Page 88 of Counting Down To You

“Because I’d like to see you. It’ll just be me,” he adds quickly. “We can do the whole meet-the-girlfriend thing another time.” Another time. Said as if there will be one, and not as if this is the first conversation we’ve had in years.

“I, umm…”

“Please, Ali. I know I’ve been crap. I know things between us have been…not great. But I’d really like to see you. An early dinner? One course? I’ll pay.”

I sigh. “You better.”

“Is that a yes?” He sounds hopeful, and I can’t help the small smile. Because here is a hint of the big brother I once knew, before everything went so wrong.

“Yes,” I say. “Okay.” Because you never know how many chances you’re going to get, do you? And because Mum is right. Robyn is right. I don’t want to wake up in ten years and realize I don’t know my brother. I don’t want to carry that regret.

“Okay. Great. If there’s anywhere you want to go let me know?”

“It’ll be busy this time of year,” I point out.

“I’m sure we can wheedle our way in somewhere.”

He probably can. He always was a bit of a charmer.

There’s another pause. Then, “Ali? Thanks for calling.”

I nod, although there is no one around to see it. “I’ll see you tomorrow, James.”

I don’t know what I’m feeling as I hang up, but it wasn’t quite as bad as I’d thought it would be. Dinner, though…Well, I suppose I’ll see how tomorrow goes. If nothing else, at least I can say I tried. And I’ve done it. Completed another challenge.

I look back at the calendar, then get up, dressing with quick, decisive movements. Maybe I can’t forgive James yet, and maybe I’ll never be able to forgive Leo. But there is someone else I need to forgive. Which means there is somewhere I need to go.

—

At the church, I kneel on the grass next to Robyn’s gravestone. I don’t care that it’s wet, or that water seeps in through my jeans. I trace the lines of her name, noticing that flowers have been brought here recently. That’s good. I wonder if it was Robyn’s mum. Robyn’s mum, who asked me to help pick out the color of the gravestone—orange and black granite—and the writing on it, which is gold. Robyn’s mum, who wasn’t always the best parent, but whose grief was real and devastating, in the end. I wonder how she is now. I haven’t spoken to her since the funeral.

I run my fingers over the dates. The time between the two is depressingly short, not nearly enough. Maybe it never is.

“Hey,” I whisper, feeling the lump in my throat. “Miss you.” I remember going back to university at the start of our second year, after only a month apart—because the first month of holidays we’d spent together. Remember Robyn barging into my bedroom the second she got back, a wide grin on her face. “There you are!” And she’d enveloped me into the best hug, because no one could hug like Robyn. Then she’d pulled away, punching me lightly on the arm. “I missed you.” Said like it was somehow my fault. “Let’s agree never to live farther away from each other than, like, a mile, okay?”

I snorted. “A sensible life goal.”

But we’d managed it. I wonder if we would have kept it up, or if life would have pulled us in different directions, as it does with so many people. I don’t think so. I think we would have always found a way to be right there alongside one another.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur now, my breath steaming in front of me in the damp cold. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to go to Paris like we planned. I’m sorry you didn’t ever get to act in the West End. I’m sorry you had to spend years living in a shitty flat in London.” The words tumble out, quicker now. “I’m sorry your mum bailed on you on the first day at university and that she wasn’t always there for you growing up. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to meet the love of your life.” Tears stream down my face, pooling in the corners of my mouth. “I’m sorry that you didn’t get the heart, that he got it instead of you. I’m sorry for falling for him.”

I’m sobbing as I run my fingers over the lettering again. The gravestone feels so cold. “I’m sorry that I blamed you,” I whisper. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I know you didn’t mean to leave.”

I drop my hand. Somewhere nearby, I can hear footsteps on the gravel path. Can hear someone else, sobbing. And someone laughing. Showing that even in this place full of grief, there is joy to be found.

I take a deep breath. Then, finally, I say the thing that I came here to say. “I forgive you, Robyn.” And here it is, the awful thought I’ve been carrying in the back of my mind, not wanting to say it out loud for fear of what kind of person that makes me. Not wanting to admit to myself or anyone else that a part of me was blaming Robyn. For not being strong enough, for not fighting hard enough. For abandoning me. I know, have always known, that it’s not fair to think that. That Robyn would have fought, if she could. But in my darkest moments, my mind has turned there, even as I tried to stop it.

“I may not be ready to say goodbye yet,” I murmur into the quiet, “but I forgive you, for leaving me.”

And, maybe, I can try to forgive myself a little, too, for thinking these things, for blaming my best friend. Maybe both of us deserve that, after all we’ve been through together. I get to my feet, brushing some of the dirt off my jeans. I place a kiss to my palm, then press it to the gravestone.

“I love you, Robyn. Now and always.”

And as I turn to leave I hear her voice, bright and clear.

I love you too, Al. Now and always.

Chapter