But will this colleague reveal any details about him to a member of the hotel staff? No, surely not. I need to correct that misunderstanding.
“Actually, I don’t work for the hotel, I’m a guest,” I clarify. “But I’ll talk to them, and I’m sure they can arrange something. Obviously, Finn’s been really stressed recently, so I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I’m a friend of his,” I add casually. “We’ve become quite close. Confidants, in fact. So I know a lot of … what went on.”
“Oh, thank goodness!” she exclaims. “Well, I can ask you, then. Is he all right? Because we’ve been very worried.”
“He’s fine,” I say reassuringly. “He’s on the mend. As much as he can be, after … what happened.”
“I’m so glad,” says the woman. “We’re all so fond of Finn. We miss him!”
My mind is feverishly taking notes. They’re all so fond of Finn. And they miss him. Even though he slammed his coffee cup down, punched a vending machine, and threatened a ficus—despite all that, they miss him. So there’s more to the story. I knew it.
“Has he spoken about it much?” she continues sympathetically.
“Not really,” I say honestly.
“Well, why would he?” She sighs. “Heartbreak is always painful. And when it’s a glorious, perfect couple like Finn and Olivia … I’m not surprised he had a delayed reaction. We could all see he was under strain for weeks.”
Hmmmrgh?
My fingers have frozen around the phone. My vision has gone a bit blurry.
Finn and Olivia? Glorious, perfect couple?
Heartbreak?
I have to speak, I realize. Speak, Sasha. Speak, or this conversation is over and I’ll never know anything else.
“I know what you mean.” Somehow I’m forcing words out of my mouth. “These things just don’t seem real, do they?”
“Exactly!” the woman exclaims. “We all thought they’d get married! I mean, the chemistry between them—you could just feel it! I used to say to my husband—” The woman breaks off. “You haven’t met her, have you?”
“No,” I say, my voice light and lilting. “Remind me of her full name? I was trying to recall her surname.”
“Olivia Parham. She hasn’t been down, has she?”
“Not as far as I know,” I say, and the woman sighs again.
“Oh, that’s a shame. I was so hoping they would … you know. Patch it up. She’s so good for him, and he’s always been hopelessly in love with her. Well, I’m sure you know that, if you’re his confidante.”
“Absolutely.” There’s a weird rictus smile plastered on my face. “No secrets between us.”
“She brings out the best in Finn, you know?” says the woman, who is clearly wanting to chat. “She balances him out somehow. I mean, she can be quite direct, but he needs someone robust. The number of times I’ve heard her call him a workaholic. And he needed to hear it, believe me!” She breaks into laughter and I seize up still further.
Workaholic. Self-centered. Nightmare.
It all falls into place.
“Sometimes people just don’t belong together,” I say, trying desperately to get some control of this conversation.
“Oh, I know that,” says the woman wistfully. “But not Finn and Olivia. I don’t know what went wrong, after ten years together.”
“Ten years!” Just for a moment, my composure slips. “Ten years,” I repeat, my throat clenching up. “Absolutely. It’s baffling how a … a successful relationship like that could go wrong.”
“Well, as I say, I’m sure it’s just a temporary little blip,” says the woman. “We’re all still expecting invites to the wedding! His assistant, Mary, has already bought her hat! Will I see you there too?” She laughs, a warm friendly laugh, and I know I should join in, but I can’t, I just can’t.
“Who knows?” I say shrilly. “Should be fun, anyway. Anyway, I must go, I’m afraid, but if you give me your name, I’ll get the hotel staff to call you about a hamper.”
“You’re very kind!” exclaims the woman after I’ve scribbled down her details. “And I’m so glad Finn’s got a nice friend down there looking after him.… Oh, I never asked. What’s your name?”
I feel a spasm of panic and swallow several times, thinking how to play this.
“Don’t worry about me!” I say at last, easy-breezy. “I’m nobody. Goodbye!”
I put the phone down and stare ahead, my heart heavy with sadness, feeling everything crack around me.
No wonder he didn’t talk much about his burnout. That’s not why he came here. He came here after a bad breakup and that’s why he assumed the same of me when he saw the ice-cream tubs in my lodge.
I suddenly remember him staring out to sea, saying Heartache. Burnout. Breakup. Fuckwit bosses.
I glossed over heartache. I glossed over breakup. But he was telling me something. He had a broken heart.
That evening I sit on my bed, hunched over my phone, wretched. I’ve pieced it all together, from remembered snippets of conversation, from Google search, and, most of all, from Instagram. Not his, hers. He doesn’t do Instagram. He just does the odd business-like tweet about his consultancy. But Olivia obviously loves taking photos, loves sharing them, loves engaging with her family and friends in chatty comments—and why wouldn’t she, with such an attractive face, such a great sense of humor, such a gilded life?
It’s not gilded in a conventional sense. That’s the worst of it. It’s not glossy or glamorous or stage-managed. It’s just warm and down to earth, with photos of her and Finn and family and dogs and barbecues and a new nephew in a onesie and cheesy Christmas sweaters under the tree and …
After a bit I have to stop scrolling. I’ve gone back seven years of their life, gazing at every moment, even watching Olivia’s sister’s “baby’s first Christmas” video because it’s so damn adorable. This is ridiculous. It’s tragic. I’m not supposed to be doomscrolling. I’ve promised myself I won’t. Yet with every photo I see, the doom increases. That colleague on the phone was right. Finn and Olivia are a glorious, perfect couple with a hinterland, a past, a joined-togetherness that I can only marvel at.
Then it ends. The photos dry up, bar one image of Olivia in silhouette, with a million loving comments, broken hearts, and kisses from her friends underneath. That must be when they split. Two months ago.
So they’ve had a blip. What kind of blip, I can’t imagine, except that it made Finn distraught and angry and unable to sleep. Angry at her? Angry at himself? How would I know?
But ten years. Ten years. It makes my heart ache. You don’t give up on that in a hurry, even if you have a blip. You have the blip, the row, the moment of madness, the standoff—and then you go back to normal. You recommit. You realize what you’re in danger of throwing away and you go and grab it again.
Finn and Olivia will grab each other again. I know it. I see their faces together—happy, connected, relaxed—and I know it. If he’s been manifesting anything on the beach, it’s that. It’s her. His desolate eyes make sense. His anger at the world makes sense. It all makes sense now.