‘Alex is better off skipping tomorrow,’ Graham said.
‘C’mon, you’re not taking this crap seriously, are you? Nothing is going to happen,’ I said, annoyed at myself for getting dragged into this soap opera.
‘He’s serious,’ Graham said.
‘It’s all an act,’ I said. ‘Derek wants word to get around. This is the perfect place for it. Half the paddock is talking about it now and the other half will be by morning practice. He’s playing mind games to screw with Alex’s head.’
‘Well, we’re about to see how serious Derek is,’ Dylan said and nodded towards the entrance.
I turned around to see Alex holding the door open for his fiancée, Alison. The usual contingent of Alex’s father and Jo-Jo, his mechanic, followed the couple in. A sour-faced, middle-aged man I didn’t recognize walked in with them.
Their arrival changed the mood in the clubhouse. An oppressive seriousness replaced the giddy joviality that had been present moments earlier. Suddenly, the rumour wasn’t that entertaining. For the first time, the Formula One commentators could be heard on the TVs. The sudden change reminded me of every old western movie where the doomed cattle rancher comes into town to pick up animal feed, unaware that the black hats are saddling up to wipe him and his family out.
Alex seemed oblivious to the mood of the room. I didn’t know if he was aware of the rumour flying around. Chances were he knew and was just playing it cool. Alex was aloof at the best of times and had failed to make many friends around the paddock because of it. The same couldn’t be said of his dad. He swapped hellos with familiar faces, seemingly unaware of the furtive glances being cast their way.
The tension looked set to continue until Alex broke it. He went up to Derek and put his hand out to him. ‘Best of luck tomorrow.’
It was a classy move on Alex’s part that made me smile.
‘May the best man win,’ Derek said shaking Alex’s hand.
The move worked. The tension eased and the conversation level rose as Alex and his family sat around a table.
‘How’d you think he’ll do it?’ Graham mused.
‘He’ll take him out on the track,’ Dylan said.
‘He might have someone do it for him. He knows people.’
It was the one thing that lent weight to the seriousness of Derek’s threat. The rumour was that Derek had connections to organized crime in London despite coming from Bristol. It was a nice bit of spin that helped bolster the don’t-fuck-with-Derek myth.
With all talk of Derek and Alex quashed, conversation turned to tomorrow’s race and plans for next season. We finished our drinks and it was my turn to get the next round in. I leaned against the bar with a tenner in the air to catch the barman’s attention. He looked my way, but continued filling other drink orders.
A path opened and Derek filled a space alongside me. He raised a finger and received an instantaneous response from the barman.
‘What can I get you, Derek?’
‘Aidy was here first.’
‘Two orange juices and a Coke, please,’ I said to the barman.
‘Tag on to that another two Cokes and a pint.’ Derek winked at me. ‘Don’t panic. It’s on me. I’m feeling generous.’
‘Coming right up, Derek,’ the barman said.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Aidy. I fancy my chances tomorrow and I want to celebrate with my friends.’
We were friends? We hadn’t spoken more than a handful of times all season, but I played along. ‘Of course not.’
I felt Derek goading me into saying something to prompt him to reveal his not-very-secret secret, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction. I wasn’t willing to play stooge, but I did involuntarily. Derek smiled at me and rested an arm across my shoulders. His message was simple: Look at me, Alex. I’ve got another one on my side.
The barman set the drinks in front of me and I grabbed them. ‘Thanks, Derek.’
‘Don’t thank me. Tomorrow is going to be a great day. Nobody is going to stand in my way of winning my tenth title.’
Lap Two
The following morning, the Clark Paints Formula Ford Championship race had raised its profile in the paddock. Derek’s death threat had deposed the Porsche Cup as the feature race on the bill. It was all about Derek and Alex. An uncommon amount of interest went into that morning’s qualification session. Drivers and pit crews from all the other races packed the spectator area in front of the start-finish line. The bloodlust was palpable. They wanted to see if Derek would take Alex out during qualifying to make himself a shoo-in for the championship.
I couldn’t let their issue distract me. I needed to put up a fast lap during morning practice. I pulled on my race suit and Dylan held out the torque wrench to me.
‘You want this or are you going to break with tradition?’
I smiled and took the wrench. I gave the wheels one last torque and went around the car checking that every joint was tight. It wasn’t necessary, but it was my habit. I knew every inch of my car and until I was sure every nut and bolt was tight, I couldn’t focus on racing. Some might call it superstition. I call it good engineering practice. Well, maybe it is superstition, but it works for me. I completed my pre-race ritual by kissing my mum’s St Christopher that I now wore around my neck and prayed for a good day.
I climbed into the car, Dylan helped belt me in and I was good to go.
As I accelerated onto the track, I concentrated on my driving. I worked the brakes hard to get some heat in them before finding myself some space on the track. I used a car three hundred yards ahead as a target to home in on and went for it. I put in a nice set of four laps before I reeled the car in. Dylan held out my time board and I knew I wasn’t getting any more out of the car, so I backed off. Late in the practice session, Alex passed me on a flying lap. I gave him room and then tucked in behind him to catch a ride in his slipstream.
No sooner had I slotted in behind him than I veered back out. Alex’s tailpipe was shaking violently. It looked as if its support bracket had broken off and only a couple of spring clips and goodwill were keeping it attached. If his tailpipe did break off, I didn’t fancy catching it in the face.
The bracket had no doubt suffered a stress fracture, which wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. There’s little to cushion the punishment inflicted on a racetrack. Take a close look at a racecar and it’s held together with duct tape, silicon bath sealant, plastic ties and twist wire.
As I watched Alex’s car pull away from me, it occurred to me that the mounting’s failure might not be a product of fatigue. Was mechanical failure Derek’s way of eliminating Alex from the race? It was more than possible. The honour system operates in the paddock. No one steals anyone’s stuff and no one messes with anyone’s ride. It didn’t mean someone couldn’t. If Derek wanted to interfere with Alex’s car, it wouldn’t be hard.
If Derek had tampered with the car, he hadn’t done a good job. All twenty-eight cars returned from practice in one piece. As soon as I parked in my spot in the paddock, I walked over to Alex’s area. He, his father and Jo-Jo were clustered around the rear of the car. They all looked up when I walked over.
‘Is it the exhaust mounting?’ I said. ‘I saw it flapping around.’
‘Yeah, it looks that way,’ Alex said.
‘Good, I just wanted to make sure you knew.’
As I turned to leave, Alex stopped me. ‘I don’t think you know everyone here. This is Aidy Westlake. His dad was Rob Westlake.’
My racing heritage didn’t end with my grandfather. I was following in my father’s footsteps. He’d made it all the way to Formula One, but never started a race. He slid off the road driving back from Brands Hatch, killing him and my mum. Dad had been gone over a decade and it never got any easier to hear his name mentioned in the past tense.