Page 18

Chapter Seventeen

Darien

T he days begin to fly by, and suddenly we’re in high gear preparing for winter testing. It won’t be our first look at the cars – we get a peek when we do the livery reveal on Valentine’s Day – but it will be our first time driving them, and we’ve been told the overhaul is huge. Fortunately, as information has come in on our newest models, Shantal and the engineers have worked to make sure the sims are as identical as possible to the cars. It’s been a learning curve, but the trainers are pleased with the improvement, and the rest of us are just hoping it’ll be enough.

I can feel it in my shoulders, though – my entire body is full of stress. As much as I try not to let on in practice, I have to get along with this new car – speak to it, even – if I want to fulfil the conditions of keeping this centre alive. It’s all that’s been on my mind since we started creeping up on livery reveal, so I’ve decided to find something else to focus on.

It’s Carnaval, and that means all of Rio is only play, no work. Of course, our family celebrated every year, but I remember how it was after Pai passed away. I used to sit on his shoulders, the same way I’d sit on my mom’s at the parades, and he’d point out every float to me, sing to every song. As I got older, it became pretty easy to put the memories aside each Carnaval and, if I’m being totally honest, it was definitely the alcohol that made it so easy.

So granted that no one on this team has ever been to Carnaval before, I decided to take on a couple of responsibilities. The first? The pre-game.

We order bottles and bottles of Brazilian rum, whisky, the works. We load up my room in the Ring, but it’s not long till the drinks are flowing. This will only last so long, of course, what with tomorrow marking exactly one week till the pre-season test. And yeah, we can’t have any of the good stuff in our bodies after this last hurrah. Alcohol, as Celina likes to say, is nothing but reward for exceptional performance once the season starts. Either you do well and you get to drink, or you suck and you have to go dry for months.

‘Who the hell bought this?’ I raise a can of Smirnoff that I definitely hadn’t ordered.

‘Me,’ Miguel offers, shrugging carelessly. ‘Remember that extra duffel bag? The one with my spare crash helmets?’

‘Ah, the helmets,’ I recall. I nod in acknowledgement. ‘That was definitely way too heavy to be helmets, dude.’

Our fourth and final guest to arrive, Shantal, tentatively walks through the open door and into my room full of liquor with a smile and a roll of her eyes as she takes stock of everything we’ve procured. ‘This looks like a uni fresher’s room.’

We all turn to Henri immediately.

For all his childishness, he’s absolutely slamming back a red Solo cup of something that will undoubtedly come back to get him tomorrow. I lean in and take a whiff. ‘ Bro . What is that?’

He just looks at me, totally clueless. ‘Some of Miguel’s stuff and then, like, Pepsi? Or the Brazilian version?’

‘I have to ask again.’ My eye twitches as I regard Henri with as much deep thought as I’m capable of in the moment. ‘Can you even drive ?’

‘Well … I just graduated high school last June,’ he says with a tipsy smile. ‘I’ve never even been to college.’

‘Oh, he’s a baby!’ Miguel whines, ruffling Henri’s pale brown curls before popping the tab on the nearest Smirnoff and taking a swig.

In a move swifter than I’d have anticipated, Shantal grabs a bottle of rum and uncorks it, filling herself a cup. She catches my watching gaze and meets it with a raised eyebrow. ‘What?’

‘What?’ I shake my head for a little extra emphasis, even though it’s definitely not working. I could say I’m staring because she has these goofy blue and gold tinsel clip-ons all up in her hair, or because she’s wearing nothing but a bright green bikini top and booty shorts, and she never fails to shock me with all these parts of her personality (not to mention she’s drop-dead gorgeous ) but I decide to tell a little white lie. ‘I didn’t know you liked rum.’

‘We love rum in the Mangal family,’ she retorts with a scrunch of her nose that makes her gold hoops swish. If I were a man with less impulse control, I think I’d pass out, although the impulse control isn’t keeping me from going hard as we speak. I have to do an awkward little cough and turn towards my makeshift bar to pour myself another drink so she doesn’t notice.

Many, many drinks in, we’re all decidedly loose enough to head out to Ipanema – without the usual security entourage, to my excitement. I’m not exactly sure what strings Katrina and Demir might have pulled, but I’m relieved we get to enjoy the holiday without additional attention. It’s just the beginning of the festival, the first day, and midday at that, but the first day is all we’ll have. We’re on the grind tomorrow – which means we have to soak in whatever we can now.

The boardwalk is already crammed shoulder to shoulder with people dressed in bright colours and as little as conveniently possible. I’ve tried my best to get us all to blend in as well as possible en route to the parade. The three of us drivers are nowhere near identifiable, with sunglasses, bandanas tied around our heads, and the most common T-shirts and board shorts I could find. Either way, everyone’s way too plastered and occupied to notice anything which, in my opinion, is the beauty of going out at Carnaval.

‘Parade’s not till way later.’ Miguel lowers his sunglasses and waggles his eyebrows at us as we walk. ‘How we feeling about hitting a bar or two, dancing? We all dancers here?’

I clear my throat. ‘Yeah, actually, I think we should go for it.’ I sneak a covert little tip of my head at Shantal as if to say, ‘Dance, right?’ She just lets out a laugh.

‘Oh …’ She throws her head back, looking up at the sky with a groan. ‘Give me one reason this will be a good idea.’

‘You’ll be so drunk later,’ suggests Miguel, ‘that you won’t even remember this!’

Shantal gives that a moment’s thought, but eventually she sighs. ‘Probably true. Just. This. Once .’ She wags a finger my way with each word.

Henri, Smirnoff in hand, raises it eagerly. ‘Let’s go, guys!’

It’s only half an hour before we’ve found ourselves at the first outdoor bar of the day on the beach. It’s clearly makeshift, with the enormous dance floor coming off the bar area itself, but it is packed . Shantal bobs her head to the beat as I return from the bar with a margarita for each of us.

‘Thanks.’ The guarded look on her face starts to fall away, making way for curiosity as she glances at the floor full of tourists and locals who are mingling over the blaring tones of modernized samba. She sips at her drink. ‘Ooh, this is good stuff.’

‘As it should be.’ I raise an eyebrow at her waist swishing ever so slightly side to side. ‘Did you wanna go dance? I don’t know how much good I’d do you, though.’

‘I couldn’t,’ she shoots back immediately. Looks like I’ve found the defensiveness. ‘Why don’t you go for it?’ she suggests. ‘No shortage of dance partners around here.’

She’s making a valid point, I guess. There are a lot of girls in this club. They’re really pretty, but I just shrug impassively. Maybe a month ago I’d have thought about it, but they’re not Shantal.

I turn back to her, and I say, ‘I won’t go for it unless you do.’ I take a sip, no, a gulp of my margarita for courage. ‘You deserve to have some fun.’

‘Fun.’ She echoes the word like she’s never heard it spoken in her life. ‘Well, like Miguel said.’

‘We’re going to be too slammed to remember anything,’ I recite, extending a hand to her. ‘So. Dance?’

There’s a moment where I think I haven’t sold her on it. I’m using everything I’ve got, puppy-dog eyes included, and it looks as if she’s going to say no, straight up. Until her expression breaks into a grin. Shantal is beaming at me, and as she takes my hand, walking backwards towards the dance floor, I can’t even compute that something’s changed her mind. All I see is that smile.

‘Oh, you’re gonna tear it up?’ I tease her as she takes a spin on the beat.

‘Well, Darien, if you’re going to know everything else about me, you’d better find out that no one tears it up harder than a girl from Guyana.’

Spoiler alert: she’s very much right.

It has to be the alcohol taking over both of our senses, but before I can register it, my hands are on Shantal’s waist, and I think an Anitta song is playing, and Shantal moves like it’s second nature, tapping my arm as if to say, Just follow me . I do, and we’re completely in sync with every step we take, as Shantal deftly guides herself beneath my arm and I spin her in towards me so her back is right up against my chest, her butt flush against me, her body warm against mine and my hands pressed to her bare skin.

The sun beats down on us, making the sparkly tinsel in Shantal’s hair seem to reflect in the light as she grinds against me, throwing a mischievous smile back my way. I can feel every puff of her breath escape her lips and brush mine.

I take it you like that? her eyes seem to prod me.

A little too much , mine reply.

And I never in my life thought I’d be watching the woman developing simulators for my Formula 1 team absolutely drop it to the floor, but jeez, when Shantal said she’d shake it, she wasn’t lying.

With a laugh, she tugs on the back of my bandana, steering me over to her so I don’t get lost in the crowd in my daze. She adjusts the thin fabric and tucks a stray lock of my hair back under it, her slim fingers lingering on my forehead for just a second longer. Neither of us can look away. Maybe we are daring one another to hang on, I’m not sure. Playing a game – who gives in first? But I don’t think I want it to end.

‘Holy shit !’ Miguel whoops, tugging Henri over so hard he almost somersaults headfirst into Shantal’s empty margarita glass. ‘Can we talk about that, Miss Mangal?’

‘Stop it.’ Shantal elbows Miguel with her free hand, laughing as she hides her face in my shoulder. I hold back a smile as I give Miguel a little nod, and we all head off to get more drinks.

The Carnaval parade is put on at night, when the sun has set and lights come on all down the street route. Floats resplendent with massive props, flashbulbs, sparkles, feathers, and, of course, troupes and troupes of dancers begin to make their way down; from the stands, we are able to see every second of it. There’s wonder in Henri’s eyes as he bounces along to the booming music.

All four of us wrap our arms around each other and cheer and dance like we’ve been doing this for ages. It’s probably because of the incredibly heated dance we shared, and definitely because of the alcohol, but my gaze immediately travels to Shantal. When she’s not stressed, not worried, not upset, there’s a sense of ease about her. She’s donned a bunch of coloured bead necklaces over a Crystal Palace FC hoodie she brought with her, and the smile on her face tells me everything I need to know about how she’s faring. She looks so much more carefree than I’ve ever seen her before.

We eventually take an Uber back to our training quarters, all of us grinning and giggling as we part ways. Shantal gives me a little wave when she slips into her room. That same smile, that same giddiness: it’s in that moment that I realize I may just be in too deep. Way too deep.