helmet love // 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐬

XXVI

The weekend has rolled on in the same chaotic, tragic and frantic way as it started on Thursday. Yes, before you ask, it was a nightmare before it had even started. Don't test me.

It kicked off with an absolute shocker of a day on Friday. Lando and Daniel did amazingly on their practices, that part of the weekend was fantastic for McLaren as a whole. But, when you narrow it down into our separate teams, the media team is suffering. Hard. Poor Kate, our new recruit for social media content, is already struggling to handle the socials and create the right posts for them, accidentally posting videos to the wrong platforms and losing views. She then has to juggle that with trying to keep the irrelevant news- such as me and Lando- out of the picture and focus on the weekend it's self.

I've lost the ability to speak! That's a lie, I'm being dramatic. In reality, I've completely forgot how to be myself in front of the camera; my nerves get the better of me every time. There's too much going on inside my head for me to memorise the scripts, and every time I mess up I refuse to play it off. We have to record some clips after the practices, which then looks obvious as the atmosphere on the track will be entirely different.

I've got to force myself to get my head down for Sunday. I can't afford to mess this up, not after Ally has just gave me this new job. I've logged out of all my personal social media accounts, and ignored as much of the F1 news as possible, despite living near the French GP track for the weekend. I haven't sneaked off to Lando's room since that night, we've only spoke to each other when we happen to bump into one another during meal times etc. It's hard, but we've got to wait. The quicker I can get this over and done with, the quicker I can move onto handling other things.

The driver's parade is in a matter of precious minutes, with another social-media duo on stand-by ready to ask the drivers a few questions. My eyes scan over the script one last time, memorising as much information I can. Some parts of this I can make up along the way, but the statistics can't be wrong. Numbers don't stick well in my head unless I really like the topic; you'd think that- considering I'm working for an F1 team- I would love this kind of topic. Wrong!

"Marci, ten seconds." Brad says from behind the camera.

The crowd around me cheers; I hope the audio doesn't pick them up over my voice. Or do I? I take a deep breath, flipping through the pages one more time before tossing it on the floor at his feet. "I'm going to mess it up."

"No you won't, stop saying that." Brad tells me off, faffing around with his camera. "You've read that script so many times with me and Ally, just let your mouth do the talking."

"It's the statistics!" I scoff in frustration.

"Then miss out what you don't know!" He demands, fed up of my panicking. "Going live in 5, 4, 3..."

I wait for Brad's hand behind the camera again, watching it closely out the corner of my eye. I haven't even had time to check how I look, what if this all flops?

"Good afternoon everyone and welcome back to the Circuit Paul Ricard for the 51st time in Formula 1!" I start with a smile, gesturing my hands to the track behind me. "We return to Le Castellet in France for Round 13 of the Grand Prix, with beautiful weather and amazing crowds!"

"The French circuit is 5.8 kilometres long with 15 corners for the drivers to navigate in 53 laps, with the infamous Signes corner where drivers have hit a whopping 290 kilometers an hour in the past." I mentally take a breather, praying to God that everything I just said is right. "So far this weekend, our drivers have been happy with the performance of the cars, with Lando Norris starting at P5 and Daniel Ricciardo P9 on our starting grid this afternoon!"

"Now we go back to our team closer to the track, waiting for our favourite racers as the driver's parade starts!" I smile, proud that I've managed to get through the first part of the day. "Back over to the team on the Signes corner who are waiting for the McLaren's to pass by!"

Brad counts me out, taking a deep breath as he stops the camera rolling. I dive out of frame, reaching for the script and flicking back through the pages. I don't think I said anything wrong, I'm pretty sure I got that all right. I hope. Just as I get to the right page, the script is swiped from my hands, making me gasp as I thought the wind took it. Turns out, it was Brad!

"Bradley Fox!" I hiss, jumping to reach the script as he holds it sky high.

"I'm not letting you drive yourself insane over a few words." Brad tells me, tucking the script into his kit bag. "You didn't get them wrong and you know it."

"Can't you let me check?" I ask, begging like a child.

"No."

Fine. I turn around to watch the cars as the parade gets to my side of the track. The classic cars look stunning on the track, and the drivers wave to the fans as they slowly pass by. I can't see that far onto the track to read the names on the cars, but it was easy enough to spot the orange. I'd like to wave, but we're still laying low from the cameras, and I don't need to be caught amongst the crowd waving to the person who's rumoured to be in a relationship.

"Bradley Fox!" Brad says in a high-pitched tone, clearly mimicking me. "You sound like Ally, she's the only one who calls me by my full name."

"Don't act like you don't like it." I tease him, nudging his side as we get a move on away from our spot.

"I don't, she's terrifying." Brad mutters, reaching for his pocket as his phone rings. "One minute I can't stand her, next minute she's not too bad, then suddenly she's the she-devil herself."

Brad looks at the person calling his phone, and his eyes widen before he answers it. 'Ally' he mouthes to me before talking away. Her ears must've been burning! I wonder why Ally is calling him now, maybe something went wrong with our filming? We never see Ally on days like this, she's always tucked into the meeting room in the paddock finalising what can be done during the race.

"Yeah, yeah she's with me." Brad looks at me out the side of his eye, then goes back to listening to our boss. "No, she's turned her phone off, why?"

Oh crap. What does she want me for? What's so flipping urgent that she's called Brad for it? I sort myself out as much as I can as we get closer to the paddock and more popular part of the track. The drivers are all out on the track ready, their engines grumbling whilst multiple helmet-covered people work around the car like honeybees. It's so funny how everyone looks the same, how are you supposed to tell who's who when you all wear the same overalls and same helmet without a number or name on you?

"Can't it wait?" Brad grimaces, looking to his watch. "No- I know you're the boss, sorry- but she's  got the script memorised, we don't want to forget it."

"What does she want?" I whisper, but only get a hand to the face as Brad shushes me.

"You want me there as well?" Brad talks over me, furrowing his eyebrows. "Ok, alright, give us 5-10 minutes and we'll be there, thanks."

"Well?" I nag before he can end the call. "What is it?"

Brad purses his lips, shaking his head. "We're done for today."

"Pardon?" I frown, catching his arm to stop him from walking faster. "What do you mean?"

"We've been called off, Ally wants to see us right now." Brad explains, pinching the bridge of his nose as he scrunches his eyes shut. "She doesn't want your face back on screen until further notice."

"She doesn't want-" I cut myself off with a frown, the blood starting to pound straight to my head again. "She gave me this job and now she wants me off screen again?"

"Marci, she wants to see me and you, and she's seeing Charlotte Sefton with us." Brad says fiercely, leaning downwards towards me as he speaks. "You, me, Ally and Lando's PR manager are involved, add it together!"