The One. Maria Realf

and gone sky-diving in Melbourne. Lizzie found his stories both fascinating and terrifying. She literally couldn’t think of anything worse than jumping out of planes. In fact, she hated even boarding the things ever since a particularly bumpy flight resulted in her barfing halfway across the Atlantic. She had forced herself to get on an aircraft a couple of times since, but could never fully relax, her heart thumping and her palms sweating before it had even taken off.

      ‘Yeah, that was a fun year. So, where’s the best place you’ve been?’

      ‘Oh, I … I’m not much of a traveller.’

      Alex looked surprised. ‘You don’t want to visit other countries?’

      ‘No, I’d love to visit other countries, but … I’m not exactly a big fan of flying.’ Ha. That’s putting it mildly.

      ‘Like a phobia?’

      Lizzie hesitated. She had never told anyone besides her family and Megan the full extent of the problem before, and she wasn’t sure if it was something she should confess to a globetrotting boy she really liked. But there was a quiet self-assuredness about Alex that made her want to trust him.

      ‘Yeah,’ she confided eventually. ‘I guess you could call it a phobia.’

      ‘Have you always had it?’

      ‘No,’ she sighed. ‘When I was about 15, we hit some terrible turbulence on the way to Florida and I spent half the flight throwing up. My parents saw the funny side – my dad still calls that plane the “chunder-wonder”. But I think it put me off for life.’

      ‘That must be tough,’ he said, nodding sympathetically.

      ‘It’s not the end of the world,’ she said, trying to shake off his pity. ‘There are plenty of other things I enjoy.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Loads of things … writing. Reading. Swimming. Not all at the same time.’ Alex laughed, giving her an adrenaline rush of her own. ‘Oh, and I’m totally addicted to The West Wing. Have you seen it?’

      ‘No, but I heard it’s good.’

      ‘It’s better than good. Aaron Sorkin is like some sort of writing genius.’

      Alex smiled. ‘I’ll have to check it out. What sort of writing do you do?’

      Lizzie confessed she’d been trying her hand at fiction, but her efforts so far just made her want to cringe. ‘You’ll get past that,’ he said. ‘You’ve just got to keep putting words on the page. They’ll make their own sense, eventually.’

      Now it was Lizzie’s turn to look surprised. ‘You write?’

      ‘Not really – not like books or anything. But I taught myself to play the guitar a while back, and now I’m trying to come up with some of my own stuff. I could spend all day doing that.’

      Lizzie was intrigued. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but why study hospitality if your passion’s music?’

      Alex leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. ‘Because what I really want to do, one day, is open my own bar,’ he explained. ‘Book some bands, host some cool gigs, be my own boss. That’s the real dream, I guess.’

      ‘So you don’t want to be a rock star, then?’

      ‘Nah, I wouldn’t last five minutes being famous,’ he said. ‘I’d hate the whole circus that goes with it. But that’s OK. It’s never been about playing at Wembley. I just wanted to learn the guitar, see what happens …’ He trailed off as a waitress returned with their desserts and plonked them down on the table. ‘So anyway, what about you?’

      What about me? It was hard to focus while he was looking at her so intensely. His eyes were distractingly sexy. She dipped her spoon into the soft gelato. ‘Sorry, what?’

      ‘What do you want to do when you leave here? Write novels?’

      Lizzie laughed. ‘Well, that would be amazing, but it’s not as simple as that. The odds of me getting published are pretty slim.’

      ‘Why?’ asked Alex. He took a bite of his tiramisu. ‘You’ve got as much chance as anyone else.’

      She’d never thought of it like that before. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But if that doesn’t happen, there are still some other options I’d like to explore. I could go into journalism, or advertising, or—’

      Just then she was interrupted by a shrill cry, which rang out across the restaurant like an alarm.

      ‘TOMMY!’

      She whipped her head around to see the mother of the two boys on her feet, frantically slapping the taller one on his back. His hands were clutching tightly at his neck, and his face was beginning to turn blue.

      ‘Somebody help me!’ she screamed. ‘He’s choking – my baby’s choking!’

      Alex pushed back his chair, leapt to his feet and ran over. He tried to give the boy five firm back blows between his shoulder blades, but the child continued to gasp for air, his eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets. ‘Is there a doctor here?’ shouted Alex. Lizzie looked around the room, her stomach lurching violently. None of the other diners replied, but simply stared on in horror.

      ‘Please, somebody do something!’ yelled the mother, gesturing to the manager, who had turned a sickly shade of green. ‘Call 999!’

      There’s no way an ambulance is going to make it in time. What’s the drill for choking? Lizzie jumped up and ran across to Alex, racking her brain to try to remember the advice she’d been taught for children. She’d done a basic first-aid course while training for her lifeguard qualification, but administering help to a plastic dummy in a leisure centre and trying to do it on a writhing, petrified boy suddenly seemed like two entirely different prospects. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe herself.

      ‘Let me see,’ she said, opening the boy’s twitching mouth to see if she could spot the obstruction. Nothing. The terror in his tiny eyes was unmistakable.

      His mother was standing right next to her, wailing uncontrollably. ‘Please help him!’ she cried. ‘I don’t know what to do!’

      ‘I need some room,’ said Lizzie, moving behind the lad. She bent him slightly forwards and used the heel of her hand to slap him five more times between the shoulder blades. He made an awful rasping sound, his hands never leaving his throat, but whatever was stuck stubbornly refused to budge.

       Shit.

      Instinct kicked in and she threw her arms around Tommy’s small waist, forming a fist with one hand above his belly button, and wrapping her other hand over the top. Then she pulled sharply upwards and inwards, the child’s squidgy flesh feeling much softer against her hands than the Resusci Anne she had practised on.

       One.

      She could feel the boy squirming against her. Try again!

       Two.

      She gave another thrust, desperately hoping that she was doing it right. Come on, come on, come on, come on …

       Three.

      The boy made an unnerving noise that sounded like retching, and a half-chewed piece of dough ball shot out of his mouth and across the table. He inhaled loudly, sucking in air in noisy gulps, then burst into frightened tears. His mum rushed forwards and wrapped her arms around him, tears streaming down her face too. ‘Oh Tommy, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re going to be OK. Mummy’s here.’

      The diners burst into a spontaneous round of applause, and Lizzie began to tremble. She couldn’t bear to think what might have happened if that hadn’t worked.

      ‘Hey, are you alright?’ Alex was peering at her closely with those piercing eyes. ‘That