Page 66 of Counting Down To You

“I think it will,” Stuart says. “Because it’s got to. And it does, bit by bit. But I don’t think you ever get over that kind of grief. I think maybe it becomes part of you, and you learn to live with it, and then you’re grateful for that part of you.”

“Are you there yet? Grateful, I mean?”

I listen to the crunch of our footsteps. “I’m working on it,” he says. “I’m less angry now, at least. I was so mad, right after. Mad at Alex for leaving me, mad that I didn’t have a place without him. Mad at the whole damn world, to be honest.”

I nod. I’ve been mad too. Mad at everyone for carrying on without Robyn, mad at the person who got her heart.

“I’m trying,” Stuart reiterates. “I needed a break from everything, but I want to try to find a way to get back to what I loved. To what we both loved.”

Which is why he’s out here, hiking with me.

“Why hiking?” I ask, trying to move things on to a lighter topic.

“I like it.” So simple, like it’s that easy. Maybe, for him, it was. “And there was the market for it. I’m hoping there still is.”

“You didn’t think about going back—to England?”

He shakes his head. “This is my home now. It’s hard, without him. But it would be hard anywhere. Grief doesn’t belong to a place—you take it with you. So I might as well be in the place I love—the place that belongs to us both. I needed a break,” he says again. “And I think it’s okay, to take that kind of break if you need it. But I never wanted to abandon it all completely.”

It’s an opening. And because he has shared something with me, I feel I should do the same. Cold air bites my cheeks as I shake my head in a resigned sort of way. “I’ve been trying to decide if I want to have a change of career.” Saying it out loud to someone feels weird, because I haven’t really considered it as a viable possibility before. I can’t remember the last time I thought far enough into the future to wonder what my career might look like in ten or twenty years.

“Don’t fancy working in hotels anymore?” Stuart asks as the ground underfoot changes, patches of forest floor peeking up from the snow, where the canopy above has sheltered it. God, I love the smell of it here.

“Well, actually, I’m only doing that temporarily, until they find a replacement.” I keep it vague, because I’m not sure how he’ll take the fact that his meeting is with a woman who has only committed to the hotel for a total of four weeks. “When they do, it’ll be back to the office job for me.” I frown. “Or that was the plan, anyway.” But if I don’t do that, then what?

“Well, as someone who ditched the office job for all this, I have to say I recommend it.” I wonder what he was like, before his partner died. If he’ll find his way back to the person he was then. I suppose it will be a new version, like I’m trying to find the new version of myself, without Robyn.

We move into a clearing, the mountain ridges stretching up against the blue sky. I listen to the sound of the snow crunching, keeping my eyes peeled for a hare or deer. Then Stuart stops abruptly, grabbing my forearm. He points to the sky.

“What is…?” But I can see it. A bird, circling above us, off the edge of the nearest mountainside. A bird of prey, clearly, based on the enormous wingspan. Dark brown, with paler feathers underneath, and a long, broad tail. My breath catches. “Is that an eagle?”

He drops his hand, nods. “A golden eagle.” His voice is a quiet murmur. “Hunting, no doubt. Tough for them, in winter.”

We watch as it circles again, barely seeming to flap its wings. I’m not sure if I imagine the golden glint as the sun catches its feathers just right. Then it dives out of sight, and is gone.

Emotion rises in my chest. I don’t know why the sight of it would make me want to cry.

“You must be good luck. Hardly ever see them.”

Why did I stop doing this? I wonder, as we walk again. Why did I stop coming out to places like this, alone, and allowing myself to just be? London, I suppose. London and life getting in the way. And maybe my brother leaving too, because it was something we’d done together, year after year, on those family holidays. I suppose, after he left, I didn’t want anything that reminded me of him.

Call your brother. It’s still hanging over me, the one challenge I’ve been unable to do.

I know when we’re nearing the end of the loop because I start to recognize some of the landscape, even under the snow. And from checking my phone, I know our time is nearly up.

“This has been brilliant,” I say. “Thank you for taking me.”

He gives a noncommittal grunt. “I get the feeling you would’ve been fine without me.” He looks down at me. “Maybe I judged you a bit harshly, by the waterfalls. Just seen some accidents, you know?”

I don’t, but I can understand it. “I would have got lost out here,” I say with a shrug. “Too much white.” That nearly gets a smile out of him.

When we reach the car park, Stuart offers me a lift back to the hotel.

“So,” I say, once we’re nestled into the warmth of the car, “I’m thinking, what about a New Year’s Day hike?”

He frowns. “New Year’s Day?”

“Exactly.” The idea had come last night, when I’d been alone in my cabin, trying not to think of Leo, or the kiss. Trying not to hope—pointlessly, it turned out—that he might knock on my door with a bottle of wine or something. “We could think of New Year’s Day as a kind of launch, try to make a bit of a splash with it, really put you back on the radar.”