Page 55 of Counting Down To You

“That’s great!”

He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“So, if you pass this, then you’re qualified?”

“This is sort of the pre-test—I have to pass it to take the others.”

“Oh.” So still a long way to go, then. Probably why he doesn’t seem all that enamored by the whole thing. “What will you do if you don’t pass?”

“I don’t really know,” he says slowly. “I suppose I’m not really letting myself think about it, to be honest.”

“You’ll qualify,” I say, my voice full of a confidence that doesn’t quite make sense, given I don’t have the first clue about ski rescue. But I can’t imagine him not qualifying, if it’s something he’s decided he wants. He just gives off those vibes, I suppose.

His lips curve into a small smile. “Thanks, Ali.”

We take two more chair lifts, meaning I’m the furthest into the mountains I’ve been since I got here. “We’re now in the Portes du Soleil ski area,” Leo tells me, just before we get off the lift (I feel like a proper pro when I manage to ski away without help).

He leads me to the top of a slope, looking out across a valley in the mountains, a forest of pine visible farther down. But instead of heading down, as I’d expected, he takes off his skis, and gestures for me to do the same. He picks up both sets of skis, leads me to a spot a little away from the main slopes, and away from most of the skiers. He stops, sets down the skis, then takes my shoulders, positioning me in front of him. He grins.

I raise my eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“France,” he says, pointing in one direction. “Switzerland.” He turns me to face the other. Then he grins down at me again. “This is one of the points on the border, where the two countries meet. If you stand here, you have, I think, got a foot in each country. You are, technically—”

“In two places at once!” I laugh, and it turns into a whoop as I spin, holding my hands in the air.

His grin gives way to a softer smile as he sits down, right on the snow. I hesitate—we are still, technically, on a ski slope after all—but he grabs my hand, pulls me down next to him. “Now that we’re here, we might as well enjoy it,” he says. I look around, worried about being in the way, but we are far enough away from the main action that we can get away with it.

The sky is changing color, bright blue giving way to a softer orange, with gentle hues of pink. It’s not late, but already the sun is beginning to set. And, God, it’s breathtaking, isn’t it? You don’t really appreciate it when you’re skiing—or at least I don’t, too caught up in the whole trying-not-to-fall-over of it all.

“Thank you,” I say quietly. I don’t look at him, but I can feel his gaze on the side of my face. “This is…” I try to think of a way to put it into words. “I know it might seem silly, but each time I do a challenge it’s like she’s here with me as I do it. You know?”

“It’s not silly,” he murmurs. “And I do know.” Said as if he really does. I wonder at the person the hospital took care of for him, whether it’s that which means he can understand. He leans back on his palms, the late afternoon sunlight bouncing off his dark chestnut hair. He props his sunglasses on top of his head and looks over at me. “What was she like?” he asks, a little tentatively. “Robyn?”

“She was…” I blow out a breath. “God, she was so many things. She was the most incredibly warm, exuberant person—but she could also be moody as hell. She was ambitious and determined and confident—and she tried to cover up any self-doubt like it was, I don’t know, a weakness, to show it. But it was there, like it is with everyone, and when she admitted it, it was like she was letting you in. She had a tough time growing up. Not anything dramatic, really—but her mum wasn’t really there for her, and Robyn always had the sense that she wasn’t really wanted, like her mum was doing the best she could, but that she was waiting until she could go on and live her life without her. But, in the end, her mum showed her that she did care, that she did love her.” I swallow. Call your brother.

“She was the most incredible actress. She was in a play in London this one time, in a tiny little theater, and it was terrible.” I laugh, remembering. “Like, it had no plot, and seemed to be a murder mystery for a while, then someone came back from the dead and fell in love with the detective? I don’t know, I honestly had no idea what was going on—and there was a random song in the middle of it, but it wasn’t a musical. Anyway, she hated the play, complaining about it every day after rehearsals. But she was brilliant. She played the murderer—who had a lead in the random song—and she made the whole thing come alive. She even had people queuing up to speak to her afterward.”

I take a slow breath, feeling the sting behind my eyes, the way I always do when I think of Robyn. I allow the pain of it to settle, right next to my heart. But it’s a nice sort of pain, in a way. Because it proves Robyn lived, was loved. It proves that I remember. And I don’t want to forget. It’s part of why I kept listening to the audiobooks, to make sure I never forget the sound of her voice.

You won’t, Robyn reassures me. And, even if you do, you’ll still remember me.

“I wish I could have known her,” Leo says quietly. Known—not met. And that feels so right.

“Me too,” I whisper.

We are quiet for a while. Maybe Leo senses that I need time to pull myself together.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend like that,” he says, looking out down the mountain, the sun reflecting off the sunglasses on top of his head. “As a teenager I did,” he continues. “You know, the people who know you inside out because you grew up together. But I left home pretty much as soon as I could, and although I’ve tried to stay in touch, it’s not the same—probably because I haven’t made enough effort. And because I’ve moved around so much, since then all my friends have been kind of temporary—like I’ve met some brilliant people, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always been, you know, transient or whatever. So I guess I’ve never put the time in.” He seems a little sad as he says it.

“It’s not too late, you know,” I say softly. “To make that sort of friendship.” Although I don’t think there will ever be another Robyn for me.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“I didn’t grow up with Robyn,” I say, shifting to get more comfortable on the snow. “But we met at university, so it was sort of like we grew into adults together, you know?” He nods, and I take a moment, the way I often need to when I talk about Robyn. At the reminder, that she was the person I thought would always be by my side, the person I’d thought I would go through all my major life events with. And now she’s gone.

I swallow. “I have a brother, and I grew up with him, but I was closer to Robyn. I know it sounds like a cliché, but knowing her, it made me appreciate that you might not be able to change who you’re related to by blood, but you kind of can choose your family, you know?” I think I have a point here. I’ve just sort of lost it.

“I always wanted a sibling,” Leo says, over the sound of laughter bouncing around the mountains. “Not just when I was growing up, but later too. Although I got good at not admitting it—because I knew my parents had wanted another child and, when I was old enough to understand what that meant, it felt kind of callous to say it, or even think it. I said it out loud once—I don’t even remember how old I was—and I still remember my mum’s face to this day.” His mouth twists into a grimace. “I hated myself for that expression after.”