The Burnout(108)

“How many people are coming altogether?” asks Kate.

“Well.” I hesitate, because the truth is, I’m not sure. “Let’s see.”


By the time two more groups have joined us, we’re commandeering a whole carriage of the train. And as more and more surfboards bob past the window, I start to wonder just how many people are on their way to Rilston Bay.

At Reading, more surfboards appear. People are standing in the corridors, high-fiving each other, calling to one another, and drinking beers.

As we pass through Taunton, a harassed ticket inspector comes up to me and says, “I hear you’re in charge of the surfing group? In future, should you wish to stage such an event, please could you book it in?”

“Sorry,” I say apologetically. “I honestly didn’t know it would be so big.”

And it gets bigger. The train from Exeter St. Davids to Campion Sands is one big party, and as we arrive at Rilston Bay, a massive cheer goes through the shuttle train. Cassidy is waiting for us on the platform, holding up an umbrella—she volunteered to act as a steward—and as she sees me through the streaming crowd, her face lights up.

“Oh my God, Sasha!” she exclaims, coming forward to give me a hug. “This is nuts! Everyone’s come! The hotel’s full, all the guesthouses are full, the beach is full.… All the tourists here for Young Love are like, what the hell?”

“It’s quite something,” I say, watching the throng trooping down the hill toward the beach.

“It’s brilliant. You’re brilliant. The way you had the idea, the way you’ve got everyone together … It’s amazing. Everyone’s saying so. Simon, Herbert, Finn—”

“Finn?” The word pops out before I can stop it, and I curse myself. I wasn’t going to react to his name. I was going to be cool. But look at me, jumping like a rabbit.

“Yeah, he’s already here, helping set up.” Cassidy nods. “He’s … Oh, there he is.” She points over my shoulder.

Shit. I’m not ready.

Yes, I am. Come on, Sasha. Chin up.

I turn and feel my stomach tingle as I see him coming toward us across the station platform. He’s tanned, his hair is blowing in the wind, and his shades are glinting in the sunshine.

So much for Maybe I won’t even find him attractive anymore.

“Hi, Sasha.” He hesitates, then bends to kiss me lightly on the cheek.

“Hi, Finn,” I manage.

“This is quite something!” He spreads his arms out, taking in the melee.

“I know. Thanks for helping.”

“Of course. Waves look good today, so that’s one thing.”

“Thank God,” I say with feeling. “Because I didn’t have a backup plan.”

There’s silence, during which time Cassidy looks avidly from my face to Finn’s, then back again.

“Well,” says Finn at last. “There’s a lot to do, and you’ll want to check in. I’ll be on the beach if you need me.”

He heads off and I silently breathe out. There. That was the hardest bit, and it’s done.

“Now, I’ve put you in the Presidential Suite,” says Cassidy as I pick up my case.

“The Presidential Suite!”

“We’ve just renamed it, actually—Simon’s idea. It was Room Forty-two before. Of course, another time you can have a Skyspace Beach Studio, only there’s been some snag with planning, so don’t hold your breath.” She rolls her eyes. “They haven’t even knocked down the old ones.”

“Oh dear,” I say, even though I’m quite glad the dear old lodges haven’t been bulldozed quite yet.

“Oh, and I’ve bought you a new hair dryer,” she adds, giving me a nudge. “Just for you. Got it at T.J. Maxx.”

“Cassidy.” I give her an impulsive hug. “Thank you!”

“Super-king bed,” she adds, waggling an eyebrow at me. “Just saying …”

“Good to know. So … is Finn staying at the Rilston too?” I can’t help asking, even though I wasn’t supposed to be showing an interest.

“Hasn’t he told you?” Cassidy sounds astonished. “Don’t you two talk?”

“We do. But it hasn’t come up.”

In all our correspondence recently, I haven’t dared to ask Finn what he was doing about accommodation tonight. Just in case he said something like My girlfriend, Olivia, has found an Airbnb for us—oh, have I mentioned Olivia?

So I just haven’t gone there, and nor has he. We’ve just focused on practicalities.

“Well, yes, he is,” says Cassidy. “Same floor as you.” She gazes at me, looking a bit crestfallen. “Sure you don’t want to be put in the same room?”

“No. Thanks.”

“We thought you two would get back together.” She shakes her head, looking doleful. “We really did. You made such a great couple. I guess you’re a not-couple again now.”

“Yes,” I say tightly, then nod toward the beach. “Well. We should get going.”

Cassidy sighs but doesn’t push it any further, and we begin walking down the hill together, like old friends.

“Oh, you’ll like this,” she says chattily. “We’ve got a couple staying with us, Young Love fans, wanted Mavis Adler to marry them on the beach. They went to an event and pestered her, and in the end she goes, ‘Sorry, I only do divorces.’ ”