The Burnout(99)

Mum sounds so ridiculously upbeat, I want to giggle. I just know Kirsten’s given her a pep talk about not sounding negative.

“Yes, I’ve left.” I hesitate. “For now.”

“Marvelous. Very good. And how’s the Rilston? How’s the sea view?”

“It’s great,” I say, thinking of the moonlight on the waves I was gazing at last night. “It’s a magical place. I feel like I’ve transformed.”

“Sweetheart.” Mum’s voice softens. “I’m so glad. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. Thinking about us. Remembering.” She pauses. “Maybe we should go to Rilston Bay as a family one of these summers. All of us.”

“I’d like that.”

“Kirsten says she’s found some old photos. She said they brought it all back. She wants to bring Chris and the children, rent a cottage. Carry on the tradition.”

I have an image of Ben and Coco toddling in the shallows, smooshing ice creams into their faces, maybe even having surf lessons one day … and feel a swell of joy.

“Yes! Let’s do it.”

“So, what are your plans now? Are you staying there much longer?”

“No,” I say, after a moment’s thought. “I’m coming back soon.”

“Now, Sasha,” says Mum at once. “Don’t rush yourself. You’re always a one for rushing.”

I’m a one for rushing?

“I’m not. Really. It’s been great, but I need to … reengage. See some friends, hang out with Kirsten, tidy my place up.”

“Well,” says Mum. “If you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.” I nod, staring out of the train window, watching fields go by. “I’ve done everything I came to do.”

After we’ve said goodbye and rung off, I hesitate, my phone in my hand. Then, on impulse, I open the Tesco website and log into my account, barely used over the past two years. I’m going to do a shop. A proper supermarket shop. I’m going to buy ingredients.

I click on onions. Stock. Carrots. Turkey mince. Come on. I can do this. I can run my life.

When my basket’s full, I survey it with a kind of pride. Not many people would call a Tesco online basket a thing of beauty, but right now this is all part of my new life. Where I look after myself. Where I value myself. And it looks beautiful to me.





Twenty-Five



After twenty minutes of the Mavis Adler art event, I’ve honed my line, which is, Stunning, isn’t it?

To be fair, the art is stunning, in a metal girders kind of way. The pieces are strewn around the massive ballroom, looking pretty incongruous against the peeling damask wallpaper and tattered curtains. They’ve all got titles, but I couldn’t say what any of them is supposed to mean.

But so far I’ve held my own in conversations with a lady from Sotheby’s, a man from some Cork Street gallery, and a local journalist. It seems most art experts are happy to spout on endlessly about their own opinion. So my method is: Let them do that while I get on with drinking the free champagne. And when they pause, say, Stunning, isn’t it?

Works a dream.

Cassidy is bustling around in a smart black dress, ordering the catering staff about, and she keeps catching my eye conspiratorially as though we’re family, which makes me feel ridiculously happy. Nikolai has brought me a kale cocktail, which I’ve discreetly disposed of. The place is so crammed that I haven’t yet spotted Mavis Adler, although I’ve seen Gabrielle, surrounded by people wanting selfies, and Jana, sitting behind a table, dispiritedly trying to sell catalogs.

“Sasha!” A voice greets me and I turn to see Keith Hardy, wearing a linen jacket and startling pink paisley cravat. “Good to see you, young lady! Still enjoying yourself, are you?”

“Yes,” I say. “Very much so.” There’s a pause, so I add, “Stunning, isn’t it?”

“The art?” Keith wrinkles his brow. “Wouldn’t know. Looks like a building site to me. But see that?” He jerks his head toward the huge draped structure on a podium. “That’s the new one.”

“Yes, I know.” I peer at the form, intrigued. It’s obviously a statue, about twelve feet high, but it’s hard to see what it might be.

“All the council are hoping it’s a statue of Young Love,” Keith says confidingly. “Bring in new visitors, boost the economy. Like a sequel. Young Love Two kind of thing.”

“But it’s called Titan,” I say dubiously.

“Could still be the lovers kissing,” says Keith, undeterred. “Like the Titanic. Kate and Leo.”

“Well, maybe …”

“Sasha!” Another familiar voice greets me, and I swivel to see Hayley and Adrian West, dressed up smartly, holding champagne flutes.

“Hi!” I say, taking in their happy, flushed faces. “I haven’t seen you around!”

“We’ve been … busy.” Hayley leans into Adrian, giggling. He nibbles her ear, whereupon she giggles some more. “Ade!”

“Can’t help it,” he says, smirking. “Gorgeous wife like you.”

“So things are good?” I ask.

“Really good,” says Hayley, and leans forward to breathe quietly into my ear. “Thanks so much. To both of you. I don’t know what you said to him—”