“Herbert?” I echo dubiously, but Cassidy is already hauling me across the sand to where Herbert is sitting in a deck chair, down by the waves, smoking a cigar.
“Herbert!” she says breathlessly as we arrive. “Who’s Finn picking up at the station? And it better not be someone called O-liv-ia.”
Herbert blows out a cloud of smoke and seems to consider this. “He booked a room for a lady,” he declares at last. “Separate room. She’s called Margaret Langdale.”
“Margaret Langdale?” Cassidy stares at him. “Room Sixteen, nonsmoker? That was booked by Finn? You need to tell me these things, Herbert!” She swings round. “Well, there we are. Separate rooms. That’s who he’s gone to get. His separate-rooms friend, Margaret Langdale.”
I can’t quite reply. I can’t even move. My heart is squeezing with the worst emotion in the world: hope. It kills you. For six months I’ve been telling myself that Finn is with Olivia, and I have to make peace with it. Six months. You’d think the “making peace with it” would have stuck.
But it’s instantly fallen away, as if there was never any glue. And now, instead, hope is jumping around me, saying, Maybe, just maybe …
“He’s here,” says Cassidy in my ear, making me jump. “Behind you. Just arrived back. On his own.”
Slowly, feeling unreal, I turn around. And there he is, walking up to me, a tall figure in his sea-green T-shirt, a streak of sand on one leg, his eyes glowing in the light of a nearby fire.
The nearer he gets, the more I want him. I want him so badly, I can’t think about anything else. My mind is consumed. My body is consumed. I’ve been avoiding Finn all afternoon for fear of exactly this kind of one-on-one encounter. Instinctively I back away, but after two steps I’ve reached the sea. A wave washes my ankle, and I find myself taking a step back toward him.
“Hi.” My voice catches in my throat, and I try again. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He meets my gaze, steady and relaxed. “We haven’t really talked. How are you?”
“Really well.” I nod. “You?”
“Really well too.” He smiles. “Job’s good. Haven’t shouted at anyone recently, so that’s a bonus.”
“Have you slammed down a coffee cup, causing spillage and damage to papers?” I can’t help teasing him, even though I’d planned to be formal and reserved today.
“No spillage, nor damage to papers.” His eyes crinkle. “Losing my touch. Whereas you, I hear from Lev, are running the show.”
“Hardly.” I roll my eyes, although it’s quite a thrill to hear that.
“He likes you.” Finn raises his eyebrows. “A lot.”
“Well, I like him.” I pause, watching a foamy wave run onto the beach and away again. “How’s … therapy going?”
“Good. Thanks. I still go, we still talk about stuff.” Finn frowns, rubbing the back of his neck, as though pondering something, then looks directly at me, “We’ve talked about you.”
“Me?” I’m staggered.
“Yes. And I wanted to say, Sasha, I understand now.” He gazes at me earnestly. “You were smart. You were smart to say it wasn’t the right time. We were both in weird places. I wasn’t ready for …” He shakes his head. “I guess neither of us was. Burnout. It’s a bitch.”
The sounds of chatter and music and seagulls all fade away from my head as I gaze back at Finn, trying to process what he’s just said.
“Wait,” I manage at last. “Did you think that I ended things just because we were both burned out?”
“Yes.” Finn seems nonplussed, his eyes scanning my face as though he’s missing something. “Of course. That was the reason. What else?”
“Because of Olivia!” I explode. “Olivia! O-liv-ia!”
“Olivia?” Now it’s Finn’s turn to look staggered. “But that was ages ago. We’d finished before I even met you!”
“I know, but you didn’t tell me about her! You didn’t mention her. I thought you were heartbroken! You didn’t admit you were getting over a breakup; you said it was all about work.”
“It was all about work.” Finn stares at me. “I was overworked. I told you that. Why would you think it wasn’t?”
“Because you would never open up about it!” All my feelings are pouring out. “I told you all about Zoose. You didn’t share anything! I thought you must be using work as a smoke screen.”
“Right,” says Finn, after a long pause. “Right. Right. I see. Yes.”
He lapses into silence. Is that all he’s giving me?
“Yes, what?” I prompt him. “Is there any more to this?”
Finn’s brow is rumpled in his familiar brooding frown, and for an agonizing few moments I hold my breath. I’m trying to be patient but feeling my tension mount, because if he can’t open up, even now.…
“OK.” Finn breathes out and I startle. “Here goes. The reason I didn’t tell you more about my work issues is that I couldn’t. There was … a situation.” His face becomes bleak. “A close colleague of mine became ill. A good friend. She didn’t want anyone to know while she was getting treatment, so I said I’d help her out. I was covering a lot for her. Doing a lot of work at night. Too much. Existing on coffee, basically. And no one else knew.” His face twists at the memory. “It was a suboptimal plan, for me to take everything on. As it turned out.”
“Is she … ?” I begin the question hesitantly.
“Fine.” He nods. “Thanks. The treatment was successful. And eventually, when I went back to work, the whole thing came out. My friend went public. She said it was a relief, actually. But I guess when I was down here, I was still trying to keep it all under wraps.” He gives a short laugh. “I was so bloody stupid. Who were you going to tell?”
My head is spinning. He was helping a friend. He was keeping her secret. He was genuinely overworked. It wasn’t the breakup. I’m seeing everything differently.
“Finn, I’m sorry,” I say tentatively. “That must have been …”
“It was tough for everyone. But it’s over. It’s all good.”
He gives me a cautious smile, and I feel as if he expects me to smile back. As if every question I had has been answered. But they haven’t. And if I’ve learned anything during the last six months, it’s don’t let the little things fester. Not at work. Not in love. Not in life.
“So, who did you meet at the station just now?” I try to sound light. “You told me you were bringing someone, and you looked weird, as if you were trying to hide something. Also, I’ve seen you with Olivia on Instagram, arm in arm at a garden party,” I add, abandoning any attempt to be cool.
Let’s just chuck all of it out there. Every worry, every paranoia, every admission that I’ve been stalking him.
“I saw Olivia at a friend’s thing,” says Finn, looking perplexed. “We’re trying to be friendly. If someone took a photo, I don’t remember.”