By some sublime stroke of luck, partially prompted by Red Bull power failures and both Ferrari's having break problems, Lando managed to win in Canada. The win set a pleasant tone for his return, though I couldn't say the same for my brother, who had suffered from what can only be described as an avalanche of bad luck, his near perfect qualifying disrupted by rain, his race disrupted by safety car restarts.
He wasn't happy. No, he was wholly indignant, consuming my phone with message after message voicing his exasperation at how this season is going.
Were I smarter, and perhaps more emotionally mature, I would know better than to choose his imminent return as the 'right' moment to tell him about Lando and I's entanglement, but naturally I figured it was best to tell him whilst he was already aggrieved about something else, for it could only get better rather than worse. Or so I hoped.
That's precisely why I'm currently pacing up and down outside the arrivals gate in Nice Côte d'Azur Airport, receiving several concerned looks from unknown onlookers as the soles of my new golden goose trainers plod along the dirty floor in a rhythmic fashion. The arrivals lounge is dull - unaided by the current lack of sunshine, the room has a grey hue to it, a lack of flights prompting it to be relatively empty and lifeless. I usually love arrivals lounges - fans of Love Actually will be accustomed to the serotonin it gives, couples reuniting, families crying tears of joy, little notes with surnames on them, flowers abundant. It's like the final stretch of a long test, the finish line, the final hurrah. You've made it, you're whole again, you can relax.
Of course, for some it symbolises the end of a well earned break or alluring adventure, but in the world of Formula 1 such adventures have a tendency of remaining just around the corner, and so I rarely experienced the disappointed feeling. Besides, there's little emotion better than the knowledge that after a while you're finally going back home, to your own space, to your own bed. And, for some the arrivals lounge doesn't symbolise the end, but rather the beginning of their adventure - a new place, new culture, new beginning. God, how much time I'd spent longing, clinging, desiring for that new feeling.
Things have changed. I relish the current, ignore the past, fear the future.
"Anastasia!" Will's voice pierces my stream of consciousness, and I realise that my gaze has been fixed on the dull tiles of the airport for several minutes now. I plaster a smile onto my face, and rush towards him.
"Will! So good to see you. Come, let's move quickly before you get swarmed by fans." Will shoots me a tight lipped smile, nodding his head in an exasperated gratitude as we move off towards the car park. As we walk, I study Will's face, his expressions when he thinks I'm not looking, and it tells me everything I need to know about how he truly feels about the last week.
He's exhausted - the fire that usually burns behind his pupils is dull, all but extinguished, and he has dark indigo shadows under his eyes. I know my brother has little problem with sleep usually, for growing up he was the sibling who had the ability to sleep absolutely anywhere and everywhere, regardless of how much pain or discomfort certain positions and place would cause him. It was impressive, if anything, my insomniac self frequently cursing under my breath as he slept peacefully on long journeys, myself condemned to lonesome periods of in-surmounting exhaustion.
We get into my car, and a monotonous silence falls upon us. I've assumed the driver seat, for I can tell by Will's sombre demure that he lacks the energy to drive the 22 kilometres between Nice and Monaco, which I'll guiltily admit is a pleasant change for I rarely get the chance to drive when we're together.
"How was Canada- " I start the car, curious to make some conversation with my brother, but as the engine rev's he interrupts me, so instead I focus on putting the car into gear. When buying my car, I decided to get a manual, far preferring the all consuming nature of having to focus on changing gears to the dreary boredom of an automatic car, with the added benefit of course being the far greater speed I could assume.
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Missing You // Lando Norris
Fanfiction"Like many Formula 1 drivers, Norris enjoys an eccentric lifestyle, partying in Monaco and spending thousands on money and company every night, and is beginning to establish a reckless name for himself which threatens to supersede his accolades on t...
