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The conditions aren’t so favourable today as they have been.

The surf size has dropped to three-to-four foot waves and there’s a bitter wind whipping across the beach.

Wrapped in a puffa jacket I bought this week over one of Leo’s hoodies, I’m regretting wearing denim shorts today, my legs covered in goosebumps – it turns out it can get really quite cold around Bells Beach this time of year.

Aside from the misjudged shorts choice, I feel like a seasoned spectator, and am sitting on the sand on my picnic blanket, armed with a flask of coffee and snacks, as well as a cap and suncream should the sun decide to make an appearance later on, as the app on my phone predicts.

It feels like one of those days where you get all the seasons in one.

I’m waiting anxiously for Leo’s heat to start.

Adriano invited me once again to come with him to watch from a higher vantage spot, but I like it here on the beach.

If you grew up in the area like Leo, I can understand why you would love it here, but even as a visitor, it’s impossible not to acknowledge that there’s something special about this spectacular setting, its natural beauty maintained by the Wadawurrung people, the traditional owners of Bells Beach.

Once this contest is finished, I want to drive the Great Ocean Road with Leo, I want to explore this coastline, learn everything there is to know about his childhood, where he surfed, where he swam, where he went to school.

This magical place is part of him, so I want to be a part of it too.

I take a deep breath in as Leo’s heat begins.

The two of them are bobbing in the water together, their hands swirling through the water back and forth as they drift up and down with the swells.

‘Antoine is a great surfer,’ Leo told me this morning, sipping at his energy drink, his free hand in the front pocket of his hoodie, a backwards cap on – since being back in Victoria, Leo seems to have really leant into that effortlessly sexy, laidback surfer style.

And I can’t lie – I’m loving it.

‘You’re a great surfer,’ I countered, before adding, ‘The best, in my opinion.’

His forehead furrowed, he was too lost in his own thoughts to acknowledge my cuteness. ‘He’s shown big powerhouse turns this contest that judges love. He’s full of confidence.’

‘So are you.’

But he looked down at the floor.

I worry that the showdown with his mum affected him more than he’s let on.

It makes me even angrier at her that she might have dented his confidence midway through the biggest performance of his life.

When it comes to Michelle, it’s hard for me to say the right thing when Leo has made it clear that he doesn’t want to talk about her anymore – he said he’s drawn a line under it, that he only wants to focus on the competition.

‘I know now who I don’t need, and who I do,’ he said to me in bed last night, nudging my nose with his. ‘I don’t need her support to know I can do this.’

Which is great, but in reality, it’s always harder to let go.

And when Antoine takes the lead early on in the heat, coming in with good momentum while Leo has a slower start, I worry that he’s lost the playful spirit he’s found here over the past week.

The first wave he takes, he can’t quite get ahead of it, the wave sectioning up – when it breaks unevenly ahead of itself – and his ride is cut short.

As he disappears under the white foam, I remain hopeful.

It was only the first one. But his next attempt isn’t much better – he does nicely, but there’s little flair to his turns and carves.

He seems stiffer, pushing hard through the bumps on the face of the waves.

The air feels heavier today, echoing Leo’s state of mind.

‘Come on,’ I mumble, urging him to find the fight within.

The clock is ticking down to that siren that signals the end of the heat.

He needs one good wave, I convince myself, to get back on track.

He needs the water to work with him today, give him a little boost. He needs to remember that it doesn’t matter what came before here at Bells Beach; what matters is that he’s here now.

And I hope he knows that he’s not a lone wolf; he never has been.

Even if his mum didn’t have his back, his dad has been his number-one fan since the first time he got on a board.

Marina looks up to him as a surfer and as a friend, as do all of his surfer buddies back in Burgau.

Even Ethan Anderson was happy to concede that he was better than him back in that video when they were groms – he points out how amazing Leo is to watch on the water.

He needs a reminder of that.

He needs a reminder of that.

Without a moment to lose, I jump up to my feet and cup my hands round my mouth in an effort to carry my voice further, shouting his name and cheering: ‘Go on Leo!’

It’s a quiet moment in the heat, both of the surfers waiting in the water for the next set. Until my interruption, the beach was in a chilled state of spectators chatting.

‘Go on Leo!’ I repeat at the top of my lungs, clapping loudly. ‘You’ve got this!’

He’s looking out to the ocean, his back turned to the beach, but I see his head turn just a tiny bit.

The crowd at Bells Beach is so great that instead of my spontaneous lone cheer being met by silent, sneering judgement, everyone else starts joining in.

The beach erupts with support. They’re cheering both surfers, Antoine getting as much love as Leo, a wave of whoops and whistles carrying across the water to the two of them.

As the cheer slowly dies down, I settle back on my blanket, my heart hammering with the rush of being centre stage.

Leo might not have known what just happened, he might not realise that it was his name that was cheered first – but that noise from the crowd on the shore will have carried out to him and he’ll know that my voice was somewhere there amongst the others, willing him to believe in himself.

That has to mean something.

Leo uses his priority to take the next wave that comes in and this time, he comes at it with aggression, power and confidence.

He has a whole new energy. His first swoop across the face of the wall draws a gasp from the audience, it’s so good, before he strings together a clean sequence of beautiful turns, drawing everything he can from the wave right along to the inside where he springs from the board into the foam. He comes up from the water grinning.

I sigh with relief, breaking into a smile.

‘Leo Silva is back, baby,’ I whisper into the wind.

*

SEMIFINALS Heat 1 , Rip Curl Pro Bells Beach Ethan Anderson vs Jude Garcia AUS USA

SEMIFINALS Heat 2 , Rip Curl Pro Bells Beach Yazid Bayu vs Leo Silva INA AUS

After a two-day delay due to on-shore winds and a diminishing swell, the day of the Semifinals has arrived.

I’m as pleased as Leo that the contest is back up and running, having had to put up with his pumped-up energy for the last couple of days, fresh off his Quarterfinal win, feeling excited to keep up the momentum.

The surf world has been buzzing about the way he stole the show right at the end from Antoine Lambert, whose exit interview was so gushing about Leo, it almost made me cry.

‘If you’re going to lose, lose to one of the greatest surfers in the world.’ Antoine shrugged with a smile when the interviewer asked him how it felt to exit the competition.

Today, Leo faces Indonesian Yazid Bayu, who Adriano tells me is a high-ranking, well-rounded surfer with a smooth, stylish technique; he’s also a popular showman, an entertainer who feeds off a good crowd. Surf talent aside, that can be intimidating.

The conditions are good, the waves looking big during Leo’s warm up.

‘How do you think Leo looks?’ I ask Adriano from the steps.

Adriano watches on with a pensive expression, his eyebrows knitted together. He takes so long to answer, I wonder whether he was too focused on the warm-up to hear the question, but I don’t bother repeating it, not wanting to interrupt his analysis.

But suddenly, he mumbles something.

‘Sorry?’ I ask, having been distracted by the cuteness of two little kids in wetsuits, following their mum, a Semifinals competitor walking down the steps with her board.

‘Fierce,’ he repeats, folding his arms and nodding. ‘Leo looks fierce today.’

I raise my eyebrows, impressed. ‘Fierce is good.’

‘Yes,’ Adriano says, a smile playing across his lips. ‘Very good.’

*

Ethan Anderson wins his heat.

It’s a major upset, knocking out one of the highest-ranking surfers in the world who was hoping for his first win at Bells Beach this year.

My stomach is twisting itself into knots at the beginning of Leo’s heat as he heads out, having been quiet and focused all day.

Suddenly, it all feels very real – if Leo wins this round, he wouldn’t just be facing the Bells Beach final again; he’d be facing Ethan Anderson.

The organisers of the event must be beside themselves with anticipation going into this heat.

Either way, this is big news: if Leo loses, they still have a former World Champion back to make his mark on the tour for one contest only.

But if Leo wins? The interest in the final would surely soar to new heights.

Two former champions and rivals, both here on special invitation, one last shot to win.

Fuck . This is big.

My hands are trembling, but not from the cold this time. I shove them into the front pocket of my hoodie and clasp them together, chewing on the inside of my cheek. It seems unfair that Leo’s heat is second. More time for the nerves to build. To be fair, Leo looks a lot more relaxed than I feel.

So I guess it’s a good thing he’s the one surfing and not me.

Yazid Bayu gets things started, tackling an early wave and taking his time to carve his way along it, putting in turns and grinning from ear to ear as he rides into the shallows on the end of it, blowing kisses to the adoring crowd.

I instinctively worry that his charm and style will overshadow Leo and knock his confidence, but I couldn’t be more wrong.

As soon as Leo goes for his first wave, the spectators know we’re in for a good heat.

Picking up speed, he attacks the lip of the wave, the spray curving in a rainbow raining over him as he turns, his surfboard like an extension of his body.

I’m in awe, baffled by how it seems glued to his feet, how he can possibly stay on when he’s moving that fast, manoeuvring so quickly, defying gravity every time he glides up the face of a wave before speeding down it.

To a roar of approval from the crowd at his finish, Leo jumps off his board and comes up grinning, turning to blow a kiss back to Yazid, who bursts out laughing.

They’re playing.

They’re meant to be rivals right now, but it just doesn’t feel that way. As the heat goes on, the two of them up their game, and it feels like they’re showing off to each other. You can imagine what they’re saying out there to each other:

‘This looks like a beauty of a wave, check this out.’

‘Oh yeah? Not bad, but look what I can do!’

They look as though they’re having the time of their lives out there, as though they’ve forgotten there’s anyone watching them at all and they’re being scored on each wave.

Even when they mess up, they don’t seem to mind too much.

There’s always the next wave . My heart could burst at how touching it all is and once again, I find myself inspired by this sport and its community.

Scores are looking tight as we near the end of the heat, but I’m not sure anyone watching actually cares that much. We’re all having too much fun.

Then, Yazid makes a crucial mistake.

He lets a wave go and Leo takes it.

*

No one can stop him now.

That’s what I’m thinking when the points come in.

The fans waiting on the sand are going wild, their cheers drowning out the commentary coming through the speakers.

Leo is wading in from his final wave, his hand scooping up sea water and throwing it up in the air to rain down on his head as he cries out, ‘Come on!’ in celebration.

My hands feel numb from clapping, tears in my eyes.

He’s shallow enough to start jogging in now, his surfboard tucked under one arm, his free hand raking through his wet hair that’s plastered to his forehead, and he’s looking for me.

I know he is. He spots where I’m standing, waiting for him.

His eyes light up, his smile widens, and my heart soars.

Dropping his board, he strides across the sand to lift me up, saying hoarsely, ‘I’m through to the Final! The Final !’

Then he kisses me. It’s a kiss that I will soon learn makes a great photo – water dripping off him, my hands cupping his jaw, my feet kicking in the air.

In a few minutes, it will fly around social media.

It will go viral and cause Flora to phone me later when she wakes up and scream, ‘That kiss is so sexy, you almost made my water break!’ Naomi will message, You found the dream surfer!

(Does he make pina coladas?) and Toni will email, I look forward to the final draft of your article, Iris , but then WhatsApp from her personal phone on the side, I fucking knew it.

Let me know when you’re back and we’ll go for wine.

I will glug down a large glass of Chablis while you tell me every delicious fucking detail.

But I don’t know any of that yet.

All I know now is this kiss and how happy it makes me.

When he lowers my feet back to the sand, I hold his face in my hands and, eyes locked on him, say through a watery smile, ‘Leo Silva, I never had any doubt.’