When I Lost You: A Gripping, Heart Breaking Novel of Lost Love. (7 page)

God, I miss us
.

‘Ah, snarky, judgemental comments about reality TV while reading a good book does sound more like me,’ Leo laughs, but then another thought strikes him, ‘And my family? Is everyone okay? Has anything happened that I need to know about before I call Mum?’

I’m glad of the change of topic. I don’t want to spend too much time reminiscing about our happier days together – I really can’t bear to think of it at all, the loss is still too raw. I spend the next few minutes bringing Leo up to speed on the Stephens family news. I tell him about his nephews – Baxter and River – two unbelievably energetic children who run his step-sister Teresa ragged. I show him photos on my phone and Leo tells me that he thinks they look a bit like him. I laugh at him, because he has no biological link to those children but this is exactly what he said when he saw each of them as newborns.

I tell him that his mum is fit and well as usual, and that his step-father Andrew still works far too hard but is also well. I don’t tell him about the work Andrew and I do together yet – there’s just too much to explain, and it will be easier in Sydney when I can let him see for himself.

Later, a nurse brings a tray of food, which Leo devours and then I set up a video call to his parents. Anne sobs most of the way through the call and keeps forgetting it’s a video call and keeps lifting the phone to her ear, but both Andrew and Leo are typically busy trying to maintain their tough macho façade. Each man spends an awful lot of time clearing his throat and turning away from the camera, but I know them both too well to fall for it for even a second. When the call is finished, I see Leo is starting to tire.

‘You’ll sleep at the hotel tonight, right?’ he asks me.

‘Unless you don’t want me to? I can stay but I’ve got a heap of calls to make later,’ I tell him.

‘I’m fine now. Just get a decent night’s sleep, okay?’

This interchange feels strange but it’s familiar, because in the beginning that was exactly how Leo was: attentive, sensitive, thoughtful. But it’s also unfamiliar, because this year he’s been so distant. I had almost forgotten how cared for I felt in the beginning.

Back at the hotel, I spend half the night on the phone trying to find a suitable specialist rehabilitation centre with a vacancy. I manage to line up accommodation for Leo, but it’s on the other side of Sydney and even as I accept the place, I wonder how we’re going to make it work. Next, I catch up with my assistant Tobias and he offers to organise the jet and necessary staff for the following afternoon.

When I finally hang up, the still silence of the hotel room around me belies the frantic pace of my thoughts. I can barely believe that we’re actually going home…
both
of us.

I climb into bed, but unable to sleep, I lie staring up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to tell Leo and when. It will be an equation I have little hope of solving alone, but I can’t exactly ask for help either, because I don’t think anyone other than Leo and I could ever understand what went wrong between us.

I
have never considered
myself an impulsive man, but I am instinct driven. When my gut tells me to do something, I almost always do it – without always without thinking things through. It is both a strength and a weakness when it comes to my work. When instinct tells me to pursue an angle, I do so with a single-minded focus on pushing for the
rare
stories – the stories that happen outside the safe zone and past the front line, probing deeper than the surface level happenings that most of my colleagues would capture in the field.

When it came to Molly, my instincts sounded loudly after that dinner at the café. I needed to see her again. I didn’t just want to – I
needed
to. It was the only way I was going to figure out if the connection I’d felt with her was falsely induced by the depth of the discussions we’d had around her brother’s death. I did hesitate a little – I knew that I couldn’t exactly call her and ask her out on a date without some kind of segue from the tone of our first chats. Declan was both my excuse to see her again, and the reason I had to tread carefully.

By Thursday, I had decided that I would organise a catch up and check in with her about Dec, then see what happened if I led our conversation away from him. When I had a clear plan in my mind, I called her.

‘Hello, Leo,’ she greeted me warmly.

‘Hi, Molly. Did I catch you at a good time?’

‘There’s
never
a good time,’ she sighed, but there was a smile in her voice. ‘How are you? How’s the shoulder?’

‘I’m delighted to say that I have graduated from the sling.’

‘That
is
good news. Back at work, then?’

‘Not yet, but soon – I’m still not allowed to do much. But at least I can cut up my own food now.’

She laughed softly. ‘I’m glad you called, actually.’

‘Oh?’ This was very pleasing. I sat carefully on my couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table.

‘Yeah. Do you have time to catch up for a drink?’ she asked. ‘I realised some things after we talked the other night. If you can spare me some more time, I’d really like to chat again.’

‘Of course I can spare the time,’ I said quietly. My mild tone belied my elation as I accepted her offer.

We arranged to meet at a bar on Darling Harbour that evening.

O
nce again
, it was an odd kind of place for me to find myself – given the uncomfortably pretentious décor and the trendy and affluent crowd. Molly was fifteen minutes late arriving, and I started to wonder if I’d misunderstood her instructions.

‘Hi,’ she breathed a greeting as she took the seat opposite me. I could see a little flush on her cheeks beneath her make-up, and she was buzzing with a flustered energy as she sat down and drew in a deep breath. ‘God, I’m so sorry I’m late – my phone has been ringing off the hook. We posted record dividends this week and there’s been a bit of a flurry of media stuff to do. And you know what journalists are like.’ She flashed me a wry smile.

I smiled back. ‘No problem. So you’re okay?’

‘Yes, but I’m exhausted and frazzled. Actually – you know what? I need wine.’

I laughed. ‘That sounds good.’

Once we’d secured our drinks, we took a table out on the waterfront, sitting beside one another on a long, cushioned bench seat. I angled myself slightly towards Molly so that she was within my natural line of sight. She was framed by the glitter of the restaurants and bars and the harbour behind her. I was struck by how much she stood out in this crowd – an exceptionally beautiful, well-coiffed young woman in a sea of well-dressed but bland inner-city types.

‘So, record dividends, huh?’ I prompted.

‘All
my
doing, naturally,’ she said with a grin.

‘Of course.’

‘Actually, it was just a good year. But our shareholders expect good years
now so it’s always nice when we deliver.’

‘And… the stuff we talked about?’

‘Yeah, I’m good,’ she said, and she smiled at me. ‘I haven’t talked to my parents yet – I don’t know if I will. I can’t even say they are clinging to this false idea of who he was and how he died – they are just completely shut down to acknowledging his life at all.’ She glanced at me, and said hesitantly, ‘You know, if you ever spot my father in a dark alleyway, you should probably run in the other direction. He
really
seems to have an issue with you.’

‘I think I can handle Laith but if he has bodyguards with him, I’ll definitely take your advice,’ I said, and she laughed. ‘I’m really sorry that your parents are still closed to discussing him.’

‘It’s fine,’ she said. ‘At least I know the truth now. Quite often when I was at work I’d wonder if I was living up to the role he once filled. But these last few days I have felt I can be myself for the first time, and that’s marvellous – and it’s all thanks to you.’

‘Oh, no!’ I cringed at the praise, uncomfortable with her gratitude. If only she knew how non-altruistic my motivation for
this
catch-up was. ‘Don’t say that. I didn’t do anything at all, but – congratulations. Here’s to being yourself,’ I said, and I raised my glass to her. She shuffled closer to me and we clinked glasses.

‘And to healing,’ she added, gesturing towards my shoulder.

‘And to healing.’ We each took a sip, and I realised how close she was sitting to me – close enough that if I just moved my knee to the left, it would brush hers. How would she react? It was far too soon to find out, but just the idea was captivating. I leant back a little so that I could glance down beneath the table. She was sitting with her legs crossed, her knees angled towards me. I dragged my gaze back up to hers.

‘Sometimes, I think about leaving TM,’ she murmured as she stared out to the harbour. ‘Not yet, but maybe someday.’

‘That would be a brave move.’

‘Please. Brave? A trust-fund kid thinking about leaving her cushy job at the family firm to loaf around and binge-watch the back catalogue of
The Bachelor
is not brave.’

‘Taking a step into the unknown is.’

‘It’s only brave when you don’t have a safety net. And I have
three
safety nets – I have my shares in TM, I have Declan’s shares in TM, and I have a trust fund. I don’t need to be there at all, really.’

‘Actually,’ I said wryly. ‘When you put it like that, you’re right. That’s not brave at all and I can’t believe you waited this long to do it.’ Molly laughed and elbowed me gently on my forearm. ‘Have you really
no
clue what you would do next?’

‘I’d like to do something for Declan,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what, yet. But that’s my first goal. I’ll do something to honour his memory and to…’ She turned to glance at my tattoos as she continued, ‘to memorialise him for the person he really was. I’m trying to think of a gesture I can make for him. Maybe then I’ll be ready to start my own life.’

She flashed yet another smile at me and took a long, slow sip of her wine as she turned back towards the water. I watched her lips connect with the glass and noted the way that she licked them after she’d swallowed the wine. As she lowered the glass back to the table, I realised what I was doing and felt a flush creep up my neck. My close observation of her movements was instinctive and I was struck by that odd way an attraction can make every innocent physical gesture seem somehow sensual. Even so, I was surprised by how quickly my thoughts had shifted from the very serious matter of her grief. I stopped myself, drew in a deep breath and tried to keep my whole focus on the conversation.

‘So, once you’re back at work, will you go back to Libya?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Yes,’ I said. My voice was unexpectedly rough, and I cleared my throat before I continued, ‘We need to go back to finish what we started.’

‘We?’

‘I work closely with a photo-journalist; his name is Brad Norse. We’ve done most of our work together over the last few years – we co-won that Pulitzer together, actually.’

‘Which article won the prize? I remember seeing you on television but don’t remember the details.’

‘It was a series of articles about the impact of war on the life of four Iraqi families.’

‘I’ll have to look it up. It sounds amazing,’ she murmured.

‘Apparently we did an okay job of it.’ I tried to make a joke, but I was startled when Molly burst out laughing as if I’d actually succeeded in being funny. I saw several people around us turn to look at her. The laugh was back – the riotous, inappropriately loud laugh that had defined her as a child. She twisted a little in the seat, turning to face me more as she asked, ‘So what inspired this series?’

‘The whole thing started with some photos Brad took of children playing in rubble in Fallujah while the war raged around them. But what inspired
Brad
was his son waiting back home. Sometimes it’s like that – you have to run two lives almost, there’s the adrenaline-fuelled life in the field and the ordinary “pick up the groceries and do the laundry” life back home. And every now and again, like with Brad and those Iraqi kids, you see this fragile link develop where you see the common ground, and then you see the difference. They’re the best stories because they really connect with readers.’

‘I just realised what I want to do with my life,’ Molly said suddenly.

‘If you say “war journalism”, I’m pretty sure Laith
will
hunt me down and kill me.’

‘No,’ she laughed again. ‘I prefer my overseas trips to end at a luxurious five-star hotel in a peaceful country, thank you. It’s not the
thing
you do, Leo. It’s the way you talk about it. Like you genuinely love it. You talk about your job the same way people talk about their partner or their kids – there’s pride and passion and real drive.’

‘I couldn’t stop doing it even if I wanted to,’ I agreed quietly. ‘It’s not a job to me, it’s a calling.’

‘
Yes!
’ she said, and with so much enthusiasm that once again, heads turned to look at us. I wondered what they were thinking when they saw me sitting beside her. We were sitting close together, talking intently at a table on the water at a fancy bar, sharing a drink and staring at one another. Would people assume we were on a date? I liked that idea very much indeed. A young guy in a suit at the table behind Molly had turned when she made her exclamation and his gaze lingered. I stared at him long enough to catch his eye, then let my stare sharpen until he looked away.

I had no claim to Molly – no right to any feeling of possessiveness – but even so, if he was going to gawk at her, he wasn’t going to do it while I was sitting right beside her.

‘That’s what I need,’ Molly continued chatting, completely oblivious to the eye-contact power struggle that had just happened right behind her back. ‘I need a
calling
. What made you realise that you wanted to be a journalist?’ She tilted her head as she stared at me, and I stared right back, altogether distracted by the deep ocean-blue of her eyes and the intense focus she was directing at me. After a moment or two, she raised her eyebrows and the hint of a smile hovered over her lips. ‘I’m in no rush. Do you need to be somewhere?’

There wasn’t a place in the world where I’d rather have been in that moment – quite literally, I realised with some surprise.

‘I saw an interview on the news one night during the first Iraq war – a teenager about my age had seen his mother shot right in front of him. Mum was pretty important to me, and it kind of rocked me that things like that could go on in the world. It put a lot of things into perspective, actually. I thought the guy who was standing there interviewing that kid was a superhero. He was
in
a war zone and giving that kid a voice. So…’ I shrugged, ‘that was that.’

‘But print, not television?’

‘That was an easy choice. I wanted to
do
the groundbreaking interviews, I didn’t want anyone to watch while I did it. I do get asked to do some television stuff occasionally – giving commentary on conflict events mostly – but I don’t love it. I much prefer having the space to tinker with words until they express my thoughts properly.’

‘Right,’ she said, and she drew in a deep breath. ‘So I need to get myself a defining moment like that one.’

I chuckled and said, ‘I don’t think you can just buy them at a shop.’

‘Leo,’ she smiled at me patronisingly. ‘I’m Molly
Torrington
. I am the kind of person who can make things happen.’

‘I’m not suggesting for even a second that you are anything
other
than extraordinary,’ I assured her. ‘I like your attitude.’ I loved the confidence behind it too. ‘I really hope it works out for you.’

‘It will,’ she said with some determination, and she finished the last of her wine and sat the glass down heavily against the table. ‘God, I need another drink.’

‘Allow me,’ I said, and I shuffled along the bench so that I could stand. ‘I could do with another too. Should we split a bottle?’

‘That wasn’t a hint,’ she said, and she fumbled for her purse. ‘I can get it.’

‘Oh no, I insist,’ I said, and I tried for a joke. ‘I know your company posted record profits yesterday, but you can’t just go buying drinks willy-nilly for every person you meet up with. You still need to watch the pennies.’

I just wanted to get her a drink. It was a macho thing – a stupid male ego thing, Molly might have said. But whether she was a bazillionaire or not, she was just a beautiful woman, I was enjoying her company and I wanted to be the one to buy the wine – although I was well aware that she was probably earning more money from investments while we sat there chatting than I would make all year.

She wrinkled her nose at me and was laughing as she nodded. ‘Thanks for the financial advice, Leo. I’ll make a note of that. Wine would be lovely.’

O
ver the next
few hours we nibbled on finger food from a tapas platter and shared a bottle of wine as we chatted. The sun set over the buildings on the west side of the harbour and I got to watch Molly’s expressions change as the light shifted and faded. Eventually darkness settled and soon we were chatting by the softer light of the restaurant’s table lamps. The people at the tables around us gradually moved on and were replaced by new patrons, but Molly and I stayed. The passage of time became irrelevant. My entire focus was on her.