Hot Seat by Simon Wood

said. ‘Aren’t we, boys?’
    His crew responded with thumbs-up and yeses.
    â€˜You’re in a different world now, Aidy. These lads have got your back. We’ll forget nothing. You’re in safe hands, but I like someone who crosses t’s and dots i’s.’ Nevin handed me a checklist. ‘I run through this with the boys before any of my drivers hit the track. You call it out and we’ll do it.’
    I liked Nevin’s military precision. I called out the checks and my crew carried them out, making sure everything was tight, locked down and operating normally, even down to retorquing the wheels.
    When the checklist was completed, Nevin handed me my helmet, which was mic’d up. This was the first time I’d be driving with a headset.
    â€˜I like drivers who talk to me,’ Nevin said. ‘I want your commentary. Your feedback is just as useful as the telemetry.’
    I completed my final pre-race custom by kissing my mum’s St Christopher that I’d been wearing since her death. I pulled on my helmet and climbed into the car. Nevin belted me in, plugged in my headset, then sent me out.
    Haulk had already joined the circuit and I accelerated hard on the pit lane. The car shuddered over the concrete surface on its stiff springs until I hit the track’s smooth asphalt. I wound the car up through the gears. With its interior stripped out, the roar of the engine echoed inside the cavernous cockpit.
    As Nevin asked, I worked my way into the car, adjusting to its power and adapting to its idiosyncrasies. The extra weight and higher centre of gravity meant I couldn’t corner as fast as in my Formula Ford. I had to work the brakes hard before I entered every corner, but I also had the power to compensate on the straights. As I racked up the laps, the car lost its unfamiliarity and I felt it respond to me.
    â€˜That’s ten laps,’ Nevin said through my headset. ‘Now show me what you can do.’
    I pushed the car, but I didn’t go crazy. With each lap, I went a little deeper with the car, getting on the power earlier, braking later and refining my racing line. Nevin kept in contact the whole time. I liked having his voice in my ear, guiding and encouraging me. It reminded me of Steve, that voice of reason smoothing my reservations away.
    At the end of my second set of laps, I came in. Nevin kept me in the car while the crew carried out checks and refuelled.
    â€˜I like your times. They aren’t earth shattering, but you’re chipping away at them. Keep it up.’
    I put in another thirty laps under Nevin’s tuition before Rags called in all the cars for lunch. I hated stopping for lunch. It meant losing the rhythm I was in, although it made sense to come in to refuel the body as well as the car. Most people would be amazed at how much energy a driver burns off during a race, considering he remains seated for all of it.
    I came in to find the crew had converted two of the unused garages into a team canteen with tables and chairs. It was just one of the many perks of having the whole pit lane to yourself.
    Nevin handed me a prepared lunch consisting of a pasta salad and roast chicken and I grabbed a bottle of water from an ice bucket. I took a seat at the table with everyone else and ate a forkful of the pasta salad.
    â€˜Hmm, that’s weird,’ Price said to me.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I’m surprised you didn’t turn around three times before you sat down. You being a superstitious sod and everything.’
    Everyone laughed.
    â€˜Ha-bloody-ha,’ I said with a smile. I should have known I was going to take some ribbing over wanting to carry out my own spanner checks.
    Haulk ruffled my hair as he passed by. ‘So what else are you superstitious about? You don’t sit down when you take a piss, do you?’
    This got another laugh.
    â€˜Leave the lad alone,’ Nevin said.
    â€˜I’m sure I’m not