“But you’re telling Finn now,” I say curiously. “Why?”
“Patrick and I are getting divorced.” Gabrielle juts out her chin. “It’s over. There’s no reason to lie anymore. That’s why I came to tell you,” she says, addressing Finn. “I’ve had enough of lying.”
“So does Patrick know it’s not him in the painting?” I can’t ask help asking.
“He does now.” She looks shamefaced. “I told him a couple of years ago, actually. He was pretty shocked. I don’t know if that’s what started our problems. Or did I tell him because I secretly knew it was over?” For a moment she’s silent, and I see a mix of emotions pass across her face. “Anyway, that’s what this is.” She points at the message in the sand. “It’s fans. I’ll show you. Mavis’s assistant takes photos every year. She calls it ‘Fan Activity.’ ” Gabrielle takes out her phone and starts searching. “You know there are Young Love tours to Rilston?”
“I heard,” I say.
“Well, they do beach messages too. They do all sorts.”
She hands me her phone, and wordlessly I scroll through a series of images. Couples re-creating the kiss in Young Love. Names written on the sand. I see Young Love written on the sand again and again, sometimes decorated with flowers.
“The messages started after Mavis did an exhibition of slogans on the beach,” explains Gabrielle. “The super-fans follow her like a guru. It’s nuts.”
“It’s incredible,” I say at last, and hand the phone to Finn. “It’s a whole world.”
“Guess that painting speaks to a lot of people,” says Gabrielle, as Finn starts scrolling.
“Guess it does.” I nod.
“It spoke to me when I first saw it,” she adds ruefully. “I thought, ‘Shit! Busted.’ I was in the gallery with Patrick. He was like, ‘Oh my God, look, babe, that’s us!’ I panicked. I said, ‘Yes, it’s us!’ and that was it. Sorry,” she adds once more to Finn, biting her lip.
“Believe me,” says Finn, looking up from the images, “I feel as though I’ve had a lucky escape. And I would be very happy if we keep this revelation to ourselves.”
“Fair enough.” Gabrielle shrugs. “I’ll keep schtum.”
“So how on earth did you know I’d be here?” asks Finn in sudden curiosity. “You haven’t been stalking me, have you?”
“No!” She laughs wryly. “The truth is, I’ve been planning to find you for ages now, but I never did anything about it. Life gets in the way, you know? Then I saw your name on the guest list for the Mavis Adler event and I thought, no way! It said you were staying at the Rilston, so I went and asked and they said you’d probably be on the beach. I couldn’t believe it would be so easy. If I hadn’t found you this morning, I was planning to tell you at the event.” Her eyes drift down again to the message on the sand. “ ‘The couple on the beach,’ ” she reads aloud, curiously. “That’s different. Normally they write ‘the young lovers.’ ”
“Actually …” I swallow, feeling embarrassed. “Actually, I wrote that message.”
“You wrote it?” Gabrielle stares at me. “But you’re not a fan.”
“It wasn’t …” I rub my nose awkwardly. “It was a different thing.”
“But the flowers just appeared,” puts in Finn.
“Fans,” says Gabrielle. “They do that.”
I can’t explain my own reaction to all of Gabrielle’s answers. Why am I so prickly? I should be thrilled. We’ve cracked the mystery.
But I secretly think she’s wrong.
“We’ve been getting messages on the sand almost since we arrived here,” explains Finn. “We thought it was … something else.”
Silently I get out my phone, find my folder of photos, and show Gabrielle all the messages on the beach. She looks at them without a flicker, then nods.
“Fans.”
Something inside me clenches rebelliously. She just sounds so dismissive. To her credit, Gabrielle seems to pick up that something’s amiss, because she adds, “What did you think they were?”
“The messages mentioned a date,” I explain defensively. “It was the date of a big kayak accident that happened here years ago. We thought it might be connected.”
“Oh, I remember the accident.” Gabrielle frowns vaguely. “But who would write messages on the beach about that?”
“Don’t know,” I admit.
“That’s what we couldn’t crack,” explains Finn. “Tell me, did Mavis Adler paint Young Love on August eighteenth? Because that would explain a lot.”
“Not sure,” says Gabrielle, after a moment’s thought. “It was August, but I don’t know what date.”
“We also thought it might be Mavis Adler doing a new art project,” I put in.
“That’s more likely,” says Gabrielle, nodding. “Except she’s moved on from the beach. She does weird metal stuff. And some secret thing called Titan.” She turns to Finn. “Listen. I know you want to stay anonymous, but can we tell Mavis, at least?”
“What?” Finn seems unnerved. “But won’t she tell everyone?”
“No,” Gabrielle assures him. “She doesn’t even like talking about Young Love anymore. But I’ve felt so bad all these years, lying to her. And I think she suspects it was never Patrick. I’m seeing her for coffee in a minute. Would you come?” She looks at Finn pleadingly. “She lives close by; it won’t take long. And it’ll be our secret.” Gabrielle makes a gesture to include me. “Our secret.”
Finn glances at me. “D’you think I should?”
“Of course!”
“Really?” He makes a dubious face. “Is it necessary? Couldn’t I just leave it?”
“Finn, you’re in a world-famous painting,” I say firmly. “You have a chance to meet the artist who immortalized you. You have to.”
“Come too,” Finn suggests to me, but I shake my head. I’m not going to wade into Finn’s big moment with Mavis Adler—it’s his thing. I’ll admit that Gabrielle makes me feel twitchy—for lots of reasons—but if I can’t trust him to go for coffee with her and Mavis, then that says something about me.
“No. This is about you, Finn. You’re a celebrity now, you know that?” I add lightly.
Finn rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he says, but he sounds good-humored. “OK, let’s go.” He addresses Gabrielle, then glances at me. “Catch you later?”
“Definitely. Ask Mavis what date she painted Young Love!” I add quickly.
“Yes.” Finn nods. “Will do.”
I watch as they walk away, then sit down on the sand, trying to process everything. Finn is the boy in Young Love. He’s on my tote bag. He’s everywhere, all over the world. I can’t quite believe it.
Then I glance at the bouquet on the sand and feel a spurt of defiance. I know it makes sense that a Mavis Adler fan wrote all the messages. But I just don’t believe it. I don’t feel it.