“Yikes,” I say quietly.
“That was …” He shakes his head, looking thunderstruck.
“I wonder what happened?” I wince. “They both looked so miserable.”
I feel quite shaken by seeing such raw distress. I have a ridiculous urge to run after them and give them a hug—but I’m not sure that’s very sensible. Nor will I share this urge with Finn, who will probably laugh at me.
“Should we take their table?” says Finn, pivoting straight on to the practical. “She’s right, it makes sense.”
“No!” I shake my head. “What if they reconcile and come back and we’re sitting at their table?”
“Reconcile?” Finn gives a short, incredulous laugh.
“They might! I reckon Hayley wants to reconcile. She ran after Ade. If she really didn’t want to reconcile, she would have sat back and let him go.”
“Interesting,” says Finn. “But does he want to reconcile?”
“Unsure,” I admit. “But we should leave their table free, just in case.” I hesitate, looking at Finn’s table, then at mine. “Even so, it might be more fun to …”
“Sit together?” says Finn lightly. “Easier than texting. Shall we pull our tables together?”
“Let’s do it.” I nod. “I’ll do mine, you do yours.”
Slowly and carefully, we both start dragging our tables away from the outskirts of the room, toward the center. My wineglass and cutlery are jiggling as I go, but I’m determined to manage it without knocking them over or removing them. Finn is making a similar journey from his side of the room, but as I look up, he removes his wineglass and places it on the carpet.
“Cheat!” I say.
“Just being practical.”
Eventually we meet at a central point, about three meters away from the Wests’ table. We fit our tables together, rearrange the cutlery, get rid of a spare flower vase, then Finn retrieves his wine glass and ushers me into my chair.
“Milady.”
“Thank you!”
He takes his own seat opposite me, and I’m just about to look around for Nikolai when a cry of dismay rings through the air.
“Mr. Birchall!” I turn round to see Simon standing in the doorway, staring at Finn and me, his eyes round with horror. “Mr. Birchall, Ms. Worth, I am mortified. I am appalled. I cannot think what has brought about this catastrophic error. All the staff are fully aware of your desire to be seated as far apart as possible—”
“It’s fine!” I interject quickly, but he doesn’t seem to hear.
“We at the Rilston pride ourselves on—” He breaks off. “Cassidy! What is this?” He gestures wildly at us. “What is this I’m seeing?”
As Cassidy spots us sitting together, she nearly drops the water jug she’s carrying.
“I don’t know!” she says defensively. “But it’s not my fault! I seated them miles apart from each other! Miles apart!” At this moment, Nikolai joins the group, and she rounds on him. “Nikolai, did you move the tables?”
“No!” Nikolai seems horrified at the sight of us. “No, no, no!”
“Well, separate them, quick!” hisses Simon in a savage undertone. “Mr. Birchall, Ms. Worth,” he says more loudly, stepping forward, “my apologies for this unfortunate oversight. If you would like to enjoy a complimentary drink in the bar, we will rearrange your seating to a more conducive—”
“We’d rather stay like this,” Finn cuts him off mildly. “At the same table. If we may?”
“It was us,” I add, gesturing at the furniture. “We pulled the tables together.”
“It was …” Simon looks utterly bewildered, his head swiveling from me to Finn and back again. “It was you?”
“I hope that’s OK,” adds Finn. “There was no one around to consult, so we took matters into our own hands.”
“But why do you want to sit together?” blurts out Cassidy. “You’re not a couple. You can’t stand each other!” Her gaze narrows. “Are you a couple?”
Just for a microsecond, my stomach flutters at the word couple, and I blink. Wait. Why did that happen? Why the flutter?
Oh my God.
Am I … could I be … is it at all possible I’m interested in sex, suddenly? Am I finally coming alive again? Am I waking up?
Quickly, I try to imagine a sex scene, to tease myself—to test myself. Come on. What’s sexy? Two naked bodies. Copulating.
Argh. No. Bad word.
Having intercourse.
Argh. Also a bad word.
Every vision of sex I conjure up seems distant and irrelevant. So maybe I’m not fully back to life. But I definitely felt something. Will it come back? Maybe?
“No, we’re not a couple,” Finn is saying patiently. “We’re just two guests hanging out together who wanted to chat. Right, Sasha?”
“Right!” I give a super-bright smile. “Just that.”
“I see!” says Simon at last, in the tones of someone who totally doesn’t see. “Well. Enjoy your dinner.”
Fifteen
God, the sea air smells good. Everything feels and smells and tastes good at the moment, I realize. From the breeze to my new organic shower gel. My senses are coming alive, my energy levels are up, everything’s feeling good. No libido as yet, but I don’t even care about that, as I am a healthy, balanced person with many facets in my life, from exercise to fun to friendship. I’ve been in text contact with Dinah every day, and after each conversation, I’m smiling.
Best of all, I’ve stopped waking up every morning obsessing about Zoose and writing a thousand words of raging, frustrated notes. I’m not planning what to say to Joanne. I’m not rerunning all my most miserable moments at the company. I’ve let it go. Finally. When I get back to the office, that’s when I’ll start thinking about it again. Not till then.
I don’t know what’s helped most—the squats, the sleep, the sea air, or just Finn’s company. It’s a week since we dragged the tables together at dinner—and since then we’ve done something together every single day. I’ve screamed myself hoarse, flying over the trees on the zip wire. We’ve walked the cliff path. We’ve looked round the tiny Museum of Seashore Oddities at Campion Sands and tried to hide our giggles from the elderly curator. We’ve eaten delicious picnics made for us by Chef Leslie and even shared a tub of fermented cabbage （which tasted surprisingly OK）。
Today, we’ve clambered over rocks, I’ve ripped my jeans, Finn has drenched his trainers in a shallow pool, and we’ve both eaten our second massive cream tea. And now we’re idly walking around Kettle Cove, our steps crunching on the pebbles. The late-afternoon air is mild; there’s even a hint of spring in the air.
“Chocolate?” says Finn, producing a box from his pocket, and I laugh.
“I’m too full. And I can’t believe you brought them.”
The chocolates were on the beach outside the lodges this morning, along with a message much the same as the previous ones: To the couple on the beach. With appreciation. 8/18. They’ve been coming every day, and I’ve almost given up trying to guess what they mean. Except I know it’s not art, I just know it.