Connected (F1 Story)

Chapter Forty One: Home and not dry

Daniel had been the one that was driving me crazy by jiggling his leg in the early hours of the morning, and now I was annoying myself by doing the same thing. Bridget hadn't exactly told me much and so I was very unprepared for what I was going to face when I got back to the Factory in Milton Keynes.

Paul drove, as careful as ever, as we headed towards the Icelandic capital of Reykjavik. It was a two hour journey, albeit one plagued with numerous snow drifts to navigate. Then, from the capital outskirts a left turn was required to reach the country's biggest airport. I believe it was the only international airport, but do correct me if I am wrong. Which I often am.

Was I wrong about leaving Daniel and my two best friends to head back for work? Was it selfish? Was it something that could tear Dan and I apart?

The first two answers were obvious yeses, but the last a definite no. Daniel and I's relationship was made of some strong stuff.

Anyway, from door to departure hall I had three hours to kill. Paul was doing his best to only talk about generic topics and avoid all conversation regarding work.

I looked out the window as I rode shotgun, not being able to see much of the scenery in the darkness. It was a shame, but was expected. It was night after all, and any normal person would have been tucked up in their bed fast asleep. Oh no, not when you work for a high-profile Formula 1 team and have to be on call every single minute of the day.

I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this job. It was written in black and white, and bold as it were, that this wasn't a nine to 5 job. Which was a shame because I used to love getting home in time to catch the last part of The Chase. Yes, my life used to be that mundane and uneventful. A wild Friday night used to mean a glass of wine on my sofa. My bedtime used to be nine o'clock, how tragic.

"Polo?"

"Huh?"

"Do you wanna Polo?" Paul asked, offering me one. There was only one or two left in the packet so I refused. The airport staff would have to put up with my smelly breath. I send my deepest apologies to all those affected. "Saskia?"

I remembered that I actually had to communicate in order for people to know what I was thinking, so I shook my head, "You have it."

"I've eaten too many. Gonna give me diarrhoea if I have any more. Mints are a laxative, did you know that?"

"I did, yes."

"Sassy, what's going on? Work, I know, but what exactly?" Paul looked at me, slowing down and changing down to 4th gear.

"You really want to know?" I sighed. Fuck the confidentiality policy. This would be old news once the working day officially started.

"Nah, I asked because I wanted to fuck you off a bit more."

"Appreciate it, Paul," I half smiled, half sighed again. "Some sponsor issues and some emails, that's all."

"A fucking great big all by the sounds of shit!" Paul stated, shaking his head. His curls flopped about and that made me laugh. "And they want you back to cover their backs when they investigate what actually happened in the aftermath?"

I thought for a moment and was marginally shocked at how true that sounded. Because there would now have to be an investigation, wouldn't there?

"S'pose, I don't particularly know myself. All the details I were given were screamed down the telephone and even then, at best, they were sketchy," I let out a long breath and stretched out my legs so they were fully extended.