Hot off the Press | Charles Leclerc | F1

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"Do you guys ever miss home?" Fia asked Adam and Claudia. It was a feeling that had been creeping up on her a lot lately. The grimy familiarity of London—its overcrowded tube carriages and fox-infested streets; its steel-grey sky and overpriced coffee kiosks; its urgency, with everyone clamouring to get to somewhere else, the next place or job or date or bar—seemed so distant. It made her feel hollow. Like an essential part of her being had been scooped out.

"Sometimes," Adam said.

"Never," said Claudia at the same time.

It was Thursday, and they were lounging on sun beds around the hotel pool in Jeddah, enjoying the afternoon off work before the race weekend began.

"I miss New York," Adam conceded, putting his magazine down on his pale stomach. "And my cashmere sweaters. And my designer shoes. And, actually, my whole apartment."

"What about Jude?" Claudia asked, laughing. Jude was Adam's boyfriend and the reason he'd moved from Newport to NYC just over a year ago.

Adam sighed theatrically. "Yeah. I guess I miss him, too."

It was easy to see how much Adam adored Jude, even though he tried to play it cool about their relationship. Earlier in the week, he'd regaled Fia and Claudia with the tale of how they met, which involved a Broadway showing of Cats, an underground sex party in the East Village and "an unbelievable amount of blow" being snorted from unmentionable body parts. As he told them this, his face—innocent and unassuming—took on an expression of mild shock, as if he couldn't quite believe he had been involved in such debauchery. His voice, which usually produced long, drawling vowels, was low and quick, and his shoulders shrugged in on themselves, making his lanky torso seem smaller. Fia recognised it as a protective measure; he had no way of knowing how she or Claudia would react. But as he recounted the night, his eyes (rimmed with a characteristic smudge of black kohl pencil) had grown bright and alert. In the short time she had known him, Adam had proved to Fia that the old saying was correct; it was the quiet ones you had to watch.

"I kind of miss London," Fia admitted. "And Sadie." She still felt bad for blowing off their call to go clubbing with Arthur.

"You're insane for missing London," said Claudia, who was from Melbourne. "I went there once on a school trip and saw a rat the size of–"

"A school trip?" Adam exclaimed. "What kind of school did you go to, Clauds?"

"The kind where you don't go home at the end of the day."

"She's a boarder," he said, looking at Fia with a raised eyebrow. "Explains a lot."

Fia felt a prickle of anxiety at the mention of school. It was all anybody had talked about at Oxford—what prestigious school they went to and which politician's child or minor royal had been a student at the time. Fia's answer when anybody asked her—a shitty comprehensive just outside of Middlesbrough—drew immediate blank stares.

Adam, probably sensing her unease, steered the conversation in another direction. "So, when are we going to meet this wonderful girl?"

"I'm going to buy her a ticket to one of the races soon. I want to surprise her." Sadie had assured Fia that they didn't have to talk every day—they both had busy lives—but she still couldn't help worrying that the longer they were apart, the more permanent the emotional distance between them would become. The thought of losing her best friend was physically painful, like someone wrapping their hand around her heart and squeezing.

Fia hated feeling vulnerable and needy.

Claudia rolled over, presenting her slender back to the sun. She was short—just five feet tall—yet her lithe figure made her appear much taller (until she stood next to Adam, who, at six-foot-six, towered over her like a lean skyscraper). Stretched out on a sun bed, she looked like a goddess. She rested her right cheek against her forearm so she could look at Fia. "Why wait?"