𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 , cl16

𝐢𝐢 ── it's supposed to be fun

18 September 2011
Sarno-Napoli, Italy
KF3 CIK-FIA World Cup

TEN-YEAR-OLD ARTHUR LECLERC is bored. He's been stood with his parents, who are talking quietly amongst themselves, for at least an hour, waiting for his older brother Charles to return. Now, Arthur loves karting as much as the next person, but when he's not competing, it really does drag. There's so much in-between time, where racers and their managers talk strategy, or slight mechanical changes are made to karts. Arthur never really realised it until now, when he's got nothing to do but watch the others hurry about doing what he normally would be. It's nothing short of tedious. And besides that, he's annoyed – he's only missed out on being eligible to compete in Charles' age category by a couple of months, and to him, it seems mightily unfair that just because he's born in October he has to stand by the wayside.

But there's nothing Arthur can do about it now. He's here to watch his brother race, not mope around. So, in an attempt to entertain himself, he settles for a spot of people-watching. There are always lots of interesting characters in the paddock: from overbearing fathers who seem to think just because they've sat in a kart before they're now experts on the sport, to worried mothers, and even a few celebrities here and there. After all, there are some kids both he and Charles have raced against before who are the children of some pretty famous racers. It's mostly them Arthur is keeping a look out for, but he doesn't get his hopes up – he's learnt that they mostly stay out of the spotlight, presumably to avoid being mobbed by a bunch of teenagers begging for autographs. He says that as if he wouldn't be a part of that mob. Still, it's fun to hope. Or, as fun as anything can be when he's had absolutely nothing to do for an hour.

"Maman, quand est-ce que Charles revient?" Mum, when is Charles coming back? He asks, turning his head up to gaze at his mother, who smiles down at him sympathetically.

"Bientôt, mon petit." Soon, little one. She assures him, running a gentle hand through his hair. Arthur tries not to huff too loudly. She said the exact same thing half an hour ago.

He turns back to his people watching, a frown knitting his eyebrows together. For a moment, he's too annoyed to pay attention to what's right in front of him – it goes straight over his head. Then his vision clears, and the frown lifts from his face, immediately replaced by a look of shock.

It can't be, he thinks. Arthur breaks free of his mother's hold to step forward on his tiptoes, craning his neck over the sea of heads. He's sure he must have been hallucinating when he can't pick out that all-too-familiar figure in the crowd. Disappointment rushes through him, and he rocks back on his heels again. His head turns ever-so-slightly to the side.

And there it is once more. Arthur practically jumps, as, sure enough, a little over to his left across the other side of the paddock, there is one of his greatest Formula 1 idols. Gabriel Carvalho Borges. He stands there, seemingly without a care in the world, gazing down fondly at a young girl in racing gear who is standing close to his side. There are two other people with him as well – the first, a beautiful woman, with dark curls that reach just past her shoulders; and the second, a little boy, maybe a year or so younger than Arthur himself, who is swinging off the woman's arm excitably. Arthur assumes she must be his wife: Flávia Senna. The young Monégasque can scarcely believe it. A moment ago, he'd been bored out of his mind, but now he's stood barely even ten metres away from Gabriel Borges and Ayrton Senna's beloved younger sister.

"Papa!" Arthur says, reaching over to tug on his father's arm, who is currently gazing in the opposite direction. Hervé looks down at his son with a confused smile, "Regardez là-bas ! Regarde!" Look over there! Look! he hisses under his breath in a strange sort of half-whisper, half-shout. Both Hervé and his wife glance towards where the young boy is jabbing his finger and jumping up and down excitedly.