The Burnout(103)

“Yes, but he couldn’t prove it,” says Tessa. “Because the record book had disappeared. And Pete could be pretty convincing when he wanted to be. The gossip was already starting on the beach—doesn’t take long.” She draws a deep breath. “Anyway. Then two kids told the police how they’d seen Pete burning stuff in a bin. You two.”

I have a flashback to that moment. Idly looking out of the shop window. Catching sight of Pete’s taut face as he poked at what must have been Terry’s rental book in the flames.

“He was getting rid of evidence,” I say, suddenly feeling thirteen years old again. “I knew it.”

“Was Pete prosecuted?” says Finn curiously.

“Never got that far,” Tessa replies, shaking her head. “Once the police started asking the right questions, his assistant Ryan freaked out and blabbed the lot. Pete got a rap on the knuckles and a visit from Health and Safety. But he lost business. No one in town would recommend him. The gossip was out there. He closed down. Left Rilston Bay.” She pauses. “If you two hadn’t spoken up, that might have been Dad. He might have lost the Surf Shack. Twenty years more teaching he had, because of two children. You two.”

Finn is silent, and I feel a bit speechless myself. My mind roams back over the messages on the sand, and I find myself wanting to ask questions.

“How did you know we were here?”

“Cassidy sent over the names of two guests at the Rilston who wanted to visit the caves. Sasha Worth and Finn Birchall. I couldn’t believe it!”

“But why didn’t you just come up to us?”

“Dad hated us talking about the accident,” says Tessa, her face turning red. “We had to forget it ever happened. I didn’t want to start a conversation in public. It just seemed easier to thank you silently. Secretly. I thought you’d understand straightaway. But then I heard you talking at the caves and I realized you hadn’t made the connection, so the next time I added the date.”

“But you wrote ‘To the couple on the beach,’ ” I say, still flummoxed. “You didn’t know us. Why did you think we were a couple?”

“I saw you arguing,” says Tessa, looking surprised. “Shouting at each other on the beach. You sounded like a couple. And I thought, ‘Oh, the children who saved Dad fell in love.’ It felt right.” She pauses, her brow wrinkling. “Aren’t you a couple?”

I can’t look at Finn. My eyes feel a bit hot, and I’m wondering if I’ll need to make an excuse and leave, when a fruity voice behind me booms, “Tessa, what did you just say? The children who saved Terry? What children?”

I swing round to see Mavis Adler looking avidly from me to Finn to Tessa. She’s holding a whisky glass, her fingers are covered in traces of clay, and she smells of tobacco.

“Hello, Ms. Adler,” I say quickly. “Congratulations on your exhibition; it’s stunning.”

“What children?” demands Mavis Adler, ignoring me.

“These children!” Tessa gestures from me to Finn. “Only they’re grown up now.”

“Well, I know one of them,” says Mavis, giving Finn an almighty wink.

“And this is Sasha,” Finn says, hastily gesturing at me.

“They’re the ones who pointed the police in the right direction after the kayak accident,” Tessa says. “If it hadn’t been for them, Dad might have lost everything. I was just saying thank you.”

“My goodness!” Mavis grabs first my hand, then Finn’s. “I remember that incident well! And as an old friend of Terry, I’m absolutely delighted—”

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Jana’s voice interrupts us, and we all turn our heads to see her on the small stage. “Welcome to the launch of Figures, a new collection by Mavis Adler.” A round of applause breaks out, and Mavis Adler shifts uncomfortably.

“Lot of nonsense,” she mutters. “Anyone got any more whisky?”

“In a few minutes, Mavis will be participating in a Q and A session. But first we’d like to welcome her onstage. Mavis?” Jana scans the ballroom, then spots her and beckons vigorously. “Please put your hands together for one of the finest artists working in the UK today, Mavis Adler!”

The crowd parts as Mavis makes her way to the stage, stumps up the three steps, then stands surveying the room, her feet planted wide apart.

“Well, thank you for coming,” she says briskly. “And I hope my pieces speak to you in some way. But if my art is about anything, it’s about community. Our community.”

“Community,” echoes Jana reverentially. “Of course, this is one of the central concepts of Figures and underpins so much of your work. Mavis, could you expand on that idea for us a little?”

“Yes, I could,” says Mavis. “Forget Figures for a moment. There’s another story in this room tonight, and I think you need to hear it. Is anyone here a friend of Terry Connolly?”

There’s a surprised murmur, then laughter, as people begin putting up their hands all around the room.

“Who’s Terry Connolly?” I hear the lady from Sotheby’s saying to the Cork Street gallery guy, who starts googling on his phone.

“Terry means a lot to many of us here,” says Mavis emphatically. “He means a lot to this community and we love him. Well, some of you may remember an event that happened on the beach twenty years ago.” She pauses, until the entire ballroom is silent. “There was an attempt to smear Terry, and it might have been successful if it hadn’t been for two children who told the police what they saw. Twenty years later, those children are here tonight. Finn, Sasha …” She gestures at us, and slowly the faces begin to turn. “As you know, Terry doesn’t have it easy anymore. I’m not sure he’d be able to thank you himself. So from all of us, from the friends of Terry in this room, thank you.”