Prologue [novella]

0 | The Fall of An Idol

In any sport, any field of life, any town, an idol will eventually fall. Some fall from grace, some dip off the map to live a life of solitude, and some unexpectedly pass away.

The latter was the case for Richard Van Wieren.

Shantelle, his youngest daughter by 15 years, was the light of his life. She followed her father everywhere, even in his dream career.

Richard Van Wieren was famed for being Formula One race team ExtraPoint's best team principal, leading to their amazing commitment to teamwork, and bettering their vehicles in such a way they won countless Constructor's Championships.

He led the team from the trenches, to the podium, and fans of all teams could appreciate the value the man brought to the motoring sport.

Shantelle was loved by her father with his every last breath. He loved her more and more with each breath he took, until his final. He was proud of her, and he made sure she knew of it. And she was just as proud of him for his own achievements.

Shantelle stumbled in through the front door with aching feet. She kicked her shoes off in the hallway of her flat, and she then flinched as she remembered her grandmother had likely stayed away to ensure her safe arrival.

Shantelle picked her black high heels up from the floor and placed them on the wooden shoe rack that she was sure would fall apart if any more weight was added.

She then made her way around the hallway to the living room where sure enough, she found her grandmother. But the much older, fragile woman was fast asleep on the sofa without having so much as stirred from the intrusion of her granddaughter.

Shantelle made her way to the sofa, her hand gently coming out to push her grandmother's white hair from her face. The woman was old, fragile. The living room sofa was no place for her to sleep.

"Grammy, come on, let's get you to bed," Shantelle whispered, her hand moving to the woman's shoulder. Only then did the elder stir. She opened her eyes and as soon as they sought Shantelle, she smiled.

"Ellie, my dear, how was your night out?"

"Don't you bother about me, we need to get you back to bed so you can rest properly," Shantelle ignored the nickname that made her eyes sting, the very same one her father used to call her by.

The older woman groaned, but pushed her body off the sofa nonetheless. Shantelle used her arm on the woman's lower back, her other hand steadying the woman's nearest arm before she slowly and gently helped her rise from the sitting position to her feet.

Shantelle led her across the living room to the double doors. She pushed the doors open with her foot, the sliders causing no resistance. Inside housed her grandmother's bedroom, the largest of the three rooms in their apartment.

She led the woman to the bed, and pulled back the duvet with one arm before she helped the woman sit on the bed. Her grandmother then raised her legs and lay on her side, to which Shantelle grabbed the duvet and pulled it over the woman to keep her warm.

"Just rest up, we'll order in some breakfast in the morning, yeah?"

It was a failed attempt at a bribe. She knew her grandmother wanted to talk about the funeral, the one where she had to bury her own son. Shantelle's father. The same one Shantelle's mother, the ex-wife to Mr Van Wieren, failed to attend and left her daughter even more of a mess.

Despite their tumultuous relationship, Shantelle wanted the faux comfort of knowing her mother figure was there was she bid her father goodbye. But the woman who birthed her was off doing God knows what, with God knows who.

Richard Van Wieren had loved his wife. But her lack of care for their family was what caused the end to their long marriage. It was over between the pair emotionally long before Shantelle was conceived. She was an accident, and her mother loved to remind her of that harsh fact.

"He would be proud of you, you know," Grammy Van Wieren whispered as her shaky hand came up to cup Shantelle's cheek. "Richard loved you so much. He would want you to be happy, not to do all this silly engineering stuff."

There was it was. The blow she had been waiting for.

No one in her life believed her when she said she enjoyed the engineering of cars, that having such power could cause her to create a vehicle great at high speeds, or equipped to handle late breaking around hard corners. The mechanics behind a race car was what made her brain tick.

"I don't do it for him," Shantelle defended, but each time she did so, she knew it would fall in deaf ears. No one wanted to believe such a young, bright woman would ever want such a 'boyish' job.

"What about motorsports says it's just for me? Where does it say woman can't enjoy it too?" She had asked her father when she was graduating from university and her other family members all failed to congratulate her.

"They don't understand how our brains tick," He began, his hands wrapping around the coffee mug that sat on the table opposite Shantelle's own coffee mug. "We thrive on the fast paced world of mechanical components. We enjoy reading data and proving we can better our product each opportunity given."

"You speak so poetically about it, father," Shantelle whispered.

She was brought back to the apartment, to her grandmother's words, when she felt the warm hand leave her cheek.

"Get some rest," Were her parting words before Shantelle stood and left the bedroom, turning the lights off and closing the door behind her.

She let out a long sigh as she closed her eyes and leant her back against the wall beside the door. "I miss you," She whispered as she tilted her head up to the sky. "Wherever you are, I miss you. These people don't get me."