The Burnout(49)

“Ah well.” Neil looks delighted. “Got to be creative, haven’t you? Now, before you leave, have you seen our new Mystery Grotto?” He ushers us toward a small stone wishing well. “Tessa, why don’t you introduce the Mystery Grotto? It’s a fundraising venture, really,” he adds confidingly. “Save Our Caves!”

A moment later, Tessa lets herself out of the wooden booth and approaches us, looking awkward.

“Welcome to the Mystery Grotto,” she says in a tiny voice, staring at the ground. “Simply throw a donation into the grotto, write down a question you want answered, and the Grotto Spirit will inspire you with the answer.” She hands each of us a slip of paper and nods at a nearby pot of pencils.

“Here’s some cash.” I put a fiver in the grotto. “But I don’t know what to write.”

“Just a bit of fun!” Neil calls over from the booth. “Write anything! I wrote, ‘Why do I always lose my socks in the machine?’ Still haven’t had the answer, though!”

As I stare at the slip of paper, a series of questions runs through my mind, none of which I can possibly write down. I glance over at Finn, and he seems equally perplexed by the task. But then suddenly his face clears.

“I have it!” he says, and grabs a pencil. “I have the perfect question. In fact, the only question: ‘Who does the champagne really belong to?’ ” he reads aloud as he carefully prints. He drops the slip of paper in the wishing well, then winks at me. “If we get an answer by five, we pass the bottle to its rightful owner. If not, we drink it.”


At 5 P.M., I receive a text from Finn, the first since we exchanged numbers at the caves.

No answer to the riddle. Champagne on the beach? I even have glasses. (Plastic.)

I find myself smiling as I read the words and quickly pull on my anorak. I hesitate, wondering if I should put on some lipstick or something—then abandon the idea. There’s no one to see me except Finn. And I’ll only have to take it off again when I go to bed.

He’s already down on the sand when I arrive. The sea is a shimmering navy and the sun is glowing pinkly behind a bank of clouds on the horizon. Above us, the sky is deepening in color, minute by minute.

“Wow,” I say, as I take a seat beside him. “Sunset.”

“Nice one,” says Finn, nodding, and pours me a glass of champagne. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” I lift my glass to him. “Here’s to stolen goods.”

“If the rightful owners come along, we’ll buy them a replacement,” says Finn, looking unmoved. “Meanwhile, we have champagne and a sunset, and I’m taking that as a win.”

“Fair enough.” I take a gulp and close my eyes as the delicious bubbles hit my throat. This is quite superior to White Wine, no vintage.

For a while neither of us speaks; we just sip our champagne and watch the waves. This is a real plus point of Finn, I’m realizing. He doesn’t feel the need to speak, but nor is the silence uncomfortable. The sky grows darker and darker until little pinpricks of light begin to appear, and I tilt my head backward to take in the whole star-speckled sky.

“Top-up?” says Finn, and I extend my glass.

“Do you know anything about constellations?” I ask, as he pours. “I have no idea.”

Finn tops up his own glass, then considers the starry sky for a while. “That one’s called the Gherkin,” he says at last, pointing with his champagne flute. “And there’s the Lawnmower.”

I laugh and lift my own glass, gesturing at a random cluster. “Look, there’s the Surfboard.”

“Huh.” Finn gives an appreciative smile, only just visible in the dimming light. “Weird meeting Terry’s daughter,” he adds. “I never met her before.”

“She lived with her mum most of the time, that’s why,” I tell him.

I was curious about Tessa myself, so I texted Kirsten earlier, and she filled me in with what she knew.

“Apparently Terry and his first wife, Anne, were divorced, and Tessa only came to Rilston for part of the summer,” I explain. “My sister told me. They’re about the same age.” I find the text on my phone and read out what Kirsten put. “ ‘She was really shy, though. She wouldn’t join in the surf lessons, she just helped behind the scenes.’ ”

“Well, she hasn’t changed, has she?” says Finn, swigging his champagne. “Funny for Terry to have such a timid daughter, when he was such a big personality.”

“Maybe that’s why. Maybe she reacted against him being so out there. I keep remembering those lessons with him—although all my memories are jumbled up. I can’t remember which year was which.”

“Same,” says Finn, nodding vigorously. “I have a million great memories. The first time I caught a wave …” He grins widely. “It was the best feeling. Like flying. Or like when you discover sex. You’re like, ‘No way! How can anything feel this good? Has everyone known about this the whole time?’ ”

“It’s the biggest-kept secret,” I say, laughing.

“Yes.” He nods, deadpan. “Only surfers know.”

I laugh again. “The first time I caught a wave, I was just convinced I was going to fall.”

“But you didn’t,” says Finn. “And I bet Terry was there on the beach to high-five you.”