“Terry’s up for teaching,” I say simply. “And I’m up for learning. There’s the sand.” I gesture. “There’s the sea. Let’s do it.”
“I’m up for learning too,” says Lev firmly. “Can I rent a suit and a board?”
Sean looks a bit freaked out. “OK, listen, if you’re really doing this … This is not a lesson.” He glances at Terry. “This is not insured. This is nothing to do with me.”
“Understood.” I nod.
“Then go for it.” Sean’s face crinkles in a smile. “Maybe I’ll join in. Let me get you both boards.”
As I jog back to the lodges, I’m looking around for Finn, but I can’t see him anywhere, so I send him a text and hope he’ll get it in time.
Surf’s up. Class is on at the Surf Shack. Terry says you’re late. X
It’s like going back in time. It could be the old Terry teaching us. It’s unbelievable.
As he runs through the familiar warm-up routine, yelling instructions all the while; as he makes us lie down and paddle on the sand; as he gets us crouching and standing up … It’s Terry. He’s assured, he’s funny, he has gimlet eyes and notices every error.
“Look, look, look,” he keeps saying to Lev. “You’re going to need to be strong. Got it?” He jabs him in the stomach, and Lev wobbles on his board. “See? That’s no good. You need to be strong.” His gaze drifts away down the beach. “Now, who’s this?”
I turn to see—and my heart lifts. It’s Finn, in his black wetsuit, running along the sand with his board. He meets my eyes with a kind of disbelieving What the hell? expression, and I smile back.
“You’re late!” I call.
“Sorry,” says Finn. “Sorry, Terry.”
“Sorry is no good, young man!” Terry calls to him, exasperated. “Sorry is no good! You’re not warmed up, you’ve missed the basics.…”
“I’ll catch up,” says Finn quickly, then walks right over to Terry. Despite everything I’ve told him, I can see he’s shocked at Terry’s frail appearance but trying to hide it. “How are you doing, Terry?” he says. “I’m Finn. Finn Birchall. I don’t know if you remember me—”
“You’re late is who you are,” says Terry crisply. “So I wouldn’t be wasting time on words if I were you.”
“Fair enough.” Finn grins. “Glad nothing’s changed.”
By the time he reappears with his board, Terry is midstream again, and Finn flashes me a grin.
“The board is rigid, do you understand?” Terry slaps his board for effect. “It’s helpless. Without your skill, it would get tossed about on the waves. But, luckily, you all have superpowers—let’s call them surferpowers.” He twinkles at us, knowing he’s got everyone’s attention. “So use them! Your surferpower is flexibility.” He points at Finn, and I remember how he sometimes used to do this: give us surferpowers before we went in the water. “Yours is perseverance,” he says, pointing at Sean. “And yours is vision,” he tells Lev. “Eyes forward!”
“Eyes forward!” repeats Lev, who is standing stiffly on his board, looking totally uncomfortable in his surfing stance. “Got it!”
“What’s mine?” I can’t help asking. I know it’s needy, but I’m worried Terry will drift away and forget me. And I really want a surferpower.
For a moment Terry gazes at me with that blank, bewildered look, and I’m afraid I’m too late—but then he snaps back.
“Yours is love,” he says, as though it’s obvious. “Can’t surf without love. Why do we get in the water in the first place? Why do we keep on trying, paddling, wiping out, picking ourselves up, going out there again?” He turns to survey the ocean. “Because we love it.”
There’s a silent beat as Terry stands there, a frail old man, surveying the ocean he’s spent so much of his life in, while we all watch him. And suddenly I’m blinking hard, because I hope he realizes it’s not the waves we’re loving right now. It’s not the waves that brought us here today. It’s him.
Should I tell him? Say something?
But already he’s wheeling round to us, exactly like the old Terry, and the moment’s gone.
“OK, kids,” he says, and points to the ocean. “Enough talk. Go get it.”
Twenty-Three
An hour later, I’m sitting with Finn in the shallows, his arm around me, our legs tangled up together. I can’t stop smiling. In fact, I think I’ve been smiling solidly for an hour. My face will be stuck like this forever.
“The waves,” I say wonderingly.
“I know.” Finn grins. “Incredible. Thanks for texting me.”
“Oh God, of course,” I say. “You couldn’t miss Terry’s special guest appearance.”
The lesson has long since finished. Sean has left the sea to get on with stuff in the Surf Shack. Terry has been collected by his friendly carer, Deirdre, and we’ve all clasped his hand, thanking him. Lev has had one too many wipeouts and is now getting dressed in the Surf Shack. It’s Finn and me on an empty beach again.
He leans in to kiss me, his mouth salty from the sea, and I run a hand through his surfy hair. If I could just kiss this man forever, on this beach, I’d be OK. Why can’t life just be kissing on beaches?
“What time do you have to leave for London?” I murmur.
“Not till three. So.” He meets my eyes with a glint. “Plenty of time.”
“Maybe you could help me off with my wetsuit?” I bat my eyelashes at him. “They’re so difficult to manage.”
“I’d be delighted. Turn around.…” Finn reaches for my zip and slowly pulls it down my back. “How’s that?”
“Thanks,” I say, unpeeling the top half of my wetsuit. “That’s better.”
Finn nods, then casually reaches out a hand and tugs down my swimsuit strap. “And this is even better,” he says.
Already I’m aching for him. I’m forensically measuring the time it will take us to get from here to the lodge, rip our wetsuits off, and make use of the sofa. Or the floor. Or whatever.
Except I guess I should say goodbye to Lev first. I turn to see if he’s out of the Surf Shack yet and see Sean watching us in amusement.
“Hi, Sean,” I call out, expecting Finn to take his hand out of my swimsuit. But instead he moves it to my breast.
“Stop it!” I manage, trying not to lose it as he caresses me. “We’re— Stop! People can see.”
“I want to get a room,” Finn says against my neck. “Now. Shall we go?”
“I have to say goodbye to Lev,” I say. “He’s my old boss. He came to find me. I can’t just scoot off.”
“Fine, have a life,” says Finn, in such deadpan, comical tones that I laugh.
“You can talk! How was Mavis Adler, anyway? Was she shocked to meet you?”
“Not at all,” says Finn, finally removing his hand from my swimsuit. “Her exact words were, ‘Well, about bloody time! I always knew it wasn’t Patrick. Wrong-shaped head.’ ”