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The gloomy sky above Milano switches between light hues of pale blue and deeper shades of fog grey. The city doesn’t stop, as Charles can say from the low voices he can hear even from his fifth-floor apartment. He’s cuddling Xavier as he walks up and down the terrace overlooking the little square near the city centre. The baby is restless, and Charles fears he knows why. He sighs again before leaving a tender kiss on Xavier’s dishevelled hair, leading them both back inside. It’s not too cold, but it’s still a classic Milanese winter, and the humidity only worsens the feeling of cold penetrating your bones. Not the ideal weather to stay outdoor with Xavier without a jacket.
Xavier starts crying again, stretching out his arms to look for someone who isn’t there. Charles sighs and tries to hold back a tear as well, while tiredness replaces the humidity and creeps into his limbs. Carlos is in Grove, England, to visit the Williams headquarters ahead of next season. Charles has tried not to think about it all year – even though his asshole husband sometimes enjoyed making him suffer. Like when in Bahrain, Carlos gave him the chilli stuffed toy “for their post-teammate era”. Charles would have liked to accompany him and stay in England – in London perhaps, so as to avoid Grove for sportsmanship – but in the end, he had decided that this was something Carlos would have to do alone.
It was actually stupid – he is used to associating himself with this term. He could have gone back to Monte Carlo to his mother and Arthur: they would certainly have helped him with the separation syndrome and with Xavier, but Charles can be incorrigible stubborn when he wants to. Milano was not an unusual choice: Charles stays there during the season to be closer to Maranello and next year will be no different. Even though, with Carlos in England for a few weeks a year and a son, everything will be different. Charles is grateful that little Xavier has grandparents, uncles and aunts who love him and who have already been very available this year to take care of him in the two drivers’ absence.
Xavier, perhaps sensing that he’s at the centre of his dad’s thoughts, wriggles in Charles’s arms, demanding his attention and bringing him back to the present.
“I know, sweetie, I miss papa a lot too.”
Xavier reaches out and touches his dad’s cheek. Charles caresses the little hand and realises that the skin on his face is damp. He quickly wipes away the traces of the tear he hadn’t felt falling: he doesn’t want the little boy to see that he is sad. Even though Xavier can surely sense it in a thousand other ways, like his constant sighs and the subdued tone of his voice.
Charles lifts Xavier up high and sends him flying between the living room furniture, causing the baby to giggle. The atmosphere appears different, and Charles lets out an amused smile when he hears the little one happy. The two enter the kitchen, Xavier still held high, twirling like a superhero in his dad’s arms, when suddenly Charles hears the little one’s stomach growl. His stomach also growls in return, making him laugh heartily.
“It’s time for food, mon chou.”
Xavier smiles when Charles puts him down on the high chair, then the man heats up some milk to put in the biberon. He goes back to the table, a package of baby food in his hand, and extends a spoon towards Xavier. The little one tastes it but grimaces in disgust.
“Xavi. You have to eat! Come on, it’s good!”
To set a good example, Charles takes a spoonful of food and eats it.
“Mmmm! So good!”
This time Xavier accepts the spoon more willingly. Charles takes the bottle of warm milk, tastes it to see if it is too hot, and then passes it to the little one.
Xavier drinks and Charles hears it: the silence. The kitchen has never been silent, not with Carlos humming or singing one of the tunes he invented to get Xavier to eat, or to entertain him while they wait for the milk to warm up.
A ring at the door interrupts his memories.
“Calamar? I know you’re here! Come open the door for me!”
“It’s Uncle Pierre! Xavi, be good. I’ll be right back.”
In a few steps, Charles reaches the living room, opens the door and finds himself in front of a rather cold Pierre. A cream-coloured sweater peeks out from under the dark coat and Charles bets that it’s AlphaTauri.
“Calamar!”
“So, how is my best friend? Is my youngest nephew here too?”
Charles smiles and moves aside to let the Frenchman in. Pierre crosses the threshold and Charles only now notices the amount of bags the other is holding in his hand.
“Did you burgle half the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele?”
“You wish! No, I just did some Christmas shopping. I don’t want to spend Christmas Eve buying the presents because I’m late, to the point of giving Guanyu a calendar of naked Valtteri.”
“Oh, come on! That’s a low blow!”
“But it’s the truth!”
The two burst out laughing and hug each other.
“How are you, calamar? How are things going?”
Charles is about to answer vaguely when they hear a dull thud followed immediately by a sharp cry and Xavier’s crying.
The two run into the kitchen and Charles hears a strange noise under his slippers. He looks down and notices that the floor is full of milk, the bottle a few meters in front of him.
“Xavi!” he shouts without thinking.
The little one gets even more scared and starts to cry and scream louder.
Pierre in the meantime picks up the bottle and puts it in the sink, while Charles approaches the baby. He lifts him from the high chair and sits him on the table to inspect him.
“Xavi, are you hurt?”
But the baby’s cry continues incessantly. Charles picks him up and walks away from the disaster scene, while he pecks numerous kisses on Xavier’s cheeks and head and rocks him gently.
Charles goes to the living room and paces to calm the child.
“Shhhh, mon chou, it’s okay, nothing happened. Sorry if papà shouted, papà got scared. It’s okay, Xavi, I’m here.”
After a few minutes, Pierre appears from the kitchen and smiles at the sight of the two.
“I didn’t think I could get used to this, calamar.”
Xavier continues to cry, but Charles has heard Pierre’s comment and gives him an affectionate smile, his cheeks slightly red.
Xavier doesn’t stop, however, and Charles sits on the sofa, exhausted, trying to calm the still upset little boy.
“Charles, you’re tired. Can I try? It always worked with my nephew Mathieu.”
Charles looks up and meets Pierre’s concerned eyes. He nods.
The Frenchman picks up the baby and touches the little nose with the tip of his nose, then hums a tune in French that Charles has never heard. He punctuates his words with little shushes to calm the little one, who gradually calms down, until he abandons his head on Pierre’s arm.
Charles huffs in frustration: also Pierre can get his son to sleep. He can’t. What’s wrong with him?
He’s about to get up but the other stops him.
“No! You just sit there and rest. I’ll put little Xavier to sleep, okay? I’ve done it so many times with my nephews. Do you trust me?”
Charles leans back against the sofa and feels the tiredness of this week crushing him like a boulder.
“Thank you.”
“It’s a pleasure, calamar. Rest for five minutes, okay? I’ll be right back.”
Charles closes his eyelids and listens to the deafening noise of the silence surrounding him. He feels immersed in fog: the humidity freezes his bones as his thoughts seek a way out in the insubstantial vapour made of failures and fears for the future. He usually doesn’t like fog, but today it makes him feel strangely safe. In the fog you can’t see what’s in front of you, but at the same time no one sees you or your mistakes, no one can tell that you’re wrong, no one can blame you.
“Charles?”
The Monegasque doesn’t need to open his eyes to recognise his best friend’s voice.
Pierre sits down next to him on the sofa, hands warm around his hand, small, cold, useless.
“It’s my fault.”
“Oh, calamar, don’t say that! It’s normal: Xavier is a baby, they throw things all the time. You’ll see how many other times it will happen even when you’re out with the stroller. It’s their way of communicating. It’s not your fault, nor Xavi’s. It just happens. It’s life.”
Charles feels it now, the tear that slides from his lashes and splits his cheek in half, down to his upper lip.
“Thank you, Pierre.”
Charles sighs deeply, trying not to let his voice tremble.
“I wasn’t talking about that though.”
Pierre’s silence is strangely comforting. Charles cuddles himself a little before speaking again.
“Carlos. It’s all my fault. He should have stayed here with me, at Ferrari. Our disagreements at the end of last year shouldn’t have led to this, that wasn’t what I wanted. But Fred, or even the higher-ups, never asked me. Why didn’t they ask me?”
Charles opens his eyes and sees Pierre’s intense green gaze. He has never seen a look like that before, not even in Carlos’s eyes, which convey so many emotions all at once.
Charles feels embraced by Pierre’s gaze. A hug that only your best friend can give, the friend he confided in many years ago that he used his friends as fake girlfriends, a ploy to silence the rumours, the friend whose weeks he ruined by talking about his crush on Carlos. The friend who stood next to him while Charles said yes to a life together with Carlos.
“Why didn’t they ask me what I thought of Lewis? Lewis is the best driver in the world, Pierre, you know that too. You don’t win seven and a half world championships for nothing. But Sir Lewis Hamilton is not my Carlos. I… I failed him, Pierre. And now he’s in Grove with Williams. And it almost feels like we’re on two different planets.”
The tears are now flowing freely down his face, but Charles can only think about his Carlos and their future, separate yet together. How will they do it?
“Calamar, what are you saying? It’s not your fault! It never was. We all know what we’re signing up for when we enter Formula One. Think about Danny... Carlos knew this could be a possibility, and I’m sure that, despite an initial moment of confusion, he put it into first gear and went back to fighting to race, as he always does. He’s not a rookie, you know, he won’t let himself get beaten up that easily.”
“Yes, but why me him and not me? What have I done better? Fuck, I don’t even know how to put my son to sleep.”
Pierre looks him up and down with an eyebrow.
“Bullshit, Charles. Stop this drama queen nonsense and pull yourself together. I can understand you’re sad about Carlos and this whole situation that’s still up in the air, but what does the baby have to do with it now? Do you really think all parents can get their kids to sleep on the first try? My maman had trouble getting me to sleep when I was little, and I’m pretty sure Pascale had trouble with that square head of yours, too! Is Xavi asleep now? Great! No need to rack your brains. He always got to sleep in the end, right? And I don’t think Carlos has done the work every single time. So cut the crap and let’s focus on Carlos instead.”
Charles watches his friend without speaking. He feels his eyelids flutter and for a second, tears blur his vision. Pierre comes closer and puts his arms around his shoulders in a strong, reassuring hug.
“Everything will be okay” he whispers in his ear, and Charles doesn’t know how it’s possible, but he believes it too.
“Thank you, Pierre.”
The two drivers remain embraced for a few minutes, Pierre’s warm, welcoming hands making circular movements along Charles’s back and holding him steady.
“What’s Carlos’s schedule? What time does he finish with the meetings?” Pierre asks after breaking the hug and letting go of the other.
“Four, I think. I don’t remember exactly. Hey, wait, what are you doing? That’s my phone!”
Charles picks up his phone from the other’s hands, an annoyed grimace at Pierre.
“Open the chat with him, Charles. Look for the message where he wrote you all the times.”
“How did you…?”
“Oh, calamar. Carlos is a control freak and you are a brainless idiot. It only makes sense that he’d text you his schedule to make sure you remember it.”
Charles chooses to remain silent as he taps the screen for the timetable message.
“Yeah, he should finish at four. Then at five he’s supposed to do a tour of the factory with Alex and his new staff for some team building.”
“Great, you can call him then!”
“Let’s see… but it’s already past five, calamar.”
“Oh my God, Charles, use the gears in your head. In London they’re an hour behind. He just finished the meeting: hurry up and call him.”
Charles hides his embarrassment behind his shortcomings, murmuring a soft “it almost seems like you’re the one who married Carlos.” Pierre decides not to argue, but his green eyes clearly show that he heard the annoyed response.
“Charles? Tesoro, how are you? Is there a problem? Are you feeling unwell?”
“Carlos! I… I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sorry, it’s just that-”
Pierre steals the phone from Charles’s hand.
“Hi Carlos, it’s Pierre. I hope everything is going great. Are you far from the secret stuff? Can you make a video call?”
“Pierre? Hi! But, are you at Charles’s? Yes, we can make a video call.”
Pierre hangs up without replying and presses the video call button, Charles’s phone firmly in his hands. Charles tries to take it back but his friend’s raised eyebrow is enough to make him desist.
Carlos appears under the trees of what could be the garden outside the Williams factory.
“Pierre? Charles? Are you there?”
“Sorry, Carlos. I’ll explain everything. How are you? Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m still trying to get used to it. But it seems like a good start. Pierre, I didn’t know you were in Italy! If you need a place to stay, the guest room is tidy and clean. As long as Charles hasn’t done any damage while I was away.”
Pierre looks at Charles’s offended face and bursts into laughter.
“No, thanks Carlos, there’s no need: I’m with other friends. But I appreciate the thought.”
“I’m in Milano for other things and I thought I’d stop by to say hello to Charles and the little one. He’s a real little man: he’s growing so fast.”
“That’s true. Where is he now? Is he sleeping?”
“Yes, like a little angel.”
Only now Charles realises that he’s being cut off from a conversation about himself and with his phone.
“Pierre!”
“Be good, Charles, I’m talking to Carlos.”
“So, I was talking to Charles as soon as I got here and – long story short – Charles had a breakdown because he couldn’t get Xavier to sleep.”
“Cariño! But that’s normal!”
“That’s what I told him too. So I left Charles to calm down on the couch and I put the baby to sleep. After all, I’m used to it with a bunch of nephews and nieces at home. Beyond that, Charles started saying weird things like it’s his fault you’re no longer in Ferrari and bullshit like that. Excuse me for being brutally honest and I’m sorry if I stole the phone during your conversation, but I knew Charles wouldn’t say anything to you like usual. Now I’m leaving you two alone.”
Pierre hands the phone over to its owner.
“Charles, I’m going to make some tea while you two talk. Let me say hello to Carlos before you hang up.”
Carlos thanks Pierre from the other end of the phone and then the Frenchman heads to the kitchen, giving the couple some privacy.
“Charles, mi vida, what are all these things Pierre told me about? Why didn’t you tell me before I left? That’s exactly why we got married: to share the joys, sorrows and difficulties together. It’s not fair that you have to carry such a burden on your shoulders alone. Why do you think it’s your fault?”
“Carlos, I did everything wrong. I shouldn’t have come to Milano alone, I should have gone home. But I thought that coming here would help me have a picture of what next year could be like with me in Italy and you in London. I thought I could handle Xavi on my own. But if Pierre didn’t come to visit me today, I probably wouldn’t have been able to put him to sleep.”
“Cariño, I don’t want to hear you say these things. You’re a great papà to Xavier, just look at the smiles he makes when you hold him in your arms. I’m sorry I have to leave you alone for a week with him, but I’m one hundred percent sure that you can handle him. However, the season has been long and definitely exhausting, especially mentally, you know that well. If you’re tired, make arrangements with someone. I’ll call Arthur later and tell him to reach you in Milano.”
“But Carlos...”
“No buts. You need help. I couldn’t do it alone either. Trust me. These days you’ve been a precious help in organising the trip, the meetings, and in managing Xavier when I couldn’t. I’ll just tell you that yesterday after landing I went to the hotel at 6 and slept until this morning.”
“Carlos, mon coeur, are you feeling okay now?”
“Of course, darling. Thanks. And what about you? How are you? What’s that thing Pierre told me about it being your fault I’m not at Ferrari?”
Charles sighs. Damn Pierre. But at least he can let go of the weight he feels on his heart.
“It’s true, Carlos: you deserved to be at Ferrari almost as much as I did. That’s not fair. You know I have nothing against Lewis, and I know you don’t have anything against him either. But I can’t accept that I couldn’t do anything to prevent it.”
“Honey, what could you do? That’s how it goes! The driver market is like that: we’ve all come to terms with it. Poor Daniel. Of course it still hurts when I think about it. In any case, get it immediately out of your head that my move to Williams is your fault. Got it?”
“Okay.”
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Definitely. It’s all thanks to you. I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Thank you, Carlos, for always supporting me, for giving me strength when I’m in trouble. I love you so much.”
“Tesoro, how sweet! I love you so much too. Will we talk later? I’ll call you as soon as I get back to the hotel, so I can say hello to Xavi too.”
“Yes, Xavi missed you today. Almost as much as I did.”
“Okay, love. Say hello to Pierre for me.”
“Bye, Carlos. Have a nice evening!”
The Frenchman sits next to Charles and waves at the screen. On the other end of the phone, Carlos becomes more serious.
“Pierre, thank you. Really. I appreciate so much you stopping by Charles today and helping him. I owe you one.”
“You’re welcome, man! See you. Take care!”
Charles ends the call and stares at the screen with heart-shaped eyes. Then he looks up at his best friend and smiles.
“Thank you, Pierre, for everything. For helping me earlier with Xavi and for telling Carlos everything. You’re right: I would never have done that. But I’m glad you did it for me.”
“No problem, Charles. You deserve it.”
Charles smiles at the other’s words, his dimples showing.
“Though next time, calamar, cut out the sugar. I was getting diabetes hearing you two talk.”
Charles throws a pillow at him in the face.
The laughter spreads through the fog, still enveloping Milano in a humid but reassuring blanket.