Chasing Daisy

or is he just being a sore loser?’
    ‘Probably a bit of both,’ Will answers wryly, then adds conspiratorially, ‘He thought I was a bit aggressive with my driving today.’
    ‘Did he? Well, he would, wouldn’t he? You won and he didn’t.’
    ‘Exactly. He’ll get over it by the next race.’
    ‘You drivers do seem to forgive and forget pretty quickly. I overheard one of the mechanics yesterday saying something about Emilio Rizzo slating Antonio Aranda to the press for almost taking him off the track at the last race. And then today when Aranda came third, I spotted them slapping each other on the back and acting like best buddies.’
    ‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘That’s the nature of the business. You can’t hold grudges. Saying that, there’s a lot of jealousy in this sport, which is probably why Rizzo mouthed off to the press. Aranda’s only been in F1 for a year and Rizzo’s been around forever. There’s talk he’s going to retire soon.’
    ‘Oh, right.’ I’m not actually that interested in hearing about the slimy old Italian, so I change tack. ‘How did you get into racing?’
    ‘My grandfather started taking me karting at the age of seven. He was a bit of a race enthusiast.’
    ‘Seven? Wow.’
    ‘Mmm. Anyway, he left me some money when he died—’
    ‘How old were you when that happened?’ I interrupt.
    ‘Twelve,’ he replies. ‘So I was able to fund myself after that. Eventually I secured a drive with a half-decent team, scored a few race wins and that was it, really. Next stop, Formula 1.’
    ‘You make it sound so easy.’
    ‘That’s not my intention.’
    I lean forward in my seat, interested in his past. Interested in everything about him, actually. ‘Your parents didn’t help at all?’ I ask.
    ‘Nope.’ He takes a swig of beer and glances out the window.
    ‘Do they not like racing or something?’
    ‘No, they just don’t care what I do.’ He stares at me directly for a good few seconds before I tear my eyes away. He’s scratching candle wax off the table when I look back.
    ‘Were you close to your granddad?’
    ‘Very.’
    ‘You must’ve been devastated when he died.’
    ‘Yeah, I was.’ He glances up at me, then laughs sharply. ‘Can we talk about something else?’
    I shift in my seat with embarrassment. I didn’t mean to pry, but if he notices my discomfort, he doesn’t show it.
    ‘What do you want to talk about?’ I try not to sound as brittle as I feel.
    ‘You.’ He leans forward and I resist the urge to lean backwards. ‘Are you close to your parents? Grandparents?’ he asks.
    ‘Grandparents, yes, parents, no.’
    ‘We have that in common, then. Why not?’
    ‘My father is an arsehole.’
    ‘And your mother?’
    ‘She puts up with it. But I adore my grandmother,’ I continue. ‘She’s the only grandparent I have left. She lives in Italy, though, so I hardly ever see her.’
    ‘Where in Italy?’
    ‘Northern Tuscany, in the mountains near Lucca.’
    ‘No shit? You know we’re filming an ad for a petrol company around that area next week?’
    ‘No?’
    ‘Yeah. You should come along.’
    ‘Do you think I could?’ My voice speeds up in my excitement. ‘Won’t the hotels already be booked and everything?’
    ‘Ally will be able to squeeze you in.’
    ‘Actually, I could stay with Nonna,’ I think out loud.
    ‘Does “nonna” mean “grandmother” in Italian?’ he asks.
    ‘Yes. I would love to see her again . . .’
    ‘How long has it been?’
    ‘Too long. I was hoping to catch up with her when we go to the Italian Grand Prix later this year, but I didn’t think I’d manage to work in a trip beforehand. I wonder if Frederick and Ingrid would release me from a couple of catering jobs?’
    ‘Can’t hurt to ask.’ He looks out the window while I sit there pondering the possibility. I mustn’t get my hopes up. He turns back to me.
    ‘So what’s the deal with you? Why did you leave the States?’
    I’m so caught up in my thoughts about going to Italy that his question catches me off guard and I don’t have enough time to come up with a decent lie. I surprise even myself when I answer honestly.
    ‘Oh, I had my heart broken.’ My face breaks into a sheepish smile.
    ‘Did you? Who was he?’
    ‘No one you’d kno . . .’ My voice trails off. ‘Well, saying that . . .’ I roll my eyes, jokily, before realising that was a truly stupid thing to do.
    ‘I know him?’ Will looks interested.
    ‘No! No, no, no,’ I