‘OK, guys, let’s get back to it.’
‘Lads, a moment,’ Nevin said to his crew. ‘Aidy, these reprobates will be running your car. Say hello to Jim McLeod, Dalton Mitchell, Roy Carroll and Stephen Price. They’ll break their backs for you, but they’ll expect you to do the same for them.’
I shook hands with all of them.
‘OK, intros out the way, let’s impress the boss,’ Nevin said.
I jogged back to my car, grabbed my kit bag and changed into my race clothes. This consisted of flame retardant socks, long johns, a long-sleeved T-shirt, shoes and overalls. The clothing always seemed like overkill. Racecars rarely caught fire these days, but there was always the exception. I just hoped I’d never get to find out what it was like to be the exception. All dressed up, I jogged across the paddock back to the pits.
I stopped when I reached the team transporter. The doors were open, so I clambered up and stood inside. The transporter was a mobile workshop, all gleaming aluminium and polished steel. The cars sat on tracks inside. Storage compartments galore provided a home for replacement parts and tools. Everything that might be needed to strip and rebuild any of the cars was here. Jason had wanted something from here, but what? Nothing stood out at first glance. There was plenty worth stealing, but there’d be no point. Anything he’d find here he’d also find with his own team and certainly none of it was worth killing him over. If Jason had been breaking in to take something, it would be something very specific.
‘Aidy, what are you doing?’ Nevin asked from behind me.
I hadn’t heard him walk up on me. ‘Just looking. It’s a bit more than I’m used to.’
‘Well, you’re in the big leagues now, son. C’mon, we’ve got work to do.’
I jumped down from the transporter and the two of us walked back to the garage.
‘I know you’ve driven this car, but now you’ve got to race it. Remember, it’s a lot different from your Formula Ford, OK?’
‘Got it.’
‘The telemetry will feed us everything you’re doing, so don’t think you can bullshit me on what’s happening.’
I smiled. ‘I won’t.’
Nevin smiled back. ‘Good lad. I want you to go out and give me twenty. Use ten to get a feel for the car and then give me ten flying laps to let me see how you put it all together.’
‘No problem.’
‘Questions?’
I frowned. ‘More of a request.’
‘Shoot.’
I had pre-race customs, although Dylan called them superstitions. I was used to prepping my own cars and knew every inch down to the nuts and bolts. Before I climbed behind the wheel, I always checked each joint and torqued my wheels. It served a technical purpose, but it also calmed and focused me. I explained this to Nevin and he and his crew laughed their heads off.
‘We’re going to get on well,’ Nevin said. ‘Aren’t we, boys?’
His crew responded with thumbs-up and yeses.
‘You’re in a different world now, Aidy. These lads have got your back. We’ll forget nothing. You’re in safe hands, but I like someone who crosses t’s and dots i’s.’ Nevin handed me a checklist. ‘I run through this with the boys before any of my drivers hit the track. You call it out and we’ll do it.’
I liked Nevin’s military precision. I called out the checks and my crew carried them out, making sure everything was tight, locked down and operating normally, even down to retorquing the wheels.
When the checklist was completed, Nevin handed me my helmet, which was mic’d up. This was the first time I’d be driving with a headset.
‘I like drivers who talk to me,’ Nevin said. ‘I want your commentary. Your feedback is just as useful as the telemetry.’
I completed my final pre-race custom by kissing my mum’s St Christopher that I’d been wearing since her death. I pulled on my helmet and climbed into the car. Nevin belted me in, plugged in my headset, then sent me out.
Haulk had already joined the circuit and I accelerated hard on the pit lane. The car shuddered over the concrete surface on its stiff springs until I hit the track’s smooth asphalt. I wound the car up through the gears. With its interior stripped out, the roar of the engine echoed inside the cavernous cockpit.
As Nevin asked, I worked my way into the car, adjusting to its power and adapting to its idiosyncrasies. The extra weight and higher centre of gravity meant I couldn’t corner as fast as in my Formula Ford. I had to work the brakes hard before I entered every corner, but I also had the power to compensate on the straights. As I racked up the laps, the car lost its unfamiliarity and I felt it respond to me.
‘That’s ten laps,’ Nevin said through my headset. ‘Now show me what you can do.’
I pushed the car, but I didn’t go crazy. With each lap, I went a little deeper with the car, getting on the power earlier, braking later and refining my racing line. Nevin kept in contact the whole time. I liked having his voice in my ear, guiding and encouraging me. It reminded me of Steve, that voice of reason smoothing my reservations away.
At the end of my second set of laps, I came in. Nevin kept me in the car while the crew carried out checks and refuelled.
‘I like your times. They aren’t earth shattering, but you’re chipping away at them. Keep it up.’
I put in another thirty laps under Nevin’s tuition before Rags called in all the cars for lunch. I hated stopping for lunch. It meant losing the rhythm I was in, although it made sense to come in to refuel the body as well as the car. Most people would be amazed at how much energy a driver burns off during a race, considering he remains seated for all of it.
I came in to find the crew had converted two of the unused garages into a team canteen with tables and chairs. It was just one of the many perks of having the whole pit lane to yourself.
Nevin handed me a prepared lunch consisting of a pasta salad and roast chicken and I grabbed a bottle of water from an ice bucket. I took a seat at the table with everyone else and ate a forkful of the pasta salad.
‘Hmm, that’s weird,’ Price said to me.
‘What?’
‘I’m surprised you didn’t turn around three times before you sat down. You being a superstitious sod and everything.’
Everyone laughed.
‘Ha-bloody-ha,’ I said with a smile. I should have known I was going to take some ribbing over wanting to carry out my own spanner checks.
Haulk ruffled my hair as he passed by. ‘So what else are you superstitious about? You don’t sit down when you take a piss, do you?’
This got another laugh.
‘Leave the lad alone,’ Nevin said.
‘I’m sure I’m not the only one who has superstitions.’
‘Show him,’ Rags said to Haulk.
Haulk frowned.
‘Do it,’ Rags insisted.
Haulk reached inside his overalls and pulled out a tiny teddy bear. It was frayed and manky looking. ‘I never race without it.’
‘What’s everyone else got?’ I asked.
Nevin slapped his groin. ‘I’ve got my lucky underwear.’
‘Not so lucky from where I’m sitting,’ McLeod said.
‘Hey, at least you can find me in the dark,’ he said.
‘I don’t know why I have any of you working for me,’ Rags said, grinning.
The crew spent the next twenty minutes taking pot shots at each other. I liked it. We felt like a family instead of a team and it was nice to be a part of the fun, but I had to get them talking about Jason.
‘I didn’t know Jason Gates worked for Ragged,’ I said.
The life went out of the crowd and frowns replaced smiles.
‘Yeah,’ Rags said. ‘He started with us four years ago, the year after Mike Whelan won his first championship for us.’
‘Jason left us about a year ago,’ Nevin said.