Chasing Home | Lando Norris

Chapter 7: A Late-Night Conversation

Under the Spanish twilight, Barcelona exuded a mesmerizing energy. The vibrant city, illuminated by a cascade of lights, entwined ancient architecture with modern allure. At Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, the atmosphere was anticipatory, the air humming with the anticipation of the impending race. The night before qualifying day cast a serene calm over the paddock, a stark contrast to its usual freneticism. Camille navigated through the paddock, a solitary figure amidst the quietude, her path leading her towards the Alpine hospitality area. Amidst the subdued ambiance, a chance encounter brought her face to face with Charles. Their collision was more figurative than physical, their conversation meandering in the midst of the quiet night. Charles, emerging from his day's duties, spotted Camille.

"Exit's the other way, Chef," he teased with a playful grin, his words echoing through the tranquil paddock.

She laughed softly and explained, "I've got some last-minute kitchen duties," her tone bearing the weight of her impending task.

Their conversation shifted to something more personal as Charles noticed the sweatshirt Camille was wearing. The piece, belonging to Camille's mother, caught his attention.

"My dad used to love that place!" Charles reminisced, a nostalgic glint in his eyes as he pointed to the logo of a ski resort patched on the sweatshirt. "Took us there all the time when we were little."

But their chit-chat was cut short when one Charles's crew called him over, signalling their car had arrived to send them back to the hotel, so they said their quick goodbyes before continuing on their separate ways.

Camille was now enveloped in the after-hours solitude of the Alpine team's kitchen. The stainless-steel countertops gleamed under the soft fluorescent lights, casting elongated shadows across the room. As the night deepened, her energy remained undeterred, fuelled by her dedication to the impending demands of the next day. Music blasted from her phone, filling the space, notes cascading through the air keeping Camille company as she tackled her responsibilities. Her motions synchronised with the rhythm, her hands chopping and dicing with precise expertise. 

Yet, amidst her precision, there were little moments of playfulness. Alone in the kitchen's sanctuary, she couldn't help but infuse the night's silence with her playful spirit. The booming music served as her anthem, and she allowed herself to be carried away by its beat. At moments, the knife became her impromptu microphone, her voice soaring with abandon as she belted out lyrics. Her voice echoed against the stainless-steel surfaces, blending harmoniously with the music. There was freedom in this solitude, a moment where the confines of professionalism and formality faded into the night. Silly and carefree, Camille danced between the tasks, finding joy in her solitude, a brief respite before the rigours of the racing weekend resumed.

The thumping music had Camille deeply engrossed in her spontaneous kitchen performance. Unbeknownst to her, Pierre quietly slipped through the back door, finding her in a moment of unguarded silliness. Amused, he took out his phone, recording her animated antics without her notice. As Camille moved to the beat, swinging her knife like a rockstar, and singing along with the music, Pierre couldn't contain his laughter. The sight of her carefree demeanour was too delightful to interrupt, but he seized the opportunity to capture this rare, unfiltered version of his childhood friend. Suddenly, the song changed, and Camille spun around, catching sight of Pierre standing there, filming her. Startled, she let out a yelp, a mixture of surprise and embarrassment.

"What the fuck, Perry! You scared the shit out of me!" she exclaimed, clutching her chest.

Pierre chuckled at her reaction, his grin infectious. "Sorry, Cami, couldn't resist capturing the performance," he quipped, trying to contain his laughter.