Connected (F1 Story)

Chapter Eight: The One

Oooo, please vote...Merci Merci.

He's joking...just joking. Joking. Daniel was just joking around.

Hahaha, funny one, Ricciardo. Thanks for giving me a heart attack! Muchly appreciated...

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"...Helicopter?" Daniel swore, swallowed and looked deeply uncomfortable, biting his bottom lip as he frowned.

"Yeah, mate?" Jenson said, shrugging. "Have you never been in one before, or something?!"

"I haven't, and for a bloody good reason too." Ricciardo looked at his feet and shook his head. "Saskia, can we not just get the train back instead?"

Wow. Daniel really didn't want to do this. He avoided the tube as if they were the plague.

"No!" I said, nervous myself. I didn't like flying, and I certainly didn't want to get in this sodding helicopter. Too bad Bridget was dead set against us driving down to the capital from the race track. The schedule was far too tight for traffic.

"Jeez, guys. It'll be fun." Jenson protested and tucked in his McLaren team shirt. "Where's DC at?"

"Should be here in a min," Dan spoke and pulled out his phone. "I think the train might be alright with the four of us. Bit of a laugh..."

"You're coming with us, and that's final." Jenson glared at Daniel and the Australian scowled. "Tell him, Saskia..."

"Dan, grow up." I winked to let him know that I was also shitting myself. "If you don't get the helicopter then you can be the one explaining to some very pissed off sponsors why you're late. Oh, and Bridget too."

"Okay, okay." He sighed and at last David Coulthard appeared, jogging along with his sunglasses on after finishing his duties with the BBC for the day.

"Friday is done!" The Scotsman held his hands out and briefly hugged me, giving Dan a funny look over my shoulder. "Let's go, before the Honey Badger bottles it...and Saskia, judging by that expression."

"Not bottling it," Daniel remarked. We could all see his hands was shaking though. "Just cold out here."

"It's twenty-five degrees still?"

"My point exactly," Dan huffed and I gave him a sympathetic smile.

"What's the worst that could happen?" I said, fanning my face with the paperwork I had been reading.

"Death," he replied, in all seriousness.

Jenson rolled his eyes and marched us off before Ricciardo (and I) did a runner. It was still scorching at Silverstone, the day where the practice sessions had been a bit of a sore subject for Red Bull.

A short while later we reached the helicopter pad and the pilot was there waiting for us. At least he looked like a proper pilot- stripes on his shoulders and all.

"Just think of the view," Jenson muttered to Dan, "do it for the Instagram feed."

"Piss off," Ricciardo wailed, but took a photo of the aircraft anyway. Albeit a very blurry one from the jittering.

One by one we got in, with DC and Jenson in the back and Dan and I in front of them.

The pilot briefed us, pointed out the emergency exit, to which Daniel reiterated to me several times and, before long, the blades were spinning. My heart was racing. It was probably going faster than the RB11...well, it wasn't exactly hard to beat.

"Don't wanna do this..." Dan muttered into my ear, wiping his palms on the fronts of his Pepe jeans. "Is it too late to get off?"

"There's some sick bags back here, mate. Do you want one?" DC asked, still figuring out whether he believed Daniel or not. Daniel only managed to stick up his middle finger in response.