Crash

Stop the car

Leaving the Ferrari garage in her dust felt amazing in the moment, but as Penelope began to walk down the grid towards the podium, it began to hit her just what she'd gotten herself into. She was so furious that she wasn't thinking straight. Carlos had achieved his first win today. Carlos was her friend. She should have been happy, but all she could feel was rage.

As she approached the crowd gathered around the podium, she made sure to keep her head down. The last thing she needed was a surge of fans trying to get pictures with her or asking her questions as to why she was here and not out there with the team. Fortunately, no one was paying attention. They were all too preoccupied with what was going on above.

By now, the drivers were out of the cars. Penelope spotted Charles, his expression impossible to describe as anything other than miserable. There was this dead look in his eyes, like his final scraps of hope had been ripped from him. His eyes scanned the crowd for a second, searching the faces, and she knew straight away he was looking for her. He wanted someone to hug, someone to comfort him, but for once Penelope was nowhere to be found. Instead, the only person waiting for him was Mattia.

Straight away, she could tell it wasn't a positive conversation. Mattia looked furious, and although she couldn't make out the words of their conversation, the way he towered over Charles, scolding him with a finger pressed against his chest told her that it was far from good.

At first, Mattia didn't notice the cameras watching him. When he did, his entire demeanour changed. He dropped his hand, moving it to rest on Charles's shoulder, pushing him towards the garages. He was trying to appear friendly and calm, but it came across as controlling and cruel. She didn't need to hear the words to know what he was saying: keep your mouth shut.

That was enough. She didn't need to see anymore. Turning away, Penelope made her way back through the paddock, the sound of the Spanish national anthem blaring through the speakers. She knew she couldn't go back inside, but she couldn't go anywhere without Charles. He would have debrief and team meetings and celebrations for Carlos to get through before they could leave, but she wasn't about to walk out of the track gates alone. She'd rather wait and explain what had happened than let Mattia get his way and poison him against her before he could hear her side of the story.

So, as the paddock began to fill again with people making their way back from the podium or returning to their motor homes, Penelope found herself a bench facing the Ferrari offices, watching them as the sun shone down on her from above. People asked for pictures or stopped for conversations, and she went about her day like nothing was wrong. If anyone asked what was wrong, she simply made up some bullshit excuse about wanting a little air or being bored of the meetings. It wasn't until she got a call from Charles that she got a sense of just how much deep shit she'd gotten herself into.

She answered the phone with the full intention of saying 'hello, how are you?', but he spoke so quickly that there wasn't time. "Where are you?" he asked, sounding irritated. It wasn't often that he spoke to her like that.

"I'm outside."

"Where?"

"Oh, um, I'm on the bench, you know the one, right outside the office."

"Fine. I'm coming to get you."

The phone went dead. It took her a second to realise he'd hung up. True to his word, however, she saw him storming towards her a minute later, armed with his bag and his car keys. Andrea, his trainer, wasn't with him like he normally was after a race. That struck her as strange.

"Hey," she said, standing to greet him though he made no move to touch her. "I'm sorry about the race. Are you-"

"Have you got your stuff?" he asked, tone blunt. "We're leaving."