The Burnout(112)

At last, the children start getting cranky, and Kirsten loads up the double buggy.

“See you tomorrow, OK?” She kisses me. “Wild swimming at dawn? Kale for breakfast? Meditating?”

“All three.”

“Excellent.” She grins.

“I’ll come too,” says Mum to Kirsten. “Help you put them to bed. Well done, Sasha. It’s been a wonderful day. Dad would have been so proud.” She gives one of her little wistful smiles. “I was just thinking of that pub he loved, the White Hart. Do you think it still exists?”

“It does,” I say. “Let’s go there tomorrow and toast Dad.”

“Yes,” says Kirsten softly. “Nice idea.”

They move off, and I’m just wondering whether Lev’s still here, when I hear a voice saying, “She was held up by some train situation. Finn’s gone to collect her from the station.”

Something inside me freezes. I look round to see who spoke—and it’s Finn’s colleague Dave.

Finn’s gone to collect her from the station.

A slow pounding begins in my chest. Olivia. She was held up but now she’s here. Finn’s gone to get her, and soon he’ll be back on the beach with her. Maybe walking around, arm in arm, maybe dancing, maybe sitting in the shallows, with their legs tangled up.

And suddenly I know that I can’t be here to see that. I just can’t. She’ll be too glorious, and they’ll be too radiantly happy, and my heart won’t survive.

I thought my heart would survive, but hearts put on brave faces, it turns out. And now I know, without any doubt, that I need to leave.

“So!” I say brightly, randomly, to anyone who will listen. “I need to go. It’s been fab …”

“Go?” says Cassidy, overhearing. “Party’s just starting! Have a noni juice, get in the mood!” She swigs her cocktail, then puts her head on one side and surveys me. Drunkenly, I realize. “Oh, Sasha.” She plonks a hand on one of my shoulders. “Lovely Sash. Gorgeous, lovely Sash.”

“Yes?” I can’t help smiling.

“Tell me. Tell your auntie Cassidy.” She leans closer. “Why aren’t you together with Finny-Finn-Finn? No one can understand, it, no one. Me, Herbert, Mavis, the girls in the tea shop …”

“Have you been talking about it?” I begin, shocked—then remember who I’m addressing. “Of course you have. Look …” I exhale, trying to keep hold of my steady smile. “I’m fairly sure Finn’s with someone else. So.”

“Someone else?” echoes Cassidy, looking affronted. “Are you kidding me? Someone else?”

“Well … isn’t he?” I say uncertainly. “Didn’t he book his room for himself and someone called Olivia?”

“Olivia?” she retorts, as though Olivia is the most repulsive name she’s ever heard of. “O-liv-ia? Nope. Never heard of her.”

“But he’s picking her up from the station. Someone,” I correct myself. “He’s picking up someone from the station. A ‘her.’ ”

“A ‘her.’ ” Cassidy narrows her eyes as though making calculations. “A ‘her.’ OK, we need intel. I’m asking Herbert. He’ll know.”

“Herbert?” I echo dubiously, but Cassidy is already hauling me across the sand to where Herbert is sitting in a deck chair, down by the waves, smoking a cigar.

“Herbert!” she says breathlessly as we arrive. “Who’s Finn picking up at the station? And it better not be someone called O-liv-ia.”

Herbert blows out a cloud of smoke and seems to consider this. “He booked a room for a lady,” he declares at last. “Separate room. She’s called Margaret Langdale.”

“Margaret Langdale?” Cassidy stares at him. “Room Sixteen, nonsmoker? That was booked by Finn? You need to tell me these things, Herbert!” She swings round. “Well, there we are. Separate rooms. That’s who he’s gone to get. His separate-rooms friend, Margaret Langdale.”

I can’t quite reply. I can’t even move. My heart is squeezing with the worst emotion in the world: hope. It kills you. For six months I’ve been telling myself that Finn is with Olivia, and I have to make peace with it. Six months. You’d think the “making peace with it” would have stuck.

But it’s instantly fallen away, as if there was never any glue. And now, instead, hope is jumping around me, saying, Maybe, just maybe …

“He’s here,” says Cassidy in my ear, making me jump. “Behind you. Just arrived back. On his own.”

Slowly, feeling unreal, I turn around. And there he is, walking up to me, a tall figure in his sea-green T-shirt, a streak of sand on one leg, his eyes glowing in the light of a nearby fire.

The nearer he gets, the more I want him. I want him so badly, I can’t think about anything else. My mind is consumed. My body is consumed. I’ve been avoiding Finn all afternoon for fear of exactly this kind of one-on-one encounter. Instinctively I back away, but after two steps I’ve reached the sea. A wave washes my ankle, and I find myself taking a step back toward him.

“Hi.” My voice catches in my throat, and I try again. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He meets my gaze, steady and relaxed. “We haven’t really talked. How are you?”