Six weeks later, Finn waited outside the climbing centre with his bag between his feet. He was early. Leah recognised the expression he used to wear before an exam: trying to look as though he had prepared, wishing he had prepared more.
She parked three spaces away and got out.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello.”
He picked up his bag. Hers was in her hand. She'd kept it at home since the Sunday she hadn't gone climbing.
He looked at her bag, then made room for her to go past.
She followed him inside.
It was busy, as it always was on Sunday morning. The noise rose all the way to the roof: shoes squeaking, people calling, a child crying because she had come down and immediately wanted to go up again. Leah liked the familiar smell of chalk. She hadn't realised how much until she was standing in it.
Finn headed towards the high wall, then waited for her.
“Which one?”
She pointed to a shorter route near the windows. “That.”
“Easy.”
“For you?”
“For absolutely anybody. A tall dog could do it.”
She laughed. He smiled.
They got ready. When Leah started up, Finn watched. He didn't tell her where to put her feet, even when she hesitated. She found the next hold herself.
At the top, her arms were already beginning to ache. Six weeks had been enough to lose a little strength. She looked down and saw him looking up.
“Ready?” he called.
She nodded.
He brought her down carefully. On the floor she shook her arms out, and he grinned with relief.
“You've gone soft.”
“I've been growing a business.”
“Not a defence. The dog has a business.”
“What's the dog sell?”
“I haven't thought that far.”
“Bad business plan.”
“Amazing climber, though.”
She stepped aside while he took his turn. He chose a route close to hers instead of heading for the hardest one. Halfway up, his foot slipped and he caught himself with a loud, undignified noise. Leah laughed before she could help it.
He looked down. “That was deliberate.”
“Very impressive.”
When he was back on the floor, he had chalk on one cheek and sweat in his hair. He drank water and pretended to examine the route as if it had offended him.
Leah sat on a low bench and let her hands rest open on her knees.
Over the six weeks, Finn had stopped sending long explanations. He had corrected his story to the people who had heard him tell it. Once, he'd heard the affair lie repeated and called Leah to ask about correcting it. She'd told him to get on with it. He had.
He hadn't put Mara on the phone. He hadn't arrived at the flat with a new version of how they could all start again.
Mara had sent two messages. The first said she missed Leah. The second said she hadn't known how quickly everything could go wrong. Leah had answered neither. She missed Mara too, in sudden uncomfortable flashes: when she had a good day at the shop, when she needed another pair of hands, when a customer did something they would once have laughed about together. That didn't give her a reason to go back.
Theo was recovering. He did more ordinary things each week and sometimes complained to Leah about them. He had told her the police were still asking questions about the fall, and Mara was answering them about the push. Leah didn't know where those questions would lead. The engagement was over; no one was preparing a green-and-white celebration any more.
Finn had paid the extra staff time that Wednesday, as Theo had asked. He'd taken two weekend deliveries to replace the money instead of coming round to Leah's. Theo still dealt with both men through the staff. He hadn't invited either to visit.
Finn sat down beside her, leaving room.
“Another one?” he asked.
“In a minute.”
He took the lid off his water bottle. Somebody nearby dropped a shoe, and he reached to return it, smiling at the little boy who had lost it. He had always been good with children. Leah watched the boy take the shoe, wave and run away.
“How's work?” she asked.
“Busy. Someone ordered an exercise bike to a fourth-floor flat. No lift. I said I'd give them a free demonstration when I got it there.”
“Did they laugh?”
“They gave me water. More useful.”
He talked about his route, the rain, a customer who always insisted on checking the name on the box despite having signed for it. Leah listened. She had missed knowing those small things.
“I've missed you,” she said.
He put his bottle down.
“Me too.”
“I'm still angry.”
“I know.”
He didn't reach for her. She watched people crossing the floor with their ropes and bags.
“You could have told me you felt left out. Instead you tried to make me lose him.”
Finn rubbed the damp edge of his sleeve.
“It sounded pathetic when I tried to say it. Even to myself.”
“What you did was worse.”
“Yes.”
He picked his bottle up again but didn't drink.
Leah stood. “One more.”
They climbed a different route. This time Finn made a show of encouraging her as if she were about to cross a mountain range. Halfway up, she told him to stop talking. He pressed his lips together, and she could see him trying not to laugh.
She came down smiling.
Finn pointed to the next wall. “That one? The yellow holds.”
“I'm done.”
“We used to—”
He stopped. Leah waited.
“All right,” he said. “I'm done too.”
They put their things away and went outside. The car park had filled while they were in there. Finn walked her to her car but stayed clear of the door.
“Coffee next Sunday?” he asked. “If you want. We don't have to climb.”
“Breakfast. At mine. Ten.”
He smiled at her.
“I'll bring something.”
“Enough for two people.”
“A difficult restriction.”
She got into the car. He went to his own instead of waiting while she drove away.
At home, Leah put her bag in the cupboard and sat at the kitchen table. Her arms ached pleasantly. She took her phone out and opened Adam's number.
There were only three messages from him since the night he'd left her flat. One to say the top was ready, one about a question somebody had asked him concerning the party, one on her birthday. He had wished her a happy day and hadn't asked how she'd spent it.
She had seen him once during those weeks, at a small event in another place where she'd delivered flowers. He'd been working. A guest who knew them both had said it was a shame about the misunderstanding at Theo's house.
Adam had put the tray he was carrying down.
“It wasn't a misunderstanding,” he'd said. “I lied about where I was. Leah wasn't involved.”
He had answered the next question without looking at her for help. Then he'd picked his tray up and got on with his shift. When Leah left, he had nodded goodbye from the far side of the room.
She wrote, Are you free Thursday evening? I'd like to see you. A date, if you want.
His answer came while she was still holding the phone.
I want. Thursday works.
She smiled.
The house at seven? I have a goalkeeper to insult.
He's still injured.
So are your chances.
She put the phone down and leaned back in her chair. For the first time in weeks she had something she wanted to put in the empty part of her diary.