Is he making a dig at me? I glare at him, and he looks back impassively.
“Of course!” says Cassidy, oblivious to any subtext. “Please take a seat at the bar.”
“I will attend to this myself,” says Simon, practically leaping forward. “I will pour the whisky myself. I hope all is satisfactory with your stay, Mr. Birchall, and please may I apologize yet again that your room was being used for cheese storage when you arrived. These are not the high standards we expect of ourselves at the Rilston.”
I suppress a smile as I glance over at Finn Birchall. Did his face just give the tiniest of amused flickers?
No, I must have imagined it.
“Now, I must introduce you two,” says Cassidy, as Simon hurries off toward the bar. “Sasha Worth, meet Finn Birchall. You’re both using lodges on the beach.”
I blink at her in shock. What?
“You’re the only two guests using them,” Cassidy continues chattily. “Nice for you both to have some company.”
Nice? I feel a growing dismay as I digest this appalling news. I had the place to myself. It was all perfect. And now Mr. Angry has to barge in. I can tell my face is crestfallen—and he doesn’t look exactly thrilled either.
“Shall I put you next door to each other?” Cassidy suggests brightly. “You could be neighbors!”
“No!” I exclaim fervently before I can stop myself.
“No!” Finn Birchall says simultaneously, and our eyes meet as though at least we agree on this.
“If that’s OK,” I add awkwardly. “I think it would be better if …”
“Far better.” He nods.
“I suppose you’ll be doing your yoga and all that,” says Cassidy, as though the reason is dawning on her. “Ms. Worth is here for a wellness break,” she informs Finn Birchall. “She’s our healthiest-ever guest! Only eats salad and does mindful activities all day on the beach!”
Finn Birchall looks totally repulsed. “Sounds tremendous,” he says, barely hiding his contempt.
“It is,” I shoot back. “Very.”
God, this man is obnoxious.
“So maybe it does make sense for you to have some space.…” Cassidy pauses thoughtfully. “I’ll put you in Lodge Eight, then, Mr. Birchall. Right at the other end from Ms. Worth, with six empty lodges in between.”
“Thanks,” says Finn Birchall curtly. “I appreciate it.”
I feel nettled by his tone. His whole demeanor, in fact. It’s not like I want him next to me either.
“I appreciate it too,” I put in sharply. “Even more so, I should think.”
Cassidy has been following our exchange in slight bemusement, and now she hands Finn Birchall a lodge key.
“Here you are, then,” she says. “Key to Lodge Eight. And you know what?” she adds reassuringly, looking from him to me and back again. “It’s a big old beach. I expect you won’t even notice each other.”
Eight
I wake up the next morning with my head teeming. Not with good stuff. Not with forward-looking, mindful thoughts. But work stress. Round and round. It won’t let me alone.
The more I’ve stepped away from Zoose, the more I can see how badly run the marketing department is. Asher is like some child letting off fireworks. He likes short-term, flashy stuff. But where’s the long-term strategy? Where’s the consistency? Where are the values?
And where the hell is Lev? You can’t just keep on sending your apologies and expect your company to flourish. You need to have a vision, you need leadership, you need a presence.…
I’m breathing hard, I realize. My heart is thumping. I’m already imagining going back to the office in three weeks, feeling a curdling mixture of dread and frustration. I’m doing the opposite of relaxing and recuperating.
Honestly.
I grab my bullet journal, turn to the back, and start adding to the notes I made on the train. It’s quite cathartic. It’s like writing down all the reasons you hate your ex-boyfriend and then throwing it in the bin. After I’ve drawn a diagram of the way I think the marketing department should be structured, I find myself adding more and more notes.
The staff are so stretched that nothing works as it should. Departments seem in denial that they are working for the same organization. Support staff do not support. Helplines do not help.
Still breathing hard, I look at my words. OK. I need to calm down. Thank you, brain, for your thoughts. That’s enough now.
But my brain is still whirling. It doesn’t want to stop. I still have about a thousand words I could write. What do I do?
I look up at Wetsuit Girl, trying to find inspiration. Does she have a job? Is she seething because of her boss? Does she have similar struggles? Maybe holding a surfboard on a beach and looking fab is her job. Maybe her only struggle is, Which wetsuit shall I insert my spectacular body into today? Pah, it’s all right for some—
No. Stop. Abruptly, I realize I’m in danger of sitting here all day thinking curmudgeonly, negative thoughts. Bitching about Wetsuit Girl in my head is not going to help anyone. It’s not her fault she’s shiny and happy. Resolutely, I flip the pages of my bullet journal to the front, turning away from all my stressy work notes. The positive part, with the stickers and the resolutions.
I’ll write down five steps for today. Come on. Go.
1. Meditation.
Yes. Good way to start. I’ll sit on the rock and gaze out to sea and let the sound calm my brain.
2. 100-squat challenge.
I’m not giving up on that. I can do some squats.
3. Communing with nature.
Apparently, this boosts the immune system.
4. Dance like no one is watching.
Apparently, this also boosts the immune system. （What doesn’t boost the immune system? Answer: half a bottle of white wine and a tub of cookies ’n’ cream.）
5. Seashore walk.
Strictly speaking, I did a walk yesterday, but I’m not sure Walk to the shop to buy sugar-filled crap is what Wetsuit Girl had in mind. So let’s try that again.
I underline each entry, and I’m just trying to find some stickers to plonk next to each step when my phone rings. It’s Mum.
“Hi, Mum,” I greet her. “Just doing my bullet journal.”
“Well done, darling!” she enthuses. “And are you feeling any better? Less stressed?”
I think back to my frantic scribblings about Zoose, my pounding heart, my feeling that I want to yell at someone. Hmm. Not really.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “Definitely.”
“Oh, good! Have you been in the sea? Are you following the app?”
“Kind of.” I cross my fingers. “In my own way.”
“Because I read a piece today in my health magazine,” says Mum in the urgent voice she uses for imparting nuggets of information. “Do you know what the most important thing for your well-being is? Your gut!” She delivers the punchline with aplomb. “They think ninety percent of burnout cases are due to poor gut health!”
I stare at my phone dubiously. What percent? Who did they study? That seems very unlikely. But before I can dispute this statistic, Mum’s off again. “Anyway, don’t worry, it’s all in hand. I’ve phoned reception and told them you urgently need some kefir and fermented cabbage.”