The Burnout(72)

“OK, well, thanks,” I say, realizing I can’t exactly wrestle it off him.

“No problem.” He flashes me a brief smile, then heads off down the beach. He’s striding. Quickly. Almost as if he wants to get away from me.

No. Scratch that. Exactly as though he wants to get away from me.

I watch him for a few moments, feeling a creeping hollowness. Well, there we are. I’ve messed up. I’ve made things awkward. We were friends. I had a burnout buddy. I had a good person in my life. But now he can’t even look at me. Great, Sasha. Just great.





Seventeen



Two hours later, my spirits have plummeted still lower. Sure enough, it took me ages to peel my wetsuit off my clammy, shivering body, while I hopped around my lodge, yanking at the neoprene. By the time I finally emerged, Finn had disappeared, so I hurried back up to the hotel, hoping for a long hot bath and room service. But in the lobby, there was Cassidy, setting out chipped gilt chairs and concert programs, and she greeted me by crying, “I’ve saved you a place at the front! You are coming, aren’t you?”

I was too slow to think of an excuse, so I promised to come. And now I find myself sitting in a gilt chair, clutching a glass of cava, listening to Nikolai recite poetry in Polish. Finn is nowhere to be seen. He must have been cleverer than me and dodged the lobby. The audience is mostly elderly people, who must live locally, and the only person I recognize is Terry’s daughter, Tessa, who is sitting in the same row. She seemed to be peering over at me earlier, almost as if she wanted to talk. But when I smiled, she bit her lip and looked away. She really is shy.

I glance at the program and try not to sigh. After Nikolai, it’s Herbert on the French horn, and then Esteemed local raconteur Dickie Rathbone, who will entertain us with stories of his time in the Merchant Navy. I take a sip of cava, then look up as someone sits next to me.

Oh my God, it’s Hayley. She’s being ushered to her chair by Cassidy and looks about as thrilled to be here as I am.

“I saved you a seat!” Cassidy is whispering breathily to her. “Hotel guests get the premium seats. All complimentary!”

Meanwhile, Nikolai is still holding forth in Polish. He gives a sudden dramatic sob and I squirm uncomfortably. They really should have provided a translation. I glance at Hayley, who is sitting rigidly, and notice that her eyes are a little glassy too. She sees me looking and bristles, so I hastily turn back and fix my eyes on Nikolai, who finishes with a flourish, then bows to the ragged smattering of applause.

“Nikolai, that was wonderful!” says Cassidy, leaping up in her role as MC. “And now maybe you could tell us what the poem was about?” She beams encouragingly at Nikolai, who is mopping his face with a hanky. He nods, then clears his throat as though for a speech.

“The gentleman, he love her,” he proclaims, his voice still throbbing with emotion. “But she not love him.”

There’s silence, as we all wait for more—then realize that’s it.

“Well!” exclaims Cassidy. “I think we all really picked up on the drama there, Nikolai, thank you very much. And now a small interval, while Herbert prepares his French horn. Please enjoy your cava.” She leads a further round of applause, and Nikolai bows several times, looking spent and exhausted, as if he’s just played Hamlet.

I sip my cava—then see Finn coming into the lobby, accompanied by Adrian. They’re both holding glasses of what looks like whisky, and from their flushed faces I’d guess this isn’t their first drink.

“Mr. Birchall!” Cassidy salutes him loudly. “And Mr. West! Just in time! There are seats in the front row for you. Or—” She stops dead as the two guys plonk themselves down in the back row, well away from Hayley and me. “That’s also fine.”

I can’t meet Finn’s eye. I can’t even look in his direction. I expect he went straight to the bar to get over the embarrassment of having a fellow guest throw herself at him.

“Pleasant concert,” says Hayley, making me jump.

“Yes.” I nod.

“Although I didn’t understand a word of that poem.”

“Me neither,” I admit. “It sounded very passionate, though.”

“Yes,” says Hayley tightly. “Well. Passion.” She leaves a pause before adding, “I’m Hayley, by the way. My husband’s Adrian. You probably heard that the other night.”

“I’m Sasha,” I volunteer. “Nice to meet you properly.”

Hayley’s hand is clenching her glass and she’s quivering all over. She seems brimming over with misery. I feel like with one little tap, it would all come spilling out.

“I’ve got the hair dryer, by the way,” I venture warily. “In case you need it.”

“I travel with my Dyson, thank you,” says Hayley, and swigs her drink, blinking hard.

Oh God. I can’t bear it. She looks so unhappy. Should I venture onto personal ground? Should I encourage her to talk? What if she snaps at me? She’s pretty scary when she’s in full flow.

Well, if she snaps, she snaps. I can at least have a go.

“I’m sorry if things are hard,” I say in a low, soft voice.

Hayley’s head whips round as if suspecting a trick—but when she sees my sincere face, something seems to break inside her.