AUTHOR'S NOTE: One more chapter to go :) Enjoy!

Chapter Theme:

Penguin Prison - The Worse It Gets (RAC Remix)

It isn’t until she’s all the way in the third-position grid slot and the engine is humming and the car rattles softly around her that Irene stops thinking about Seulgi. She isn’t thinking about anything but the race ahead of her. It’s perhaps her most defining trait that she can oscillate so quickly from her newfound domestic warmth and openness into the cold racer of old, a sort of strange and wickedly effective dichotomy of being. Her gloved hands are tight on the wheel. The other cars all pull up behind her and the crowd are on their feet and she’s nervous but no more than she’s ever been for a Formula 1 race and the thrill of it all, new and unique and treacherous, has her heart racing madly.

Last night she only did six laps. The truth of that hits her only when the man with the chequered flag waves it over the side of the balcony on the right and signals the beginning of their warmup parade lap. She takes it slowly, getting a feel for the way the car handles in the slower corners, how the accelerates jolts the rear and the wheels almost plead with her to be allowed to spin and the turbochargers work overtime. The transmission is sequential manual, the clutch automatic, but much slower than her Formula 1 car. Seulgi was right. It does feel like they’re standing still.

Halfway around Spoon curve her radio crackles into life in a burst of static and on the other end is Seulgi saying, ‘Can you hear me? Radio check.’

‘Yeah, I hear you. Loud and clear.’

‘Okay, cool. Just checking. How are you feeling?’

‘Trying to work some heat through the tires. But otherwise the car feels okay, I think. We’ll have to see. I don’t think I did enough practice last night.’

‘You’ll be fine.’

‘Yeah,’ Irene says. She’s entirely unaware she’s smiling for no good reason at all. Just the sound of Seulgi’s voice in soft support. How much that voice has come to mean to her over the past two years or so. The parade of cars meanders around 130R and to the chicanes at Casio and slowly down toward the starting line. She says to Seulgi, ‘I’ve never done a rolling start before.’

‘Neither have I. But it can’t be much different from a standing one. Just watch for the green flags, I guess.’

‘Yeah, will do. Three hours, right?’

‘Give or take. Good luck. I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ Irene says. They’re already halfway down the straight and her foot is itching to get on the accelerator but the man with the flag has it lowered and he’s checking his watch and looking around and not doing anything at all. The crowd are restless. They’re all out of their seats and the cameras are out and most of them are on the number five car, for obvious reasons. The burble of the V8s is deafening, much louder than their F1 cars. They roll slowly across the line and Irene’s eyes are on the man and he waves the green flag and her foot is to the floor and she’s grinning and fighting back a little laugh at the madness of it all and the car almost gets away from her on the straight. So much so that she brakes a slight too late and has to slam her foot on the pedal to get it to do much of anything and she loses a good five or six positions already.

The other cars go soaring past, Audi R8s and custom McLarens and a handful of NISMO Nissans in GT bodykits and race trim. She throws the car through the S curves and around Dunlop and through the Degners and she has to fight with it every step of the way and it all feels so new and different and unbelievable. The car is a great paradox of design, simultaneously very heavy and weighing nothing at all. The backend kicks about and the wheels spin and she almost loses it at Spoon and the braking points are so different and it’s half an hour later when the first message comes through the radio. It’s Joy amid the static, saying, ‘How are you feeling out there, champ?’

‘Okay for now. I keep messing up the braking points. I keep forgetting the brakes are nowhere near as good as in F1 and I’m overshooting everything. Carrying too much speed into the corners. I know I am. How are the times?’

A small silence as she sails through the long and sweeping 130R. In her Samsung she would have taken it flat on the throttle at three hundred kilometres an hour but here in the Mercedes she’s forced to lift and coast in fifth gear and brake a slight just before the far apex as Joy cuts back in to say, ‘Your last few laps have been all around two minutes seven. So, not great, but not terrible. You’re still eighth in class.’

‘What about the class leaders? What times are they doing?’

‘About three seconds a lap quicker.’

‘. Are you serious?’

‘Hey, don’t sweat it. You’re only half an hour in. We’ve got, what, twenty-three hours to go? And these guys are all seasoned pros. This is your first ever in a GT car. Except last night, of course.’

‘Alright,’ Irene says, the focus returning. ‘No more talking for a while. I can do this.’

‘Whatever you say. Go get ‘em.’

She doesn’t know how long it takes, but it comes to her. Catching the braking zones better and earlier on the throttle in the S curves and controlling the rear end and coasting when it’s safe to coast and treating the car how it should be treated – with respect and admiration and more than a little caution, as if holding it at arm’s length. It’s fifteen or so laps before she catches sight of two of the other GT3s ahead of her, both of them a slight slower as they shift around turn one and towards the S curves again. She says, ‘What are my times? And theirs?’

‘Alright,’ Joy says. ‘Your last five laps have all been in the two minute four second range. And the two ahead of you are a good two seconds slower. Dunno why. Maybe they’re running into tire issues or something. Speaking of which.’

‘Yeah, they feel good still. I haven’t noticed any issues.’

‘Well, keep it up.’

Two laps later she’s narrowed the gap to less than three seconds and slowing to start her next lap at Casio Triangle one of the Audis flicks across the kerb too hard and almost spins and suddenly the gap is down to barely over a second. The crowd cheer her by with Samsung banner and flags with her face printed on them and they’re all waving and hollering and Seulgi jumps onto the radio to say, gently, ‘You can do it. I believe in you.’

It’s the confidence booster she needs. The Audi is strong in a straight line but she’s far better on the brakes, a lifetime of experience coming into play so quickly, an afternoon of having learnt what to do and what not to do, and she switches to the outside line and swings the car wide around turn one and holds her speed and the crowd gasp and the Audi is forced at last to slow and give up the position and Irene is ahead amid a sea of cheers.

‘Yes!’ Seulgi says. ‘Amazing. That was amazing driving.’

All Irene can do is smile and drive. The sky remains grey and sick but it does not rain and when she pulls into the pitlane ninety minutes later she’s up to sixth place and her lap times have been steady. The pitstop isn’t anything like it is in F1 either. No two-second holdup for new tires and then a release. Instead she pulls into the narrow gap outside the garage and climbs out and Joy is already halfway into the seat before she can say anything. The mechanics switch out the tires and fix up the fuel hose and nozzle. It stinks of gasoline and burnt rubber. The tread on her old tires is worn almost to the wheelrim. She takes off her helmet and gloves and tosses them on the table and Seulgi passes her a towel to wipe herself down with and says, ‘That was an amazing three hours. Really really amazing.’

‘Thanks.’

‘How did it feel?’

‘Felt great. I feel like I was really understanding the car by the end of it.’

‘Yeah, it looked like it.’ Seulgi just smiles at her, sweaty and exhausted as she is. It’s a smile that Irene wants for all the world to capture as a snapshot and store forever. The cameras are just outside watching as Joy pulls out of the pitlane to begin her stint and a handful of uninvited visitors might see them and so she’s cautious not to be too blatant, but the temptation outweighs the risk, if only barely. So she throws the towel aside and grins and kisses her hand and presses it to Seulgi’s lips in a sort of forbidden secondhand contact kiss that has Seulgi blushing and smiling again.

‘God,’ Yeri murmurs, ‘you’re so sweet you make me sick.’

‘Sorry.’

Yeri only shrugs. She’s sat reclining on one of the pullout chairs and reading something from a motoring magazine and helping herself to a big bag of potato chips. ‘I’m gonna get so fat from this weekend,’ she mumbles through a handful. ‘So fat.’

Irene checks the timing screen and the scoreboards. The timer reads twenty hours and fifty-eight minutes to go. Outside the winter day has already dulled and the light is dim and sallow and the sun little more than a plastercast hub in the sky and it smells of the impending rain. ‘What’s the weather forecast?’ she asks.

‘Still for this evening,’ says Seulgi. ‘It’s expected to hit when I’m out on track. So, yay me.’

‘Couldn’t think of a better driver to be out there for it.’

Seulgi grins, partly embarrassed and partly proud of herself. The next two hours pass by without any fuss or fanfare. Joy’s times are as good and as consistent as Irene’s – two minutes and three seconds, lap after lap. The little tracking screen reads sixty laps, then seventy-five, then ninety. By lap one hundred and twenty they’re sat at the back of the garage crammed around a foldaway table playing chess. Irene waits. When Yeri has moved her last pawn she makes a show of picking up her own queen and shifting it over and saying, ‘Checkmate.’

‘Bull. How’d you do that?’

‘How did you not see it?’

‘Is there anything you’re not annoyingly good at?’

‘Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe you’re just not very good at chess. I’d beat Seulgi, too.’

At this Seulgi only nods in agreement. ‘I’m heading out to grab something to eat,’ she says. ‘Do you want anything?’

‘Something sweet,’ Irene says.

‘Cool. Yeri?’

‘Grab me some more potato chips,’ says Yeri. ‘Like, three bags. I need the salt.’

‘Why?’

‘Electrolytes,’ she replies, as if it clarifies everything.

Seulgi comes back ten minutes to find them still playing chess, Yeri deep in thought and Irene browsing her phone between moves and glancing occasionally at the timing screens to see Joy as consistent as ever, up into fifth place and only half a lap behind the fourth-place driver. ‘How many times have you beaten her?’ Seulgi asks. She dumps a handful of packets of chips and candy bars on the table beside the chess board.

‘Three,’ says Irene.

Yeri rips open the top of a bag and stuffs a hand in and says, ‘One of them didn’t count. I wasn’t paying attention. But the other two…yeah. Why did you not get salt and vinegar?’

‘You didn’t ask for salt and vinegar.’

‘Well…whatever. Thanks.’

‘How’s she doing?’

‘Doing good. Got about half an hour left. You ready?’

‘I guess I’ll have to be,’ Seulgi says, and it’s the truth. The sky has dimmed to a deep purple and there is no more sun and soon it will be dark completely. So she says, ‘I’ve never driven in the dark before. Not, like, professionally.’

‘Neither have I.’

‘Nor me,’ says Irene. ‘Well, at Bahrain and Singapore, sure. And Abu Dhabi. But they were under the lights. This is different. You’ll be fine, though. I know you will be. You can do it.’

Seulgi smiles warmly. They’re sat playing chess and occasionally checking on the timing boards when Joy’s voice crackles into life over the radio to say, ‘Hope you’re ready for this, Seulgi. It’s just started to rain.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘I’ve just seen it on the windscreen. You better have your best wet weather driving shoes on.’

Seulgi looks at Irene and Irene only nods. As if to reassure her of everything entirely. ‘Hey,’ Yeri says, ‘you’re lucky you’ve only got the rain. I’ve got the rain and the night. So, yeah. But don’t worry. I’m a—’

‘Ferrari driver?’ Irene says.

‘I was going to say I’m a very adaptable person. But yeah, I’m also a Ferrari driver. Thanks for reminding me. Anyway, what’s the plan? Have we sorted that yet? Seulgi drives until 9 PM, then I drive until midnight, then…what? Who then? You again?’

‘We’ll ask Joy when she gets back. Seulgi, are you ready?’

Seulgi gives them a thumbs up and adjusts her helmet. The timing board reads 5:56 PM, two more laps for Joy. She fixes up her gloves and stands away from the others in the corner of the garage, a ritual of her own away from the world, zoning herself for what lies ahead. Thinking only: I can do this. C’mon, Seulgi, you’re champion of the world. This is yours for the taking.

Five minutes later the Mercedes pulls up in the pitbox outside and sits idling as Joy opens the door to climb out. There’s no time to waste. Irene looks at Seulgi for only a moment longer. Then she places an oddly tender kiss on the top of her helmet and says quietly, ‘Good luck. I love you. You’ve got this.’

‘Thanks.’

On the way out to the car Joy says to her, ‘You best watch it out there. It’s only gonna get worse. My times were dropping off by the end already.’

‘How bad?’

Joy only nods toward the sky. Seulgi steps out and feels it immediately even with her helmet and thick suit on. It’s a light shower but it smells of the coming storm and there’s no sign of it stopping and even the smell of gasoline has been washed away. She climbs into the seat and adjusts herself to the feeling of it. Her hands are jittering and the seat is already warm. Everything feels just that little bit more terrifying. The strangeness is that cooped up in the metal of the interior she’s much safer than in the open cockpit of Reve and yet everything holds a wretched sense of impending danger to it that she can’t shake. As if this madness of existence that is their Mercedes clings onto sanity only by a thread. A car composed by the mind of a madman.

‘Hey,’ Joy says over the radio, still sounding out of breath. ‘Radio check.’

‘Yeah, I’m here.’

‘Alright, just checking it still works, since you three were quiet for, like, two hours. I feel like we’re gonna be using this a lot tonight.’

Seulgi doesn’t bother with a reply. She pulls out of the pitlane and rejoins the circuit hammering down the straight against the last of the pinchbeck light like a phantom car chasing a sunset in a dream. The rattling of the car and the whine of the superheated brakes and the newfeeling tires as she slides through the S curves with just a slight less grip. The rain has made small dark marks like pebbles across the circuit. The first three laps are okay. The next five a slight better as she begins to adjust to it again. It’s perhaps both her and Irene’s greatest shared strength that they can adapt to any situation so readily and with such ease. So much so that half an hour later, and with the rain having picked up into a heavier shower, Joy’s on the radio again to say, ‘These times are really, really good. I knew you could do it.’

‘Talk to me.’

‘Okay, so your last two laps were two minutes eleven seconds. Given that it’s raining pretty badly out there, that’s, well…amazing, really. Faster than everyone else on the circuit by about a second per lap, and in a car you’ve never driven before. It’s almost like you’ve got a natural talent for this or something.’

‘Do you just want me to stick to this pace?’

‘If you can, yeah. Better safe than sorry.’

One thing Seulgi is thankful for is the fact the interior of the car means she’s dry and warm. A glance at the rainwater streaking down the windscreen and being swept away by the wipers is enough to tell her it’s a good thing to be thankful for. The car kicks out and skids about and she has to fight extra hard to control it at every possible turn but it’s nothing she hasn’t done before. Even so much heavier and slower the GT3 is somewhat comparable to her Reve. It’s all about getting a handle on the way it works. Taming it, she thinks. And another fifteen laps later, she thinks she’s just about tamed the Mercedes.

‘Hey,’ Irene says over the radio, voice soft and light and a welcome reprieve from the bitter downpour outside. ‘How are you feeling out there?’

‘Okay for now, but the tires are losing grip. I’m surprised they haven’t lost them already.’

‘Yeah, Joy told me they’re made differently from our F1 tires, which makes sense. They’re designed to withstand a lot more. But if you need to come in, you can. The leaders have all boxed for wet tires and fuel.’

‘I should probably do the same, then. What are my times looking like?’

‘Really good,’ Irene says, and Seulgi can practically see her smile through the radio. ‘Stick to what you’re doing now, if you can.’

‘I can. I know I can.’

‘Alright. Great work.’

She drives into the pits on the next lap and sits and waits for the new tires. Another thing she thinks is so different to F1. Here the tires are on and sorted in half a minute. With Reve, it’s less than three seconds. Half a dozen laps later on the grippier wet tires she runs almost dead into a wall of water at turn one and has to fight to stop the rear end from slipping out of control and putting her momentarily out of the race. As if the rain has come from nothing, materialised like it did in Korea months ago, on her day of crowning glory. Even at eight fifteen PM all she can make out of the road is the thin and pale cone of light from the headlamps and the red glare of the taillights of another car up ahead. None of the crowd at all. Driving blind and scared into the rain like a woman searching for salvation out there in the dark. Her hands are trembling on the steeringwheel again. Knowing she has another forty-five minutes of driving and then another three hours sometime later and a single mistake, for even half a second, could be the end for all of them.

‘Hey,’ she mutters through the radio. ‘Anyone there?’

It takes a while to hear a response. Then it’s Yeri saying, ‘What’s up?’

‘Where are the others?’

‘Playing chess. You need anything?’

‘Just wanted to say hi, is all.’

‘Damn. You getting bored out there or something?’

‘How are my laps looking?’

The same quiet as Yeri checks the board. Then she cuts back through the static to say, ‘Well, pretty good, if I do say so myself. You’re the second fastest GT3 out there on track. The fastest is the McLaren in first, but don’t worry about them. How is it out there?’

‘Terrifying. I can’t see a thing, Yeri. Like, nothing at all. One minute I’m accelerating on the straight and then it’s the corner and my foot’s on the brake and nothing’s happening. I’m just skidding. And it’s still raining. And going through 130R is a nightmare.’

‘Damn. Do you mind not telling me this, since I’m out next and all? Oh, no, never mind, don’t worry about me. No, not little old Yeri. I’m a Ferrari driver.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Anyway, keep up the good work. Not long to go now.’

She’s yawning before she even pulls up into the pits and gets slowly out of the car while they refuel and fit new tires. Her hands are cold even through the gloves and the rain dapples her helmet in the narrow light and she has to squint to see Yeri coming out of the garage and giving her a thumbs up. She gives a little thumbs up back. In the garage Irene and Joy are sat about playing with their phones and looking at the timing screens with concerned and curious expressions. Irene takes one look at her coming over and hands her a towel with a warm smile.

‘That was great,’ she says. ‘Really great. You put us about two minutes ahead of where we thought we’d need to be come the morning.’

‘Thanks. It felt really solid.’

‘Now,’ Joy says, ‘we wait on Yeri. Driving in the rain, all the way through until midnight.’

‘And then what?’

‘Let’s see how she does first. We’ve been talking about this while you were out there.’

‘And? What’s the verdict?’

‘Okay,’ Joy says, sitting down and pushing aside the empty chip packets on the table. ‘Whoever’s going out at night is gonna lose the most time – that much is obvious. And with the rain like this, they’re gonna lose even more. So, here’s the plan. Yeri’s out there until midnight at the earliest. After that, we’ve got another twelves hours, with each of us having to do – minimum – another two hours. But if one of us is clearly faster than the others, it’ll be better to have them for longer. As it stands right now, I’ve put in the slowest stint. Not by much, but I have. So, I’m thinking I go out just after midnight, I do my two-hour stint – that way all the time I lose will be negated by the fact that we’ll be losing time anyway, with the dark and the rain and stuff. Then we alternate between the three of you, through until morning, and then finish with whoever we think is best. So far it’s you, Irene, but we’ll see.’

It’s about an hour before they do indeed see. Glancing again at the timing boards and reading them and having to blink and wipe their eyes to ensure they haven’t by some strange circumstances fallen already into a dream. They’re still in fifth, but the gap is down from two minutes to thirty-four seconds, and Yeri is the fastest GT3 car on the circuit by more than three seconds a lap.

‘How is she doing that?’ Seulgi says.

Irene crosses her arms with a proud smile. ‘Guess we’ve found our fastest driver for the weekend,’ she says. ‘Damn.’

‘Seriously.’

‘In the rain and the dark, too. I told you, she’s got some serious skill. It’s just hidden by the fact that she’s always so jokey about it and stuff. And that she doesn’t yet have the consistency of you or me. Or Joy, for that matter. One weekend she’s untouchable, the next five she’s mediocre. Maybe Ferrari will actually do her some good.’

‘Or maybe they’ll steal her soul,’ Joy says. ‘Like I predicted they would.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘What if Charles is faster than her?’

‘Then I expect we’ll see some fireworks. But I don’t think he will be. More consistent? Maybe. But faster? Than Yeri? I don’t think there’s a person alive today that has the pure pace she does when she feels like it. Maybe Raikkonen, back when he was winning. But not me. Not Seulgi. No offence, of course.’

Seulgi smiles a soft and reassuring smile. ‘No,’ she says, ‘I know what you mean. But it’s not all about being straight-up the fastest.’

‘Exactly.’

‘It’s about— hey. Wait. Where’s my phone?’

Irene nods toward Joy, sat leaning back on one of the chairs with her eyes closed and her feet kicked up onto another seat.

‘Joy.’

‘Yeah,’ she hums without opening her eyes.

‘Where’s my phone?’

‘It’s on the desk behind me.’

‘Why did you have it?’

To this she makes no reply, arms folded behind her head. ‘She was texting Wendy,’ says Irene.

‘What?’

‘Yeah, she got bored about an hour into your stint and decided to text her. I don’t know what about. She deleted the messages after sending them. Maybe it was private. You’d have to ask one of them.’

‘How did she get into my phone without the passcode? Unless—’

‘Sorry,’ Irene says with a shrug. ‘She begged me. I couldn’t say no.’

Seulgi can only shake her head. To Joy, eyes still closed, half asleep, she says, ‘You could’ve just asked, you know? I could’ve set you up nicely with something.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Joy mumbles.

‘Sure. Whatever you say. But she would’ve said yes. Still would.’

‘Are you gonna let me get my beauty sleep or no?’

‘Changing the topic, I see. Nice.’

‘Hey,’ Irene says. ‘You fancy a game of chess?’

Seulgi thinks about it for a minute. Half of their team are asleep in the back. The other half might as well be. Outside the only light beyond the pitlane is a small ocean of cameraphones and flashlights out along the grassbanks from the crowd. She says, ‘Sure. Whatever.’

It’s ten minutes – and two losses at chess – later that Seulgi shrugs and shakes her head and mumbles, ‘I don’t feel like playing anymore.’

‘Well, whenever you feel like it we’ll play again. Maybe I can teach you a few things.’

‘God, do you have to be good at everything?’

‘That’s what Yeri said.’

The pout on Seulgi’s face is cute enough that Irene has to restrain herself from leaning over the table and cupping her cheeks and kissing her. Doing so would be unprofessional. And yet the thought remains, as does the smile. The timing boards run through their latest laps again and again. Irene takes a moment to look around and soak it all in. How different it feels, more like a family than ever. The thrill of a two-hour race in Formula 1 is world’s apart from this. Seulgi fighting to stay awake and Joy resting and Yeri still out there in the dark. A home away from home, she thinks, and she’s smiling again.

When Joy stirs from her rest and wipes her eyes and looks at the timing screens again it’s almost midnight. A cool wind blows and the rain has dimmed to nothing. ‘What happened to that storm?’ she says.

‘I don’t know,’ says Irene. ‘Guess it decided to hold off for the rest of the weekend.’

‘How is she doing?’

‘See for yourself.’

The timing boards have Joy doing a doubletake. Even Seulgi has to take a moment to ensure she’s not dreaming. Yeri is up into fourth place, half a minute away from a podium position, four seconds a lap quicker than everyone else even in the rain. ‘How is that possible?’ Joy asks.

‘I think you were right about her being our best driver in that car. This is one of those weekends where she’s unstoppable.’

‘What do we do, then? Seulgi says. Joy takes a minute to mull it over. The mechanics and pitcrew members shuffle past them with a new set of tires and the clock strikes midnight and Yeri is on her way around on her inlap. ‘Alright,’ Joy mutters. ‘Okay, here’s the plan.’

‘Go on.’

‘God, why do I have to be team strategist?’

‘This was all your idea.’

‘Wendy should be here. I miss her.’

‘Joy.’

‘Right. Yeah, sorry. So, Yeri’s our fastest driver, I’m the slowest, and you two are about even, give or take a couple tenths of a second. We’ve got twelve hours left and each of us have to do minimum two more hours each, right? So, my plan is that we put me back in the car right now for two hours and I’ll do the rest of my stint. That way I can be out and finished by two AM.’

‘Convenient.’

‘No, just listen. What I mean is, naturally everyone on the grid is gonna be slower in the dark, right? And in the rain, too. You can’t be comfortable out there with no lights. It’s terrifying.’

‘Yeah, tell me about it.’

‘Yeri seems alright,’ Irene says.

Joy nods. ‘She’s the best performing of the four of us right now, but she’d be even better in clearer conditions. If she could, y’know…see where she was going. If we leave her in there in the middle of the night, we’re wasting her potential. And our potential as a team. So, I’m thinking we drop me in the car now – that way, the time lost driving in the night will be less than if, say, Yeri was driving. Then whichever of the two of you is most comfortable in the changing conditions, driving from two AM until four AM.’

‘I can do it,’ Seulgi says. She looks at Irene in apology and Irene only shrugs and says, ‘Makes sense. Then I guess I’ll be driving until six AM. And then, what, exactly? We put Yeri in the car for another six hours?’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Joy says. Before she can say anything else the number five Mercedes pulls up outside with the engine idling and the crew set to work fitting new dry tires and refueling and wiping down the windscreen. ‘Right,’ Joy says, already fiddling with her gloves. ‘No time to argue. Make sure you tell her what’s going on, right?’

‘Sure. Good luck.’

Joy only nods to them. On her way out she gives Yeri a thumbs up and Yeri tosses her helmet aside and runs a hand through her sweaty and disheveled hair in a way that for a moment has Seulgi thinking perhaps she’d be better suited as a swimwear model, or fashion icon. ‘How’d I do?’ Yeri asks. She grabs a bottle of water and twists off the cap and drinks it all in two mouthfuls.

‘You were the fastest car on track for, like, two hours straight.’

‘No ?’

Seulgi points to the timing screens behind them. ‘Huh,’ Yeri says. ‘Cool. Faster than you two?’

‘Yeah. Well, no…but only because it was raining, so your laps were slower. But technically speaking, yeah. You were the fastest person out there by some distance.’

‘So what’s happening now, then?’

They glance at each other over the table. Irene explains the plan to her and then a second time and when she’s finished Yeri folds her arms in deep thought and says, ‘Okay. Whatever.’

‘Are you okay with driving another six hours?’

‘I will be with some more food inside me, sure. Six hours is nothing. And it’s pretty damn fun out there, I’m not gonna lie.’

‘Yeah, you can say that again.’

‘What are you up to? Oh, chess again? Sweet.’

‘Fancy another game?’

‘No,’ Yeri says. ‘I like watching chess, just not playing it. Don’t ask me why. I couldn’t tell you. Maybe that's why you beat me. That's the excuse I'm gonna with, at least. Anyway, I’ll be back in a bit.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘To find catering. I’m starving. All that talent works up an appetite.’

Seulgi and Irene just look at each other. The laps fly by like nothing. Joy is out there half an hour before she buzzes through the radio to say, ‘Anyone there?’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says. ‘What’s up? How are you feeling?’

‘Pretty good. I dunno how she does it, though. This is so scary. I can’t see anything out here. And she did it in the rain, too. How are my times?’

Seulgi looks up at the board. ‘Good,’ she says. ‘You’re firmly fourth fastest in class. Just keep it at it.’

‘I can go faster, but I don’t think I dare. I’m not as brave as Yeri. Or as stupid.’

‘Just do what you can. We’ve got a long race ahead of us.’

‘Hey,’ Irene says, ‘where’s Yeri?’

Seulgi says that she doesn’t know. At half past one in the morning they get their answer. When she saunters back in from the front of the garage it’s with a plastic shoppingbag full of energy drinks and chocolate protein bars and she has a spring in her step that Irene certainly does not. Yeri takes one look at them – slumped on the makeshift couch at the back of the garage, Irene browsing her phone, Seulgi softly asleep against her shoulder, hair falling about her face, and giggles to herself. ‘Look at you two,’ she says.

‘What?’

‘All cute and .’

‘What’s in the bag?’

‘Just some Red Bulls. You want one?’

Irene thinks about it. ‘They’re unhealthy,’ she says. ‘They give you blood clots.’

‘Damn, maybe I shouldn’t then. Do you need transfusions for blood clots? I dunno whether they’ll give me ABO positive negative or not. Seriously, though, do you want one?’

‘I shouldn’t.’

‘Well then.’

Then Irene murmurs, ‘Give me one.’

Yeri passes her a can and she flicks off the clip and drinks and wipes with a yawn. For a while they just sit there, comfortable in the silence. Sipping their Red Bulls while Seulgi sleeps. Yeri finishes the last of her drink and sets the can down and says, ‘Does she always do that?’

‘What?’

‘Snore like that.’

‘Yeah. Most of the time.’

‘How do you ever sleep?’

‘With mild difficulty.’

‘You want another?’

‘No,’ Irene says. ‘You should be careful.’

‘Relax. I’ll be fine. I’m a Ferrari driver.’

‘Does being a Ferrari driver give you immunity to heart attacks?’

‘Dunno,’ Yeri says. ‘Probably not. I just like saying it. Did you know I’m a Ferrari driver?’

Irene can only shake her head. She’s quiet and introspective until Yeri starts giggling and can’t stop herself, and then she asks, ‘What? What’s so funny?’

‘Man.’

‘What?’

‘I’m gonna miss this, you know? Yeah, before you say – I know I’m not technically going anywhere. But this…this is good. Real good. I like you guys an awful lot. Joy, too. I don’t say this sorta thing often but you’re kinda like my…y’know. Like my family.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Irene says with a gentle smile. It’s a side of Yeri she’s rarely ever – if ever – seen in their time together, a warm and calm and slightly fragile glimmer at her below the bold exterior, at the quietude of her spirit, jumped up on Red Bulls or not. Thinking: I’m going to miss you, too, Yeri. More than you know.

The radio cuts in just as she’s sat thinking on it again. Joy saying: ‘Hello?’

‘Hey,’ Irene says. ‘What’s up?’

‘I don’t mean to alarm you or anything, but we’ve got a bit of a problem here.’

‘What sort of problem?’

‘I think the gearbox is broken. Like, completely busted. In fact I know it is.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, I’m not getting third gear. All I’m hearing is a clunk and something rattling around and then nothing at all. I’m having to shift all the way through it. And on the straights I’m revving all the way up to the redline in second and then going straight through to fourth. It’s killing the car.’

‘,’ Irene mutters. She looks at Yeri and Yeri can only offer a brief shrug in response. ‘Alright. How long until you can come in?’

‘I can come in now, if you want. But I don’t think it’s a driver-side thing.’

Irene checks the clock on the wall. Half past one in the morning, still pitch dark outside. Slowly Seulgi stirs against her shoulder. She smells faintly of mint shampoo and sweat and potato chips and Yeri’s Red Bull. Irene thumbs the button on the little radio transponder unit and says, ‘Alright, bring it in. One of us will go out, see how bad the problem is for ourselves.’

‘Sure thing,’ Joy says. One glance at the timing screens says it all. Her times have dropped a good four seconds in the past five or six laps. They’re still in fourth by a huge margin, but that isn’t the problem. ‘What do we do?’ Yeri asks.

Irene nudges Seulgi a slight and looks at her, still half asleep. ‘Do you want to drive?’ she asks.

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi mumbles, wiping her eyes and yawning. ‘Sure. What’s going on? I heard something about the car being busted?’

‘Joy said the gearbox is gone.’

‘. Are you serious? What are we going to do?’

‘Well, it’s your turn to go out there and see how bad the problem is. See if it’s just as she’s saying.’

‘And what if it is?’

‘I don’t know. We can’t fix a gearbox issue in a couple hours. Not if it’s a full gearbox replacement. Nobody could do that in such a small amount of time.’

Seulgi and Yeri look at each other. The Mercedes AMG drives slowly down the pitlane in a flare of headlights and crawls into the pitbox and Seulgi barely has time to strap on her gloves and grab a drink of water before she’s being nudged toward the car. A handful of other GT3s pass down the pitlane and are lost to the dark. The glimmer in Joy’s eyes is so striking Seulgi notices it even beneath the plastic visor of her helmet. ‘Hey,’ she says, urgent enough to force Seulgi's attention.

‘What’s up?’

‘Gearbox is ruined. Dunno what happened. I just heard a clunk and something popping and then that was it.’

‘So what do I do? Or what do I not do?’

‘Try and stay out of first gear in the corners, even at the hairpin. Stay in second if you can. I know it’s hard. And don’t go into third at all.’

‘What, anywhere?’

Joy nods gravely. The mechanics are almost finished fitting the new tires for her next stint. ‘If you stay in third for more than, like, three seconds, it’ll stall the car, even if you manual the clutch, and then you’re ed. Completely ed. We might be ed anyway, but just give it your best shot.’

‘Okay,’ Seulgi says. ‘Jesus, what a mess.’

‘We’ll be alright. At least, I hope so. Good luck, champ.’

On the main straight the severity of it hits Seulgi immediately. The crowd appear like phantoms in the pale cones of the headlamps and are lost and the other cars ahead of her flit in and out of existence like objects in a feverdream, back and forth in the dark and reappearing at will and gone just as soon after. She slows right down through the S curves and then at the hairpin forcing herself to stay in second gear almost at a crawl she runs wide and eats up a chunk of grass that has the wheels spinning for a brief and horrifying moment. ‘Joy,’ she mutters, fighting the car back under control. ‘Joy, are you there?’

‘Yeah, hey. What’s up?’

‘You were right.’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘The gearbox is broken. I tried third and got nothing. This isn’t going to last another ten hours.’

Joy is quiet a while. It’s a silence that Seulgi knows means she’s discussing it with the other two. Then she says, ‘Just try your best.’

She does ten laps in the dark. The corners come fast and sudden and the car slides and swerves and even though the tires feel good she has to shift all the way through third gear every time and on the straights the car kicks out and the rev limiter sounds as if the engine itself might explode very soon. The crowd notice something in wrong. Camped out there in the darkness like conceptual delegates of the moon itself with the flickerlights of their cameraphones the only light as she passes. Five more laps. Her hands hurt and she’s still tired and the nap on Irene’s shoulder did very little for her. And is dry. Thinking: I should’ve had some more water. Or a couple Red Bulls.

Nine laps later and her worst fears are realised. Coming off the final chicane and down the curve onto the main straight she shifts up to fourth gear and is rewarded with another terrible click and a clunk and then nothing at all. Just the engine revving so madly she can hear nothing else at all. One of the headlights is dying, too. She shifts up to fifth and the engine revs and whines and the turbochargers do the same and all the way down to first gear and it’s the same story there, too.

‘Seulgi.’

She tries again, to no avail. Halfway down the straight she’s only doing a hundred kilometres per hour and it’s dangerous in the dark because one minute she’s not there and the next she very much is, a huge and immediate roadblock to anyone behind her.

‘Seulgi,’ Irene says over the radio. Her voice does nothing to calm Seulgi. She pulls the car over to the side of the road and rolls it onto the grass and slows. Even the brakes have stopped working. Only the electronics remain. The crowd have deflated noticeably. She sits there in silence for a long time watching the other GT cars pass by, first the GT2s and the AM classes and then a handful of the GT3s Irene and Yeri overtook hours ago, all as she sits there in the driver’s seat, hands tight on the wheel, not thinking much at all.

‘Is it over?’ Irene asks.

She sighs. ‘Yeah,’ she murmurs in defeat. ‘Yeah, it’s over. Car’s dead.’

First she throws off her gloves and helmet. The others don’t say anything, partly in sadness and partly in sympathy. Even the mechanics are silent. Joy’s stood at the back discussing something with the engineers when she catches Seulgi coming over and says quietly, ‘Gearbox?’

‘Yeah. Whole thing just died. I was getting nothing at all, just revs. Like it just didn’t want to work.’

‘Sometimes these things happen. And we’d been driving it hard for thirteen hours.’

‘Yeah.’ Seulgi turns and looks at the car being pushed back into the garage by the crew. ‘What’s the verdict?’ she asks.

Joy glances down in apology. ‘Whole gearbox is dead,’ she says. ‘You’re looking at an eight or nine-hour job for a replacement, and that’s assuming nothing else is gone either. Maybe the electronics.’

‘I was having brake issues, too.’

‘Well, there you go. I’m sorry, Seulgi.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says. ‘Me too.’

‘Is that it, then?’ Yeri asks. She looks to Joy and Joy nods to her and says, ‘That’s it. Sorry. That’s the race for us. And the weekend.’

‘Okay, cool. Does that mean I can get some sleep now? Not that I’ll be able to, with all the Red Bull inside me, but yeah…still quite tired. Like, exhausted. Dunno what’s wrong with me. Maybe I’m getting old. Maybe this is the Ferrari effect. And I didn’t even get a second stint in the car. Shame, really. I thought I was doing quite well.’

‘At least we’ve got a story to tell people, right?’

‘Suppose so. Good for publicity and all that.’

‘I’m surprised Ferrari let you do this, honestly. They’re notorious for, well…you know. Not.’

‘Me too. But I guess all I had to was ask nicely.’ She looks at Seulgi and says, ‘Sorry about the car. Not that it was your car or anything, but you were in it. You know what I mean.’

‘Yeah,’ Seulgi says, exhausted and happy and glancing at Irene and smiling again. ‘I know what you mean.’

‘At least we tried,’ Irene says. ‘That’s what counts. God, imagine if me from two years ago could hear me right now. I don’t know what I’d do. Probably throw a fit or something. Probably lose my mind.’

‘Guess we all change.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘So,’ Yeri says, ‘what do you wanna do now? I mean, we’ve got eleven hours before this ends, and my flight isn’t until Monday. So, yeah.’

‘Do they do Gran Turismo in Japan?’ Seulgi asks.

‘Well, it’s a Japanese game. But before you ask – no, I don’t want to. I can’t be bothered. What is your obsession with that game?’

‘I don’t know. I just like playing it. I like improving myself.’

‘We could go for a meal or something,’ Joy says. ‘Once I’ve finished with all the logistics stuff, of course. Unless you wanna go without me.’

‘Sure,’ says Seulgi. ‘On the meal front, I mean.’ She looks at Irene and Irene nods and smiles that same smile that reminds her of home and then to Yeri. ‘Sure,’ Yeri says. ‘I’m down for anything, really. Hey, is this the last of these things?’

‘What things?’ says Joy.

‘These endurance events.’

‘No. It’s literally the first one. But the others are all later in the year, like, during the season time. That’s why I chose to do this one. But there’s one in December, I think. Maybe we could do that one. I know it’s a long way away, but I had fun.’

‘Me too. Was super fun for a change. Hey, maybe you two should be real scared for Bahrain, you know? Did you see me out there? Racing prodigy extraordinaire. I’m starting to think Ferrari really was a great idea. Did you know I drive for Ferrari, by the way?’

‘No,’ Irene mumbles. ‘You never told us.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you an awful lot.’