Connected (F1 Story)

Chapter Forty Seven: Lights Out

The sun was setting in Abu Dhabi and the air was balmy. If I was being particularly fussy, then I would say that it was slightly on the humid side. I probably had sweat patches.

The crowd were cheering and I felt strangely overwhelmed. This had been a long season, with arguably more downs than ups. It had been a test of my strength, Daniel's strength and our strength combined. Quite literally when he had carried me to bed in Sochi.

At times we had been close to breaking point, close to walking away from our careers. But, we got through it, somehow. Together. And that was the recipe for success - to stick by each other's side, through thick and through thin.

The grid at the circuit was rammed; there was no other way of describing it. I wondered how many bottles of deodorant we had been getting through in the past week.

Earlier on that day we'd had our team photo, the whole travelling team stood around our car. Dan and Daniil were perched on the car, in their race suits, beaming away.

It was fifteen minutes until lights out now, and Dan was behind me taking photos with his engineers and so on. I was nervous about him racing again, after last time out in Brazil where he ended up in the barriers. Thinking about it made me shiver.

"Hey, you alright?" the Aussie asked, zipping his overalls up.

"I'm good," I replied, tucking my phone away in my pocket for a couple of seconds. "Just want you to have a good race...you need some good memories from this season."

"I have plenty of good memories with the people who have made it good. Not that car, but whatever. Sometimes racing is a bit shit, but you don't walk away from it because you know that it'll probably be better next season." He was frowning now.

"I would love to quote you on that."

"Piss off," he chuckled. "Not funny."

"You had better get yourself down the front for the national anthem...want me to walk down with you?"

"Yeah, I would, actually..." he trailed off before shooting me a sidewards glance. Was he slightly nervous too?

"Hi guys, ready for the last one? Oh and Dan, I've rigged the race so you're gonna finally get a podium." Paul popped his ridiculously long arms around our shoulders and marched us off towards the front of the grid. Because, you know, Red Bull hadn't started on the front row in what seemed like forever.

"Cheers, Paul, I appreciate it, I really do..." Dan chuckled and Paul handed him a drink which contained numerous electrolytes and everything else he needed to keep him hydrated in the desert.

"Want half of it gone before I see you next," the personal trainer stated firmly and folded his arms across his enormous chest.

"Sure thang," Dan rolled his eyes and gave me a smirk. "I'll catch you later, Saskia."

And then he walked off to stand next to the rest of his racing family - he positioned himself between Jenson Button and Romain Grosjean, two drivers who he was really friendly with. They had great banter, as the youth of today would say (basically Max Verstappen and his MASSIVE following that he had at each of his races).

"How comes I didn't get a goodbye?" Paul whined, clearly not best amused that the Aussie racer had strolled off without saying anything more to his trainer. "I mean, just because you're his future wife there is no reason to forget about me."

I don't think it was quite intended like that, but I decided not to say anything. I hated it when Paul ranted; it often ended in disaster or worse.