DNF - c.l [1]

22:00

Canada:

Sergio Perez P1

George Russel P2

Max Verstappen P3

Austria:

Max Verstappen P1

Lewis Hamilton P2

Charles Leclerc P3

British Grand Prix, Thursday

"Feels so good to finally be back home," I smile at Dee as we walk back into my house in Wiltshire.

"I'll never get over the fact your dad bought a pink house," Dee says laughing.

That homely smell hits me as I ditch my suitcase and shoes by the front door, my dog Fleetwood running up to me and almost tackling me to the ground.

"That dog is way too big," Dee says from beside me as I'm smothered in kisses on the floor, Fleetwood was a bouvier de flandres, my dad got him for me last year after he visited Belgium for a business trip, "you're just saying that because you have a jack russel," I reply to Dee, standing back up from the ground and brushing off the dust on my jeans.

"Dad?" I call out as we walk through the house into the kitchen out the back.

"Madeline? Is that you?" I hear him calling, he was sprawled out on the day lounger in the sun room, the double doors open, letting in the summer breeze.

"Hey pop," I smile, hugging him on the sofa, "how's my winning girl," he grins back at me, moving my hair away from my face.

"Not winning at the moment," I say, referring to Canada and Austria where I didn't finish for either races, having engine problems both races, setting me back on the champions league.

"Have a word with that team principle of yours," he says, diverting his attention back on his newspaper, taking a sip of his coffee.

"She has, trust me," Dee rolls her eyes, scrolling on her phone.

Vasseur and I had a bit of a ruffle last weekend when I arrived back at the garage, furious with how my car was performing.

"This is ridiculous Vasseur, the car in undrivable," I had groaned, throwing my helmet to Amanda, watching the live stream of Charles still racing around the track, having no problems with his car.

"Well, you won in Monaco with the same car, so maybe it's you Madeline," he hissed at me from the pit wall, gaining a few strained looks from the other race instructors. "Have you seen the car, that isn't a driver problem," I complained back at him.

"How's the garage looking?" I ask my dad, trying to forget about the discussion with Vasseur.

"There's a new addition in there waiting for you," he replies, not looking away from the paper.

My dad and I had been building our dream garage since I was 17, collecting some of our favourite cars and some beautiful classics.

I let out a girly squeal, running to the garage without any shoes on, my feet hurting from the stoned driveway.

I pressed the garage key, letting the doors roll up, exposing the next car.

"Shut the fuck up," Dee says from beside me, almost as speechless as I was.

A red E30 M3 laid in the middle of the workshop, the bonnet still up as my dad was proably still fixing it.

"Happy?" he says, now beside me as I look at the car in awe, "you shouldn't have," I throw my arms around him, hugging him tightly.