For a few seconds, Terry also seems nonplussed as to how to continue. But then his brain seems to click into gear, and he smiles kindly at me.
“You took a tumble. The sea had some fun with you, that’s all. But remember this.” He turns and points out to the gray sea. “You’re never failing, you’re learning. Learning how to manage the sea and how to manage yourself. Everything you did today, right or wrong, was experience. Experience! Can’t beat it. And you’ll learn from it, just you wait. Now, did you get any injuries? Any cuts, bruises?” His gaze roams over the vestiges of the bruise I got from running into the brick wall, and he clicks his tongue. “Does that hurt?”
“No, it doesn’t hurt,” I tell him quickly. “It’s better now.”
“Good!” He looks pleased. “So it’s just inside here we have to fix.” He taps his head.
“I’d love that,” I say. “Believe me.”
“You know what you’ve got to do?” He leans forward, his blue eyes suddenly cogent and intent. “Trust yourself. Believe in yourself. Will you do that?”
“I … OK.” My voice is choked. “I’ll try.”
“Oh, my dear.” Terry’s eyes cast around the beach again, as though he’s trying to work out the reason for my distress. “Look, look, look,” he resumes eventually. “I know your friends laughed at you. And I’m going to have a word. But what you must remember is this. No one remembers the wipeouts. They don’t! People remember the triumphs!” His blue eyes give a hint of the old twinkle. “They’ll remember all the times you caught that wave and you rode it into shore. I’ve seen you do it,” he adds encouragingly. “I know you can do it.”
I can’t move. I can’t reply. His words are hitting me deep inside.
“Now,” adds Terry knowledgeably, “you want to know why you wiped out?”
“Yes,” I say, desperate to hear his answer. “Tell me. Why did I wipe out?”
“Because you tried,” says Terry simply. “You tried, my dear. And that puts you above most people.” He lifts his hand for a high five, and as I gently slap his hand, he clasps mine, his fingers dry and papery. “Believe in yourself. You’ll do well.”
“Thanks, Terry.” Two more tears spill down my face, and I wipe them away. “For … everything. Everything.”
“It’s my pleasure!” Terry looks pleased, and a little confused. “Always a pleasure. You did well today!” His eyes dim, as though he’s losing his own train of thought, then he adds more decisively, “Now, you can leave your board on the beach or take it away for the day. But let Sandra know, won’t you? Oh, hello!”
A broad, bulky woman with a kind smile is approaching us over the sand.
“Time to go, Terry,” she calls, and greets me with a friendly wave. “Hello, there. I’m Deirdre.”
“Hi,” I say, hoping my face isn’t too tearstained. “I’m Sasha. I’m … I used to know Terry.”
“Teach you surfing, did he?” she says.
“Yes. I hadn’t seen him for twenty years. Till now.”
“Ah.” She meets my eyes with a smile of sad understanding. “Well, he’s changed. But still Terry inside, aren’t you, my love? Ready for some tea? And Tessa’ll be round later!”
Terry gives her a docile nod and takes the arm she holds out.
“He’s often here on the beach, if you want to say hello again,” she adds, as she leads him off.
“Thanks,” I say eagerly. “I will. I do. Bye, Terry. It was lovely to see you.”
“The thing you must remember is …” Terry replies intently, as though we’re mid-conversation. “The thing is …” He trails off and blows out, as though in frustration at himself.
“Don’t worry, Terry,” says Deirdre reassuringly. “No rush. Take your time.”
For a moment there’s silence except for the waves and the wind—then Terry seems to recall what he was going to say.
“The thing you must remember is to enjoy the ride.” He looks at me with a sharp blue gaze, and just for an instant I’m looking at the old Terry. “Enjoy every moment. Because if you don’t, what’s the point? The ride is it.”
“I know.” I nod, smiling, even though my eyes are wet. “The ride is it.”
“Exactly.” He nods, looking satisfied, then points at the forbidding gray surf. “All right. Enough talk. Go get it!”
“That’s right,” says Deirdre comfortably. “She’ll go and get that sea. And we’ll go and have some cake. Bye, love.” She smiles at me. “Nice to meet another pupil of Terry’s. There are so many of you, turning up here and there! He must have taught a lot of lessons.”
“Yes,” I say simply. “He did.”
Terry gives me a sweet smile over his shoulder, then walks away with Deirdre, and I sink down onto the deck of the Surf Shack, lost in a mishmash of thoughts and memories.
Fourteen
As I meet Finn that evening for drinks on the beach, I’m brimming over with all my news.
“I saw Terry,” I blurt out as soon as I catch sight of him sitting on the deck with the champagne bottle and glasses ready.
“Terry?” Finn’s face lights up, just as mine did, and I already know he’ll take the news about him as hard as I did. Sure enough, he listens in somber silence as I describe Terry’s frail appearance and confused mind.
“I guess we had to expect …” he says at last. “Terry’s had some wipeouts of his own. We didn’t think he ever would, but he did.”
“You know what he said to me this afternoon?” I raise a flicker of a smile. “ ‘No one remembers the wipeouts. Everyone remembers the triumphs.’ ”
“Well, that sounds like the old Terry.” Finn grins. “Did he end with ‘Go get it’?”
“Yes!” I sit down next to him. “That’s the weird thing! He was the old Terry some of the time. He was saying all the old Terry stuff, he was practically giving me a surfing lesson, only … it wasn’t real.”
“I guess that’s his happy place.” Finn’s eyes soften. “On the beach, teaching kids the thing he loves best.”
“I guess.” I nod. “And lucky us that we got to have him as our teacher.”
“Amen to that.” Finn’s face creases in a smile. “I remember there was a kid in my group one year. After the first day of lessons, his mum decides he’s going to pull out and do crazy golf instead.” Finn suddenly starts laughing. “Terry went ballistic. Not because he couldn’t fill the spot, but because he thought it was morally wrong. As if the first commandment was, ‘Thou shalt surf.’ ”
“I’m sure I’ve heard him say that.” I grin at Finn.
“I was signing my board back into the shop at the time,” continues Finn, “so I was inside the Surf Shack, and I could hear Terry having a go at this woman in the back office. He was saying, ‘I am offering your child heaven. Learning to ride these waves is getting the gates to heaven. Do you understand me? Literally heaven. And you’re choosing crazy golf?’ ”
“What did the kid say?” I ask, agog.
“Just stood there, embarrassed. Probably had a wipeout, got water up his nose, and didn’t like it. Probably never wanted to surf in the first place.”
“He’s probably winning the Masters now,” I say, and Finn laughs.
“Fair enough.” He sips his drink, then stands up. “Oh, I forgot! Wait there.”
He heads along the boardwalk to his own lodge, then returns with something crinkling in his hands. “I bought snacks.”
“Beetroot crisps?” I read the label wonderingly.
“Healthy!” says Finn, sounding pleased with himself. “Possibly also inedible,” he adds as an afterthought. “But it’s a start, right?” He opens the packet and offers me one, then takes one himself.
We both chew silently, eyeing each other.
“Not bad,” I say, after a bit.
“Not great,” says Finn.
“Well, no. Not great either.”
“Life’s too short for beetroot-flavored cardboard,” says Finn decisively. “If you’re going to eat crisps, eat crisps.”
“You sound like Terry,” I say, laughing.