It was a beautiful day. Bright, clear skies, but bitterly cold. A biting wind sliced across the track. I hurried inside the building and everyone looked my way. Mr Fanning and Alison were among them.
‘Now that Aidy’s here,’ Myles said, ‘I think we’re ready to start.’
Myles led everyone upstairs into the control tower. Once there, the BBC cameraman ordered us around. He put Myles in the middle with Mr Fanning, Alison and Vic Hancock on Myles’s right and Derek and me on his left. We were positioned with our backs to the track in order to have a panoramic view of the circuit in the background.
While the BBC set up, we ran through the interview with Pit Lane magazine and Motorsport News. These two publications accounted for everything motorsport related in the UK. I didn’t recognize Andrew Marsh from Motorsport News, but I knew Fergus Kane from Pit Lane. He raced VW Beetles and worked in the ad sales department at the magazine. He’d been hustling for a reporter gig and it looked as if he’d gotten his wish. He smiled at me.
Marsh got things rolling. ‘You want to tell us what’s going on here today?’
‘As you all know, we lost a promising competitor in Alex Fanning,’ Myles said. ‘It’s a loss we all share and one we’re not willing to forget. That’s why I’ve been collecting donations all weekend from drivers in the Clark Paints Formula Ford Championship in Alex’s honour. The money will be going towards safety improvements for our paramedic crews here at the track. The initiative was spearheaded by Aidy Westlake.’
‘What made you do this, Aidy?’ Fergus asked. ‘Does it have anything to do with your father’s untimely death?’
The second part of Fergus’s question stung for a second. ‘I know what effect a racing death has on a family and the racing community. We live in times where safety measures make driver deaths rare, but when they happen, we can’t ignore them. Raising funds to improve safety seems like the natural thing to do.’
‘How much have you raised so far?’ Marsh asked.
‘Over seven thousand pounds so far from the drivers in the series,’ Myles said, ‘but we’re looking for others to donate. We’re hoping that all drivers across the country will contribute.’
‘Is there a preferred donation sum?’
‘Two hundred pounds. That’s the equivalent of a race fee. But we will accept donations great and small. Derek Deacon, this year’s champion, donated his championship purse to the fund.’
‘Why the generosity, Derek?’ Fergus asked.
This was an answer I wanted to hear. Did it help him ease his conscience? Judging from Derek’s smirk, a guilty conscience wasn’t something that needed easing.
‘I won this championship because Alex died, so it’s a hollow victory. I could never enjoy the proceeds.’
Someone had been practising his lies in front of the mirror.
‘I wonder if I could step forward a moment,’ Vic Hancock said. ‘Hancock Salvage sponsored Alex. We miss him dearly. As a mark of our respect,’ Hancock said as he removed a check from his suit jacket pocket, ‘we’d like to add five thousand pounds to the fund.’
Hancock received a small round of applause as he handed the check to Myles Beecham.
‘How can others make a donation?’ Fergus asked.
‘Through us here at the circuit,’ Myles said.
‘Are there any events planned in honour of Alex?’ Marsh asked.
‘Yes,’ Myles said. ‘From now on, the last round of the Clark Paints Championship will be the Alex Fanning Memorial Trophy. Alex’s father will be putting up a trophy and an additional cash prize for the trophy’s winner.’
‘My son lost his life doing something he loved,’ Mr Fanning said, filled with pride. ‘While that hurts the ones he left behind,’ he said as took Alison’s hand, ‘I can’t turn my back on a community that has gone out of its way to honour him.’
Mr Fanning broke free of his spot in Myles’s seamless arrangement to shake my hand along with Myles’s and Derek’s. It disgusted me to see Derek enjoying the adulation for something he’d caused. I told myself to take it easy. Let him enjoy the applause because it wouldn’t last. His crimes would catch up to him sooner than he thought.
‘All those who have helped here are truly princes amongst men,’ Mr Fanning said, ‘and I thank them all for their kindness and camaraderie.’
We ran through it all again for the BBC, then the affair broke up into individual interviews. Each reporter got their sound bite from everyone concerned. The photographers from both magazines corralled us for pictures. What expression was I meant to show? Happiness for the good we were doing? Sadness for the loss of a comrade? I let the photographers guide me. The only shot where I could raise anything like a smile was when Alison brought out a framed photo of Alex. It was a head shot of him in his racing overalls, smiling. It killed the smiles that had been present until then. I looked over at Derek. Even he couldn’t grin his way through that one. I almost took pleasure from watching him squirm, but Alison killed it. The photographer lined her up in the front with Mr Fanning at her side. The shot reminded me of a photo taken at my parents’ graveside. It’s a pretty famous picture of me standing over their coffins holding my dad’s crash helmet with Steve standing behind me. This new pose, with a different face, but the same unquenchable sadness, smacked too much of déjà vu.
After my part in the affair ended, I hung around outside. I needed to talk to Fergus. I had a ten minute bone-chilling wait. When he came out, I caught him on his way to his car.
‘Fergus, got a sec?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Pretty screwed up about Alex, eh?’
‘Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about it.’
Fergus grappled for his recorder.
I placed a hand over his. ‘This is off the record, OK?’
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
‘Did you see the TV coverage of the race?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. What was that about? They didn’t mention Alex at all.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I have a favour to ask. Is your dad still friendly with some of the people over at Redline?’
‘A few.’
‘Do you think he can get a copy of the unedited footage of Alex’s crash?’
Fergus pulled back from me. ‘Why do you want that?’
‘A bunch of us wanted to see the accident to know what happened.’
‘Look, don’t bullshit me. I’ve heard the rumours of what went on during that race. Do you know something?’
‘I might, if I got to see the footage.’
Fergus frowned.
‘If I find out anything because of what I see on that tape, I’ll come to you and you only. Sound good?’
I was dangling a carrot in front of him. Obviously, he’d been given his break as a reporter and a big story would cement the position. If he wanted to be a full time reporter, he couldn’t turn me down and he didn’t.
‘OK. I’ll get my old man to ask, but I’m going to hold you to your word that you’ll give me everything you know.’
When I had all the proof, I wouldn’t hesitate telling Fergus everything. I told him we had a deal and we shook on it before he left.
I got as far as my car before I heard my name being called. Vic Hancock emerged from the control tower and jogged over to me.
‘Do you have a minute, Aidy?’
‘Sure.’
‘I just wanted to say you’re doing a great thing masterminding this fund-raiser in Alex’s honour.’
I tried to shrug the compliment away. The attention was embarrassing me.
‘Look, my company still wants to be in racing, so I was wondering if you would like to talk about sponsorship for next season.’