Fourteen
As I meet Finn that evening for drinks on the beach, I’m brimming over with all my news.
“I saw Terry,” I blurt out as soon as I catch sight of him sitting on the deck with the champagne bottle and glasses ready.
“Terry?” Finn’s face lights up, just as mine did, and I already know he’ll take the news about him as hard as I did. Sure enough, he listens in somber silence as I describe Terry’s frail appearance and confused mind.
“I guess we had to expect …” he says at last. “Terry’s had some wipeouts of his own. We didn’t think he ever would, but he did.”
“You know what he said to me this afternoon?” I raise a flicker of a smile. “ ‘No one remembers the wipeouts. Everyone remembers the triumphs.’ ”
“Well, that sounds like the old Terry.” Finn grins. “Did he end with ‘Go get it’？”
“Yes!” I sit down next to him. “That’s the weird thing! He was the old Terry some of the time. He was saying all the old Terry stuff, he was practically giving me a surfing lesson, only … it wasn’t real.”
“I guess that’s his happy place.” Finn’s eyes soften. “On the beach, teaching kids the thing he loves best.”
“I guess.” I nod. “And lucky us that we got to have him as our teacher.”
“Amen to that.” Finn’s face creases in a smile. “I remember there was a kid in my group one year. After the first day of lessons, his mum decides he’s going to pull out and do crazy golf instead.” Finn suddenly starts laughing. “Terry went ballistic. Not because he couldn’t fill the spot, but because he thought it was morally wrong. As if the first commandment was, ‘Thou shalt surf.’ ”
“I’m sure I’ve heard him say that.” I grin at Finn.
“I was signing my board back into the shop at the time,” continues Finn, “so I was inside the Surf Shack, and I could hear Terry having a go at this woman in the back office. He was saying, ‘I am offering your child heaven. Learning to ride these waves is getting the gates to heaven. Do you understand me? Literally heaven. And you’re choosing crazy golf?’ ”
“What did the kid say?” I ask, agog.
“Just stood there, embarrassed. Probably had a wipeout, got water up his nose, and didn’t like it. Probably never wanted to surf in the first place.”
“He’s probably winning the Masters now,” I say, and Finn laughs.
“Fair enough.” He sips his drink, then stands up. “Oh, I forgot! Wait there.”
He heads along the boardwalk to his own lodge, then returns with something crinkling in his hands. “I bought snacks.”
“Beetroot crisps?” I read the label wonderingly.
“Healthy!” says Finn, sounding pleased with himself. “Possibly also inedible,” he adds as an afterthought. “But it’s a start, right?” He opens the packet and offers me one, then takes one himself.
We both chew silently, eyeing each other.
“Not bad,” I say, after a bit.
“Not great,” says Finn.
“Well, no. Not great either.”
“Life’s too short for beetroot-flavored cardboard,” says Finn decisively. “If you’re going to eat crisps, eat crisps.”
“You sound like Terry,” I say, laughing.
“Excellent,” says Finn. “If in doubt, think, ‘What would Terry say?’ He’d say, ‘Eat the damn crisps and enjoy them.’ ” Finn folds over the beetroot-crisp packet and puts it aside, then adds, “As I said before, pretty much everything I’ve learned about life, I learned from Terry Connolly.”
I gaze curiously at Finn over my glass. At first, I thought this guy was the most obnoxious monster in the world. But the more we talk, the more we chime. The more I relate to him. The more I recognize. I want to know his opinion on things, I realize. I feel like they might be wise opinions. There aren’t too many people I can say that about. We’re both quiet for a bit, and I stare up into the dark, star-speckled sky. Maybe all this time I just needed a friend.
An hour later, the champagne bottle is empty and I’m shivering. It’s time to go inside.
“I can’t face room service again,” I say as we walk back up to the hotel. “I’m going to eat in the dining room.”
“Me too,” says Finn. “I actually booked a table.”
“You booked a table?” I can’t help giggling. “What, to beat the crowds?”
“Habit,” admits Finn. “I rang down and said, ‘Do you have availability for dinner tonight?’ Whereupon Cassidy spent about half an hour trying to access the system, and then do you know what she said? ‘I think we can fit you in, Mr. Birchall.’ ”
“Fit you in?” I collapse into fresh laughter. “Fit you in to the empty dining room?”
“Maybe they’ve got hordes of people arriving tonight,” says Finn with a shrug. “Anything’s possible. Do you have plans tomorrow?” he adds casually.
“I haven’t thought. More of the same, I suppose.”
“Only, I was wondering,” he says, pushing open the back door of the hotel. “D’you fancy going to Kettle Cove? We could walk along the cliff path.”
“I’d love to.” I beam at him. “Brilliant idea.”
By now we’ve arrived at the door to the dining room and I blink in surprise. It’s even more cavernous than before, because some of the tables and chairs have vanished, leaving only dents in the carpet in their place. Other than the fake, table-like contraption in the bay window, there are now only three dining tables in the entire vast space. There’s my little table on one side of the room. There’s Finn’s table on the other side. And there’s a table for two, right in the center of the room, at which the Wests are seated, looking supremely uncomfortable.
“Wow.” I gape at the new arrangement. “What happened?”
“We sold some furniture!” says Cassidy brightly, coming up behind me in a bright-red jacket, which looks like part of an air-hostess uniform. “On eBay! Got three hundred quid, not bad! Were you wanting to eat in the dining room tonight, Ms. Worth?”
“If there’s … space?” I say, darting a look at Finn. “I haven’t booked, I’m afraid.”
“Hmmm …” Cassidy looks thoughtfully around the empty dining room. “Yes, I believe we can seat you. Table for one, was it? And, Mr. Birchall, you’ve already reserved a table.”
“I thought it wise to book,” says Finn gravely, and I bite my lip.
“Excellent!” says Cassidy earnestly. “Now, I know you’ll want to be as far away from Ms. Worth as possible,” she adds to Finn. “Indeed, this is a priority for you both. So I will just point out that our new, improved seating arrangement creates even more space between the two of you than before. There are ten meters between your tables!” She smiles proudly at us both. “Ten full meters! And hopefully your dining experience will be all the more agreeable for this adjustment. It was Simon’s idea.”