The line goes silent for a second and an anxious, gnawing pit opens in my stomach.
‘Ash, I swear to God, tell me what’s going on. I’m a bit blind here, man. You’re meant to be my eyes on the side.’
Nothing.
Radio fucking silence.
‘Someone’s come off the track. Just slow down a little when you’re taking the eighth bend. I’m not sure what the issue is but they skidded off like there was oil or something. Keep an eye out for stripes if this changes next lap, okay?’
‘Who?’ I can still see the pair of McLaren Swedes in front of me blocking my way into first or second and my brain is stressfully imagining my best friend in a heap of metal on the side of the track. ‘Is it Johannes? Ash, please! I need to know.’
I’m not beyond begging, but I really don’t want to when I’m trying so hard to remember to steer right now. The bends are vicious on this track and I’m almost glad Ash stays quiet until I finish a tricky set and head back down the narrow straight to finish this lap. The yellow flag is still showing in the distance and I slow down, almost reluctantly.
‘It’s not Johannes,’ Ash finally confirms and I heave out a sigh of relief, my grip on the steering wheel releasing a little.
I slow a little more as I come closer to where Ash indicated the accident happened, driving carefully and conservatively in case there’s oil spilled on the track and I end up flying off, too. Except, in slowing down, I catch sight of the car that careered into the barriers ending up on its side.
It’s not Johannes, but I’m all too familiar with the colour and design.
‘No!’ I yell. ‘Please don’t tell me that’s Kian? Please?’
Now I really am begging. If I thought the stress of it being Johannes was bad, it’s nothing compared to the spine-crushing dread that washes over me at the thought of it being Kian.
‘They’re working on it now, Harper. Just focus on the track, buddy. There’s nothing you can do right now.’
Like hell there is! I can pull off and get out and help. I’ll drag him from the car myself if it means being sure that he’s okay.
‘Is he okay? Just tell me he’s okay, for fuck’s sake!’ The words come out frantically, desperately. My foot’s on the pedal and my eyes are on the track, but my mind is on nothing but Kian.
I see an opening between the pair occupying the top two positions – they must be distracted, too. One swift movement and I could be top of the podium… And suddenly I’m pushing, acting on muscle memory and pure instinct, I feel as though I’m going faster than I ever have before as I focus on the gap that’s appeared, and even as I zoom into second I can’t feel anything other than a shit-ton of fear.
‘They’re getting him out now,’ Ash confirms.
‘Is he okay, though?’ I feel like I might spontaneously combust if I don’t hear how he is in the next five seconds.
‘He’s talking, that’s all we know right now.’ Well, that’s something. More than something because it means he’s alive. ‘Yellow flag’s still up, but they’ve confirmed there’s no spill of any kind on the track.’
‘So why did he come off, then?’
‘That’ll be a question for later. Focus now, Harper. You were point eight behind first on that last lap. You could take this all if you really try right now.’
I’ve never had a problem separating what’s happening on and off the track before. I’ve never had an issue with my focus. But now, when my mind is flooded with images of Kian hanging out of the side of his car, lifeless, covered in blood, gasping his last words, I throw it all away.
My chance to be on top, to bring home those twenty-five points, to be remembered as a legend of the sport … it all goes out the window as I struggle to make the most of the opportunity to overtake just one more car and win. I’m so close, so fucking close, but I can’t do it. I see a gap open up but I wait a split second too long to go for it and miss the window. I hear Ash grunt in my ear, and I know I'm messing this up. My big chance, the opportunity of a lifetime, it’s draining away… I’ve worked hard, but it also took Elijah’s unlucky leg break to put me in this seat, in this car, on this track and I might not get another chance like it. I might not be good enough…
Then it hits me. Kian wouldn’t lose his shit like this. Kian wouldn’t want me to fall apart because of his crash. He wouldn’t want it to distract me from capitalising on the situation and getting a P1. So I channel the great Kian Walker and take some deep breaths. I wait it out, staying less than half a second behind the leader for a lap until we blast into the straight.
And then it happens. It’s one of the Swedes in P1, and he screws himself over by trying a bit too hard to block my path. He overcompensates on the bend and, like a predator in the jungle, I can smell his fear. He’s thinking about what’s behind him instead of what’s in front of him. I know I won’t get another chance, so I hit the gas. My chance has come and I’m fucking taking it.
* * *
The win is a blur. My first podium top in the Championship and it’s nothing but a hazy fog in my mind. I probably won’t even remember it – I already have no memory of being sprayed with champagne or of any of the interviews. I have no idea what I said – I hope it wasn’t totally stupid.
Because all I can think about is Kian.
‘Where is he?’ I demand, the minute I find Ash.
‘They’ve taken him to the local hospital for X-rays and to be certain about his concussion status.’
