Page 3 of Counting Down To You

“I…” I glance around the office, as if that will give me the answers. Cal has managed to do pretty well with the tinsel already. “I’m taking a sabbatical.” My voice is weirdly flat. It’s the shock, probably. Even saying the word sounds ridiculous. Sabbatical.

“Oh? When?”

“Pretty much now, I think.”

“Now?” Cal’s voice goes up an octave. “Did I miss something?”

“Farah said…”

“She’s taking the time she needs,” Farah says firmly, moving to sit at her desk and finally taking her salad out of the bag. “Now, for God’s sake, will you finish hanging the bloody tinsel and sit down.”

Cal does neither of those things, instead coming over to me and pulling me in for my second hug of the day. I inhale his familiar smell of tobacco and mint. “I’m glad,” he says into my neck. “We don’t need you around here anyway.” He eases back. “Go do something fun. Or something soul searching. Just something.”

“But what?” My voice is barely a whisper. And in that moment I feel so damn pathetic it’s almost unbearable. But what am I supposed to do? I don’t want to go off on some grand sabbatical-type adventure alone—and, besides, I don’t have anyone to go with. Adam dumped me a year ago. Robyn is gone.

“Well, I could probably get you some last-minute seasonal work somewhere,” Cal muses. “You could be an elf or operate a ski lift or something. There are enough idiots making a prick of themselves or breaking their legs or whatever so I reckon I could get you in.” When I say nothing, Cal squeezes my arm. “Come on. Why don’t we go for a glass of pinot after work? I’ll help you come up with a list of ideas.”

“Yeah.” I swallow. “Yeah, okay.”

I sit back down at my desk. But even though I know Farah is doing this to be kind I can’t help but feel a little dejected, like I’m not wanted—or needed. There are plenty of people, I’m sure, who would jump at the chance of an unexpected break from work, but I am not one of them. I meant what I said to Farah: I need to keep busy.

I stare at my computer, at the email I’d been in the middle of when Farah had walked in, and try to focus on the immediate. I need to deal with anything urgent, put my out-of-office on, leave handover notes for Cal. I need to not think of tomorrow, and the calendar I’m supposed to start. It was going to be hard enough to go through it without Robyn. But now I have no job, nothing to hide behind—and absolutely no clue what to do next.

Chapter

2

I wake to the sound of my flatmate coming back from her night shift. Usually, I’d be getting ready for work right now. Today, all I do is blink up at the ceiling. My head feels groggy from the many glasses of wine I drank with Cal last night, but I’d have to be a lot more hungover than this to forget what date it is.

The first of December. Not the anniversary of Robyn’s death—she died mid-January—but still an anniversary of sorts.

I roll onto my side and reach for the advent calendar I’ve had propped on my bedside table since Robyn gave it to me. It is brilliantly homemade—you can order the stuff to make one online, I learned several years ago. This year, Robyn has gone for traditional red and green, with a reindeer on the front, the final square—number 24—in the middle of the bright red nose. I used to love making these calendars, right up to last year, when I had to think of challenges for Robyn to do in the hospital, hating the fact that I was coming up with things that Robyn would be able to do from the confines of her small, white hospital room.

We were in our second year of university, living in the same house together, when we first came up with the idea. I’d been sitting at the wooden kitchen table, ringed with water stains, Robyn padding around in the adjoining kitchen in her slipper socks and frayed dressing gown, making coffee for both of us.

I groaned, putting my head in my hands.

“Hangover or general bad mood?” Robyn asked, flicking on the kettle. “Warning: if it’s a hangover, I will be asking why I wasn’t invited to the party.”

“It’s December, Robyn.”

“Well observed.”

“We’re going home in, like, a week.”

Robyn cocked her head, her brown curls spilling to one side. “Awww, are you worried about missing me?”

I leaned back in my chair, immediately regretting it, because this was the chair that had one of its legs bent out of shape, so it wobbled if you sat on it the wrong way. I huffed as I righted myself. “It’s just…I haven’t done any of the things I said I was going to do this year. I haven’t joined a sports team or lost any weight or been on a single date. Instead, I’ve managed to put on weight, the guy I tried to kiss at Halloween was definitely horrified, and the closest thing I’ve got to anything resembling a sport is playing beer pong at that randomer’s party.”

Robyn held a finger in the air. “I am sure that beer pong is considered a legitimate sport in some countries.” I only wrinkled my nose. “Ah, come on,” Robyn said, pouring hot water over instant coffee in two mismatched mugs, then setting one down in front of me. There were many good things about Robyn, but coffee making was not one of them. “It’s not that bad. Let’s do something Christmassy later, cheer you up. Oooh, like ice skating. I love ice skating.”

I took a sip of the coffee, grimaced. “I can’t ice skate.” I sounded like a petulant child. “Besides, don’t you have an essay to write?”

“Yeah, and what the hell is that about? I only came here for the performing-arts stuff—not to have to write.”

I snorted quietly, then got to my feet, picking up both our mugs and moving to the kitchen sink, then emptying the contents down the drain.

“What are you doing?” Robyn asked, voice full of outrage.