The Burnout(107)

“Yes!” says Lev, coming out of his trance. “Of course I know! Red-letter day.” He looks at his watch. “In fact, what are you still doing here? You must go and catch your train! I’ll see you there.”

“You’re really coming?” I say incredulously.

“I’ve told you I’m coming!” says Lev, sounding a bit offended. “I wouldn’t miss this!” He pauses, then adds, “Will Finn be there?”

My stomach gives a painful churn. It’s been churning pretty much solidly ever since I woke up this morning and thought, It’s today.

But my smile stays steady. I’m good at keeping a steady smile.

“Yes,” I say. “Finn’ll be there.”


I haven’t seen Finn since that day I left Rilston Bay. We’ve talked a bit via text and email, and we’ve kept it friendly but very much focused on arrangements for today. So I know that he’s well and back at work. He’s even sleeping eight hours a night these days. But that’s all I know.

He hasn’t mentioned Olivia. And the trouble is, I’m not supposed to know about Olivia. So that’s been a gap in our communications. Both of us have studiously avoided the whole area of love, sex, dating—any of it.

I’ve stalked him online a bit, because I’m only human. But he doesn’t do social media, and Olivia has made her Instagram account private, and so there hasn’t been a lot to see. I’m only guessing that behind Olivia’s private Instagram gate, there’s been a joyful reunion. Because I did see a photo of Finn and Olivia on her sister’s Instagram page, arm in arm, smiling for the camera at some garden party. (I instantly closed it down.) And Finn has said he’s “bringing someone” today. “Bringing someone” were his exact words.

So maybe today’s the day I get to meet her. It’s fine. I can deal with it. Maybe I won’t even find him attractive anymore. So. All good.

As I head out of the office, I pause and look upward. Even this early in the morning, the sky is blue and hazy, promising a gorgeous summer’s day. Perfect. I head into Pret and smile at the girl behind the counter.

“A cappuccino, please. That’s all.”

I haven’t had a falafel and halloumi wrap since I’ve been back. I can’t even look at them anymore. Instead, I’ve invested in a slow cooker and have learned to enjoy chopping an onion again. I swap recipes with Mum and Kirsten, and my Tupperware lunch box is my new best friend. Who would have thought? Not me. I do still pop into Pret for the odd coffee and snack, sometimes even lunch. But not every single meal.

Nor have I ever seen the Pret guy again, which is a relief. Probably for both of us.

As the coffee machine roars and hisses, I turn around and survey the street through the glass front of the shop. I watch the buses, the people, the pigeons even, all busily going about their day in the sunshine. And I feel a kind of wave of love for it all. OK, there’s noise, fumes, bits of litter gusting along in the summer breeze. But even so, London doesn’t look like a world of stress to me anymore. It looks like a place of endeavor, of human connection, of chances.

I’m enjoying life, I think as I take my coffee. I’m enjoying the ride. And that’s all you can ask.





Twenty-Eight



I see the first surfboards at Paddington. Two guys in their twenties are carrying them along the concourse to the Exeter platform, chatting and grinning and clearly in high spirits. At first I’m not sure if they’re with us—but then I overhear one say “Terry,” and I know.

I don’t recognize either of them, but that’s no surprise. I’ve been in touch with a lot of people these last few weeks, mostly through my new Facebook page, and the account has mushroomed.

“Hi,” I say, approaching the taller guy, who stops in surprise. “I’m Sasha Worth.”

“You’re Sasha!” His face creases in delight, and he shakes my hand warmly. “Great to meet you! I’m Sam.”

“Dan,” chimes in his friend. “We’re so stoked. This is an awesome idea.”

“Awesome,” Sam echoes. “We always talk about Terry. When I heard about the reunion, I was like, dude, we have to do this.”

“I haven’t been back to Rilston Bay for years,” chimes in Dan. “This is like … awesome.”

On the platform is another guy with a surfboard, talking to a group of five girls—and as I approach, I realize I recognize one of them, even though it’s been over twenty years. She has red hair in a bob. I remember when it was in a long pigtail down her back.

“Kate,” I say, hurrying up. “Oh my God, Kate! We were in Terry’s lessons together!”

“Sasha!” She pulls me in for a hug. “When I got the email, I thought, is that the same Sasha?”

“Same Sasha!” I nod, beaming.

“It’s so good to see you again! And you had a sister, Kirsten?”

“She’ll be there. She’s driving down with her kids.”

“Kids!” Kate pantomimes shock.

“I know, right?”

We’re quite a group now, and I can hear someone saying, “So what’s the plan, exactly?”

“Hi!” I address everyone, feeling like a teacher. “Thank you so much for coming. I’m Sasha, and I just heard someone asking what’s the plan. Well, I’m about to send out an itinerary and various requests for help, so keep checking your phones. But the main thing to know is, when we get to Rilston, head for the beach.”