Love on the Air

13

I’d never seen Billy flustered in my life, but the bombshell I’d just dropped had certainly hit him for six.

‘Let me get this straight. Finley Stark. Is coming here. For lunch. In five hours.’

I’d caught him halfway down the stairs at 7:30 am, before he’d even made his morning coffee.

‘Yes. But you don’t have to cook if it’s too much pressure! We can totally order takeaway. It’s just that restaurants are a little hard with him. We never end up lasting too long before things get hectic and we have to go, so we figured this way we could relax. Plus, he flies out first thing tomorrow morning so that really only leaves lunch.’

Eyes closed, Billy stroked his chin slowly. ‘He’s not vegan, is he?’

I shook my head. ‘Nope. Eats all the animals.’

He paused another moment, before opening his eyes and resolutely checking the time on his wrist.

‘Okay. The butcher opens in twenty-three minutes. Go and wake up your aunt. I’m gonna need my sous-chef.’

I fist pumped the air. ‘You’re the best! But please don’t go to too much trouble.’

He had already disappeared into the kitchen. I headed upstairs to tell May, my head still spinning from last night’s revelations. Finley was ecstatic that I finally knew, and while it was still all a bit too unbelievable to imagine, I was glad it was all out in the open. Tom and Finley. Finley and Tom. I wondered what other insane surprises the year had in store.

By the time 12.30 pm rolled around, the house was full of the kind of incredible smells that made my stomach do little flips with anticipation. Uncle Billy had most definitely gone to too much trouble, but watching him and May swan about the kitchen stealing cheeky kisses and giggling like teenagers made everything feel happy and right. It was a sunny day so May had set up the table in the backyard, surrounded by her gorgeous native bushes and with the calming sounds of her koi pond supplying a sublime soundtrack. It had to be perfect given that Tom would be incredibly self-conscious about rocking up with his ‘boyfriend’. He’d be self-conscious even if his boyfriend wasn’t Finley Stark. So this was pretty huge. There weren’t many people on Earth I trusted more than May and Billy, but that didn’t stop me from giving them both a ten-minute lecture about privacy and the importance of not mentioning our lunch guests, or their relationship, to a single soul outside of the house. May couldn’t have given two shits about the fact that Finley was famous, she was just ‘delighted that Tom had found a man’.

I peeked through the front window when I heard the car’s engine come to a halt outside. Finley’s security hopped out first and gave the street a cursory glance before he appeared from the back seat, skipping down the garden path to the front door carrying a case of Veuve. A single bottle would have been a nice touch, but hey—Finley was doing Finley. Tom followed close behind, and I watched as they reached the front door. Finley kissed him on the forehead. My heart skipped a beat, for no other reason than I truly wanted Tom to feel safe and loved. I hoped to God this would have a happy ending. For his sake.

By the time I made it to the front door, May was already embracing both boys, despite having never met Finley before, and despite him being one of the most famous humans on the planet. After kissing both of them on the cheek and giving Tom an extra squeeze and a wink, they came inside where Billy was putting the finishing touches on the ceviche. I pulled Finley in for a big hug, making eye contact with Tom over his shoulder. I mouthed the words ‘this is crazy’ to him with a huge grin. ‘I know,’ he mouthed back, with a grin just as big.

We feasted on stuffed peppers, cheesy potatoes, smoky barbecued pork and a whole roasted barramundi. Billy had lived in Peru in his younger years and had a soft spot for this kind of food, much to our delight. Finley had been there a handful of times on his travels, and the two swapped stories of their favourite adventures. I’d never seen Finley so relaxed, so off guard. He was like an entirely different person.

It occurred to me that he might actually be stoned.

‘So, what’s the plan, my darlings? How are you going to make this work?’ May asked.

Oh God. She couldn’t be stopped.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, May. Let’s not ruin a lovely lunch with details,’ I quipped, with a faux joviality that sounded as forced as it felt. I mouthed the words ‘sorry’ to Tom, who shrugged, unbothered.

‘That’s a great question, May,’ Finley said, wrapping one arm around Tom and popping a small piece of potato in his mouth. ‘One that currently has no answers. But for now, I would love to just have a nice lunch with the people I love and pretend that life is easy.’

And with that, Billy popped another bottle of champagne and refilled our glasses.

‘To pretending life is easy!’ Billy sang out, glass in the air. And to that, we toasted, and laughed and cheered as he announced that it was time for dessert.

May followed him back into the kitchen and left the three of us sitting at the table, glasses in hand.

‘You’ll work it out, guys. I know you will,’ I said with as much hope as I could muster.

Tom pulled out his phone, swivelled it around and showed me his calendar app, scrolling through the next six months, which had been colour-coded in the most Tom way possible. ‘This morning we went through Finley’s tour schedule from now till the end of the year and it looks like we can see each other once a month at a minimum. It means I can focus on the show, he can focus on the tour, and we’ll always have the next visit locked in. So, for now, we’re good.’

‘And you’re going to keep it under wraps?’ I asked.

Finley cleared his throat. ‘For now, yeah.’ He looked at Tom, his eyes glistening, before fixing his gaze back on me. ‘It means a lot that you know though, and I’m going to introduce him to Mum and Dad over FaceTime.’

I couldn’t help but grin like a kid with an Xbox on Christmas morning. Tom was meeting the parents. It all still felt too unreal to be true.

‘Will they be surprised?’ I asked.

‘What, that Tom is a guy?’ Finley threw his head back and laughed. ‘My mum asked me if I liked boys or girls before I turned thirteen.’

‘And what did you tell her?’

‘That I wasn’t picky.’

We were all laughing now. Moments later I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was May, who whispered in my ear that I had a visitor. ‘This time, I feel like I should be clear with you that it’s Leo. And he said it’s urgent.’

I felt a pang in my stomach straight away. I found Leo waiting for me at the front door, looking panicked.

‘Leo. Is everything okay?’

‘This morning I got a video call from Jack, he was in tears. I’m worried about Tessa. She’s not getting out of bed. He had to miss school yesterday because there was nobody to take him. The poor kid looked terrified.’

I reached out and took his hand in mine gently. ‘Oh, Leo, that’s horrible.’

He squeezed my hand.

‘You should go and be with them as soon as you can,’ I said, trying to sound calm.

He sighed. ‘I am. I’m on my way to the airport.’

I swallowed my disappointment. ‘We’ll all still be here when you get back. Please just do what you need to do.’ I hesitated, and the silence felt heavy between us. ‘I mean, obviously I’ll miss you.’

A car horn rang out and I jumped with fright.

‘Sorry, that’s my taxi,’ Leo said, looking towards the road and then back at me. ‘I didn’t want to just leave without a proper goodbye.’

My heart sank. I didn’t know what a proper goodbye looked like between us. I didn’t know whether to hug him. I didn’t know what to do. So instead I just stood there, wanting desperately to slow the moment down. Wanting desperately for him to stay.

He leaned in and kissed me, ever so gently, on the left cheek. I breathed him in. He pulled his head back slightly so that it was just centimetres from my face, our lips so close they were almost touching.

‘Safe travels, Leo. I hope everything is okay at home. I really do,’ I whispered, unable to look him in the eyes.

He slowly pulled away. ‘Thanks, Alex. We’ll speak soon.’

I watched him walk down the garden path towards the taxi. I hated watching him leave, but he had to go. Because whatever magnetic pull seemed to be drawing me to him wasn’t stronger than the pull of the promise he’d made to his family. And I could never expect it to be.

I had no claim on Leo. And he had no claim on me. We were colleagues, and nothing more. And although this was the way we had agreed it needed to be, I suddenly felt stupid for ever thinking it would be enough.

He gave me a quick nod as he hopped into the taxi, and a moment later he was gone. I wondered how long it would be until I saw him again.

I wondered if he’d ever come back.

Alone again, I looked across at the empty, quiet street before wiping the tears from my eyes.

‘See, Alex? They always leave you,’ I whispered as I gave myself a quick shake and headed back inside.

I sent Goldie a text before bed that night and watched as the message bubble turned from blue to green. I wondered if she’d thrown her mobile phone into the Mediterranean and decided that I wouldn’t blame her if she had. I thought that with the time difference I might get a reply by the morning, but nothing came.

I couldn’t sleep that night. My brain was in rumination overdrive, and no matter what I did I couldn’t seem to make the thinking stop. I imagined Leo asleep on an aeroplane somewhere between Sydney and London in a dark cabin. Or maybe he was wide awake just like me? A month ago, I didn’t want him anywhere near me or my radio show, and now I wondered how on earth we would cope without him.

At midnight, with no hint of sleep in sight, I rolled out my yoga mat in the dark and let my weary body make its way through the familiar poses. Before long, I felt my anxiety settle and my eyes grew heavy. I crawled back into bed, pulled the covers tight and drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

‘What do you mean he’s gone to London?’ Georgia demanded, her big brown eyes staring back at me, confused.

Ferg cracked his knuckles. ‘When will he be back?’

I took a deep breath and tried to look as calm as possible. ‘I don’t know guys, sorry. We’re still working out the logistics—he literally hasn’t even landed yet. But he isn’t ditching us. He’ll just be helping from … afar.’

Georgia took a sharp breath. ‘Right. Okay. Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out, he’s just—’

‘I know. He’s amazing,’ I replied warmly. Tom looked at me with one eyebrow raised. ‘In the meantime, we just have to do our best to press on without him physically here. We can’t drop the ball now.’

‘Especially if our ratings suck tomorrow,’ Tom quipped, snapping his head up to beckon Raj, his coffee gofer. ‘We’re gonna need double shots today, and maybe a couple of croissants.’

Raj jotted down the command on his phone.

I glared at Tom with as much effort as I could muster at 5:30 am. ‘Our ratings will not suck.’

Our ratings better not suck. If I was going to have any chance with Mark Holdsworth, we’d need to have the numbers to back up my show. A drop would be catastrophic. It would give him the arsenal he needed to bring in Floggy McFloggerson, aka Darren Chase. But in all honesty, who didn’t expect us to drop after Goldie’s departure?

Radio shows rarely, if ever, hit double digits, and Goldie had left on an eleven. Talk about big shoes to fill (or, in her case, big diamanté-encrusted Roger Vivier loafers). Her listeners had tuned in for decades and I was the new kid on the block. Shit. I really wished Leo were here to say something smart and comforting.

I clapped my hands together. ‘All right, kids, let’s press on. Tom, what have you got for us?’

Tom stood up and found his usual spot in front of the whiteboard, snapping back into action. ‘Okay, this week we’re sponsored by McDonald’s, so please avoid any mentions of Zinger burgers, Alex. I know this will be a challenge, but we all believe in you.’

Georgia stifled a giggle as I pretended to lick my lips.

‘The new Sam Smith single dropped at midnight, it’s a fucken banger. We’ve got it scheduled for 6:30 and 8. Gentle reminder of Sam’s pronouns. We should have a chat with them early next week, so let’s all have a think about some interesting angles. Next on the agenda … We had a complaint yesterday. Somebody actually called reception bitching about the Game of Thrones spoiler that you dropped last week—’

‘The finale aired years ago! Surely there’s some statute of limitations when it comes to show spoilers,’ I retorted.

‘Yeah, well, she also referred to you as Ashley York so I don’t think she’s a baked-on fan. And finally, we’ve got a couple of briefs that the sales team wanna go through after the show. Leo usually does these for us, but he’s not here, so …’

I groaned. Figuring out ways to shoehorn brands into the show in a natural way was my least favourite part of making radio, but thankfully something Leo excelled in.

‘I’ll cop those meetings while he’s away.’ I looked over at Georgia. ‘You can come too. It’ll be like a bonding exercise!’

Georgia gave me a sarcastic thumbs up. As would anybody who’d ever spent an hour in a meeting with a group of money-hungry sales reps trying to convince you that having the show sponsored by a brand that sold incontinence products would be totally natural and not weird at all.

Ferg raised his hand. ‘I have a question!’

‘Babe, you can just yell over us, no need to raise your hand,’ Tom said.

‘Right. Uh, Leo usually goes through all the audio promos and podcast edits with me every afternoon. Who should I run them by now?’

Oh God. The first show without Leo hadn’t even aired yet and I could already feel the wheels falling off in his absence. ‘Tom, you can handle that. Unless you wanna do the sales meeting instead?’

Tom pretended to dry-retch. ‘Just tell me when you need me, Ferg. I’ll be there.’

With five minutes to go until we were live, Tom and I headed into the studio and settled into our spots. He began to fiddle with the desk.

‘What the fuck?’ he muttered to himself.

My head shot up like a meerkat. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘The desk is dead …’

‘What do you mean dead?’

Tom was furiously pressing buttons, pulling faders up and down. ‘Like, there’s no power. Nothing. Look!’

I glanced up at the clock. ‘We’re live in three minutes! Fuck.’ Tom shot out of his seat and opened the studio door. ‘Georgia, can you see if any of the techs are in yet? Quickly!’ he called, before frantically racing back inside. I’d never seen Tom so flustered, not even when Timothée Chalamet told him he had nice hair on a red carpet in Berlin. Ferg appeared at the door. ‘What’s happening? Can I help?’ ‘The desk is dead. It can’t be a power outage because the screens are working. I … I’ve got nothing,’ Tom replied, as he indiscriminately banged on random buttons.

In a flash, Ferg was on his hands and knees, burrowing his way under the desk. Ten seconds later, we heard his voice calling out. ‘Well there’s the problem!’

‘What? What’s wrong?’ Tom replied, bending down to see.

‘The main power cord is gone. As in, someone’s removed it.’

Tom looked at me, eyes wide. My jaw dropped.

‘That fucking weasel!’ Tom roared. ‘I’m gonna murder him!’

‘Calm down, doll, it could have been anyone. It could just be a harmless mistake. Take a breath. Accusations can wait,’ I said hastily, feeling as murderous as he looked but doing my best to stay calm. Ferg raced into the other studio to procure a replacement cable. I looked at the clock. We had ninety seconds.

Ferg reappeared, cable in hand, and disappeared under the desk again. Tom motioned towards my chair, I hopped in, adjusted my microphone and stared at the clock: forty seconds; thirty seconds. The light on my microphone flicked on.

‘Thank fuck!’ Tom yelled as he madly adjusted levels on the desk. ‘We’re good.’

‘Amazing work under there, Ferg,’ I called out. He lifted his arm out to give me a thumbs up as the show intro began to play. If Tom was right about Darren attempting some sort of sabotage, he’d have to try a whole lot harder than that.

We had no way to prove that Darren was responsible for what had happened that morning. The CCTV was being upgraded, and with the office empty in the eight hours before our show, there weren’t exactly any eyewitnesses. The perfect set-up for a crime, some might say. Confronting him about it would only give him immense satisfaction, so instead we all took an oath of silence and pretended nothing had happened.

By the time I left the office that day I was positively exhausted. I was starting to understand just how many annoying show-related decisions, meetings and queries Leo had been filtering on my behalf. The exhaustion, however, did nothing to help the insomnia that crept in the second I put my head down on the pillow that night.

I never sleep the night before ratings come out. Nobody does. Ordinarily, I’d buy shit online as a means of self-soothing, but May and Billy had taken it upon themselves to book me in to see their financial planner, so it felt like the wrong time for any big purchases. I wanted to walk in there and give off ‘independent, financially secure businesswoman’ vibes, not ‘compulsive shopper who buys shoes and bags in lieu of therapy’ vibes. I looked at my phone. It was 11 pm. My alarm was going to go off in five hours.

My groan was interrupted by vibration. I picked the phone back up to see a text from Leo.

Landed safe in London. Hope you’re fast asleep and the preratings insomnia hasn’t got the best of you.

I sat up in the dark to type my reply.

Wide awake. How did you know?

Three dots appeared straight away.

I just do. Off to sleep. You’ll be right.

I put my phone away and lay in the dark, willing myself to sleep.

The sleep only came after one tiny purchase. A pair of Tom Ford sunglasses I’d had my eye on that had finally gone on sale. It would have been rude not to buy them.

Two days later, I sat outside Mark Holdsworth’s office wishing I was dead. Or at least in a coma. Anything that involved lying down with my eyes closed. My underarms were wet, furiously trying to rid my body of the copious amounts of chablis I’d consumed twenty-four hours ago, and no matter how much I loosened my collar, I couldn’t seem to get enough air in my lungs.

Having to get through a live radio show at 6 am with a white-wine hangover was bad. Having to then meet with the CEO of my company who was already trying to boot me off my own show seemed particularly cruel. I heard the sound of a glass clinking and opened my eyes as Victoria placed a glass of water and two paracetamol tablets on the coffee table next to me. I blinked at her in mute adoration and then swigged them both back, hoping to God it would be enough to get me through whatever awaited me on the other side of the mahogany door.

Unfortunately, the hangover wasn’t born from celebration, but rather commiseration and perhaps lurking despair. This was an ‘ahh, fuck, our ratings went down a point and the CEO will probably use this to bring my nemesis onto the show so we may as well eat lobster and drink white wine and pretend everything is fine’ hangover. We had rated a ten, which was an impressive result, but it was still a point down from where Goldie had left off. If I’d been in my right mind, I would have abstained from the alcohol and spent the afternoon preparing my case ahead of my inevitable chat with Mark.

I was not in my right mind.

Leo had taken one week’s personal leave, which made me think the situation in London was worse than he’d hoped. I’d texted him to see if he was okay and he hadn’t replied, which filled me with an all-too-familiar panic. I hated feeling desperate, and yet once again it seemed that an important man in my life was destined to leave me. I wondered how long Tom would stick around before he too joined the club and scurried off to be with his famous boyfriend, leaving me alone with my shoes and my handbags in the spare room at Aunty May’s house.

My sweaty distress was interrupted by Mark Holdsworth’s voice booming out from his office, summoning me inside. I mouthed the words ‘kill me now’ as I peeled myself off the chair, catching Victoria’s eyes as I did. She chuckled knowingly.

‘Sit down, Alex,’ Mark said, without taking his eyes off the computer screen.

Head held high, I placed my handbag on one of the chairs opposite him and took a seat in the other. After the rucksack debacle, this time around I’d opted for something a little more ‘boss bitch’. A black leather Saint Laurent tote that was a little bit Parisian chic and a little bit dominatrix.

He continued to type for a moment or two. I stared at him, examining him as he worked. If his coldness was meant as some sort of tactic to put me in my place, it was not working. It made me want to reach over and punch him in the face. Not that I’d ever actually done that before, nor did I even know how to hold my fist to try. A moment or so later, he took off his glasses and swivelled his chair around to face me directly.

‘So, Alex.’

‘So, Mark.’

We stared at each other for a moment more. I wasn’t sure whether he was expecting me to speak, and, if so, what he was expecting me to say. He was the one who had asked to see me, so as far as I was concerned I didn’t have to say a thing. I let the silence hang in the air awkwardly, doggedly rapping Jay-Z lyrics to myself as a distraction until he cleared his throat.

‘I suppose we should begin with yesterday’s results. Not exactly what we’d hoped for, are they?’ he said, finally.

I wondered who he meant by ‘we’. Was he referring to the two of us? Or him and the other crusty old men on the board? I stared at him, confused, narrowing my eyes and crossing my legs to the other side.

‘Well, I think everyone was bracing for worse, to be honest. A dip can only be expected in the circumstances, so I’m not taking it to heart. I know the show is great.’

‘A show doesn’t just need to be great,’ he snapped. ‘It needs to get people talking . Generate headlines. Weasel its way into the zeitgeist.’ He paused. ‘Do you think your particular brand of sunshine and flowers is going to do that, Alex?’

‘Well, Goldie seems to think so. As does Leo.’

‘Leo. Right.’ He gave a loaded pause. ‘Which brings me to the next point I’d like to discuss. I didn’t just bring you in here to talk ratings.’

I ran my fingers through my hair, rubbing my temples. Mark swivelled his computer around. My stomach dropped as two photographs flashed up on his screen.

‘Where did you get those?’ I demanded, my voice panicked.

‘Through a press contact,’ he replied, not making eye contact. ‘Luckily for you, they’re not going to run them. But I think we can all agree it’s not a good look.’

I stared at the images. The first, Leo and I walking into his hotel. The second, taken the next morning when I emerged wearing his hoodie. Mark was right. It wasn’t a good look. I could feel the threat of tears stinging the corners of my eyes, a rising fury in my gut. I cleared my throat and gave my head a quick shake. I had to do everything in my power to remain calm in front of Mark.

‘I’m not sure what you think is happening in those pictures, but you’re mistaken. Leo and I have never been anything more than friends. Not that it’s any of your business.’

Mark pushed his glasses further up his nose, and clasped his hands together in front of him. ‘I assure you, Alex, it is absolutely my business. You know there are some people in this building who don’t think you’re up to the job. I’m not saying I’m one of them, I’m just saying that this sort of behaviour doesn’t help when it comes to optics.’

I knew exactly who he meant by some people .

‘Darren Chase has hated me since way before I got his dream gig. I wouldn’t take much of what he says very seriously.’

‘Well, Darren Chase isn’t the one being photographed entering a hotel late at night with the head of the station!’ he spat.

‘No. He’s too busy buttering you up over cigars and whisky!’ I retorted, louder than I meant to.

Mark snorted. ‘Well that’s hardly illegal is it? Darren and I are friends; he’s worked here for years.’

I couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. The blatant double standard.

‘So, I’ve got nothing to worry about then? You won’t be shoehorning Darren into my show?’

‘Respectfully, Alex, I decide what’s best for the show and the station, and if that means putting Darren in with you, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.’ He raised a stern eyebrow, as if I were his teenage daughter and he was about to ground me for sneaking out and smoking ciggies in the park. ‘Nothing is decided, but I suggest you take some time to get used to the idea.’

I stared back at him in disgust. It was official. Mark Holdsworth was a pig. Now that I knew this deep in my bones, I felt somewhat better about the fact that he had no faith in me to do this job. What do pigs know about good radio? Nothing. They spend all day prancing about in their own shit.

Unfortunately, this particular pig was still the CEO and therefore wielded total control over my career, which was not ideal, to say the least. Without saying a word, I collected my Saint Laurent tote and walked unhurriedly but purposefully towards the door. I wasn’t scared of an old man who didn’t know the difference between Travis Scott and Travis Barker.

Horrid CEO aside, everything about this felt off. I was hardly famous enough to be stalked by paparazzi. In any case, I certainly wasn’t going to be bullied into submission over a couple of pictures. I had to prove Mark and Darren wrong. But first, I had to get in touch with Leo.

Eight hours and four frantic texts later, my phone rang. I leaped at it when Leo’s name appeared on the screen.

‘Leo!’

‘Hi. Sorry it’s taken me so long to be in touch.’ He sounded tired. Very tired.

‘My God, don’t apologise. Is … everything okay over there? How’s Tessa?’

‘She’s better now than she was when I arrived. She misses her sister.’

‘Of course she does. And how are you?’

There was a pause on the line. I could hear him breathing so I knew the line hadn’t gone dead.

‘I miss her sister too. But is everything okay there? What’s going on?’

I hated the thought of adding to his misery. But I had to tell him about the meeting. He had to know about the photos.

‘I had a meeting with Mark Holdsworth today.’

He didn’t reply. I felt the knot in my stomach grow. ‘Leo, someone took photos of us. Press, I think.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Photos? Photos of what?’

I swallowed. ‘Photos of us going into your hotel that night. Photos of me coming out the next morning. It looks bad.’

I heard a long sigh down the line. ‘Right. Are you okay?’

My shoulders softened a little. ‘I’m okay. It’s all just a bit of a shock. Like, in what universe am I famous enough to be trailed by paparazzi? And Mark was a real pig about it. I think he wants to bring Darren in as co-host. He pretty much told me I don’t deserve the job and this only proves it.’

‘Hey, that’s not true, Alex. You know you deserve it,’ Leo said matter-of-factly.

Tears welled in my eyes. ‘Thanks, Leo.’ I inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself. ‘Oh, and the photos won’t go public, in case you’re worried about that.’

‘I don’t care about a couple of stupid photos, Alex. Not for my sake, anyway.’

‘How long have you known Mark is the worst?’ I asked.

‘Honestly? From the moment I met him. I’ve tried my best to shield you from it. You need to just … try to put him out of your mind. Focus on the show. Keep doing what you do best. Make great radio. I’ll clear things up with Mark.’

I exhaled, my breath catching.

‘I’m sorry I can’t be there, Alex,’ he said, his voice soft.

‘Please don’t apologise. You’re where you need to be,’ I replied, willing myself to believe it.

‘Have you told Tom?’ Leo asked after a beat.

‘No.’ I sighed. ‘He still doesn’t even know we left the work party together that night. Let alone …’ My voice trailed off as a flashback of Leo’s face sleeping peacefully beside me took centre stage in my mind.

‘Well, if you need to tell him, I’ll understand. How is he, anyway?’

‘Oh, counting down the seconds until his next jaunt. We’ve got that week of leave coming up in April, so he’s off to see Finley in Singapore, I think. I still can’t believe you knew all this time.’

‘Well, if you ever need someone to keep a secret, you know who to call.’

The mere suggestion of a shared secret made my heart skip a tiny beat. I knew I should let him go, but I didn’t want to say goodbye. After feeling so scared, so untethered, a two-minute phone call with Leo had brought me back down to earth and I wanted to hold on as long as I could.

‘It’s good to hear your voice, Leo.’

I could somehow hear him smile as he replied, ‘It’s good to hear yours too. I’m so sorry you’ve had a terrible week. But this will all blow over in time. I promise.’

I knew he was lying, but chose to believe him anyway. ‘I hope so. Seeya, Leo.’

‘Bye Alex.’

As soon as I hung up, I realised that there was one thing I’d forgotten to mention.

PS I’m seeing a financial planner tomorrow. Proud?

His reply came in the form of a single thumbs-up emoji.