Silverstone is the only track in the world Seulgi thinks she might know as intimately as Monaco. When she puts her bags down in her room on Thursday night the late summer evening is still warm and the pinchbeck sun sits squat against the rim of the world like a smoking coal. She thinks a lot about Irene. She thinks more about the race. The rankings have her in third but her grip on a podium spot is slipping and there aren’t that many races left. And the looming spectre of team orders is as present as ever. Japan was one step forward. Belgium was two steps back. Wendy’s words again. If she doesn’t win, she’s the second-best driver in Apex. And if she’s second best, she might as well be nothing.

Once she’s put her things away and closed the curtain she lies on the bed watching the ceiling and thinking about Belgium again. Visions of the rain running down her helmet visor. The backend losing grip. The spin. Watching each car pass her by from the sidelines, cars that never should have the speed or the talent of the drivers to do so. Even one of the Racing Lines. She doesn’t cry but it takes a lot of effort not to do so. After a while she sleeps. The last thing on her mind before she closes her eyes is Irene consoling her in a quiet hotel room in Belgium.

On Friday she’s at the track early. Joy and Wendy and most of the other mechanics are already there. The crowd isn’t yet full but it’s only free practice. Sunday is a different story. She straps on her gloves and adjusts her helmet and Wendy taps her on the shoulder. ‘You alright?’ she says.

‘Yeah.’

‘You sure? You’re looking a little distracted.’

‘I’m fine,’ Seulgi says. ‘Just can’t stop thinking about Belgium.’

‘It’s not going to rain.’

‘It might.’

‘Alright. It might. But if it does, who cares? You know what your biggest strength is? It’s your tenacity. Your willingness to never give up. To learn from every mistake and never make it again. You’re a lot like a certain someone else in that regard.’

‘Rain is different.’

‘It won’t rain.’

‘Wendy—’

‘And if it does, you’ll win, won’t you?’

She smiles and Seulgi finds herself smiling back. That’s Wendy in a nutshell, always capable of bringing a smile to her face. ‘How are you feeling?’ she says. ‘Apart from being miserable over something in the past.’

‘Alright. Feeling good.’

‘Confident?’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says.

‘Good. You should do well. This course suits you.’

‘I know it does. I think it might be my favourite.’

‘That’s a good sign.’

‘How’s Joy?’

Wendy nods to her stood by the far side of the garage, humming to herself. ‘Go ask her,’ she says. Seulgi taps her on the shoulder and she turns a little startled and smiles. Her helmet sits on the table beside her. The mechanics have just about finished with her car and the crowd watching the replays of Belgium across from the pit garage are restless already. ‘Sorry,’ Seulgi says.

‘It’s alright. You just jumped me.’

‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing.’

‘I’m good. Why?’

‘Don’t know. Just wanted to ask. Figured it was the nice thing to do.’

Joy looks at Seulgi and tilts her head and says, ‘I’m sorry about what happened in Belgium, but you’ll be fine today. I know you will. That sort of thing happens to everyone. Trust me, I’ve panicked and spun in the rain more times than I can count. But I know you’ve got it in you. Because if you don’t, you know what the results going to be.’

‘You ahead of me.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And then team orders.’

Joy shrugs. ‘No hard feelings or anything. I like you as a teammate. Really like you. But if the team thinks the best way to maintain our lead is to sacrifice one of us, then it’s going to be you. Unless you prove me wrong, of course.’

‘I will,’ Seulgi says with a smile. She’s not quite sure how aggressive it comes across or how Joy might react but after a moment she just smiles and puts a hand on Seulgi’s shoulder. ‘Good,’ she says. ‘I prefer the competition.’

‘I’ll see you out there.’

‘Uh huh. Good luck.’

The first session of practice is always the one Seulgi uses to warm herself up and Britain is no different. She eases around Copse and then Maggots and Becketts and the crowd watch her with their phones all out and the Apex glares in the heat of the early afternoon sun like a white spirit. It’s there she begins to think that Britain might truly be her favourite Grand Prix of the year. Silverstone feels even better in real life. On her fourth lap Wendy cuts in through the radio to say, ‘You’re doing well out there. Really well. Keep up the good work.’

‘The car’s feeling good.’

‘And so are you, by the looks of you. See? I told you Belgium was a flash in the pan. A minor blip, is all.’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

In the second session she bests her time on every lap and then again on the final lap as she pulls into the pits and climbs out in time to see one of the Samsungs vanish over the start line for their final lap. The white of the sun is enormous out there in the day. She looks for Joy but Joy’s still on the track and Wendy hands her a towel and a bottle of water and nods to the boards at the back of the garage. ‘Third so far,’ she says. ‘Congrats on that.’

She studies the names and the times. Joy’s still out there but she’s in sixth and not looking to do much better and it’s the top two names that catch her eye first. Irene and Yeri. ‘Jesus,’ she says, ‘how are they so fast?’

‘I don’t know what the engineers at Samsung have done but it’s working. It’s really working. I know I’ve said the same thing before but this time they really do have the straight-line pace. They might even have us in the corners, too.’

‘How am I supposed to race against that?’

‘The same way you did in Japan.’

‘That was a fluke. And her car was ruined.’

‘You’ve got to stop being so negative. What happened to that confidence of yours?’

‘Yeah, but still.’

‘But still nothing. You’ve got this.’

She taps Seulgi’s shoulder and Seulgi offers a faint smile. It’s ten minutes later, when she’s back out on the track and braking for Stowe corner, that Wendy breaks up the static in her headset again. ‘Alright,’ she says, ‘you’re up to second. See? I told you you could do it.’

‘This isn’t qualifying, though.’

‘But you’re good enough to keep it up through qualifying. So.’

‘So?’

‘So keep it up.’

The car feels fast and more responsive than it has for a while but the heat isn’t helping. She misses the apex at Club corner and locks up late going into Arena and runs wide and knows immediately her final lap won’t be her best. But she was right. Practice is just that. The real test is in qualifying. When she pulls the car up in the garage and shuts it off Joy and Wendy are stood by one of the back-TV displays running over the names and times and positions. Irene’s in first. Seulgi’s still got second. Then it’s Yeri and Joy and the Renaults and then the Ferraris and everyone else. ‘How’d it go?’ Seulgi says.

They turn to her and Joy nods at nothing in particular. ‘Okay. Not my best. Congrats, by the way. Guess you really took it to heart.’

‘Thanks. And yeah. I figured you were both right. All I need is a little bit of confidence.’

Joy and Wendy share a smile that Seulgi can’t quite figure out. As if there’s something they’ve discussed ahead of time. ‘What?’ Seulgi says.

‘It’s nothing,’ says Wendy. ‘We just knew you were talented the moment you stepped into the car the first time, and now you’re properly showing it.’

‘Didn’t I show it in Bahrain?’

‘I mean, sure. But then China happened.’

Seulgi only nods. The less said about her race in China the better. It occurs to her standing there that she hasn’t thought about Irene all day. Not since her hotel room the night before, lying there in the darkness counting the flakes of paint on the ceiling. The sudden realization of that is almost alarming. ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she says.

‘No point,’ Wendy says. ‘There’s nothing left to do today.’

‘Yeah. True.’

‘You going to find Irene?’

‘How’d you know?’

She only smiles. Seulgi looks at Joy and Joy’s smiling as well. ‘You two seem to be spending a lot of time together,’ Joy says.

‘Is there something wrong with that?’

‘Not at all. It’s just not like her to actually be hanging around people. Guess she must like you more than she lets on.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing.’ Joy folds her arms and looks at Wendy. ‘Nothing at all.’

Saturday comes around all too soon. She never found Irene. By the time she’d said goodbye to Wendy and Joy the Samsung garage was clearing out for the day and even Yeri had disappeared and she couldn’t find her at the hotel either. On Saturday morning she listens to the murmur of engines somewhere down among the other garages while fiddling with the straps on her gloves. The crowd is at its zenith. They’ll be even wilder on Sunday for the race and the thought of that is something Seulgi can’t quite wrap her head around.

‘You ready?’ Wendy says from behind her.

‘As I’ll ever be.’

‘The forecast is no rain at all for the whole weekend. Not that it’d make much difference.’

‘It would.’

‘Thought you learnt from your mistakes?’

‘That’s what you said.’

Wendy laughs. It’s a laugh that sets Seulgi at ease again. She glances at the mechanics fiddling with something in her cockpit and fastens the last strap on her glove and grabs her helmet. It’s in those moments that the world around her seems to slow. Everything becomes irrelevant. It’s just the car and the track and occasionally Wendy in her ear and nothing else. Not even Irene. She climbs in and adjusts the steeringwheel and gives Wendy one last thumbs up and then she pulls out onto the track for her outlap.

‘Okay,’ Wendy says immediately. ‘You good?’

‘So far, yeah.’

‘Just take it easy for the first two sessions, as you always do. It’s session three you’ve got to worry about.’

‘Worry about?’

‘Poor choice of words, sorry. But you’ve got to really push it today if you want pole. I mean really push it.’

One of the Renaults passes her as she’s warming the tires in a puff of brakesmoke and disappears down the Hangar Straight. Seulgi takes a moment to adjust herself to the feeling again. How different it all is inside that cockpit. The heat of the sun. Heat of the engine. She crosses the line and her lap begins and all the world melts away, people and objects and the daysky and the track in front of her. Every turn feels smooth and the straights are solid and when she turns in fifteen minutes later and checks the board she’s comfortably through to the next session in second place. Yeri’s in first, Joy third, Irene in fifth. ‘Did she have a bad run?’ she asks the moment she’s out of the car.

‘She’s sandbagging,’ Wendy says. ‘They both are.’

‘Yeri got first, though.’

‘Yeah, and she’s still sandbagging. Trust me, those Samsungs are fast today. Really fast. Feels like I’m repeating myself every weekend, but yeah. You’re going to have to put in a lot of work, the both of you.’

Seulgi clicks her teeth and Wendy turns to her and offers that familiar smile. ‘But you can do it,’ she says. ‘Just like Bahrain, just like Japan. You’ve got it in you like nobody else does. Go out there and show them who you are.’

‘Dynamite?’

‘Dynamite.’

The second session of qualifying passes with similar ease. The Apexes are fast enough that she only has to put in the minimal amount of effort to coast through into the third and final stage with a respectable time but it’s clear the crowd want more. They want something extraordinary. In the garage she looks at the tires for a long time. Maybe they’ve got the longevity. Maybe not. She doesn’t know, but risks are risks for a reason and today is one of those days where she’s feeling it. ‘Well,’ Wendy says, arms folded, studying the pitlane outside. One of the Hondas passes by and vanishes down the end of the lane again.

‘Here I go,’ Seulgi says.

‘Showtime.’

There are times where things go her way and times where they don’t and this is one of the latter. On her first lap she catches one of the Ferraris on their outlap a little too close to the racing line and loses half a second. On her second she almost loses control of the backend going through Vale and has to fight to straighten the car out going through Club and up the final straight. The crowd watch with anticipation. She waits for Wendy to say something but she never does. On her third lap Seulgi brakes late coming off Brooklands but catches it in time to correct the lockup and adjusts correctly.

‘Come on,’ Wendy mutters. ‘You’ve still got this.’

It’s a long shot but Seulgi’s used to long shots. She’s not thinking about Irene at all, which is strange and oddly comforting and she knows the reason is because Irene’s soft embrace in Belgium was somehow a confirmation of just how close they’ve become over the past few months, just how much they mean to one another. She’s not thinking about Irene when she’s on the track and that’s a good thing. It’s a healthy thing.

She glides through Maggots and Becketts and then Chapel and onto the Hangar Straight where DRS kicks in and she feels the car explode in a surge of speed. Her feet are shaking on the pedals. Her hands are cold to the touch. She rounds Stowe and slips the backend again and curses under her breath but it might not matter. ‘Keep it steady,’ Wendy says. ‘And keep your head down.’

She rounds the final straight and pulls into the garage a lap later to the cheers of the crowd and just in time to see Yeri saying goodbye to her engineers and leaving already. The smile on her face is telling before even Wendy is. Seulgi checks the board before anyone can say anything. She’s there for some time. It’s only when Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder does she realise she’s been staring. ‘Well,’ Wendy says.

‘How do they do it?’

‘Like I said, they had the faster car coming into this weekend.’

She takes another glance at the board. It’s Irene and Yeri on the front row, Seulgi and Jennie behind them, Joy and the other Renault in fifth and sixth. ‘I messed up,’ she says. ‘A couple corners back there on every lap. I messed it up. That was where I was losing the most time.’

‘Yeah, but they still have the faster car. The fact you got so close to them while making mistakes is pretty impressive.’

‘They’re three tenths of a second ahead of me. Not really very close.’

‘Relatively speaking. Compared to the strength of their car.’

‘You’re very sure they’ve got the better car, aren’t you?’

Wendy nods to her. ‘They’ve always had the straight-line speed,’ she says, ‘but the stats for the cornering are just about as good as ours. Either they’ve fixed the aero or done something to make the downforce more efficient while maintaining their speed, but whatever it is, it’s working. And working very well. We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Seulgi. Seulgi, you listening to me?’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi lies. ‘Sorry. Was just distracted for a minute.’

‘Anything important?’

‘Not at the moment. It can wait.’

Saturday night is the same. She waits in the lobby for far too long and when the receptionist starts to stare she moves to the small bar near the back and sits nursing a tall beer and waiting for Irene but Irene never comes. She thinks briefly about tracking her down and talking to her, but talk about what? Race day is tomorrow. Perhaps she’d be annoyed at Seulgi disturbing her. Or perhaps not. In the end she drinks off the last of her beer and goes on up to her own room and sleeps early, and her dreams all night long are Irene, Irene, Irene.

Race day is wilder than even she expected. The British fans are among the best and that much is obvious from a quick glance. There are flags and signs of all colours and nationalities and across the pit straight she sights a couple of enormous Korean flags draped down the side of the grandstand and a handful of camera phones trying to catch a candid photo of her before the race starts. Seulgi holds a jittering hand in front of her face and tries to calm her breathing while the mechanics run over her car one final time.

‘You nervous?’ Wendy asks. She jumps a slight when Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder. ‘Woah,’ Wendy says. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay. I’m just tetchy, is all.’

‘Tetchy.’

‘On edge. I don’t even know why. I just feel like this is going to be a big one. One of the deciders, you know? You said it yourself, if I don’t win this and Joy finishes in front of me, it’s team orders. Right?’

‘Probably. Sorry.’

‘That’s why I’m going to win.’

Wendy’s about to say something when she notices a handful of cars drive past just beyond the garage in a throaty burble of enginenotes. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘it’s time for you to get out there. Just stick to what we’ve gone through, don’t burn out your tires too quick, keep your calm, and—’

‘Bring it home. Yeah.’

‘Bring it home.’ She holds her hand out and Seulgi gives her a hi-five. As she climbs into the cockpit and the mechanics adjust the headrest and pass her the steeringwheel she sees Irene glide by in the pale Samsung like a ghost. Then it’s Yeri and the Hondas from the far end of the pitlane and then it’s only Seulgi left to drive out onto the grid beside Joy and the others and hold her breath and wait for the lights. ‘Okay,’ Wendy says, ‘just checking this still works. Can you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear.’

‘Do what you do.’

It’s all the support she needs. The car feels good but that’s only a minor consolation because no doubt the Samsungs do too. And Joy. And even the Renaults. The sun lies like an enormous paperwhite eye in the sky and there are no clouds and the heat is almost unbearable. The engines rev to ten thousand and then twelve. The first light comes on and Seulgi’s hands are on the wheel and her eyes are down the far end of the straight and then it’s two lights and three. You can do this, she says to herself. She takes one more look at Irene on pole ahead of her. Then it’s five lights, no lights, and a cloud of enginesmoke.

She gets a solid start but the Samsungs are better. Even Jennie’s Renault behind her is closing by the time they fly past Farm on the way to Arena. She catches sight of the crowd only briefly and hammers the accelerator and shifts up a few tenths of a second. She’s fast today. That much is obvious to everyone. They swerve around Luffield and Woodcote and along Copse and the fight at the front is as fierce as Seulgi can remember it being in a long time. The Renaults shoot up the inside and Joy is right there alongside her and they slow for the corner ahead and the crowd erupt when she slips past Yeri and up into second. It’s a trick she’s executed time and time again. The difference in Britain is that she and Irene aren’t pulling away from the rest of the field and Wendy was right. They have got the pace. By the end of lap three the six of them are still so close it’s almost impossible to make sense of what’s happening at the front.

‘This is insane,’ she mutters, to no reply from Wendy. They cruise past Vale and around Club and onto the straight for lap four and it’s her and Irene neck and neck and Yeri gaining on them again. Three turns later she glances the rearview mirror only for a second to see Joy and one of the golden Renaults enormous in the eye of the sun and just about to overtake. She cuts across the inside line and pushes them back and drives out of the corner extra hard, so fast and so focused she never even notices Yeri speed around the outside and overtake her for second. In the stands the members of the crowd look like figures at a carnival. The sun bears hot on her for the next six laps. Lap ten comes and goes. Lap eleven and she’s in third and Wendy wasn’t lying about the Samsungs having the better car. Irene and Yeri have pulled the lead out to a good four or five seconds but the fight for third is as fierce as it was at the start of the race.

‘They’re slipping away,’ she says.

‘I know,’ Wendy says. ‘But just keep it together. They’ve got the speed but you’ve got the skill.’

‘So do they. Especially Irene.’

‘Just focus.’

She gets the break they were hoping for on lap thirteen. The great LED boards hanging from the side of the main straight flash with the letters SC in bright white font and then a second time. Up ahead the Samsungs are already slowing for the safety car and Seulgi is quick on the brakes after them. ‘Who is it?’ she says.

The static cuts in and Seulgi can barely hear over the crowd and the engines. ‘One of the Mercedes and one of the Chamisuls at the back. Big spinoff. Nobody hurt. This could be your lucky break, Seulgi.’

‘There’s no overtaking with the safety car out. You know that.’

‘That’s not what I mean. It gives you a chance to catch up.’

‘They’ll just pull away again once it’s gone.’

‘No, they won’t. I believe in you.’

She thinks briefly about Irene. About what Irene would say or think if Seulgi let the race slip away from her. Would she be annoyed? Disappointed? Would she even care? What was it she said in Japan again? Don’t think about me. Think about your own race.

She catches the others behind the safety car on the next lap. When she looks behind her in the mirror Joy and the Renaults are right there, snaking across the tarmac to keep their tires heated and their brakes in good condition, and down the far end of the straight the slim carmine figure of one of the Ferraris appears quivering in the dayheat and gaining on them. They trail the safety car for three laps. The tension in the air in unbearable. The crowd hold their breath for the restart and Seulgi’s hands are shaking and Yeri and Irene in those pale Samsungs look almost inhuman. ‘Alright,’ she hears Wendy saying in her ear. ‘The safety car’s going this lap. Good luck.’

She knows she’ll need it. They come around Club corner and the safety car at the front of the pack peels off into the pitlane and the LED boards go dark and suddenly they’re racing again and the mayhem is like they had never left the first lap at all. It’s Joy right behind her and the Renaults trying to cut them off in the corners and Yeri and Irene slowly pulling away and Seulgi pushing as hard as she can. Every turn tighter, every apex clipped. She tries the inside lines and then the wide lines. She tries lines she’s never tried in the sims before. By lap twenty-five the gap between her and the Samsungs is a couple seconds but it doesn’t seem to be moving at all.

‘Okay,’ Wendy says, ‘you there?’

‘Yeah. Talk to me.’

‘Box in two laps.’

‘What?’

‘Box in—’

‘I heard you. Why?’

‘Those tires are dead out there. Or they will be soon, at least. We’re going to try and bring you in for the new softs before the Samsungs and hope the undercut works. We think it might if the pit is fast. You’ll certainly have the pace if you keep driving like this.’

‘I don’t know how much longer I can keep driving like this. That’s the problem.’

‘You say that every weekend. Don’t sweat it.’

Part of her wants to continue but Wendy’s right and she knows it. The tires are on their last legs. She slides the back out uncharacteristically near Stowe and the crowd gasp and cheer when she regains control but Irene’s half a second ahead on pace and Yeri’s about even. Seulgi curses to herself. She takes a quick glance into the rearview mirror just in time to see one of the black and gold Renaults slip past her for third. Joy and the other Renault are right there, fighting for position. She veers off into the pitlane and watches as they all pass on by the end of the straight and disappear out of sight. The pit is only two and a half seconds. Not excellent but good enough.

‘Okay,’ Wendy says. ‘Mode 1. Go get those Samsungs.’

The new softs feel instantly better. Everything is smoother, faster, more responsive. She turns the wheel in and the car follows as if she were controlling it in her dreams and the sun gleams against her visor and over the pale wing and by lap thirty-one she catches sight of the backend of one of the Renaults and Joy’s Apex slowing for the corner and taking a wide line and almost going off. ‘Is she okay?’ Seulgi asks.

‘She’s fine. And boxing this lap. Just keep your head down.’

When she crosses the line to start lap thirty-two she’s in first place again. It’s like nothing she’s seen before. All five of the cars ahead of her in the pits for new tires. She eases around Luffield and Woodcote and then down the straight to Copse and the car feels smooth and alive and so very fast. ‘You’ve got about eight seconds,’ Wendy says in her ear. ‘Keep it up.’

‘Have they all pitted onto softs?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Jesus, what a race.’

Lap thirty-three. Thirty-four. By the end of thirty-five the other cars are all in her rearview again and catching. The sleek front wing of Irene in the Samsung is right there alongside her and Seulgi has to go out wide to block her from overtaking on the back straight and then it’s Yeri and Jennie in the number twenty-two Renault. When they all brake it’s Joy who takes the inside line and cuts up two places into third and the crowd erupt and then it’s the Renault in sixth forcing them wide again. Seulgi drops to fifth place at Maggots and sixth at Becketts. By the time she gets to Chapel two turns later she’s in third again. On the Hangar Straight DRS kicks in and the world become a blur in eight gear and her head spins and the crowd are on their feet and as she slows for Stowe she notices Irene losing a couple of positions. It’s Jennie and Yeri and Seulgi and then it’s Seulgi and Joy and Jennie and then it’s the other Renault and Yeri and nobody can gain the advantage.

‘Wendy.’

‘Hey, I’m here.’

‘What the is going on?’ Seulgi says. They cross the line for lap thirty-six and Irene is in sixth and struggling a slight in her mirror.

‘Just focus on what you’re doing.’

‘I thought you said the Samsungs have the pace this weekend.’

‘They do.’

‘Yeah, I know. But you never said anything about the Renaults. What’s happening?’

‘I don’t know,’ Wendy admits. ‘But it’s some serious upgrading. Or maybe this track just suits them. This is the closest race I’ve seen in a while.’

‘I can’t outpace them with these tires.’

‘You can, but it’s all down to driver skill now.’

‘I’m not as talented as Irene,’ Seulgi says. But when she glances her mirror again she sees that Irene isn’t there at all. There’s no time to think about that. The laps come and go and the crowd fly by and the sun is no colder or lower in the sky and by lap forty-six there’s still less than a second difference between first and second and the other three are right there behind them. It’s Yeri and then it’s Seulgi. The gap forever changing. She takes the corners a slight faster and then the Samsung powers away and is gone again and then the corners appear and it’s back to square one. And somehow the Renaults are still going strong.

‘Wendy.’

‘Yeah?’ Wendy says.

‘What happened to her?’

‘To Irene?’

‘Yeah.’

Silence a moment. Then: ‘Engine failure on lap thirty-seven.’

‘.’

‘Focus on your own race. Please.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says. ‘I will.’

It’s strange the effect it has on her. It isn’t immediate worry or disappointment on Irene’s behalf as she thought it might be. It’s the desire to succeed. The need to prove to Irene she’s worth more than a reckless incident in China and a spin in the rain in Belgium and a couple fluke wins. Irene told her to race for herself but where is the fun in racing if you can’t show off? Three laps later and Wendy breaks up the radio to say, ‘You’ve just set the fastest lap of the race.’

‘Good. And I’ll do it again this lap.’

‘Don’t destroy those tires.’

‘The tires are fine.’

Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. Any other race and she’d take a moment to feel how they’re gripping going into the tight hairpins but her blood is hot and her heart running electric and the energy is like nothing before. Yeri’s right there. There are fifty-two laps in the race. By lap fifty the gap is so small that when Seulgi brakes for Copse corner her front wing almost scoops up the back of Yeri’s car and the G-force has her breath hitching in . The next three corners pass like nothing and Seulgi’s hands are shaking and the car rattles violently with every burst of acceleration and behind her the others are slipping away. It’s just her and Yeri now. She thinks briefly of Irene. Is she watching from the stands with the fans? Or is she at the hotel already? When she slows for the next tight corner and Yeri slows a little too much she thinks it doesn’t matter where Irene is. Irene isn’t ahead of her.

Yeri has the car. Perhaps it isn’t by a lot but the speed is undeniable and the downforce better than usual and Wendy was right. But three turns later on lap fifty-one Seulgi catches her braking too early and slides across to the inside and powers onto the acceleration a quarter second sooner. It’s almost nothing, but the cars are so absurdly fast that a quarter of a second means she’s already six feet clear of Yeri and then twelve and suddenly she’s in the lead and the fans are on their feet and the ground seems to be trembling. When she glances in the mirror on the back straight Yeri is right there behind her but she’s slipping.

‘Alright,’ Wendy says when she crosses the line for the last lap. Nobody in the stands is sitting down. ‘One more lap.’

‘I can do this,’ Seulgi mutters. It’s a mantra Irene’s bestowed upon her, the self-confidence to push it just a little further. She sails across every apex and powers out at the right angles and the car hefts with her and the tires are still good. The turns come and go. Her time isn’t excellent but it doesn’t need to be. When she crosses the line to the hollering of the crowd and the steady flutter of the checkered flag in the wind Yeri is about two seconds behind her. Then it’s Jennie in the Renault, Joy, and the other Renault. Wendy is quiet in her ear. Only when she’s finished the cooldown lap in celebration and she pulls into the garage does Wendy come up and give her a big hug before she’s even out of the car.

‘Woah,’ Seulgi says. ‘I’m all sweaty.’

‘You’re a superstar, you know that?’

She helps Seulgi out of her helmet and gloves and waits until Seulgi’s done hugging the other mechanics and thanking the pit crew. One of the Racing Lines sails across the finish in a cloud of smoke and the crowd wince and cheer. ‘I told you you could do it,’ Wendy says with a grin on her face. ‘Third win of the season. How’s it feel?’

‘I honestly don’t know. That was the craziest race I’ve ever been a part of.’

‘You showed you belong at the top today. Properly belong.’

‘How?’

‘Because they had the better car,’ Wendy says. ‘Everyone knew coming into this weekend the Samsungs had the advantage with their engine upgrades. We were always going to be at a disadvantage until Brazil and you still came out and did that. You know what that is? Pure skill, right there. No frills, no cheap tricks, no car helping you. Just you and your talent.’

‘You’re just saying that,’ Seulgi says.

The smile Wendy gives her is so genuine it’s almost alarming. ‘You’re incredible,’ she says. ‘Seriously. Go get your podium.’

‘Thanks, Wendy. You fancy a drink tonight?’

‘Sure. Are you buying?’

‘You know what?’ Seulgi says with a smile. ‘I think I might.’

The first person she finds at the bar in the evening is Irene.

At first she just stands there. Irene is sat alone under the low light in one of the booths by the back of the room, nursing a beer and watching the night or perhaps watching herself posted in the reflection of the glass. She’s dressed in a black jacket and her hair is pinned back and rather lovely in the painted light and it takes Seulgi a moment to realise she’s standing in the doorway of the room gawping at her from a distance that could be considered uncomfortable. She orders a beer and runs a hand through her hair and practices a smile before going over but Irene’s already seen her coming and the amusement on her face has Seulgi feeling a little like a child caught at something she shouldn’t be doing.

‘You alright there?’ Irene says, smiling.

‘Yeah. Can I sit?’

‘Be my guest.’

She takes off her jacket and sets it on the couch beside her and takes a second to study Irene across the table. Maybe it’s strange. Maybe it’s a slight creepy. But if so Irene never says. ‘First time I’ve spoken to you all weekend,’ Seulgi says.

‘I know. Sorry about that, by the way. I wasn’t ignoring you or anything.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘I honestly just really wanted to get this race down. Silverstone’s never been my favourite. I don’t know why. It just isn't.’

‘It’s okay,’ Seulgi says again. ‘I’m sorry about what happened today, with your car and everything. Can’t imagine what that feels like that far into a race.’

‘Don’t be.’

‘You would’ve won.’

Irene sips her beer. The smile on her face never falters nor does the warmth it provides Seulgi, the comfort. ‘Honestly,’ she says, ‘today was the first time I didn’t feel bummed out after losing a race.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I mean, obviously I was a bit down. I think it kind of comes with the territory. But that was so much fun. Seriously, so much fun. I can’t remember the last time a race was that competitive. I don’t know what the Renault guys did but it worked wonders. I really had to push myself and the car out there, and when I broke down and went back to the garage and saw it on the monitors it looked even better. It was so fun.’

Seulgi just looks at her. It’s in moments like this she understands again just how much of Irene’s life is motorsport. It isn’t just the desire to win, the unstoppable urge to be the absolute best. It’s the love of all things cars, the racing and the engineering and the feel of it all. It’s the excitement and the drama and everything in between. ‘I guess you’re right,’ she says.

‘Congrats on the win. You looked great out there.’

‘Thanks. I thought I wasn’t going to get it for a while.’

‘You were the best today.’

‘Yeah?’

Irene nods. She sips her beer and Seulgi sips hers and the silence they share in is both comfortable and not. As if there’s something there that has not or cannot be voiced. ‘It’s funny,’ Seulgi says.

‘What is?’

‘I went up to the bar and got this.’ She nods to her beer. ‘Didn’t even say a word. Just made a tipping gesture and the guy knew what I meant.’

‘Well, yeah. It is a bar.’

‘But, like, I don’t speak English. Or Italian. Or Spanish. Arabic, Japanese, French. And yet, everywhere we go, they always seem to know. Like it’s a universal thing.’

‘That’s because it is.’

‘Alcohol is the great equalizer. It’s what brings us all together.’

‘As humans?’

‘Sure.’

‘Amen,’ Irene says. They toast and Irene sets her glass down and laughs.

‘What?’

‘Think you’ve got a bit on your lip.’

‘What?’

‘Foam moustache.’

 She just looks at Irene for a moment. Fingers around the bottom of her glass tapping away. Then she wipes the foam from her top lip with a shy thank you and drinks again and looks away. ‘What?’ Irene says. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Seulgi.’

She gets the out she’s looking for when she catches sight of Wendy and Joy and a few of the others coming in at the far side of the room and waves them over. They sit with Irene and Seulgi and say hi and five minutes later Yeri joins them with a beer in her hand and toasts to the race. They all toast with her. Seulgi watches Irene over the table. There’s an uncomfortable interior there she feels a slight guilty for. Sat beside Yeri with her hands on her glass while they chatter about the race.

‘Are you sure you should be drinking that?’ Joy says.

Yeri looks at her glass and looks at her across the table and shrugs. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re twenty.’

‘So?’

‘What’s the legal drinking age in England?’

‘I don’t know. Eighteen, I think.’

‘Maybe it’s twenty-one.’

‘Who cares? I drive a Formula 1 car, Joy. I think I can handle a couple easy beers.’

‘She’s got a point,’ Wendy says.

‘You want to know what’s funny? When I first got into a Formula 2 car, I wasn’t old enough to get my driving license.’

They all look at her and she nods with a smile. ‘I was only seventeen,’ she says. ‘I could only get my provisional license. So, legally, I wasn’t allowed out on public roads, but I could drive a supercar around a racetrack and nobody batted an eye. Funny how this stuff works sometimes.’

‘Imagine if you’d have failed your driving test.’

‘I don’t think I’d ever have lived it down.’ She takes a long pull of her beer and crosses her legs and turns to Irene next to her. ‘What about you? You ever failed your test?’

Irene looks at Seulgi across the table. As if searching for an answer. Or a way out. ‘Well?’ Yeri says.

‘I failed my written test twice.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. This was years ago, though. It was harder then, I swear.’

‘I’m sure it was. Damn. Imagine that. Three-time Formula 1 world champion and you can’t drive a Hyundai to the shops.’

‘I mean, I passed eventually.’

‘Yeah, but that’s not the point though, is it?’

To that Irene says nothing. ‘Sorry about the race,’ Joy says.

‘It’s alright,’ says Irene. ‘I had fun watching it.’

‘It was pretty crazy. Not going to lie. I mean, it was probably bad from a team perspective, but I had a lot of fun out there.’

‘I think we all did,’ Yeri did. She looks at Seulgi. Looks at how Seulgi’s eyes never quite leave Irene fully. ‘Congrats on the win, by the way.’

‘Thanks,’ Seulgi says.

‘I thought I had you until that last lap. Don’t know how you managed it.’

‘I just got lucky.’

‘You see?’ Yeri says to the others. ‘I like that. Modesty. Good thing to have.’

‘Unlike you, then?’ Joy says.

‘When have I ever been anything but modest?’

‘How about: I drive a Formula 1 car, Joy. I think I can handle a couple easy beers. Ring a bell?’

Yeri finishes the last of her drink and shrugs. ‘It was a factual statement. I’m going to get another.’

‘Careful they don’t ask you for your ID.’

‘Very funny. No, really. Very funny.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Seulgi says. Irene’s gaze never leaves her. Even when she’s at the bar waiting for the bartender to pour her a pint from the draft she looks back and catches Irene stealing a glance at her. ‘She never does anything like this,’ Yeri says. She’s sat half leaning against the stool with a smirk on her face that tells Seulgi she knows more than she’s letting on.

‘Does what?’ Seulgi says. ‘Who?’

‘Irene. She never hangs out with the rest of us. It’s a bit of a running joke that she’s always alone, but it’s got a lot of truth to it. You must have something special to get this out of her.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I’m just saying.’ She thanks the bartender in broken English and sips her beer. ‘I don’t think she’d do this for anyone else.’

‘She’s just sat talking with friends.’

‘Still, though.’

She takes a moment to look back at Irene, laughing with the others. She turns back to Yeri and Yeri’s stifling a laugh of her own. ‘What?’ Seulgi says.

‘It’s rude to stare.’

‘I wasn’t—’

‘Uh huh.’ She takes her beer and thanks the bartender again with a smile. ‘Come on. Before she actually catches you looking at her.’