Page 102 of Counting Down To You

I don’t need to ask who “she” is. “She did?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know why, obviously, but now I’m wondering if it was for this.” He gestures around to encompass the this. “If she was, you know,” and now his voice is a little hesitant, like he’s not sure he should be broaching the subject, “trying to think of a challenge. For you.”

She probably was. After all, Robyn would have been writing the challenge calendar while she was in hospital, because she’d not been sure how long she had left, and she’d wanted to make sure I had one more calendar to do. So she’d been talking about the calendar to Leo. And if Leo hadn’t been in that group, if he hadn’t needed a heart, then maybe Robyn would have got it, because maybe there wouldn’t have been anyone more compatible, and maybe the doctors would have given her a chance. Maybe, just maybe, she might still be alive.

And if Robyn hadn’t died, then I wouldn’t have met Leo. I wouldn’t be with him now. If Robyn had got the heart instead of Leo, Leo might now be dead.

So many maybes. Why do they all have to be so damn complicated?

“Did you say the Ritz?” I ask, sipping my own champagne.

“No, I said this really obscure bar I’ve been to in Austria. I don’t think she was all that impressed.”

I laugh, because I can almost see it, the eye roll he would have got from Robyn in response to that. I don’t miss the way Leo’s eyes light up at the sound.

“So was the hotel okay about you not heading back right away?” I’m aware that I use “the hotel” like it is its own decision-making body, but I don’t know who Leo has to clear things with, as manager. The owners, presumably.

“Yeah. I spoke to Lucie and she basically told me to get my shit together and fix things with you before I came back.” He gives me a sidelong look. “Maybe she’s planning a coup.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her, to be fair.” I haven’t spoken to Lucie in days. Is it weird that I miss her, after only knowing her a short time? I wonder, too, what “fix things” would entail in this scenario. Best not to go too far down that road, perhaps.

I put my glass down, twisting the stem of it between my thumb and forefinger. “Did you tell her that it wasn’t ever real between us?” My tone is light, but the words taste a little bitter. “That we were pretending, I mean?” I add quickly, in an attempt to soften it.

He waits for me to look at him. “We might have been pretending,” he murmurs, in that voice that caresses my skin, “but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, Ali.” And, oh God, what am I supposed to say to that? Because he’s right. For me, at least, he’s right. My feelings were real, despite how the situation started. Which just makes the whole thing more difficult.

“Anyway,” Leo says in a lighter tone, perhaps sensing that I’m not ready to have that conversation yet, “she gave me until Boxing Day. After that, I’m pretty sure all hell would break loose. And by that I mean Lucie won’t be able to cover for me anymore and I’ll lose my job.” He sips his champagne. “I need to get back for training anyway, ahead of the medical in the new year.”

I wonder what will happen if he doesn’t pass. If he’ll stick around in Châtel, or move somewhere new. I hate the idea of him moving somewhere I’ll never be able to find him again.

“What are you doing for Christmas tomorrow?” I ask, trying to get the conversation on even ground.

There’s a brief hesitation. “I’ll spend it with my parents, I guess. Haven’t really thought about it.” He gives me a wry glance. “To be honest, my plan was a bit nonplan-like, the ones I know you’re partial to yourself. Come back to London. Hope you’d talk to me.”

I nod sanguinely. “Well, I suppose that part is going well.”

“I suppose it is, isn’t it?”

But I bite my lip. “Leo,” I start, trying to find a way to say that I’m still not sure of what happens after this, that messaging him and asking to see him doesn’t mean I’m ready to think further ahead than that. “I—”

But he takes my hand. “Don’t worry. I know. No expectations, okay?”

“Okay,” I whisper.

He lets go of my fingers, tries to smile. I can tell when his smiles aren’t real, because they don’t brighten his face. “So what are you doing tomorrow? Spending it with your mum?”

“Yeah. And my brother. And their respective partners.”

“That’ll be nice.”

“I hope so.”

We’re both halfway through our champagne now. What do we do, once we’ve finished? We can’t sit here drinking champagne all night. My finances won’t allow it, for one thing.

“I saw my parents yesterday,” Leo says into the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I tried to explain a bit about the rescue-skiing thing. You know, about why I do it. Talking to you at Somerset House, it made me realize I hadn’t ever sat them down and tried to explain properly, that we’d fallen into a pattern, them being worried, me trying to shake the worry off. So I thought it was about time to at least try.”