Chasing Daisy

safely.
    The streets and bars are bustling with people and there’s a real party feel about the place. As I set off down the road I’m overcome with sadness that I’m letting Will and Laura ruin my time in Monaco. Holly has raved about this race ever since I got the job with the team last year. I almost stop and go back to the bar, but I feel foolish enough as it is – I don’t want to draw more attention to myself.
    After a while I spot a couple of front-of-house girls I know from one of the other teams. It’s a warm night in May and they’re sitting outside at a table on the crowded pavement. One of them, Sarah, beckons me over, so I go to say hello.
    ‘Where are you off to?’ Sarah asks me.
    ‘Oh, back to the hotel,’ I tell her reluctantly, aware of the response I’m going to get.
    ‘BACK TO THE HOTEL?’ she shouts. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’
    I shrug.
    ‘Sit down here, girl. Get that down ya.’ She pours me a glass of champagne from the bottle they’ve almost polished off.
    I dither for a moment. Maybe I could have one drink here and then decide if I should go back and join the others? What would it hurt? I make the decision to do as she says and as soon as the bubbly fizz hits the back of my throat, I feel better. To hell with it, I am going to stay out!
    We sit there and gossip about the fling Sarah is having with a mechanic from another team, until we eventually drink all the champagne.
    ‘Another one?’ I ask, lifting the empty bottle up.
    ‘Yeah!’ they chorus.
    ‘I’ll go to the bar,’ I say, looking around for a waiter and not seeing one. They’ve been rushed off their feet.
    I make my way to the busy bar area and lean in, trying to get the bartender’s attention.
    ‘Hello, Daisy Paola Giuseppe Rogers.’
    I turn to see Luis standing beside me. I feel bizarrely happy to see him. ‘Hello, Luis I Don’t Know Your Middle Name Castro.’
    ‘It’s just as well. I have about six of them.’
    ‘Six middle names?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Whatever.’ I grin. ‘How did you remember my full name anyway?’ I vaguely remember telling him what it was way back in Bahrain when we had a few drinks that night.
    ‘I have a good memory.’
    ‘Do you?’
    ‘Yep.’ He leans up against the bar top, facing me. ‘What are you doing here?’
    ‘I should ask you the same question. Aren’t you supposed to be at whatshername’s do?’
    ‘Yeah. Boring as hell. I left.’
    ‘That’s not very charitable of you.’
    ‘I do my bit,’ he says, looking around. ‘Where are the others?’
    ‘At some other bar.’
    ‘You here alone?’ He looks surprised.
    ‘I bumped into a couple of bun tarts’ – I say this wryly – ‘from another team. They’re over there.’ I point outside and we both look to see a waiter standing over their table, taking an order.
    ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here.’ I indicate the bar.
    ‘Stay and have a drink with me,’ he suggests. ‘I’ve been hanging out with Rizzo and Aranda, but now they’ve buggered off to bed, boring bastards.’
    I laugh and pull up a stool that has just been vacated. Sarah glances my way and I point at Luis and pretend to knock back a shot. She gives me the thumbs up, understanding my sign language.
    Luis calls over the bartender and orders a beer. I decide to go hardcore and opt for a whisky and Coke.
    ‘Are you Luis Castro?’ the bartender asks in a heavy French accent as he whacks our drinks down on the bar top.
    ‘Yes,’ Luis answers, pulling out his wallet.
    ‘These are on us,’ the bartender replies. ‘Good luck for the race.’
    ‘Thanks very much. Cheers.’ He holds his bottle up to the bartender and then to me, before gulping some down. ‘So you’re drowning your sorrows, hey?’ He gets straight to the point.
    ‘Mmm.’
    ‘Have you spoken to her?’
    ‘Barely at all. I made her tea. And didn’t do a very good job.’
    ‘Did she give you any stick?’
    I scoff. ‘No, and she’d better not because I won’t be standing for it.’ I’ve had too much to drink. This isn’t me speaking, at all.
    ‘Will you tell her to go fuck herself like you did me that time?’
    I laugh sharply, before saying, ‘I don’t think I’ll be going quite that far.’
    ‘Teach me some other swear words,’ he says, grinning.
    I swivel on my stool to face him, glad of the distraction he’s providing.
    ‘Well, you know, “ cazzo ”, right?’
    ‘Dick?’
    ‘Yeah. That’s what it literally