Chasing Daisy Read Online Free PDF Page B

all of them attend the races to support their boys.
    I wonder if Will misses his girlfriend. . .
    ‘If she loved him that much she would be here, wouldn’t she?’
    ‘If who loved who?’ Holly asks, confused.
    ‘Will’s girlfriend.’
    Holly whacks me on the arm. ‘Stop it, you. Anyway, I think Laura is organising a charity ball in London this weekend.’
    Laura. So that’s her name. ‘Have you seen them together? You know, in person?’
    ‘Er, yeah, she came to the British Grand Prix last year. His parents were there too, actually. Very cold and aloof. His dad is high up in banking or something, and his mother is a society wife.’
    ‘Oh, right. What’s Laura like? Is she aloof, too?’
    Holly gives me a look. ‘No. She seemed really nice. Blonde. Sweet. Very pretty, too.’
    ‘Okay, okay! Enough!’
    She grins and looks away.
    It’s overcast today. It rained this morning, but the weather is supposed to hold out for the race. There’s little need for the Factor 30 I applied this morning. Yeah, yeah, I know UV rays can still get you and all that, especially down here where the ozone layer is so thin, but I’m just pleased Simon doesn’t make us wear hats.
    Today our uniform is skirts, not trousers. All the teams have uniforms created by top fashion designers, and different outfits are provided for different days. When we’re travelling we have to wear black and gold trouser suits, on Friday practice days we wear black trousers and white shirts, and on Saturdays and Sundays we wear black skirts with white trim and gold silk shirts. The outfits look better than they sound. And if you lose an item of clothing or sell it on eBay, you’re in serious trouble. In fact, one girl last year got the sack for it.
    The other things you must absolutely not lose are your race credentials. They’re a bit like ski passes. They hang around your neck and you have to swipe them to get through the security gates into the paddock area. The paddock is where the hospitality suites and garages are situated – areas which are strictly forbidden to the general public – but our passes are access-all-areas. They’re like gold dust – each team only gets a certain number of passes like this, so I know how lucky I am.
    The people on the grid are thinning out because it’s almost time for the race to start. I take one last look at Will’s car and manage to spot his navy blue and silver helmet in the cockpit. He’s already strapped in. Holly and I hurry back to the garages along with swarms of team members vacating the starting grid and stand in front of the television screens. The sound of the engines is deafening as the twenty-odd drivers set off on the warm-up lap, zigzagging from side to side along the straights to heat up their tyres. Finally they file around the last corner onto the pit straight and take their positions on the grid. The atmosphere is tense as the five traffic lights above the starting line glow red, red, red, red, red, then they go out and it’s GO!
    Will has a good start and takes the first corner without too much trouble, but the driver in fourth place – a Canadian called Kit Bryson – nips up the inside and swipes second place from under Luis’s nose, relegating him down to third. Over the next few laps, Will starts to pull away from the pack, but then there’s an accident halfway down the field and the safety car is brought out as a cautionary measure. The safety car slows the drivers down so the track can be cleared of crash debris and consequently the gap between Will and Kit Bryson is closed as the pack tightens up. When the flag goes green and the racing kicks into gear again, Will manages to keep his lead, but there’s a problem a few laps later. Smoke is coming from the back of Will’s car and the sight of it makes several of our mechanics curse. They hurry outside to the pit lane, but Will doesn’t even make it around the last corner before his engine gives up. He pulls into one of the