Page 5

Cherry

“Cabin crew, please prepare the plane for landing.”

A lung-load of air whooshes out of me and I check my seat belt, which has remained fastened low and tight across my hips throughout this ten-hour flight from Melbourne to Shanghai.

To say the flight was bumpy would be an exercise in understatement. From the moment we took off into the Melbourne night sky, this plane has been bouncing its way over international waters, taking my fear of flying on a journey with it.

“Almost there,” I whisper to myself, glancing at the screen in front of me, my eyes fixed on the little animated plane showing our position just above Shanghai Airport.

It has been nine days since the Melbourne Grand Prix and in that time, I’ve been getting the last pieces of my life sorted so I can leave for the next ten months without looking back.

Plants have been donated to friends, last-minute bills paid and my mail forwarded, and the meagre belongings left in my apartment stuffed into my parent’s backyard shed.

It’s strange how little a person needs when they know they will cart it around the globe for the better part of ten months of the year.

Without somewhere to call home for the foreseeable future, I’m down to the bare bones of essentials.

And it’s as freeing as it is terrifying.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I peel my white-knuckled fingers from my armrest and open my WhatsApp app.

Tanya, my best friend since forever, has been keeping me company through the last few hours of the flight, gaining a million brownie points for waking up early and texting me through my anxiety.

She’s the sort of friend who knows I struggle to sleep on planes and will reach out to make sure I’m okay.

But I won’t be fully okay until the wheels of this plane hit the tarmac without us exploding on impact. It’s dark in my thoughts sometimes.

Tanya

So, you’re really not interested in knowing what the internet is saying?

She’s been texting me this for about an hour now, not taking no for an answer.

Cherry

NO!

Tanya

But I’m dying to talk about it.

The ‘it’ she’s referring to is the flurry of photos of me from the Melbourne GP that have taken over the F1 social media. Tanya was the first to bring it to my attention the morning after Nicky’s race win and has been bugging me about it ever since .

Tanya

You really don’t want to know what the world is saying about you?

AND NICKY?

My stomach twists as I read her message. This is the problem. The keyboard warriors aren’t just talking about me, they’re talking about me and Nicky. Together.

It all stemmed from photos taken of the two of us that Thursday morning when he had grabbed my wrist and pulled me in close.

In the pictures he’s looking all protective and fierce, so it looks like something is happening between us, but what the world doesn’t know is he has a history of looking at me like that. Like a big brother.

Cherry

I really, really, really don’t want to know.

Like really.

When she’d sent me the first round of screenshots, I’d devoured every frame, every word, every caption written. And then, as quickly as I’d started, I’d stopped. Because what they were speculating about us was so far from the truth, it’s embarrassing.

I’m not sure how I’m going to look Nicky in the eye this weekend when I see him. Only one race into the season and I’m already causing trouble for him.

Tanya

Fine. I’ll let it go, for now .

She sends five more screenshots, this time of photos captured over the rest of the weekend. Each one is of me and Nicky orbiting around each other. Each one was more innocent than the other. Each one more damning than the other. Apparently .

Tanya

Sorry, I couldn’t help it.

I’m done now.

Are you almost there?

I look at the plane on the screen in front of me. Estimated time to arrival: five minutes.

Cherry

Yes. Thankfully. It’s been like flying in a tumble dryer.

Tanya

Remind me again why you’re on that China Eastern flight and the rest of the team…aren’t?

My bestie is right to ask the question. While I’m flying a budget-ish airline to get to the next race weekend, the rest of the team had left on a chartered flight the day after the Melbourne GP.

Even Nicky, who’d spent the Monday with his family and Matt and Nancy, had hightailed it out of there, heading straight to Shanghai to prepare for the next race.

But given my late arrival into the team and the leftover life sorting I had to do before leaving my world behind, I was stuck making my own way to China.

Unlike my big brother, I’ve never travelled on my own before.

I’ve never even travelled this far at all and so this—me travelling solo—has been a point of contention for the people closest to me.

Prior to this, the furthest I’d gone was Bali, and given it was filled with other Aussie travellers, I’d felt right at home there.

But this? Manoeuvring around Shanghai by myself will be a whole different story.

One that has my parents wringing their hands with worry and me saddled with a chest chock-filled with all the worst-case scenarios.

Cherry

It was the only flight I could take. Qantas stopped their direct flight from Melbourne flying to Shanghai after the pandemic.

Tanya

How are you feeling about being there by yourself?

She’s not my best friend for nothing. She knows what I’m doing now is out of my comfort zone.

Cherry

Scared.

But putting on a brave face.

For myself.

Tanya

You’ll be fine. And you’ll have Nicky…

I know she’s fishing for information about our status, not fully believing me when I tell her our relationship is painfully platonic. Her exact words when we first spoke about the photos were: “You two have enough chemistry to power the whole F1 grid!”

Tanya has always been hyperbolic .

Cherry

I’ve got to go, we’re landing.

Tanya

Fine, avoid the topic. I’m not going anywhere.

Can’t wait to see more photos from this weekend wink face emoji

Love you. Be safe.

I send her a kissing emoji and switch my phone off. If I’m going to be out and about in Shanghai by myself, I’ll need my phone charged and ready to Google Translate and Google Navigate for me.

“Welcome to Shanghai, China, where the local time is 7.30 a.m. The temperature outside is currently a wet and rainy ten degrees Celsius…”

The pilot drones on and I look out my window, getting my first glimpse of Shanghai, my home for the next week. From this vantage point, there’s not much to see other than the raindrops hitting the tarmac.

I hope the weather clears up for the weekend. The thought of the drivers hurtling around a racetrack at 210 miles per hour in the rain gives me heartburn.

The light illuminating the seatbelt sign above me turns off, and as humans do, everyone stands up and rushes to get their carry-on luggage, only to stand in line as the plane empties from the front to the back.

I’m in row fifteen and happy to wait my turn, willing my stomach to stop twirling at the thought of making my way from the airport to the hotel.

I anxiously check the name of it for the thousandth time.

It’s printed on the itinerary Sue sent to me, in both English and Chinese characters to show to a taxi driver; she said that was the easiest way to ensure I get to the right place.

As I exit the plane, only to stand in another, longer line at the customs area, I turn my phone back on.

It vibrates incessantly with notifications and I scan through them, smiling at the messages from my parents, from Matt and Nancy, and even from Serena, letting me know she’s looking forward to seeing me soon.

I shoot off a few quick texts to let my family know I arrived safely, shutting down the niggling of disappointment at the lack of communication from Nicky.

He's your boss now, Cherry. Sure, he was once like family to you, but over the years that changed. You don’t even have his mobile number, for goodness’ sake. You’re more likely to hear from Sue than the man himself.

With this refrain looping around my head, I clear customs and arrive at the luggage carousel just as my purple American Tourist suitcase makes its way around the corner.

“Perfect,” I sigh with relief, hauling it off the conveyor belt and onto my trolley. “Let’s get out of here.”

Taking the rumpled piece of paper out of my cross-body bag, I grip it tightly in one hand and push the trolley in the other, reading the signs pointing to the exit and taxi rank, grateful they are also written in English.

“What the—?”

I stop, wincing as the trolley behind me crushes the back of my left leg.

“Sorry,” I mutter to the man glaring at me as he moves the offending trolley around me. I’m not sure what he’s so angry about. It’s my calf that’s been maligned.

“James?”

I hurry over to where Nicky’s security man is standing off to the side holding a placard with my name on it .

“Miss Brenner!” He beams a bright smile at me, and I grin.

I’d met James at the last race weekend and had been suitably intimidated by his gigantic, tanklike body, his tattooed-covered arms and neck, and his perma-scowl.

Turns out, he’s a teddy bear who loves to gossip and has a serious sweet tooth.

He’s also responsible for Nicky’s safety, so he’s a hero among men in my eyes.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as he takes the handle of my trolley from my tight grip, walking with it towards the exit. I follow behind, wiping the exhaustion from my eyes.

“Nicky sent me,” he says over his shoulder, putting his sunglasses on as we leave the airport terminal, even though there is not an inch of sunlight to be seen.

“He did?” I scan Sue’s itinerary, now a damp mess in my sweaty hand, looking for any mention of James meeting me at the airport. I read it through twice, knowing that just like the ten other times I’d read it, there would be nothing about Nicky sending his bodyguard to fetch me.