Page 42 of Counting Down To You

Leo takes me to one of the mountainside bars, orders us each a Christmas spiced hot chocolate, as well as chips—which is a good thing, because I’m starving. We sit outside on the wooden decking, surrounded by skis propped up on the sides, the sound of chatter a pleasant background hum. It’s warm enough that I have to strip off my ski jacket, the sun warming the back of my neck. Amazing, really, that you can be in the mountains, surrounded by snow, and still be warm. I take my goggles off, too, really hoping they have not left lines round my eyes. When I help myself to a chip, I decide that eating hot chips on the side of the mountain after skiing is probably in the top five things I’ve done in recent years.

“You did really well,” Leo says.

I let out a slightly disbelieving snort.

Leo raises his eyebrows at the sound. “It was your first time. What were you expecting—to ace a black run?”

I wrinkle my nose. “I think my muscles are already cramping up.”

“Wait until tomorrow, you may not be able to walk.”

“Oh, goody.” I sip my hot chocolate, just about suppressing a groan at how good it is, then lean back in my chair, looking up at the mountainside. “You know,” I say conversationally, “I can see why people come out here for a whole ski season.”

“You could be one of them,” he says, spearing a chip with a wooden fork. He’s still wearing those damn sunglasses, so once again all I can see is my reflection. “We still need a GRM until the end of the season.”

I smile at the implied offer there but shake my head. “This was only ever temporary for me. I’ve got real life to get back to.” I wonder briefly whether to mention that Lucie wants the job, but I’m not totally sure if that will help or hinder her efforts.

“Ah, real life,” Leo says. Then, “Recruitment, right?”

“Yep. Not as glamorous as ski rescue, I know.” I regret it as soon as the words are out—because he’s not qualified yet, is he?

Leo doesn’t react, though. Instead, he takes another chip. “Do you enjoy it? Recruitment?”

I think about that for a moment. “I love parts of it,” I say eventually. Or I used to, anyway. “I like being able to match people with a job they love. I like it when a client comes back to me and tells me the candidate I found is the perfect fit. I love it when I get messages from people who have been struggling to find the right job for months, maybe even years, and I’m able to help them. It used to be the best feeling, being able to help my candidates see that they have more skills than they realize, and help them go for jobs they never thought they’d be able to. I know it’s not what most kids would say if you asked them what they want to do when they grow up and it’s not necessarily what I set out to do and, okay, there are parts of it that are definitely not fun, but I have got satisfaction from it.”

That’s all true, I tell myself firmly. It’s what I’ve always told people, when they ask if I like my job—and I’ve meant it. Until recently at least, I meant it.

Leo is nodding. “Well, that’s more than a lot of people can say, I reckon.”

“Yes,” I say, spearing another chip. “It is.” So I should be glad of my job. I should work toward finding that feeling again.

“Used to, though?” Leo asks.

I frown. “Huh?”

“You said used to. As in ‘it used to be the best feeling in the world.’ ”

“Oh. Did I?” I know I did.

“You don’t enjoy it anymore?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t hate it. I just…I don’t know,” I say again, somewhat lamely.

He props his sunglasses on top of his head, so that I can see his eyes, which are very focused on my face. “What did you set out to do?”

“Oh. Well, I never really had a firm plan, I guess. Classic directionless graduate,” I say with a little smile. Then I sigh. “It’s weird, right. One day you’re just supposed to decide, yes, that’s what I want to do with my life. And then you’re supposed to go and follow that path and, what, stick to it forever?”

“You can change your mind. I’ve done that—a lot.”

“You think you’ll change it again?”

“No.” His voice is firm. “If I make it as a rescue skier, I know this is what I want to do. Maybe not forever—but if I give it up, it will be because of practicalities, not because it’s not what I want to do. But we were talking about you.” He leans toward me. “If you could do anything, what would it be?”

It reminds me of James asking me this question, back when we were teenagers. All these years later, and I still don’t have an answer. “I don’t know,” I say, as I did back then. “And, yes, I realize I’m saying that a lot. But, like, how are you supposed to decide something like that? Because, firstly, I need money, so I can’t just do anything. Secondly, I have limitations—like I was terrible at science at school so I probably couldn’t be a vet, and I think today has proven ski instructor is out.”

Leo’s lips twitch in that way of his. “I’m sensing you don’t love this question.”

“Sorry. It’s just…I can’t imagine those people who say they’ve always wanted to do something and then just, you know, do it.”