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My first qualifiers without Kian are tough. He’s on my mind constantly. I worry that he’s grieving and hurting with no way for me to check that he’s okay. I’m sure, with the way Anders loves him like a second son, he’s been in touch with him, and Cole, too, but I don’t know how to ask either of them. If they know I haven’t been in touch with him, they’ll want to know why and then that would raise more difficult questions, with complicated answers.

I take the Q8 finish badly, but without Kian here to buy me Chinese and then kiss me silly, it’s even worse.

Thankfully, I still have Johannes.

Win or lose, we’re always there for each other.

Hence us currently sitting together on the floor of my hotel room with the weirdest picnic spread of snacks that we could find in the local store. Neither of us know what half of it is, but most of it tastes okay and that’s the main thing.

‘You missing him?’ he asks, out of nowhere.

‘Mmm.’ If I start telling him how much, I’ll never stop talking. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this lonely, even as a kid who’d been abandoned by his parents.

I miss everything. The cuddles, the sex, the way he’d tell me endless stories about his childhood and his sister and his niblings. I even miss him cussing me out for doing something stupid. I’d take him being mad and here, over him being gone and ignoring me completely.

‘Still blocked?’

I don’t justify that with a response other than the growl that escapes my throat.

‘Christ, loves turned you into an annoying motherfucker. I’m trying to talk to you here. Get you to open up so tomorrow’s a better day for you.’

This time I don’t stop him. I don’t try to deny that it’s love, because Kian doesn’t deserve that injustice.

‘Wow, Harper James, speechless and in love. It’s a bad day for all the guys who still think they have a chance of a night with you.’

The thought of someone else almost makes me want to be sick. In a scary turn of events, I don’t want to imagine ever sleeping with someone else again.

‘I mean, Kian’s not exactly here loving me, too, is he? I’ve blown it there – we both know that.’

I can’t even hide the self-pity and bitterness I feel towards myself. It’s my own fault completely, yet I still feel stupidly sorry for myself.

‘Just give it time, okay? He has to deal with everything else first, especially with the funeral only being a couple of days away. I’m sure he’ll be back before you know it and you two can talk.’

I’m lucky, so bloody lucky to have a best friend who didn’t break up with me when we became full-on rivals on the track. It’s a rarity in the sport for drivers on other teams to be so close, but we really do embrace it.

He’s so good he even changes the subject. It can’t be a late one as we have the race tomorrow, so we decide to call it a night early. As he goes to leave, he turns back to me and says, ‘Look, just do your best tomorrow, for Kian. He’ll be so mad if you undo all his hard work in the Constructors’ Championship. He wouldn’t want you to be anything other than your best out there. You have to do it for the both of you.’

And clearly, I take that on board.

It’s not easy, starting eighth on the grid and trying to scramble back from that, but I do it.

I’m nothing but grit and concentration as I climb into the cockpit, Ash in my ear and all the lads around me making sure everything about the car is ready to go. I’ve never had a problem with overthinking, and today is no exception. It feels like Kian’s with me in the cockpit, and I don’t try to block him out. I welcome him and hold him close to my heart. I channel him; I use him to inspire me.

The five red lights go out and I’m off.

It’s the perfect start, and even when my tyres feel like they’re beginning to wear, my determination doesn’t dim.

We have our fastest pit stop of the year so far, everything going smoothly and to plan and then I put everything I’ve learned out there on the track. I remember all the tips and tricks from my early karting days, everything I cherished about racing, and everything I’ve learned from watching Kian over the last decade and a half.

I embrace his technique and match it with my total fearlessness. I indulge in the mental game he practises so hard to maintain and tack it with my slight recklessness on the track.

In a moment of absolute incredibleness, it pays off.

It takes the first twenty laps for me to find the rhythm I’m looking for and to feel comfortable out there. Then it takes another ten for my speed on the beautiful straight to reach its maximum potential.

On the fortieth lap I truly engage. I’m switched on to the drivers around me and Ash is doing a perfect job of keeping me in the loop.

Especially when I move up to P3. ‘Great job, Harper. Yorris and Johannes out in front of you. Show them what you’re made of.’

‘How close am I?’ I ask.

‘Johannes is point four ahead, Yorris point nine. After this bend is your best chance.’

Sorry, Jojo. This one’s mine. And then I take a risk – some might call it reckless, but I can feel the magic today. I can do no wrong, and I accelerate past Johannes.

If we were still back in our karting days, fourteen and fifteen-year-old boys behaving badly on the track, I’d have stuck my middle finger up at him as I went past.

Kian would be furious that I was even having this thought so I let it go and set my sights on Yorris.

He’s been a menace on the track this year. It’s his third top-category season and I think he’s become tired of finishing around P5 or P4 for the last two years. He wants a win so badly, and without Kian here this is his best chance. Yorris is fast, sharp-witted, and he takes every bend and sharp corner like a pro. He balances his faster laps against his slower laps so he doesn’t burn out, a skill which is so hard to learn when all you want to do is hit full-throttle every time you’re out on the track.

But wanting it doesn’t mean getting it. I want it, too – every guy out here wants it – but I’m channelling Kian today, so I’m not going to make a mistake. And then Yorris is spinning out in front of me. I’m lucky it’s in a wide enough part of the track that he doesn’t clip me, but even luckier that I can speed past him.

‘P1, fucking P1, man!’ Ash is going crazy in my ear, but I’m not about to relax. I still have twenty laps to go and I have to stay focused.

Twenty beautiful bloody laps. Johannes gives me some trouble when Ash announces he’s caught up to me and is point eight behind me, but I keep pushing, keep channelling Kian, and fight him off until I see that checkered flag.

Fireworks explode around me in the warm night sky and then I’m climbing on top of the car, jumping up and down because I’ve done it. I’ve bloody done it. I could remember in this moment that the two wins I’ve had this season have been Kian’s only two DNFs – one because of his crash and one because he’s not even racing – but I’m not going to let that take away from what I’ve achieved.

I look around the cheering crowds and I expect to feel absolutely incredible, beloved and successful. But I realise there’s no one there who’s mine. Sure, there are fans and it’s obvious that plenty of them are cheering for me, but there’s no special person I want to celebrate this with. No family, no partner.

For a second, that realisation hits home so hard that the disappointment drowns out the fans and team screaming around me. It’s silent and I’m alone. Even when I’m on top of the world, I’m still alone.

I know this is not what I want. I know it is a hollow victory without anyone to share it with. I know it means nothing without Kian.

The thought isn’t fleeting, but I don’t get time to engage with it as I’m hauled down from the top of the car and thrown into getting ready to head to the podium.

There’s more than a few tears as I stand top of the podium, Hendersohm’s name on the screen behind me, the British national anthem ringing out around me.

It’s a moment of a lifetime. There’s many a petty thought as I step off with my medal and am handed a magnum bottle of Hendersohm branded champagne. I take great pleasure in spraying it absolutely everywhere, washing away all the people who didn’t believe in me, the parents and foster families who gave me up, everyone who didn’t love me enough.

I’m absolutely hounded by press on the sideline, every radio station, TV crew member and journalist screaming to get my attention.

Is this what it feels like to be wanted? It’s emptier than I thought it would be.

‘Harper James, what does this win mean to you?’ a petite lady with a fluffy microphone extended across the press barrier shouts my way.

There’s only one thing I want to say, and only one person I want to say it to.

‘First of all,’ I say, and I see other recorders jammed into my face to capture my words of wisdom. ‘I just want to say that me and all of the rest of the Hendersohm team are thinking about the Walker family right now. Chastity was an incredible woman who paved the way in pop music for so many, plus she was a fantastic mum to her two kids, and Kian always spoke about her with such fondness.’ I clear my throat. ‘I don’t need to tell anyone whose watched a single race in the last decade and a half how good Kian is on the track. But behind the scenes he’s an inspiration, he’s taught me so much about determination and drive in this sport. How important it is to take care of myself off the track as well as on. He’s challenged me to become a better driver. This win today, well, it isn’t mine. This is for Kian. He would have taken this track by storm today, I’m sure of it, so my win is his and I can’t wait to be back on the track with him soon.’

I’m not sure if it was appropriate to say any of that, but I don’t care. I’ll never know if I would have won today if Kian had been racing but dedicating this to him is the least I can do.

* * *

‘Good work out there,’ Anna says from where she’s sitting a little too cosily next to Cole. ‘Guess that media training finally paid off, you little shit. Almost had half the pit in tears.’

Well this is new. Making the team proud. Wow.

Anders is shaking my hand like a maniac. I’ve probably just made him a ridiculous amount of bonus money – and myself, which will help in paying off the blackmailing dickheads who my agent had to bribe – but he does actually look proud of me, too. He seems to be a good guy. There aren’t many people I trust. I’ve never had reason to. But the therapy’s starting to help – I can see that; I can feel it. Maybe it’s working because I’m older now, or maybe it’s because I have a reason to want to be better. Maybe it’s time to take a risk off the track, too, and trust some people.

‘Sir, I’d like to ask permission to do something you might not like.’

‘Considering you’re asking, rather than just doing it and letting me find out about it from the press tomorrow, then I’m almost bound to say yes. Within reason. What is it, son?’

‘I’d like to fly back to the UK tonight. I’d like to support Kian at the funeral. He needs someone and?—’

‘And that person should be you?’ He raises a sceptical eyebrow at me.

‘It should.’

‘Sure thing, kid. We’ll get you on the next plane out of here.’