The Burnout(19)

Cassidy hands me back my phone, and I see that I’ve already received three new text messages from Rilston Hotel.

We see you have arrived at the Rilston. Welcome! We hope you enjoy your stay!

Success! You have been entered in our Cream Tea prize draw!!

A reminder that breakfast is served from 7–10 every morning.

“What else can I tell you?” Cassidy seems to be musing. “Breakfast is at eight.… If you’d like a croissant, let us know in advance—”

“Hang on.” I frown, puzzled. “The app says breakfast is at seven.”

“Does it?” Cassidy rolls her eyes good-humoredly. “Honest to God, that app’s always wrong. Let me see?” She peers at my screen, then nods. “Yeah, don’t take any notice of that.”

I look around again, noticing the yellow light coming from the single pendant lamp, the worn patch of carpet by the bed, the trouser press in the corner. It’s not the most inspiring room in the world.

But I’m not here for the room, I remind myself. I’m here for the sea view.

“Anyway.” I force an upbeat tone. “Is it possible to open the curtains?”

“Of course!” Cassidy approaches the window, smiles at me, then with a flourish pulls back first one curtain, then the other. “There you go!”

Whaa-aaat?

I stare at the view, rigid, too shocked to make a sound. The windows are boarded up. Fully boarded. All I can see are planks of wood. I traveled six hours for planks of wood?

“That’s … not a sea view,” I manage at last.

“No, it’s scaffolding,” explains Cassidy. “Didn’t you see it when you arrived? Oh no, you came the other way!” She bursts into laughter. “No wonder you look surprised! You’re expecting a sea view, then I pull the curtains back and you see scaffolding!” She seems highly amused. “Wait till I tell Herbert!”

I’m starting to tremble all over. I think I might lose it in a minute. I’ve been focusing on this sea view as the answer to everything. I’ve imagined how it will heal and mend me. The sky. The gulls. The soothing rhythm of the waves. And now I can’t have it?

“The thing is, my mum—I mean, PA,” I correct, “my PA booked a sea-view room. Sea view,” I emphasize. “And this isn’t a sea view.”

“Seafront,” Cassidy corrects me helpfully. “Not sea view. You are on the seafront side, you just can’t see the sea.” She peers at me, slowly realizing that all is not well. “So, were you expecting a sea view?”

“Yes!” I sound a bit more shrill than I intended. “Yes! I was!”

“Right. Got you.” Cassidy chews the side of her mouth, then gets out her phone. “Bear with me a moment.…” She dials a number and lowers her voice a smidge. “Simon? I’ve got your VIP guest here. The healthy kale lady? Turns out she wanted to see the sea from her room. She’s a bit stressed out. So I was wondering, shall I try and take down some of the scaffolding?” She listens a bit longer, then her face clears. “Oh, right. Of course! I clean forgot! Yes, I’ll do it straightaway. Bye, Simon … I’m such an idiot!” she exclaims as she rings off, clapping a hand humorously to her forehead. “There was a whole thing I was supposed to tell you!” She scrolls through her emails, then draws breath and starts reading aloud in a formal voice. “ ‘We do apologize for the restricted view at the current time. As recompense, we would like to offer you daytime use of a beach lodge, free of charge, as a means of enjoying the unique and beautiful view of Rilston Bay.’ ”

“Beach lodge?” I stare at her warily. “I thought the beach lodges were uninhabitable?”

“Well, you couldn’t sleep in one anymore,” she says, making a face. “But they’re perfectly safe, so we offer them to selected guests as a daytime facility. You can sit in them, stay out of the weather, enjoy the view, whatever you like. ‘Only eight lodges are available for this exclusive offer,’ ” she adds importantly, returning to the script, “ ‘which is offered to a limited number of guests at the discretion of the hotel.’ ”

“Right.” I digest this. “How many guests are staying at the hotel at the moment?”

“Currently, our numbers are quite small,” Cassidy says, looking cagey.

“How many exactly?”

“Well, it’s just yourself and the Bergens,” she admits. “Lovely Swiss couple, but they’re not interested in the beach; they only play golf. So the only person using a lodge would be … well, actually …” She shrugs. “It would be just you.”


Just me.

As I step onto the beach fifteen minutes later, clutching my lodge key, I feel almost unreal. I’ve made it. The sand of Rilston Bay is finally beneath my feet. After all these hours, all these years … I’m back. There’s not another soul on the beach, which I suppose is no surprise—the afternoon light is already fading and the weather has definitely taken a turn. The waves are crashing hard; the wind is whipping my hair round my face; the raindrops feel like sharp pins on my skin.

I don’t care. I’m here.

I spread my arms wide, feel the wind buffeting me, then turn around a few times on the sand, relishing my aloneness, the wideness of the sand, the weather, the vastness of the sky, the sound of gulls … everything. It’s so not London. It’s so not the office. It’s so not sixty-five emails by tomorrow.