Chapter Theme:

The Weeknd - False Alarm

It occurs to Seulgi only when she’s stepping off the flight in Catalunya that the calendar has changed this year. The races reordered. The thought of it is mildly amusing, that she’s been so engulfed in everything to do with the racing itself – and with Irene for that matter – that nothing else has been of note or interest. She signs a handful of autographs fresh off the plane and snaps a couple selfies and makes her way to the hire car ready to taxi her to the hotel for the next five days. It’s quite a fancy hotel, nicer than the one in Bahrain, the lobby lined with gold scones, a brilliant birdscage chandelier hanging from the ceiling draped in diamond lattice, and her room is much the same. Larger, the bed softer, more room to relax. To think on what happened in Bahrain and what cannot happen again.

The leaderboard tells it all. It’s only been one race but the difference between her and Irene is twenty-six points. Seulgi throws herself down on the bed and watches the ceiling idly. She traces the shapes of the paint flecks. Then she does it a second time. Procrastination has never come easy to Seulgi but lying alone in a warm Spanish hotel room she thinks she could get used to it. Irene is a half a mile down the road in a different hotel. Wendy is along the hallway and already asleep for the night. She checks her phone. No new messages. The thrill of the race yet to come has not quite set in properly.

At nine forty her phone hums on the bedside table and she rolls over and checks it immediately. She’s already smiling. Downstairs in the lobby ten minutes later Irene steps in wearing a black leather jacket and with her hair tied back and waves Seulgi over to the minibar at the far end of the big room. ‘Hey,’ Seulgi says, sitting beside her. She takes a glance around and finds it quiet enough to lean over and kiss Irene on the cheek softly. Irene doesn’t seem to care. In some strange reversal of roles it’s Seulgi that has become more cautious, more alert. Irene only sits there and sips her beer.

‘What is it with us and doing this?’ Seulgi says.

‘Doing what?’

‘Drinking in the bar before a race. It’s like a ritual or something.’

‘I just like a drink sometimes. Clears my head. And it’s only a couple.’

‘I missed you today.’

‘I missed you too,’ Irene says. ‘How are you feeling? Nervous?’

‘Kind of. More after last week. A lot more, honestly. I still don’t know how you manage it.’

‘You’ve just got to believe in yourself.’

‘But—’

‘It’s not as easy at that. I know. I’ve had people say the same thing to me before. It’s a lot harder than it sounds. It was one of the last things that came to me. But it you can have that proper belief in yourself, at all times, you can do anything. It’s only when you start to doubt yourself that you start to make mistakes. You start to slip up. And hell, Bahrain wasn’t even your fault.’

‘It might’ve been.’

‘It wasn’t. Trust me. Trust your team. You’ll ace it this weekend. I know you will. I know you. And you’re amazing.’

Seulgi breaks into an accidental smile that lights up her whole face. She takes a sip of the beer Irene bought for her and pivots on her stool so she’s sat leaning against the countertop and watching the warm evening through the glass windows along the front of the lobby. A waiter moves casually between the tables picking up empty glasses and stale bottles and piling them into a rubber crate. ‘It’s so pretty out there,’ Seulgi says.

‘You fancy going for a walk?’

‘Sure. Where to?’

‘Anywhere. Down to my hotel, maybe?’

‘Wherever,’ Seulgi says, and it’s the truth. They finish their beers and walk side by side down past the end of the hotel, to the corner of the street and across in the quiet traffic and down the avenue to where Irene’s hotel is. The ochre sun sits square to the west and falls behind them in a languid arc and is lost to the night. They never say a word. Seulgi savours the silence. She thinks about Bahrain again and then she thinks about what Irene said and what Irene has said many a time before and it all begins to slowly sink in, what she actually means, how strong she is to have gone through it all. Four world championships don’t come free. The toll extracted is both obvious and unavoidable. But perhaps this is different. Perhaps this is the start of something new, for both of them. When they’re sat on one of the low walls outside the lobby of Irene’s hotel Irene takes a packet of candy sticks from her jacket pocket and holds them out. ‘Want one?’ she says.

‘Where did you get them?’

‘In my pocket.’

Seulgi laughs. ‘You know,’ she says, ‘this was the first thing you did when you first talked to me last year. I don’t know why I remember that. I just do.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You offered me a candy stick.’

‘I just like candy sticks,’ Irene says with a shrug. ‘Nothing deeper in it. I just like the taste of them.’

‘I thought you were a smoker. Pretty stupid assumption, no?’

‘Honestly? Kind of.’

‘Yeah, well. Give me one.’

She hands one to Seulgi and Seulgi bites it in half and chews. She takes a minute to just stare at Irene, totally unaware she’s being observed at all. So elegant in the slender light. Perhaps she should be thinking about the upcoming race. About how the Apex has the advantage on a circuit with so many tight corners. But instead all she can manage to think is: God, I’m so lucky.

Irene bites into another candy stick and puts the carton back in her pocket with a sigh. ‘You want to grab something to eat?’ she says.

‘What time is it?’

‘Just gone ten.’

‘I should probably get back. Got a bunch of stuff to be doing tomorrow.’

‘Uh huh.’

A moment of silence. Then Seulgi says with a shrug, ‘I could grab something quickly. Does your hotel have a café?’

‘Yeah.’

They sit by the window sipping coffee and eating sandwiches in quiet. The low red lights look like neon ringed around the room and apart from a couple unaware patrons they’re entirely alone. It takes Seulgi a lot of courage to speak her mind. She puts the coffeecup down on her saucer and says, ‘Are you happy?’

‘What? What sort of a question is that?’

‘I was just wondering.’

‘Yeah, I’m happy. Why?’

‘Like I said, just wondering.’

‘Where did that come from?’

Seulgi ponders it. The truth isn’t something she’s eager to part with, but Irene can see through her very easily. ‘It’s just this,’ she says. ‘All of this.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Us.’

Irene motions for her to continue.

‘I don’t like,’ Seulgi says.

‘What?’

‘Wait. That came out wrong. Very wrong. Ignore that.’

‘I will, don’t worry.’

‘I meant I don’t like how we have to hide away all the time. I barely even get time to see you anymore. Even when we head back to Korea I get, what? A day? Two? And then it’s off to some press conference or back to the offices, and then it’s six hours to see you again if we’re lucky, and then it’s another flight.’

‘I know.’

‘I just…I wish we could be more open about it. I really do.’

‘So do I,’ Irene says gently. ‘But you know we can’t. Not now, at least. Not for a while.’

‘How long?’

‘I don’t know.’ She sips her coffee. Her eyes are on the window. When she turns back to Seulgi she’s smiling a slight. ‘Are you not happy?’ she says.

‘Yeah, I am. I’m very happy. And very lucky. And I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. I love racing and always will. But…you know.’

‘Yeah. I know.’

The question remains at the back of Seulgi’s mind, the one she won’t ever ask, because she can’t. The weight of it would bury them both. It’s a question she’s not sure she even wants Irene to answer, or even wants to answer herself. It asks her: If you could give it all up – the pole positions, the Grand Prix wins, the racing itself – for a chance at a normal life together, would you? Would you give it up, just like that? Could you?

And in brutal and oft-thought honesty she realises if she were to ask herself that question the answer would be brief and final: I don’t know.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Irene asks.

She forces a little smile and shakes her head. ‘Nothing. Just the race. About what I’m going to do.’

‘You’re good around Spain.’

‘I know. I was good last year. I’m feeling confident.’

‘But?’

‘But what? I didn’t say anything.’

‘There was a But at the end of that sentence. You just hadn’t said it.’

‘You know me too well,’ Seulgi says.

‘Well.’

‘But I’m not as confident as I was last week. And I know that you’re going to tell me – I need to have confidence in myself – but that’s going to take a long time. It’s funny, really.’

‘What is?’

‘After testing a month ago I thought I’d got it all figured out. I thought because I went out there and did a few decent laps in the rain that I’d resolved it all in my head. That I was never going to have any doubts about myself again. I guess Bahrain was a rude wakeup call for me.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘It’s true.’

‘Do you want to know what I think? In honesty.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says.

Irene pushes her saucer to one side. ‘I think you’re incredible,’ she says. ‘I think you’ve got exactly what it takes to win the championship this year. You just need to find that inner strength to be able to pull it all together in the end. Like I said, you’ve got that spark. That thing nobody else does.’

‘You’re just saying that.’

‘Am I?’ And before Seulgi can answer, she nods somewhere toward the front of the café and says, ‘Heads up.’

‘What?’

She points toward Yeri coming their way. She’s dressed in a casual black shirt and jeans and waves at them.

‘Does she know?’

‘Yeah,’ Irene says. ‘She knows.’

‘And she’s okay with it? With us?’

‘Why would she not be?’

Before Seulgi can answer Yeri sits herself down beside Irene and sets her Styrofoam coffeecup on the table. ‘Evening, lovebirds,’ she says.

‘Hi. Good to see you again.’

‘You too. It’s been too long.’

Seulgi only smiles.

‘What are you up to? I’m not interrupting anything, am I? Because I can totally go if I am. I get it.’

‘No,’ Irene says. ‘You’re cool.’

‘Sweet.’ She peels the lid off her coffee and blows on it a couple times. ‘So, how are we doing this fine evening?’

‘Not too bad.’

‘Is that it? Am I not going to get anything more out of you?’

‘Like what?’

Yeri shrugs. ‘Sorry about last week,’ she says to Seulgi.

‘It’s okay,’ Seulgi says. ‘Thanks.’

‘Tough luck, honestly. You drove a great race.’

‘Thanks. I thought so too. Congrats on third.’

‘Yeah. It is what it is. I’ve got a good feeling about this season.’

‘I feel like everyone’s said that.’

‘Must be a good sign or something. Dunno. This coffee’s good.’

To this Seulgi says nothing. There’s nothing much to say. She looks at Irene but Irene is elsewhere, thoughts in the clouds. ‘So,’ Yeri says, ‘how’s Joy?’

‘Joy’s good.’

‘How are you?’

‘I’m good.’

‘Damn.’

‘What?’

‘I feel like I’m intruding or something. Like, I’ve made things awkward. I can go, really.’

‘You haven’t. There’s just not much to talk about.’

‘Suppose you’re right. Apart from the coffee, I guess. And the race, but I suppose you don’t want to hear about that right now.’

‘Not unless you’re willing to give me all your secrets.’

‘Sorry,’ Yeri says with a mischievous grin. ‘That would be telling. And I can’t do that, can I now?’

‘I should probably get back,’ Seulgi says. It isn’t to Yeri and it catches Irene’s attention instead. She nods almost solemnly, as if the prospect of their short time together ending has inflicted a heavy toll. ‘Me too,’ she says.

‘Are you not both going to stay?’ Yeri asks.

‘Stay where?’

‘Here. And have a couple drinks with me.’

‘Probably not.’

‘You’re no fun. Either of you. Which maybe makes you right for each other. I dunno.’

‘You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?’

‘Tell who? And tell them what?’

‘You know.’

She shakes her head. ‘Why would I do that?’

They think about it. Seulgi makes a sign as if to say: Good point.

‘I guess I’ll see you both on Friday, then. Well, not you, Irene. I’ll see you tomorrow. But you.’

‘Guess so,’ Seulgi says. Before she can say anything else Yeri gives her a little mock salute and a cheeky smile and leaves them alone. In the silence that follows Seulgi fiddles with her fingers nervously.

‘Sorry about that,’ Irene says.

‘Nothing to be sorry about. I like her.’

‘Me too. She’s a lot less awkward than I am. Helps clear the tension.’

‘I know what you mean. She seems in good spirits.’

‘She told me last week she’s feeling better than ever. Said she feels like she’s been upgraded in the break.’

‘Do you think she’ll win?’

‘Honestly?’

Seulgi nods.

‘No. I don’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Did you mean the race, or the championship?’

‘Either. Both.’

‘She could win the race,’ Irene says. ‘I don’t think she’ll win the championship. Remember what I said last year, about her having the fire and the passion and the talent but not that special something to take it one step further?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, it’s still there. On any given day she’s good enough to be the fastest person on the circuit. But not on every day. And that’s the problem. Consistency is key. Quantity over quality. But she’ll grow. She’s still young. I look at her sometimes and I can’t believe just how young she is.’

‘Youngest ever.’

‘I know. Crazy.’

Seulgi sips her coffee. It tastes cold and bitter and stale. ‘I should get going,’ she says. ‘Got a lot of stuff to work through. I need to concentrate this weekend.’

‘Sure. Good luck with everything. I love you.’

‘Love you too.’

She leans across the table and kisses Irene and Irene kisses her back, warm and comforting and full of that same love. It occurs only after, in a brief moment of panic, that they’re not being that careful at all, that perhaps someone could be watching them. But this is what their life has become – quiet and forbidden kisses in late-night restaurants and small and comfortable encounters amid the whirlwind of their careers. For better or for worse.

Thursday and Friday pass by like nothing at all. Even during practice on Friday she’s thinking about that kiss in the café, the good and the bad in it. The good – the taste of Irene’s lips, the smell of her perfume, how right it felt. The bad – what if someone had seen them? A photographer outside? A stray fan in the lobby entrance? The bartender? What of the consequences then? It weighs on her so heavily that in second practice she runs the car wide at the sweeping turn three and gives the grass a premature t for the spring season with the underside of her front wing.

Trundling back into the pitlane she thinks about it again. The others are all out on the circuit. One of the Renaults flies by and Seulgi sees the bright yellow paintwork vanish into the sun like a ghost car. Wendy taps her on the side of the helmet when she’s parked up in the garage and waves at her. ‘You good?’ she says.

‘I think so.’

‘Nice bit of handiwork there.’

‘You mean running onto the grass?’

‘Yeah. Did the caretakers’ job for them.’

‘I didn’t mean to. I just got a bit distracted.’

Wendy shrugs. ‘Don’t sweat it,’ she says. ‘That’s what practice is for, right? Finding the limits of the car and then making sure to not cross them for tomorrow. And for the race.’

‘Sure.’

‘How did it feel?’

‘Good,’ Seulgi says, and it’s the truth. Away from thoughts of Irene the day has been very solid. The car carries with it a brutal and terrifying accuracy in the corners, almost as if it’s on rails, carried along the circuit by sheer force of will. Here the straight-line speed doesn’t matter as much as Bahrain, or Baku in two weeks’ time. She peels off her helmet and tosses it onto one of the dollies and wipes the sweat from her forehead.

‘It should be a good weekend,’ Wendy says. ‘For you and for the team.’

‘I hope so. I don’t know, though. Maybe they’re not showing their full speed again. Hiding something from us.’

‘Maybe so. I doubt it, though. But we’ll see tomorrow. You fancy a drink tonight?’

Seulgi shakes her head. Thoughts of Irene still mire her in moments like this. ‘I just want to focus on tomorrow,’ she says, half the truth and half not. ‘I don’t think drinking is what I want to be doing. Maybe Sunday, if I do well.’

‘When you do well, you mean.’

‘I really admire your optimism sometimes.’

‘You should adopt it,’ Wendy says. ‘That’s your biggest weakness, although I’m sure you know that already. After testing I thought maybe you’d overcome it.’

‘So did I.’

‘What happened? Not quite there yet?’

‘Something like that. It’s hard, Wendy. Really hard. I can’t just turn off the self-doubt and the criticism.’

‘I know,’ Wendy says. She offers a comforting smile, the one Seulgi loves seeing so much because it never fails to put her at ease. ‘All you can ever do is your best. In anything.’

‘And if that’s not enough?’

‘It will be.’

‘But if it isn’t?’

‘Then at least you tried. Look, stop stressing, okay?’

Seulgi manages a faint smile. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Yeah. I will. See you tomorrow.’

Friday night is quiet and without Irene.

Saturday morning is the same. By the time qualifying is ready to begin Seulgi hasn’t seen her at all and perhaps it’s for the best, because as she coasts through into the second part of qualifying all she’s thinking about – for once – is the race ahead of her. She eases through into the final round of qualifying with a solid but not spectacular lap, but it’s good enough to help acclimatise herself to the circuit fully. Spain isn’t great, but Seulgi is.

‘Here goes nothing,’ Wendy says over the radio. She eases through turns fourteen and fifteen and onto the straight to begin her final flying lap. This one counts. The crowd are on their feet as she hurtles past fast enough to make her head spin in the cockpit. Turns one and two are a tricky right-left complex that Seulgi has never been able to get right and this lap is no different. She knows it immediately.

‘,’ she mutters, catching too much kerb. She’s slow only a little but it costs her. The first half of her lap is out of balance, the car’s equilibrium ever so slightly disturbed. Turns ten through twelve are good enough to make up some lost time but she’s sure the lap isn’t great. The fans are out in force even in the mild heat. On the main straight she activates DRS and holds her breath. Silence. Only the engine and thousands of screaming fans. Then Wendy in her ear saying, ‘Good lap.’

‘Could’ve been better.’

‘Yeah,’ Wendy admits. ‘It could’ve been.’

‘Just tell me.’

‘P3.’

‘. Who’s one and two?’

‘Yeri and Irene. In that order.’

‘Yeri’s on pole?’

‘Yeah,’ Wendy says. ‘Bet you didn’t expect that.’

‘How good was my lap?’

‘Four tenths off pole. It’s tight out there.’

‘Not that tight, clearly.’

‘Hey, chin up. The race is long. And you know what they say – tomorrow is where the points are won.’

‘We’ll see,’ Seulgi says, not entirely convinced herself. She says goodbye to everyone and finishes the interview and heads on back to the hotel alone. She’s alone all night. Irene wasn’t lying when she said she would be busy, and the thought of their time apart has Seulgi lying on her bed and mulling it all over again. Her own lack of self-confidence is something she’s been aware of for a long time and that makes it much harder to fully accept. As if ignorance of it would almost be preferable, or at least less frustrating. By the time she falls asleep a couple hours later she’s still thinking of Irene, of the race, of both.

The sun is white and enormous in the early afternoon and everything has that special quality to it that feels so very alive. On the grid for the formation lap her hands are trembling again with adrenaline. It smells of motor oil and rubber and vaguely of the fresh air. The two Samsungs weave and glimmer in the light. Waiting for the lights she glimpses Irene and thinks about giving a thumbs up and thinks better of it almost immediately.

‘Okay,’ Wendy says, as she often does. Nothing else needs to be said. The strategy is straightforward and simple and it’s all down to her. Three lights on the board. Irene in her head. Four lights and it’s the race again. Five lights. Irene Irene Irene. Then the lights go out and she pulls away in a cloud of tiresmoke and everything disappears around her.

By turn five on the first lap she’s still in third, trailing just behind Irene. Joy is all over her from behind. Three laps later and nothing’s changed. By lap nine Irene has pulled out a small gap and Yeri is way off in the lead and the sun beats hotter and Seulgi has to fight to keep from going dry. The car feels good still, but something is off. The confidence is gone. Bahrain has had an effect and she knows it better than anyone. Corners that could be taken late are taken ten metres before, inside lines are avoided out of fear of something going wrong, a spin or a crash or something more serious.

‘Seulgi,’ she hears crackle in her ear.

‘What?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘You’re losing a bit of time.’

‘How much?’

‘About half a second to Irene ahead of you.’

‘,’ she mutters. She slows too quickly for turn ten and her head throbs and it’s all too bright and too warm. ‘Wendy, what’s the gap?’

‘Seven seconds to Irene.’

‘What about Yeri?’

‘Focus on Irene for now.’

‘Just tell me.’

A pause. Irene’s Samsung peels away and is lost along the straight. Then Wendy says, ‘About eleven seconds. A bit more.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Just keep your head down. It’s a long race.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘I said just keep focus.’

‘The tires don’t feel too good. I think I should box.’

‘Stay out,’ Wendy says.

‘Why?’

‘Because the plan was to go long and overcut them.’

‘I don’t think it’ll work.’

‘Seulgi.’

She sighs, though nobody can hear it. Irene and Yeri are slowly pulling away. She’s a comfortable third but it doesn’t matter because third isn’t first. It’s a loss, again. Korea, Bahrain, Spain. All identical. There are sixty-laps. By lap twenty-four she’s still there, eight and a half seconds behind Irene, twelve behind Yeri. The crowd cheer and she pays them no attention. Her laps are sloppy and her tires all over the place. An apex missed at Repsol, too much apex at turn five. A lap later Irene pits for new tires and a lap after that she inherits the lead of the race when Yeri comes into the pits too.

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘When do I pit?’

‘Stay out for now.’

‘This is ing ridiculous. These tires don’t have much more to give.’

‘Just stay out.’

‘Why? What for? I’m losing time out here, Wendy. Wendy, talk to me.’

She knows what the reason is. The truth is hard to hear. That she’s too slow to catch them even with new tires, so they’re hoping for a miracle. Hoping for something much worse than that. She grips the wheel so tight part of her thinks it might come off in her hands. Thinking: This is stupid. I’ve thrown away this race. We all have.

But two laps later, she gets her miracle.

‘Okay,’ Wendy says, full of static and distant. ‘Okay, thank god.’

Seulgi glances down at the LED on her wheel, the big black text warning her to slow down and stick to the delta. ‘Safety car,’ she says. ‘What happened?’

‘Yeri went off back there at turn nine.’

‘What? Are you kidding me?’

There’s no response for a minute.

‘Wendy. Wendy, what do I do?’

‘Box now. Box now.’

She trundles slowly down the pitlane. The new medium tires are on and she’s out and it’s all good. She isn’t smiling yet. The luxury of smiling at such absurd luck seems very premature. Under normal circumstances her pitstop would have put her ten seconds behind Irene, but the safety car is not normal circumstances, and as she comes out of the pitlane and back up to the delta speed she’s still in the lead, the safety car just ahead of her, Irene behind, weaving to keep heat in her tires.

‘Keep it together for the restart,’ Wendy says, stating the obvious. The safety car does two more laps. The tension is awful. Seulgi feels it in her very bones. She gets the message that the safety car is about to pull in and suddenly it’s all on her again, ready to set the pace, the racing beginning as soon as she puts her foot down and wills it so. In her mirror she catches sight of the snake of cars queuing up. They’re all as anxious as she is. It’s Irene in second, Joy in third, the others. Not that any of it matters. She slows down to a crawl at turn fifteen and powers out with her foot hard to the floor for the main straight and prays.

It’s good enough. She’s caught Irene asleep for a moment. The gap by turn one is more than a second and she’s out of DRS range and the new tires feel much better, the car balanced again. Time to reset. She floors it out of the kink at turn eight and checks and Irene is a second and a half behind. The crowd watch her go by. She’s smiling again, not a wide smile and not at all like in Bahrain but a momentary glimpse of elation and relief at her absurdly good luck. Ten laps pass and then a further ten. Wendy is mostly silent in her ear. Occasionally she chimes in to remind Seulgi to change the ERS settings or turn down the engine to allow it a chance to cool or to ask about the tires but otherwise, nothing.

Three laps before the end and she’s pulled out a three second gap. It’s barely anything, but her tires are in better condition than Irene’s and it’s good enough. She thinks about it breaking down again and the possibility of that has her hands shaking. Even when she crosses the line to win her first race since Monaco last year she’s still wary of it dying and leaving her with nothing once more.

‘That’s how we do it!’ Wendy says. ‘What a race. Amazing drive out there.’

‘I got lucky.’

‘You won, Seulgi.’

‘Not through skill.’

‘You kept the lead, didn’t you?’

‘That’s beside the point. I shouldn’t have won today.’

Wendy is silent. Then she says, ‘We’ll talk in the garage. Well done today. Really well done.’

The podium celebrations aren’t as sweet as they should be.

She smiles and poses for the cameras and pops the champagne and pours it over Irene’s head but all of it feels a little hollow, like a victory won in a dream, entirely undeserved. Perhaps it is deserved. Perhaps Wendy was right. Seulgi neglects to think on it. It isn’t until she’s outside the hotel lobby that she allows the smile to fade and the fatigue to take over. The steps up to her room are slow and heavy, the sourest victory of her career so far, and the reality of that is startling. Even America felt better than this.

The knock at her door twenty minutes later shakes her from her wallowing. She opens the door to Wendy slumped a slight, a huge pack of beers in her arms, smiling weakly. ‘You mind letting me in?’ she says. ‘This is pretty heavy.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Figured you might need a pick-me-up, despite…you know. Winning.’

Seulgi looks about, hand on the door. Irene is already on her way back to Korea. It’ll be forty-eight hours before they see each other again. She never even had the chance to say goodbye beyond a text. ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Come in.’

Wendy sets the pack of beers down and takes one and plucks off the cap with her room key. ‘You want one?’ she says.

‘No. I’m good.’

‘Go on. Just one.’

Seulgi takes a beer and drinks with a wince. ‘Maybe I should get drunk,’ she mumbles. ‘Might help clear my head.’

‘You know, I’ve never seen a Grand Prix winner look glummer in my life. It’s almost remarkable.’

‘Sorry.’

‘You drove a good race today.’

‘No I didn’t, and you know I didn’t. Not at all. If there were no safety car I’d have finished in third. I had no pace at all today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like all the confidence winter testing gave me has just evaporated. Just all ran away. Like I’m back to square one. I thought I’d gotten over this last year.’

Wendy observes her from across the room like an animal in a zoo.

‘What?’ Seulgi says. ‘What is it? Is there something on my face?’

‘Something’s got you like this,’ Wendy says, beer in hand. ‘And I don’t mean the race.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘C’mon, Seulgi. I know you. I’ve known you for, what? Nearly twenty years? What’s up?’ And before Seulgi can reply, she says, ‘Is it Irene?’

‘What? How did you— I mean…’

‘It is, isn’t it?’

Seulgi shrugs. The beer suddenly looks very unappealing.

‘Go on, then.’

‘What?’

‘What is it?’

‘I don’t know. I just…I don’t know. I can’t describe it. It’s impossible.’

‘Is that it? Is it just Irene?’

‘No,’ Seulgi admits. ‘It’s the race, too. It’s both. That’s the worst part. My mind feels like it’s torn between both and I don’t know which to try and solve first, and the problem is I’m trying to do both at once. I don’t know how that’s possible. All it’s doing is making it worse. And I can’t describe it. It’s childish of me.’

‘What is?’

‘Me and Irene.’

Wendy motions for her to continue and she does.

‘The fact we’ve got to be so…unlike a couple. So inconspicuous. I mean, I understand it, but I don’t like it. And I don’t like how little I see her. But I know that’s childish of me, like I said. I understand it.’

‘I don’t think it’s childish. I think it’s natural and normal. It’s a good thing. And it’s an even better thing that you realise why it’s the way it is.’

‘I know. But I don’t like it.’ She takes a pull of her beer and sighs. ‘Maybe I should just focus on the racing for now. Try and get that under control first.’

‘I think that’s a good idea. And maybe you should talk to her. Let her know how you feel.’

‘Probably.’

‘Are you going to?’

‘At some point, yeah. But not right now. I need to get my head in the game.’

‘I think that’s also a good idea,’ Wendy says with a laugh. ‘You want another beer?’

‘Not really.’

‘Want me to leave you alone?’

‘I don’t mind,’ Seulgi says truthfully. ‘I’m not in a rush or anything.’

‘Figured you should get some rest,’ says Wendy. When she’s by the door she smiles back at Seulgi and it’s a modicum of momentary comfort. ‘You drove well today. Really. I mean it, luck or not. You capitalised and you won and that’s what counts. And you’re right back in there with a shot.’

‘Thanks. Really. I’ll see you in Baku.’

‘Well, you’ll see me tomorrow. And next week in Korea. But sure, Baku too. Technically speaking. Oh, hey wait. You gonna give me my beers back?’

Seulgi offers only a cheeky shrug in response. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘Consider it a tax.’

‘Tax for what?’

‘Don’t know. See you in Baku.’