“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.”
“Of course he was.” I smile, recalling those days, hugging my knees. “D’you remember how he used to finish every warm-up session? He used to point out to the ocean and say, ‘Go get it.’ ”
“Of course I remember,” says Finn. “It was like his blessing. ‘Go get it.’ ”
“ ‘Infinite waves, infinite chances,’ ” I say, remembering another of Terry’s sayings, and Finn nods.
“ ‘You don’t catch a wave by staring at the sky.’ ”
“ ‘No one remembers the wipeouts.’ ”
“ ‘Don’t doubt around all day.’ ” Finn imitates Terry’s hoarse voice. “ ‘Seize that wave.’ ”
“ ‘Why are you worrying about the sea?’ ” I do my own imitation of Terry. “ ‘The sea sure as hell isn’t worrying about you.’ ”
“ ‘The sea sure as hell isn’t worrying about you.’ ” Finn repeats, laughing.
“And ‘The ride is it.’ ” I turn my head toward Finn. “Remember that? ‘Kids, you have to enjoy the ride. The ride is it.’ ”
“ ‘The ride is it.’ ”
“ ‘The ride is it.’ ”
I lift my glass to Finn, who smiles back and raises his own. As we both sip, with the dark waves crashing onto the sand in front of us, it’s like a little tribute to Terry.
“So, tell me,” says Finn, as we both lower our glasses. “How did you mortify yourself at work?”
“Oh no!” I give a defensive laugh. “You’re not getting me to reveal that.”
“Fair enough.” He pauses, then adds, “But I still can’t believe it was worse than what I did.”
I hear again some of the words he dictated in the dunes. I should not have raised my voice to you in the departmental meeting … slammed my coffee cup down on the boardroom table, causing spillage and damage to papers … punched the coffee vending machine … exhibited frustration with the office ficus plant …
“Can I be honest?” I say.
“Go ahead.”
“You don’t seem like the kind of guy who would slam his coffee cup down, causing spillage and damage to papers. Or threaten to massacre a ficus.”
“Oh, I am,” says Finn, a bit grimly. “I have. I did.”
“You haven’t slammed down a single cup since you’ve been here.”
“That’s because I haven’t been angry. I haven’t been stressed. When I get in a certain state—it’s like a fog comes over my brain.” He exhales deeply, almost despairingly. “I’m not proud. I used to be in control of myself.”
“What happened?”
“I was … in a …” He pauses, his eyes flickering darkly. “I found myself in a difficult situation. I was overdoing it. Not sleeping. I guess I wasn’t the invincible guy I’d kidded myself I was. You know you’re in trouble when your secretary stages an intervention.” He shuts his eyes and rubs his forehead with his fist. “And you start punching vending machines. Not my finest moment.”
“I have always wanted to punch a vending machine,” I say, and he laughs.
“Believe me, it’s not all that.”
“So, what do you do?”
“Management consultant. You?”
“I do marketing for Zoose.”
“I’ve heard of it.” He nods. “I work at Forpower Consulting, which you definitely won’t have heard of. We’re niche. We pretty much just advise green-energy companies.”
“And why did you … What happened to tip you over the edge?”
There’s silence, and something bleak ripples across his face.
“Hard to say,” he says at last, as though speaking with difficulty. “I guess it was a bunch of stuff.” He doesn’t elaborate, and I realize that’s where he’s drawing his line.
“Well, at least you didn’t run away from your office and try to join a convent,” I say, trying to cheer him up.
“A convent?” He looks truly astonished.
“I know!” I bury my face in my hands briefly. “I lost my mind for a moment. My workload got to me and I couldn’t see a way out. Becoming a nun seemed the obvious solution.”