The Burnout(64)

Today, we’ve clambered over rocks, I’ve ripped my jeans, Finn has drenched his trainers in a shallow pool, and we’ve both eaten our second massive cream tea. And now we’re idly walking around Kettle Cove, our steps crunching on the pebbles. The late-afternoon air is mild; there’s even a hint of spring in the air.

“Chocolate?” says Finn, producing a box from his pocket, and I laugh.

“I’m too full. And I can’t believe you brought them.”

The chocolates were on the beach outside the lodges this morning, along with a message much the same as the previous ones: To the couple on the beach. With appreciation. 8/18. They’ve been coming every day, and I’ve almost given up trying to guess what they mean. Except I know it’s not art, I just know it.

“We should probably start walking back soon,” I say, glancing at my watch. “If we’re aiming to get back for supper.”

“Unless …” Finn shoots me a wicked glance. “Fish and chips on the beach and then a cab back to Rilston?”

“Yes!” I say. “Except I’m too full for fish and chips.”

“You won’t be,” says Finn with assurance. “Not once you get to the chip shop. Not once you smell the vinegar.”

“Fish and chips on the beach,” I say fondly. “Beats the office any time.”

“Certainly beats the office,” agrees Finn, with a firm nod. He pauses, then adds, “So, since you’ve brought up the subject of work, there’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask.”

“Oh yes?” I look up. “What?”

“You sound like you were so miserable at Zoose. Why didn’t you change job a long time ago? Why stick it out till you were so desperate you ran away?”

“Because changing jobs is exhausting,” I point out. “It’s a job in itself. You have to find new opportunities, go to interviews, sparkle—”

“You sparkle,” says Finn at once.

“I do not.” I give a wry laugh.

“Didn’t you ever get calls from headhunters?”

“Yes, but I didn’t take them.”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t have the time. Or energy.”

“Hmm.” Finn thinks for a moment. “Do you want to leave marketing? Do something else?”

“No!” I say, surprising myself with my conviction. “Marketing is great. It’s creative. It’s finding solutions. It’s fun. Or, you know, it can be. It’s what I do,” I finish emphatically.

“Got it.” Finn chuckles.

“My previous job, that was in marketing too. I loved it. But Zoose … Zoose was a game-changer.”

“OK then, another question,” persists Finn mildly. “Why did you let yourself get so exhausted that you couldn’t even muster the inner resources to change jobs? Why did you keep saying yes?”

“Because …” I exhale, thinking back. “Because the work needed to be done and no one else was there to do it. That’s what Zoose is like. It’s chaotic.”

“So you refuse. You say no.”

“No doesn’t work. They just pile on more tasks.”

“So you threaten to move on. You leave jobs undone and explain why you didn’t have time to complete them. You create boundaries and stick to them.”

As I gaze at him, I feel like he’s speaking a foreign language. “That’s not really me,” I say at last.

“It has to be you.” He meets my gaze resolutely. “You’re talking as if you have no value, no leverage. If it came to it, couldn’t you just leave your job and get by for a while till you found a better one?”

I feel a spasm of panic, which I swallow down. “Don’t know. I’m pretty risk-averse. I really, really don’t want to fail.”

“So you think it’s better to be half-living than risk failure?”

I feel a visceral shock at Finn’s words. Half-living is a pretty brutal assessment of what I’ve been doing. Although possibly accurate.

“I’ve never wanted to be caught out,” I say, staring rigidly ahead. “Financially.”

“So your bank balance is healthy.”

The way he leans on the phrase bank balance, I know exactly what he means. My bank balance might be healthy, but every other bit of my life: not so much.

“I know I should leave my job,” I hear myself say. “I will leave it. I really will. I’ll leave it.”

Again, words are slipping out of me that I didn’t intend. I stare up at the darkening sky in a state of slight shock. I’m going to leave my job? Leave my job? Actually leave my job?

A weird, heady feeling is rising up inside me, very slowly. It feels like … happiness. Bright, golden happiness. It’s euphoria, joy, freedom.

Is this what I’ve been chasing?

“I can just leave my job if I want to.” I give a strange, almost hysterical laugh. “I can resign.”

“Yes. You can.” Finn nods. “You have that power. Power.” He leans forward and squeezes my hand. “You’re valuable, Sasha. You’re in demand. Believe it.”

“And Zoose is …” I pause, trying to think of another way to describe it. “Zoose is dysfunctional.”