lap was your fastest,’ Wendy says.

‘Well? Did I get pole?’

‘No. You did a one forty-six point one.’

‘Jesus. Are you kidding me?’

‘You’re on the front row. That’s still incredible, considering how good the Samsungs are looking.’

‘A one forty-six point one?’

‘Yeah. We’ll talk more when you get back.’

She cuts the car and climbs out and looks for Joy but Joy’s already gone and the mechanics are busy tinkering with her car. Wendy takes her helmet and sets it aside and hands her a towel to wipe herself down. ‘You good?’ she says.

‘A one forty-six one.’

‘Pretty damn incredible, if you ask me.’

‘She did a one forty-five nine, Wendy.’

‘Stop thinking about what she did.’

‘That’s two tenths of a second. I drove a perfect last lap out there. Utterly perfect. Or at least I thought I did. And then she cuts two tenths of a second out of it like it’s nothing. How is that possible?’

‘Didn’t you say it’s her favourite track?’

‘How can I win against that?’

‘This is what she does,’ Wendy says. ‘And do you know what you do? You show everyone why you’re the Dynamite. Just like in Bahrain. Just like in Japan.’

‘I hope you’re right.’

‘I will be. Trust me, I know these things.’

Part of her thinks not seeing Irene on Saturday night is a good thing as well.

When she arrives at the garage on Sunday ready for the race she’s smiling so blatantly that Wendy asks her what she’s so happy about. The truth is Irene, but Wendy doesn’t need to know that.

‘I’m just excited,’ she says. ‘I really think I’ve got it in me to win.’

‘You weren’t saying that yesterday.’

‘Yeah, but qualifying is different. I think I can do it today. I did it in Japan. I did it in Bahrain.’

‘Yes you did,’ Wendy says. She looks as proud as any one person could ever be there, almost motherly. ‘We’re going to do absolutely everything to make sure you win today. I believe in you.’

She takes another quick glance at the grid position. It’s Irene and her on the front row and then it’s Joy and Yeri and the two Renaults in fifth and sixth. The qualifying times flash up again and she laughs in disbelief. ‘What?’ Wendy says. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘One forty-five point nine. How is that even possible?’

‘Forget that. You did a one forty-six one. Even that is incredible.’

She straps on her gloves and pulls her helmet over her head and gives Wendy a quick hi-five. The mechanics have got the cars started already. Joy’s already in the cockpit of hers. The engines thrum and warble and the crowd chatter restlessly and the day is dark and mired in grey clouds. ‘How’s the weather forecast?’ Seulgi asks.

‘Slight chance of rain.’

‘.’

‘I said slight.’

‘I’ve never raced in rain before, Wendy. I don’t know how.’

‘You’ve done it hundred of times.’

‘Yeah, in sims. Never in an actual car. I don’t know what it’s like.’

‘Just relax, okay?’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says. She climbs into her car and looks back at Wendy only once. The other cars are already on their way to the starting grid for the formation lap. ‘Wish me luck,’ she says.

Wendy offers a teasing grin. ‘Break a leg, champ.’

On the grid coming off the end of the formation lap she catches Irene looking her way through the helmet and it takes a great deal of effort not to give her a thumbs up. The first red light on the board ahead is immediate. Then it’s the second and the third and the cars are revving at eight thousand and the sound is enormous and Seulgi’s hands are shaking and Wendy’s telling her good luck and before she knows it it’s five lights and then no lights and away they go.

She gets an incredible start. It isn’t quite strong enough to overtake Irene going into La Source because Irene’s own start is excellent and so is Yeri’s behind them in third but it gets the crowd on their feet already. Going into Eau Rouge she’s still wheel to wheel with Irene and fighting all the way. The car feels better than it’s ever felt before. As if every time she steps into the cockpit it moulds to her. Or perhaps she’s becoming more accustomed to it as the season wears on. Whatever it is, it’s working. The Samsungs have still got the raw pace on the straights but at Les Combes she takes the wide angle and powers out and almost grabs the lead.

‘Come on,’ Wendy says. ‘Keep at it.’

The new mediums she’s on feel like they could last forever. By the end of the fourth lap she’s still only half a second behind Irene and the rest of the field are lagging behind. It’s her and Irene again. She brakes late going into Bruxelles and locks up and loses a good half a second and it’s only two laps later that she makes it up again. Even with DRS she can’t overtake.

‘It’s impossible,’ she says over the radio. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘You’re outpacing her.’

‘What?’

‘Your last lap was a slight faster. Just keep it up.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Just keep at it. You’re a star.’

Perhaps it’s the encouragement from Wendy or the thrill of finally being able to race Irene in a fair engagement or maybe it’s both. She imagines Irene smiling proudly in the cockpit of that bright white Samsung and it only pushes her further. It’s lap eight where she takes Blanchimont almost flat out and squeezes out a slight lead. The enormous image of the Samsung shifts into her rearview mirror for the first time. At La Source on lap nine she spots the crowd with their Apex banners cheering her on and has to fight back a little smile. ‘Come on,’ Wendy mutters. ‘Come on, Seulgi.’

She doesn’t know what it is, but it’s incredible. It’s a feeling she’s never had before. This is Irene’s favourite track, but Irene is half a second behind and even with DRS on Kemmel Straight she can’t get past. Seulgi is too good on the defence. Too fast.

By lap twelve the gap is nearly a second.

By lap sixteen, it’s three seconds.

When she looks back on lap twenty-one she sees that Irene isn’t even there at all. Nobody is. ‘Wendy,’ she says, trying to catch her breath. She brakes for Campus and the deceleration makes her head ache. ‘Wendy.’

‘Hey.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Here’s the news you’ve been waiting for. She’s just pitted for new softs on the last lap.’

‘What? Already?’

‘Looks like her tires were in worse condition than yours, or she’s been pushing them harder.’

‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Pit you in ten to twelve laps, put you on the softs, get you back out there, and get you the win. Their undercut's not going to work. You’re still lapping faster than she is.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know. Just, you know, keep at it.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says, beaming behind her helmet. ‘Yeah. I will.’

Lap twenty-four flies by. Lap twenty-five the same. They’re the best two laps she thinks she’s ever done. The times are great and the tires are warmed and responsive and Irene is nowhere to be seen and she laps one of the backmarkers on the final chicane and watches it vanish behind her like a ghost car. She smiles at the cheers going through La Source again. Smiles at Raidillon, at Eau Rogue. She’s smiling at the way up until the first bead of rain runs down the front of her visor.

‘Wendy,’ she says.

‘Yeah. Looks like that storm decided to come a day or two early.’

‘. , what do I do?’

‘Keep calm. You’ll be fine.’

‘I’ve never raced in the rain before.’

‘You’ll be fine.’

The first two or three minutes is nothing more than a shower. The tires feel fine. It’s only when it starts to pour from the sallow skies does Seulgi first feel them start to slide out at the back. ‘Wendy,’ she mutters. ‘Wendy, please.’

‘Keep calm.’

The rain runs slantwise and pale in the thin corridors of light. It runs from the grandstands and against the canopy of umbrellas and raincoats and runs off the sides of the track and in the deep grass beyond the safety walls. Seulgi feels it running down the back of her neck and clouding her visor and into the cockpit behind her. When the tires slip on Kemmel Straight she starts to panic. ‘I’m losing time,’ she says. ‘I’m losing so much time.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I shouldn’t be slipping on the straights. These tires are dead.’

‘Alright. Okay.’

Silence on the other end. Les Combes rises into view and she brakes early just to be sure she can still control it and loses half a second in doing so. ‘Wendy,’ she says. ‘Please talk to me.’

‘Come in this lap for intermediates.’

‘Already?’

‘It’s now or in two laps.’

‘Shouldn’t we wait for it to get heavier and put me on full wet tires?’

‘It might not get heavier. And you said it yourself, those mediums are dead.’

‘Okay. Yeah, alright. What about Irene?’

‘What about her?’

‘Is she doing the same?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Will I still be ahead of her if I pit?’

‘You should be, but only by a few seconds. It’ll be tight.’

‘How much time am I losing?’

‘About a second a lap.’

She curses under her breath. Rain or no rain, it’s unacceptable. She pulls into the pitlane and takes a moment to catch her breath and wipe her helmet down and steady her quivering hands. The rain is terribly cold and damp in her suit. The change onto the intermediates is only two seconds. When she rejoins the straight Irene is still three or four seconds behind her but she’s visible now and even on her soft tires she’s gaining. Three turns later Seulgi almost loses it again. The back end kicks out and suddenly Irene is there and very large in her rearview mirror and the nose of the Samsung gleams in the pale light like a plastercast and recedes again braking for the corner ahead. ‘Wendy,’ Seulgi says. ‘This rain is only getting worse.’

‘I know.’

‘She’s got to come in, right?’

‘Yeah, she does. Almost everyone else did.’

‘What is she doing?’

When there’s no response she asks again.

‘She’s waiting,’ Wendy says.

‘Waiting for what?’

‘For it to get much worse. They’re going to put her on the full wets.’

‘What? They’re going to leave her out on the softs until then? That’s insane.’

‘It’s a gamble, is what it is. I guess they’ve got faith over at Samsung that she’s a good enough driver to hold it together for now. No time lost for the pit stop. And then when everyone’s on the wets, it’s about who’s the most skilled. And, well.’

‘,’ Seulgi says.

‘It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Just don’t let it get to your head.’

Two laps later and the rain is so bad she can barely see anything. The spray in the track is like a fine mist and the cars she’s about to lap appear out of the rainfog like spectres faintly illuminate and they’re all sliding about in the road and struggling for grip. Even Seulgi on the inters. She wipes her helmet and wipes it a second time on the back straight and gives up wiping anymore. The rain pools under her seat and she can barely feel her hands and it’s so cold she can only feel her legs by the heat of the engine and the chassis holding it all together.

‘Seulgi.’

‘Yeah, I know. Safety car. Who is it?’

‘One of the Mercedes spun off. Big crash.’

‘Are they okay?’

‘They’re fine. But this could be bad for us.’

‘What do we do?’

‘Catch up to that safety car and then box. We need to put you on the full wets. It’s hell out there.’

‘Yeah, you’re telling me.’

She sights the safety car half a lap later and only barely. The great array of flickering lights wobbles in the rainfall like wisps and is swallowed up again and the car comes into view far too soon and far too close for Seulgi’s liking. They’re only doing eighty miles an hour on the straight. When she looks back half the other cars have already caught up to the safety line and Irene and the other Samsung are snaking for grip and tire heat and Seulgi starts doing the same. ‘Safety car needs to speed up,’ she says. ‘I can’t grip anything.’

‘Box this lap.’

She pulls into the pits and nine of the cars behind her do the same. The new tires are on in less than three seconds. It isn’t perfect but in the rain it doesn’t really matter. Seulgi can’t see anything. Only the track and the downpour and the puddles forming in the grass and the spray when she catches the safety car again and Wendy cuts in on the radio to say, ‘The safety car’s gone this lap. It’s all on you now.’

‘I can’t grip, Wendy. Even with these wets. I can’t grip anything.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I’m really struggling here.’

She glances behind her in the mirror. Irene seems to be having no such problems. There are still seventeen laps to go and her hands are trembling again and she’s almost crying with exhaustion and the cold is so bad and so raw that it’s starting to become painful. ‘God,’ she mutters. ‘I don’t know if I can do it much longer.’

‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’

The safety car pulls away and disappears and she accelerates for the first time on the new tires and feels the new grip and it still isn’t enough. The backend slides and her tires slip and Irene is gaining and gaining fast. Three laps later Irene cuts down the inside at Blanchimont and weaves into the lead and all Seulgi can do is struggle with the grip and watch her helplessly. She tries best she can to catch up. Five laps down and she’s still in second but Irene’s lead is up to five seconds and in the rain Seulgi can’t see her at all and it’s all slipping away. The car swerves violently at La Source and she almost loses it.

‘Wendy.’

‘It’s okay,’ Wendy tells her again. She wishes it were. Wishes she were as good a driver as Irene is. The difference by the time she’s onto Kemmel Straight again is six seconds. She brakes a slight too late for Les Combes and turns in too hard and the backend goes wild and this time it won’t stop. She turns into the slide before the cameras even catch it happening. The car runs across the grass in a plume of mist and spins and the tires can barely grip at all and Seulgi’s hands are so cold she can’t even feel it. She tries to turn it around but it takes seconds and seconds is too long. Yeri slips by. Then Joy and one of the Renaults. Then both Ferraris and the other Renault and one of the pink Racing Lines. By the time Seulgi’s pulled it back around she’s in ninth.

The rain never stops. She tries and tries but the rain still pours and she can’t feel her hands and even the Racing Line is slipping away. She tries in desperation to slipstream down Kemmel Straight on lap fifty-two but it’s impossible with the weather. The final lap passes like a death knoll. Wendy is silent in her ear. Somewhere far ahead Joy has already finished and Irene’s lead is so insurmountable it almost looks falsified. She crosses the line to the cheers of the crowd somewhere out there in the fog and pulls in after her cooldown lap and shuts the car off immediately. The first thing Wendy does is hand her a towel to warm herself. She fumbles with her helmet and has to have Wendy help take her gloves off. Wendy just looks at her. She looks almost pitiful. This raw and defeated child. It takes a long time for her stop crying.

‘It’s okay,’ Wendy says. ‘You did fine.’

‘I finished ninth. Ninth, Wendy.’

‘What matters is you finished and you’re okay. Everyone has off days.’

‘Irene doesn’t.’

‘This was your first time in the rain. You’ll get better.’

‘That’s if I ever race again.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Who would want me after today?’ Seulgi asks. She doesn’t give Wendy time to tell her she’s being ludicrous. She just hands the towel over and wipes her face and pushes back her soaked hair and finds the first cab she can back to the hotel. When she arrives it’s still raining.

Two knocks on the door. Then a third.

It doesn’t sound like Wendy. She wraps herself in a dressing gown and answers to Irene with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two small glasses in the other. She’s smiling almost in apology. ‘Figured you might enjoy the company,’ she says.

Seulgi lets her in without a word. They sit on the edge of the bed in silence while Irene pours them each a glass. They drink in equal silence. The distant rainbeat on the windowpanes sounds like a metronome. Irene finishes her glass and pours herself another. They sit side by side without looking at each other like strangers in a foreign room. One not knowing what to say, one unable to. It’s a long time before either of them talk. Only when Irene has finished her second glass.

‘I’m sorry about today,’ she says. She expects Seulgi to tell her it’s okay or it’s not her fault or to thank her but she doesn’t. She breaks down into tears. It’s only then that Irene properly looks at her. She looks so broken it’s almost painful to witness. Sat there sobbing into her hands and trying not to and failing. ‘Hey,’ Irene says. She puts an arm around Seulgi and Seulgi leans against her shoulder and weeps like a child. ‘Hey, it’s okay.’

‘I ed up, Irene. I ed up so bad.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I got ninth.’

‘So? Everyone has bad days.’

‘Not like this. I'm useless. All I am is an embarrassment to this sport.'

Irene rubs her shoulder like she would a child. ‘It’s okay,’ she whispers. She can smell the tang of orange shampoo in Seulgi’s freshly washed hair. Can feel her so small and tender and full of pain. ‘I’m a failure,’ Seulgi sobs.

‘No. No you’re not. Not at all. You had one bad day, and one bad day doesn’t erase the good. Not ever.’

‘I had no place being out there. I can’t drive in the wet.’

‘Hey. Hey, look at me. We live and we learn, okay? Okay?’

They share a moment in the silence so tender that neither knows what to do. Watching each other. The rain ticks away on the window. Seulgi’s heart runs like caged electric. She looks at Irene for a long time. Maybe she should, she thinks. Maybe it’s all worth it. But in the end she wipes her eyes and sits up and forces a smile. ‘Thanks,’ she says.

‘For what?’

‘For coming and checking on me. You didn't have to.'

‘I saw how you looked after the race. I’m really sorry.’

‘There’s nothing you have to be sorry for. It was my own fault. You showed you’re the best driver in the world today.’

‘Flattery will get you nowhere.’

Seulgi giggles. It’s her first genuine laugh since the rain started almost ten hours ago. The night outside is long and swollen and the rain twists through the sallow moonlight in long slats and is lost to the wind save sound and shape of rain on the glass like slow cells. She looks at Irene again. At all of her.

‘You’ll always have another shot,’ Irene says.

‘Yeah. Thank you.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Really, I mean it.’

‘And I mean it, it’s fine.’

‘Means a lot to me.’

Irene wipes a stray tear from Seulgi's cheek with a thumb. The smile she breaks into has Seulgi’s heart skipping a beat. ‘What are friends for, right?’ she says.

‘Yeah. What are friends for.’