Page 5 of Counting Down To You

Robyn had been thrilled when we’d found this flat, less than a ten-minute walk from a tube station. Yes, it was zone 3 and if you wanted to get to central London it could be a bit of a nightmare sometimes, but there were plenty of places to go out for drinks or food right here, like a mini town on the outskirts of the city. Maybe I should have moved out of the flat instead of renewing the contract after Robyn died, tried to move on in some capacity. But at the time the thought of packing everything up and moving somewhere new had felt impossibly overwhelming. So I’m still here. Same job, same flat. No Robyn.

I head onto the high street, passing by an open coffee-shop door. I slip my phone out to call my mum as I walk. Since she got into yoga, she’s always up early, like somehow the two go hand in hand. I’m thinking of Farah’s suggestion that I spend some time with my mum, and it’s not the worst idea, is it? Better than moving to Costa Rica, anyway. Mum used to live in Cambridgeshire, where I grew up, but she moved in with Graham, her new partner, just over a year ago and now she lives in Kent. I’m happy for her. When my dad left, right after I finished university, my mum fell apart. It took a long time to pull herself back together, but since she’s been with Graham she’s been the happiest I’ve ever known her. Even if, for a while after Robyn died, she tried to hide that happiness from me, like it was somehow disrespectful.

“Hallo, love!” Mum exclaims down the phone. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good!” I’m using the same overly enthusiastic tone I used with Farah yesterday, but I can’t seem to stop doing it. I sidestep a commuter who is marching along at a brisk pace with his eyes glued to his phone.

Mum immediately launches into a story about the pub she and Graham went to last night and how they ended up getting a discount because the waiter got the order wrong. She’s been doing a lot of this recently, talking nonstop, like she’s afraid of what I might say if she lets me speak. She switches almost seamlessly to telling me all about a yoga retreat she wants to go to in Bali next year, after her instructor told the group about it. “And do you know, I think I’ve convinced Graham to come with me. Bali! Can you imagine!”

I smile at the thought of her and Graham—a slightly overweight man in his sixties whose hobbies consist of gardening and darts—doing a downward dog on the beach in Bali.

“Anyway, I can’t believe it’s December already! Can you? Are things starting to wind down for you at work or is there a Christmas rush?”

The first question she’s asked, and I find myself hesitating. But if I tell the truth, she’ll only worry. “Oh, it’s always pretty quiet this time of year.”

“Well, that’s nice, isn’t it? And, umm, do you have an idea of your Christmas plans yet? Are you still planning to come to stay with us for a few days?” Her voice is tentative, like she doesn’t want to push the subject, and she adds quickly, “Only that Graham is hoping to order the food soon, and we wondered how many we’ll be cooking for, that’s all.”

“I…” I think again of the calendar on my bedside table. Of the countdown it implies. “Actually, Mum…”

But Mum talks over me. “There’s no rush to decide. I know you might have plans with your dad.” She still does this, even though it’s been years since I spent any time with my dad. It’s like she wants to remind me that if I randomly decide I’d like a relationship with my father it would be okay.

“No,” I say firmly. “I don’t have plans with him.”

My dad is currently living in Norfolk, not with the woman he’d left my mum for, but the one he’d hooked up with after that. I haven’t heard from him in over two years—not even a birthday WhatsApp. He’d been a slightly clichéd absent father while me and my brother, James, were growing up—away on long business trips that, I suspect now, were not all about business. But it had still totally shocked Mum when he’d announced the affair he’d been having for some time and his intention to leave. Mum had been trying, so hard, to make the marriage work, but my dad had decided that now his children were “grown up,” his role was fulfilled. It was time, he’d said, for him to “really live.” He’d been trapped for some time—didn’t she see that? Snippets of a conversation I was probably never meant to overhear left me with no desire to fight for a relationship with a man who clearly didn’t want it.

“James is thinking he’ll come home this year.” Mum’s tentative tone is back.

“Oh?” I can’t think of what else to say. I don’t speak to my brother either these days. We haven’t spent Christmas all together since before my dad left—and my brother decided to leave too. Last I heard he was gallivanting around various corners of the world, not bothering to check in.

“He’s met someone,” Mum is saying. “And I think he’d like to introduce her.”

“Has he now?” I can’t help the skeptical tone, given that James isn’t exactly known for his commitment. Then again, what do I know? Maybe he’s changed in the several years since we’ve had a proper conversation.

“He did say he hoped you’d be here too.” Of course, all that does is make me not want to be there, which is stupid, I know.

“I’ll think about it,” I say. And then, because I’m worried that sounds ungrateful, add, “Is that okay?”

“Of course, love. Just let us know when you can. I’m sure we’ll have enough food in any case.”

“Okay. Thanks, Mum. Anyway, I’ve got to go—I’m heading to work.” A white lie. “I’ll speak to you soon, okay?”

I hang up as I reach a set of traffic lights. Well, that didn’t go according to plan. I don’t want to go to Mum’s if my brother is going to rock up, and knowing him, he won’t give any warning. He’ll just turn up some time between now and Christmas to suit him.

In my hand, my phone buzzes. And, despite how we left things, or, more accurately, how he dumped me, because, to paraphrase, I was no fun anymore, my heart jumps at the sight of his name flashing on my screen.

Adam. Adam is messaging me.

Hey Ali. I know it’s been a while but I just wanted to check in. Thinking of you and hope you’re doing okay. X

I read it through three times before lowering my phone. The message before that was six months ago: a link to a news article about the top ten hiking trails in the UK, with a caption from Adam:

Saw this and thought of you.

I never worked out if he was trying to start up a conversation, but I knew from Instagram that he’d been dating someone, so I hadn’t seen the point in replying.

I know why he’s messaged today. He knows about the challenge calendar, knows what the first of December means to me. Nearly three years we were together and then, as Robyn had started to spend more time in hospital, as it became clear that she wouldn’t survive without a transplant, he’d claimed that I was “drawing back” from him. That he couldn’t do it anymore.

I take a cool, soothing breath. I didn’t really feel angry at the time, more shocked than anything. Shocked that I hadn’t seen it coming, that he was really leaving me, when I needed someone more than ever. I know I should have been angry, but I’ve never quite been able to get there.