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After his warm-up this morning, Leo is desperate to get back out onto the waves.

I can see it in his bright expression and fidgeting body language as he stands with his father in his wetsuit, looking out from where we’re standing at the top of the cliffs, discussing the water.

I’m waiting to the side, soaking in the buzzing atmosphere as the surfers chat and mingle with their supporters.

Despite it being the break of dawn, the energy here is electric.

Adriano smiles warmly at me as he leaves Leo to have a moment to himself, stepping back to ask how I’m feeling.

‘Good,’ I say, wrapping my jacket around me a little tighter, before I lower my voice a notch to add, ‘Nervous, but don’t tell Leo that. Are the conditions good for his heat today? I don’t really know what you’re looking for.’

Adriano nods, rubbing his hands together.

‘Yes, it’s a great start to the competition.

Perfect Bells off-shore winds, we’re looking at six- to eight- footers this morning, hopefully the odd bigger set.

The swell was very big yesterday – eight- to ten-foot faces – so it peaked then, but the conditions will be very pleasing for the rest of the week. ’

‘Okay, so… good waves?’ I translate.

‘Good waves,’ he confirms, shooting me a smile.

‘Remind me how this all works again. Will Leo be surfing first?’

‘One of the first heats, yes. They’re starting with the men’s opening rounds.

So he’ll compete in a heat with another two surfers, three in total out there in the water together.

Each heat is thirty minutes and you can surf as many waves as you like; there’s no maximum.

You have to choose carefully, though, because of the time limit.

The surfers are scored by the judges on each wave they surf out of ten.

They then add together each surfer’s two best scoring waves to give them their heat total – this is out of twenty.

The top two surfers go through to next heat. ’

I grimace. ‘But one of the three is eliminated from the competition.’

‘No, they go into the Elimination Round. The surfers who place last in that one are then out.’

‘Okay, so even if he doesn’t score top of his three this morning, he still has a chance of going through to the next round.’ I chew on my lip, my forehead furrowed in concentration. ‘How many rounds are there?’

‘This is the Seeding Round and then, as mentioned, you also have the Elimination Round – then they go into one-on-one heats for the Round of thirty-two, then it’s the Round of sixteen, then we have the Quarterfinals, Semifinals and eventually the Finals.’

I blow the air out of my cheeks. ‘It’s going to be a busy few days.’

He nods. ‘Yes. Of course, you also have to take into account that the competition relies on the natural elements so we’re working around the best swells, waves, the wind and the tides – we need to have the right conditions to compete.’

‘So we don’t know if this is going to be wrapped up in five days or twelve?’

He quirks a brow. ‘The weather keeps us on our toes. But, it’s looking good to start.’

‘Can I ask a stupid surf question?’

‘You could never ask me a stupid question when it comes to surfing, Iris!’ he insists, clapping me on the back. ‘I love that you are interested. Go.’

‘When I watch people surfing, they all look good to me unless they, you know, properly fall,’ I point out. ‘So, how does a judge tell that one surfer is better than another?’

‘They are scoring on a few different things,’ he tells me, gesturing to the surfers in the water warming up.

‘They’re looking for speed, power and balance.

Then the manoeuvres: the variety and combination of those manoeuvres, how well they are executed, how interesting they are, things like that.

But also, the judges take into account the conditions – how difficult they are for the surfers to face.

And how committed are the surfers to a wave?

The worst is when a surfer gets a good wave but they do not make the most of it.

’ He flashes me a knowing smile. ‘I never have to worry about that with Leo. Remember what I said in Meia Praia? He plays across the wave. Beautiful to watch, beautiful.’

Grinning back at me over his shoulder, Leo comes to join us, his eyes brimming with excitement.

I’m trying to work out what he’s reminding me of and then I realise it’s that video I watched of him when he was a grom: laughing with Ethan, dreaming of a lifetime of doing nothing but travelling the world to surf the best and biggest waves together.

‘I think it’s going to be a great day,’ Leo says, biting his lip.

‘You will make it so,’ Adriano says, grabbing his son’s arm and squeezing it. ‘No matter what the result, have fun out there this morning.’

He glances at the ocean. ‘If I remember to.’

‘You grew up on these waves, Leo; you know what to look for. No one reads them like you,’ Adriano tells him sternly. ‘Remember how far you’ve come.’

Leo cranes his neck to look over our shoulders at the rest of the crowd mingling around the area and making their way down to the sand. ‘Have you seen Mum yet?’

Adriano’s smile falters, but he does well to haul it back into place before Leo notices anything amiss. ‘Not yet, but I will look out for her.’

‘I don’t want her to miss my heat, that’s all. I did message her publicist yesterday with a rough schedule of the day.’ He winks at me. ‘You’d have been proud of my organisation skills, London.’

‘She’ll make it in time,’ Adriano assures him, his eyes flickering to me.

‘Yeah, course,’ I chip in. ‘If she said she’ll be here, I’m sure she will.’

He nods, still intent on looking out for her, his eyes scanning the sea of faces. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I’m being—’

He stops, his whole body tensing. His eyes widen and his jaw ticks.

Thinking it must be his mother to prompt such a reaction, I spin round.

But it’s not Michelle Martin standing just metres away, it’s Ethan Anderson.

He is shorter than I expected. I think, knowing nothing about them, I assumed all pro surfers to be as tall as Leo, but he looks like he’s just under six foot.

He also looks younger than he is, a fair-haired, baby-faced man with piercing blue eyes that are fixed on his famed rival.

The sudden tension is palpable. Others have noticed the face-off and are slowing down as they pass by, gaping at the two of them.

Leo’s hand twitches before balling into a fist. His forehead furrowed, he parts his lips as though he might speak.

But then he closes his mouth into a hard, straight line.

His eyes dropping to the ground, Ethan turns away and moves along, striding towards the famous stairs that lead to the beach.

Adriano sighs.

‘Don’t say it, Dad,’ Leo snaps, a dark cloud shadowing his expression.

Holding up his hands, Adriano shrugs. ‘I wasn’t going to say a thing.’

‘I’ll talk to him when I’m ready.’

‘Okay, okay. I know, son.’

Leo looks so troubled that I reach out to take his hand in mine. He turns his attention to me, his frown softening as I gaze up at him.

‘When you’re out on that water, nothing else matters,’ I remind him, smiling encouragingly. ‘Forget him, forget your mum, forget us, forget everything else. Like your dad says, read the water and go where it tells you.’

He takes a deep breath, leaning forwards to kiss me gently on the lips.

‘I’ll see you afterwards,’ he says softly, before turning away to grab his surfboard where he left it propped up and make his way down the steps to the Red Bull Athletes Zone.

Adriano follows him, raising his eyebrows at me, and I realise that we both got a bit caught up in the moment there.

We’ve never kissed in front of anyone before.

I blush furiously, quickly checking around to make sure Michelle Martin and her camera crew definitely aren’t there. I’m glad they’re not for my sake.

But for Leo’s, I hope they show up soon.

*

A wave comes and Leo goes for it.

My breath catches. I’ve already had to watch the other two in his heat surf a couple of waves and, as far as I could tell, they did very well.

I thought he might be facing Ethan this round, but Adriano explained they were in different heats.

All being well for both of them, they would face each other much further down the line.

The action is being projected on a big screen, or spectators can watch from one of the many vantage points high up on the cliffs, but I’ve opted to sit amongst the crowd on the beach, peering out at the three tiny dots bobbing on the water.

Adriano is watching from a viewing platform where he can spot the rhythm of the sets coming in easier, but I wanted to be as close as possible, on the sand ready for when he comes out of the water.

Plus, the atmosphere down here is amazing.

When AC/DC’s ‘Hells Bells’ started playing through the speakers at the beginning of the first heat, I thought someone had sabotaged the sound system, but it turns out that it’s tradition at Bells Beach for the song to play at the beginning of the first heat of each day to pump up the competitors and the crowd.

All I can say is, it works a bloody treat.

I felt so excited and empowered by the end of the song, I could have grabbed a surfboard and raced out there to shred some waves myself.

Thankfully for everyone, I found the willpower to resist.

And now that it’s Leo’s turn, I’m a bit more subdued.

I’m too nervous to speak or cheer, my heart thudding hard against my chest. The other two surfers hold back as Leo has priority, watching him paddle forwards before he pops up and takes off.

I’m unable to take my eyes off him, my chest squeezing so tight, I can’t breathe.

He glides so fast, so effortlessly, so powerfully .

He’s magic out there.

My shoulders relax as I watch him carve across the face of the wave, whipping his board around when it skirts across the lip as the water curls, the white foam cheering him on at the heel of his board.

His technique and commitment to each turn is breathtaking to watch as he glides along the water.

It’s a much bigger and better wave than his competitors took, and he’s playing with it, dancing along its surface as it swells.

Speeding up to the lip of the wave, he takes flight.

I gasp as he spins in the air, a full rotation, before his board glides down the white water of the wave.

The crowd on the beach erupts into cheers and applause.

My hands are clasped over my mouth as the wave comes to a foamy finish and he dismounts from his board, before the jet ski arrives to take him back out there.

Fuck me.

I don’t need to hear the points he just earned to know that’s going to be one hell of a good score.

What a start to the contest! I’ve never seen him surf like that.

I don’t know what propelled him to pull out all the stops – seeing his rival Ethan again, the thought of his mum in the crowd somewhere, what his dad said about having fun, being here in Bells Beach after all this time – but something has put fire in his belly and my God, that was breathtaking to witness.

Has-been my arse. He just performed better in his first wave than anyone else has in these heats all morning.

‘Leo Silva is back, baby!’ a fan yells out nearby, prompting another round of applause from the crowd.

‘You better believe it,’ I mutter to myself, grinning from ear-to-ear as I spot him back on his board in the distance, watching the swell and reading the water.