Page 31 of Counting Down To You

I know why Robyn set me this challenge. I remember sitting in the living room of the first flat we’d rented in London, with Robyn next to me on the sofa—one that had definitely seen better days. Robyn’s knees were hugged into her chest, as she told me she hadn’t got the part in a play she’d auditioned for.

Robyn was relentlessly positive, as always. “I’m learning,” she said firmly. “I’m getting better. I’ll get the next one—or the one after that.”

“You will,” I said, equally firmly.

“And if I don’t manage to earn money as an actress, there’s always copywriting to fall back on, right?” Robyn’s degree was English and drama and somewhere along the line she’d got it into her head that she ought to have a sensible backup. Copywriting was the current suggestion.

“You won’t need it,” I told her. I believed in Robyn, even if she’d been having a hard time at the auditions. It was impossible not to believe in her—not just her talent, which I’d seen firsthand, but her determination. If anyone could pick themselves up and keep going, it was her.

I moved closer to Robyn on the sofa, put an arm round her. After a moment, she laid her head on my shoulder, a small concession of vulnerability. “You are brilliant and talented, Ro. You give your whole heart to performances, and whenever I watch you, I am awed. Someone is going to see that and give you a chance—really, really soon.”

She burst into tears, which was enough to make me slightly panicked. Robyn was not really a crier. “Thanks, Al.” She sniffed, trying to pull back the tears, as I squeezed her shoulders. “I needed to hear something nice today.”

It had to be about two weeks later that Robyn had bounded into the same flat, while I was making beans on toast—an evening staple at that point of our lives, when neither of us could afford much in the way of fresh vegetables.

“I got a job!” Robyn declared.

I spun to face her. “You did?”

She was beaming as she nodded. “Voice acting, but it’s still acting, right?”

“It definitely is.” I couldn’t help it—I let out an excited squeal as I crossed our tiny kitchen to hug her. “I’m so proud of you.” I pulled back, feeling emotion swelling in my throat.

Robyn laughed. “Don’t you cry.”

“I’m not crying,” I said, doing my best not to. “You’re crying. This definitely calls for a celebratory drink.”

“And maybe something better than beans,” she said, pointing at the stove. “Given those are burning.”

Voice acting hadn’t been the only thing Robyn had done after that. I’d been to watch her in a fair number of plays, but that evening had been the start of what should have been a long and successful career.

“So, Ali.” I blink the staff table back into focus to see Lucie looking over at me. “How was your hike yesterday?” The question is a little stilted but is definitely a question, nonetheless.

“Oh.” I try to force myself back to the present. “Good. I met a random guy, actually. He was very cross at me for hiking out there.”

“Older man?” pipes up Nick. “Walking stick?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yes.”

“That’s Burgers. He’s a grouchy git with everyone these days, don’t take it personally.”

“His name’s Burgers?” I ask, a little incredulously.

“Nah, his name’s Steven or something,” Nick says, shoveling soup into his mouth.

“Stuart,” Lucie corrects.

“Right,” says Nick, “that’s it. Everyone just calls him Burgers.”

“Because he likes burgers?”

Nick looks at Lucie, who shrugs. “Not particularly, as far as I know. I think he wore a lot of burgundy when he first arrived here, like, fifteen years ago. Burgundy—Burgers. I guess it stuck.”

“He’s been here fifteen years?” I ask. Lucie just nods.

“He used to run a hiking business, right, Luce?” A hiking business. Well, I suppose that would qualify him to know what’s safe. And he turned out to be right about the snow—another layer of it fell not long after I got back, to the delight of all our guests.

“Technically, he still runs it,” Lucie says. “Or he owns it, at least. I don’t think he’s taken many people out this year, to be honest.”