Did Not Finish

Lap Twelve

The following night was a big night for me. I was meeting Hancock to discuss and hopefully secure sponsorship for next season. I liked the proposal package I’d put together. It looked professional in spite of my limited resources.

Hancock understood I had a day job so he scheduled our meeting for seven p.m. in the lobby of the Brands Hatch Double Oak hotel. For him, the Double Oak was a twenty minute drive from the Hancock Salvage headquarters. I had to slog my way around the southern half of the M25 motorway during rush hour. Not a fun prospect.

Steve picked me up from work in the Capri and we swapped driving duties because I wanted something to do other than obsess about my meeting with Hancock. As we trickled along with our fellow commuters on the overpopulated M25, my mind played over the previous night’s events. Mr Baker’s angry face filled my mind. He wasn’t the first hostile dad I’d encountered. I put his hostility down to a protective father looking out for his daughter. He had nothing to fear from me. I wouldn’t be bothering Alison again.

A driver leaned on his horn when I let the Capri drift into his lane.

‘Focus, son,’ Steve said.

Steve was right. My train of thought needed to be on convincing Hancock to give me a budget for next season. The break from thoughts of murder would do me good. Alex’s death was fast approaching an obsession.

‘You want to go over what you’re going to say?’ Steve asked.

‘Not really.’

‘But you’re going to anyway.’

I flashed Steve a begrudging smile. I went over my talking points and Steve reminded me of any I’d forgotten. We role-played, with Steve playing the part of Hancock. It helped kill the monotonous drive.

I arrived at the hotel with a few minutes to spare. The Double Oak is located outside of the Brands Hatch circuit’s main entrance. I turned into the hotel’s car park and parked. I reached for my document case and went through it to make sure I had everything.

‘I remember going to meetings like this with your dad. Seems like yesterday.’

‘Did he enjoy them?’

‘Tell me what driver does.’

‘None. Seeking sponsorship is glorified begging. It’s never fun, unless you’re already at the top. Then you have to beat their advances off with stick.’

‘You want me to come in with you?’

‘No, I’ll be fine. You’re only here as muscle to make sure no one takes me for a ride.’

He sighed theatrically. ‘How tragic it is to be wanted for my body and not my mind.’

I laughed and double-checked I had everything before swinging the door open. ‘I’ve got everything, so wish me luck.’

‘No luck needed. What’s your opening line to Hancock?’

I thought for a second. ‘I am an asset to your marketing campaign. Now give me your damn money, Hancock.’

‘Smart arse.’ He jabbed a finger in my side. ‘You’re more than ready for this. Now get in there. You’ll do fine.’

Heading into the hotel, I put on my game face. I was here to sell the benefits of motorsport sponsorship to Hancock. He might be a race fan, but at the same time, he was a businessman and I had to appeal to that side of him.

I looked around the hotel lobby and spotted Hancock amongst the sea of businessmen milling around. He waved and cut his way through the crowd.

‘Have you eaten, Aidy? I’ve gotten us a table. Tonight’s on me.’

He ushered me into the hotel’s restaurant and we sat at a window table with a partial view of Brands Hatch. A waitress presented us with menus and asked us what we wanted to drink.

‘Whisky,’ Hancock said. ‘Anything from your single malt range will do.’

‘Diet Coke.’

‘You can have a drop of the hard stuff,’ Hancock said.

Booze sounded good. It would take the edge off, but tonight was too important to hand the reins over to alcohol. I wanted Hancock’s sponsorship pounds and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing because drink had gotten the better of me.

‘No, Diet Coke is fine.’

After the waitress left, we got down to business. I’d brought copies of my proposal, but Hancock had the one I’d already sent to him. He flicked through its contents.

‘This is very impressive.’

I’d gone to town on the proposal. I outlined the benefits of motorsport sponsorship, essentially cribbing from an article I’d found on the Internet. I included a profile of myself and my short racing career as well as one for Steve. His achievements added some legitimacy to my claims. I listed the activities I would assist Hancock’s company with, things like corporate events, media appearances — all the usual guff. I added a nice little touch of a mock-up shot of the car in the company colours with the Hancock Salvage logo down the side. I’d Photoshopped the thing together in my lunch hour at work. Of course, I ended with the ugly stuff: my budget needs. In the scheme of things, it was pretty good value for money. Steve would act as mechanic and engine builder for a full assault on the Formula Ford national title. My budget was a third of what it would cost to run with a top professional team, but, with Steve’s expertise, we were just as good.

Hancock was smiling. I liked that. Smiling was good. Then he had to ruin it by speaking.

‘From this, you’re planning to take a shot at the national series.’

‘Yes, I think it’s time for me to stretch my wings.’

‘Looking to follow in your dad’s tyre tracks?’

‘Yes,’ I said with a nervous smile. I felt I was losing this guy.

‘That’s great. The thing is, I was looking to sponsor you as a replacement for Alex in the south-west.’

‘Oh.’ Crap.

‘Considering all the great work you’ve done to honour Alex, I thought it would be good if we banded together in his memory and tried to win next year’s championship for him.’

I didn’t want another season in the Clark Paints series for two reasons. First, a race driver’s career is short. Dad was twenty-nine when he made it to Formula One and that was old. Most F1 drivers enter Grand Prix racing in their mid-twenties. At twenty-one, I was a long way from having the skills and experience to race Formula One. Staying in a regional championship for another year wasn’t going to enhance my career path. Second, I’d ruffled way too many feathers at Stowe Park. I’d lost a lot of friends over recent days and who knew how many I’d lose by the beginning of next season. By then, Derek might not be the only one willing to push me into a wall.

‘I see,’ I said.

‘Would you be willing to stick around in the Clark Paints Championship for another season, for Alex’s sake?’

He was trying to guilt me into this. Oh, that was a low blow. Especially when he was dangling money in front of me. I didn’t like how Hancock was boxing me in, but it was business.

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Please give it serious thought. I was hoping to put out a two-car team next year.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, you and Derek Deacon. Together, you’d make the perfect tribute to Alex’s memory.’

Was he serious? Not only had Derek won the championship at Alex’s expense, but he was also going to get Alex’s sponsorship money. Where was the justice? I did well not to show my shock.

Hancock jerked a thumb over at the track. ‘Are you racing in the Festival?’

Held every year at Brands Hatch, the Formula Ford Festival and World Cup is Formula Ford’s only international event. Two hundred drivers from around the world take part in a knockout event held over three days. Dad won it in ‘93.

‘No, I wasn’t planning on it.’

‘I want to reward your act of kindness towards Alex. He was slated to race, so I have a car leased for the Festival. I’d like you to take his place. Will you do it?’

I didn’t have to be asked twice. ‘Of course.’

‘I know you want to race in nationals next year, but if you’re willing to keep my offer open, then I’m willing to keep yours in mind. I’ll make a wager with you. If you make the top ten in the final, I’ll finance your national campaign. Don’t, and you race in the Clark Paints series.’

It was a bet heavily weighted in Hancock’s favour. The Festival is highly unpredictable. Usually the best driver wins, but there’s no accounting for mechanical failure or just plain bad luck. Either way, just making it to the final grid of twenty six cars was going to be a hard enough prospect.

‘Sure,’ I said.

We shook on it.

Hancock insisted we celebrate after that. We ordered dinner and he went for a steak half the size of a cow, while I ordered the chicken, the cheapest thing on the menu. I didn’t want to take advantage of the guy’s hospitality, even if he was trying to manipulate me into staying in the Clark Paints series.

With our business seemingly out of the way, our conversation turned to motor racing. Hancock told me he’d been a spectator since he was a kid. As a Kent boy, born and bred, Brands was his local hang-out. He remembered seeing my dad clinch the Formula Three crown here by claiming second in the race. I remembered it too. I watched the race with my mum from a hospitality box. I’d thought days like that would never end. I was wrong.

As we finished our dinners, he insisted on after dinner drinks. I never drank and drove, so accepting a drink meant I’d be stuck with Hancock for at least an hour.

When a pair of whiskies arrived, Hancock raised his glass. ‘Here’s to people always needing parts for their cars and making me richer.’

‘Amen,’ I said and clinked glasses.

‘How much do you know about me?’

I knew what I’d read off his website. ‘You operate the biggest car salvage and auction firm in the country.’

‘Yeah, yeah, that’s the business side of me, but what do you know about me?’

I couldn’t dodge the question, not that I saw the point of it. ‘Not much other than you’re a race fan and you’ve sponsored a few people over the years.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘Well, there’s a lot more to me than that,’ Hancock said. ‘Anyway, let’s have a toast. To great friendships — past, present and future.’

I clinked my glass against Hancock’s. ‘To great friendships.’

‘Alex was a good friend. I got to know him well over the years. His parents are great people and that Alison is a wonderful girl,’ Hancock said.

‘I agree.’

‘You knew Alex well then?’

‘Not well, but I thought he was a really nice guy.’

‘You pointed out his broken exhaust pipe mounting during qualifying, didn’t you?’

‘That was nothing,’ I said. ‘Drivers look out for each other.’

I felt a shift in Hancock’s mood. I didn’t know if it was the booze talking or not. My whisky represented my only drink, but Hancock had been hitting the wine over dinner pretty hard in addition to the whisky he’d ordered before dinner. There was a need in his eyes, like he wanted something from me, but instead of coming out and asking outright what he wanted to know, he jabbed at me with question after question in the hope I’d spill the answer he was looking for.

‘I saw you and Alex chatting just before the race.’

I realized he must have meant when Alex and I were in the men’s room. Hancock hadn’t been in there while we were, so he could only have seen us come out together.

‘What’d you talk about?’

I remembered how happy Alex had been to give racing up for Alison. The memory hurt. ‘The future, as sad as that seems now.’

‘So you didn’t talk about me?’

The question caught me off guard. ‘No, why would we?’

He tried to brush his weird question away. ‘No reason. Pit lane talk. You know. Your grandfather has an account with us,’ he said, throwing a new wrinkle into the conversation.

‘He does?’

‘Yeah. Goes back years. I wasn’t sure if you were discussing that.’

Hancock had lost me. I couldn’t see how that could be a topic of conversation. ‘No, we didn’t talk about anything like that. Sorry.’

‘No reason to be sorry. I just noticed that when you went your separate ways, you looked disappointed.’

This conversation had taken a very weird detour. Why the hell was Hancock watching Alex so closely? It was strange that first Derek, and now Hancock, had commented on my contact with Alex. More interesting still, both of them had read more into the encounter than really existed. What did they think Alex and I had discussed?

‘I had a lot on my mind and there was a lot of drama going on in the paddock that day.’

This was my test for Hancock. I wanted to see how he would react. He wanted to squeeze something out of me about that day and I wanted to know what it was. I hoped my reply would provoke an admission.

Hancock waved a dismissive hand. ‘That thing with Derek, he wouldn’t do anything like that.’

He spoke as if he knew for sure Derek hadn’t had anything to do with Alex’s death. I almost believed him.

‘You have Alex’s car now, right?’

‘Yes, I’ve got it.’

‘I know you’re planning to have the car scrapped, so I’d like to compact it. No charge of course. It’s something I’d like to do for Alex.’

‘Thanks, I appreciate it.’ My appreciation failed to sound sincere, but Hancock’s alcoholic state left him too dulled to pick up on it.

‘I can send someone over to pick up the car tomorrow.’

‘No,’ I said. I needed an excuse. I couldn’t say I was keeping the car for evidence. ‘It wouldn’t be convenient. I’m working and Steve won’t be at the workshop for the next few days. And I know a few of the drivers want to be there when it’s destroyed.’

‘Just give me the nod when it’s a good time and I’ll have someone there.’

‘Sure.’

With Hancock’s bizarre questioning, I wasn’t sure I wanted him to have the car at all. Looking at everything that had been said, I questioned the validity of his sponsorship offer. Was he dangling this carrot so that he could pump me for information?

Hancock finished his drink. The waitress took that as her signal to deliver the bill. He paid and I was more than ready to go. We headed out to the lobby, but he stopped short of leaving.

‘I’m getting a room here tonight.’

‘Good move,’ I said.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at me, as if examining me for answers. ‘So you don’t know much about me.’

‘No,’ I said.

He smiled. ‘We’ll have to change that.’