Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Bahrain, Qualifying

Bring on qualifying! - @JaguarF1

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BAHRAIN
1ST RACE WEEKEND OF THE SEASON
MARCH

Making my way into the paddock, Oliver Harrington is the first person to greet me. I owe him everything. As Team Principal, he was the one who made the call to sign us drivers. Bringing Jaguar back into Formula One is a weight that he bears well. He towers over me at about six feet, and as he goes to shake my hand, greeting me in his native German, I have a flash of panic that he might just break my hand before I get into the car.

"Got a lot of interviews still to go, but focus on the session for now, Jessica." He's reassuring me with a pat on my right shoulder that feels more like a slap with the weight behind it. For a man in his mid-forties, he's still in great shape and probably strong enough to take on some of the intense g forces we get exposed to. "Remember, fifteen is the goal, better if you can knock out one of the Alpines as you do it."

I nod, taking my chance to head to my car. The competitiveness in this sport is better described by another word, really: ruthlessness. The Team Principals are the ones who really show a nasty streak when things don't go their way. We've all seen, for the past ten years, how Mercedes and Red Bull have been slinging mud at each other whenever they can because they want to beat each other. And with Mercedes' seven-year dominance absolutely over thanks to Max Verstappen in that rocket of a car, all of the teams smell blood. We have to appear strong right from the off.

Before I can reach my car, though, Mateo slaps my shoulder, covering his mouth with a hand so the cameras don't see him talk to me. I appreciate the Spaniard. He spent time with Ferarri, so he knows how to handle the intense stress that comes with a struggling team.

"Alonso's car is still having problems."

That's good news. You want the others to struggle. You want every advantage you can get. I nod, pulling my helmet on. The chances of making it to Q2 just went up.

I use my first two laps to warm up the tyres and gauge the track conditions. My third is my flying lap, and just as I'm about to bomb it down the sector three straight before turn 14, I hit traffic. Riccardio, I'm guessing, because I know Verstappen hasn't left the pit yet.

I almost punch at my steering wheel with my right hand, letting out a growling frustrated noise.

"What the actual fuck?! I was on my flying lap! For fuck's sake!"

"There's enough time to try again. Keep your head down, Jessica, we've got this." Mateo isn't wrong. We went out early, one of the first cars on the track. We have time. I have to stay focused. It's up to the team if they want to complain to the Race Director. I'm going to focus on getting out of the bottom five.

It's a close call, but I have made it into Q2. I've hit the expected result today, and so has Mick. As we prepare for the next session, Mateo tells me the goal is now P13, based on Mick's performance. I'm expected to match him, at the very least.

So, of course, I fucking fail. I'm in P15 for tomorrow. It's not ideal, I've scuppered the plan for a lockout on the grid that would give us the ability to help each other out on our first race. Already, as I'm leaving the garage and heading out to deal with the hours of interviews I'll be put through, there's this horrible sinking feeling in my stomach. Maybe I've made a good impression in the eyes of the fans, but in terms of the team? I fucked up. It was an easy target, we have a decent car and I fucked it.

Heading into the post-qualifying interviews, I'm giving it the smiles and positivity. It's hard, given some questions are aimed at knocking me down before the race starts. Thankfully, Oliver drags me over to an interview that's focused more on the team as a whole. He's stood in the middle, with Mick and I on either side of him. Next to the two of them, I look so short.

"It has been a long time since we've seen Jaguar in Formula One, but you have been very present within Formula E. What's behind the push to rejoin Formula One, Oliver?" The man with the microphone looks to be a relatively new pundit. I don't recognise the logo on the microphone he holds out, but his accent is distinctly American.

"Ah, well, when the team was sold out to Red Bull, it was a sad time, but that's all in the past, we're here with fresh drivers and incredible behind-the-scenes minds that are determined to provide the best innovation they can. Everyone is here for the long haul." Oliver's taking the question in his stride. He's dodged talking about the drama around Jaguar's exit a decade ago. I make a mental note of how smoothly he did that. I'll need to be that good when difficult questions are thrown my way.

"Reviving a Formula One team comes with its challenges, and you seem to have gone all in on a big gamble with your two young drivers. Do you think it's going to pay off?"

Ah yes, ask the question as if we aren't standing here. Lovely.

I feel Oliver's hand come up around my back, to clasp my left shoulder. I make sure to smile and join Mick in the little group half-hug. Solidarity is important.

"We are indeed taking a risk, but we know it's a calculated one. Mick here is more than his surname. He has experience, and all he needs is a team that can come together around him and support him, which we intend to do. Jessica has potential and represents our team's commitment to helping any driver, regardless of their gender, into the beautiful sport that is Formula One racing."

The interviewer's attention shifts and splits. Mick and I are about to be asked questions. Goddamnit. I just want to go back to my hotel room and get some sleep. Or food, then sleep. It's been a long day. I answer the questions and put on my best friendly expression, but the moment I'm allowed to go back to the hotel, all of that drops. I'm so worn out, and the season hasn't even properly started yet.

I'm grateful when the first question goes to my teammate.

"So, Mick, how does it feel to be back in a Formula One car full-time after thinking you'd be without a seat for the year?"

It's late when I get into my hotel room, but not too late to cost me any sleep. I peel my clothes off, swapping into my thin cotton pyjamas that are patterned with cats wearing hats. I've been so focused on getting into F1 that I haven't really had it hit me yet... I think it might be now that I'm one short sleep away from the race.

Mick :);
Good luck tomorrow!

Mick should be asleep right now. His text brings a small smile to my lips, but there's an awareness in the back of my mind: when it comes down to it, drivers aren't there to help each other win the championship.

Jess (Me);
You too!