A few moments later, Finn gets up from his table and comes over to mine. Unlike me, he doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the Wests, who are still in their stony, wretched silence. He strides confidently across the floor, making a thunderous series of creaking sounds, and greets me in a resounding voice.
“OK, additional plan. What about cream tea afterward? Or are you too health-conscious for a cream tea?”
“No!” I say, laughing. “I have to have a cream tea at least once while I’m in Devon. It’s the law.”
“Well, exactly,” says Finn. “It’s compulsory. I’ll see if there’s anywhere near Kettle Cove, shall I?”
“I think we went a few times to somewhere called The Tea Kettle?”
“Yes. I know that place. I’ll see if they’re still open. And when Nikolai shows up, I’ll order the saddle of lamb for us both.” He salutes me, then strides back to his place.
A moment later, it occurs to me that we should order some side dishes. I leap up, and I’m trying to make my way unobtrusively across the room, picking my way over the creaky floorboards, when Mrs. West gives such an obvious huff of annoyance that I pause.
“Sorry if I’m disturbing you,” I say humbly. “I just wanted to ask my friend something else.”
“I have an idea: Why don’t you have our table and we’ll go and sit at yours?” says Mrs. West in short, brittle tones. “It’s not as if we’ve got anything to say to each other, and it’ll save you two getting up and down all the time.” She starts to gather her bag and scarf, while I watch in consternation.
“Hayley!” exclaims Mr. West.
“Well, it’s true,” she says, her eyes suddenly glittering with tears. “What have we got to talk about?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he mutters.
“We came here to rescue things. How is sitting in silence rescuing things?”
“Well, what am I meant to say?” Mr. West bursts out miserably. “Sorry for everything I’ve ever done, since before I knew you? I’ve said I’m sorry, Hayley. I can’t say it anymore.”
“You say it, but you don’t mean it!” she answers shrilly, then claps a tissue over her face.
“I don’t know what I mean anymore,” says Mr. West in heavy tones. “I’ve lost the will to live.” He gestures roughly at Finn and me. “I don’t care if they hear it.”
He strides out of the room and Hayley stares after him, her face getting pinker and pinker—then she gives a gasp and follows him. A moment later I hear her calling, “Ade! Adrian!”
For a few moments, neither Finn nor I move. Eventually, cautiously, I turn to face him.
“Yikes,” I say quietly.
“That was …” He shakes his head, looking thunderstruck.
“I wonder what happened?” I wince. “They both looked so miserable.”
I feel quite shaken by seeing such raw distress. I have a ridiculous urge to run after them and give them a hug—but I’m not sure that’s very sensible. Nor will I share this urge with Finn, who will probably laugh at me.
“Should we take their table?” says Finn, pivoting straight on to the practical. “She’s right, it makes sense.”
“No!” I shake my head. “What if they reconcile and come back and we’re sitting at their table?”
“Reconcile?” Finn gives a short, incredulous laugh.
“They might! I reckon Hayley wants to reconcile. She ran after Ade. If she really didn’t want to reconcile, she would have sat back and let him go.”
“Interesting,” says Finn. “But does he want to reconcile?”
“Unsure,” I admit. “But we should leave their table free, just in case.” I hesitate, looking at Finn’s table, then at mine. “Even so, it might be more fun to …”
“Sit together?” says Finn lightly. “Easier than texting. Shall we pull our tables together?”
“Let’s do it.” I nod. “I’ll do mine, you do yours.”
Slowly and carefully, we both start dragging our tables away from the outskirts of the room, toward the center. My wineglass and cutlery are jiggling as I go, but I’m determined to manage it without knocking them over or removing them. Finn is making a similar journey from his side of the room, but as I look up, he removes his wineglass and places it on the carpet.
“Cheat!” I say.
“Just being practical.”
Eventually we meet at a central point, about three meters away from the Wests’ table. We fit our tables together, rearrange the cutlery, get rid of a spare flower vase, then Finn retrieves his wine glass and ushers me into my chair.
“Milady.”
“Thank you!”
He takes his own seat opposite me, and I’m just about to look around for Nikolai when a cry of dismay rings through the air.
“Mr. Birchall!” I turn round to see Simon standing in the doorway, staring at Finn and me, his eyes round with horror. “Mr. Birchall, Ms. Worth, I am mortified. I am appalled. I cannot think what has brought about this catastrophic error. All the staff are fully aware of your desire to be seated as far apart as possible—”
“It’s fine!” I interject quickly, but he doesn’t seem to hear.
“We at the Rilston pride ourselves on—” He breaks off. “Cassidy! What is this?” He gestures wildly at us. “What is this I’m seeing?”
As Cassidy spots us sitting together, she nearly drops the water jug she’s carrying.
“I don’t know!” she says defensively. “But it’s not my fault! I seated them miles apart from each other! Miles apart!” At this moment, Nikolai joins the group, and she rounds on him. “Nikolai, did you move the tables?”
“No!” Nikolai seems horrified at the sight of us. “No, no, no!”
“Well, separate them, quick!” hisses Simon in a savage undertone. “Mr. Birchall, Ms. Worth,” he says more loudly, stepping forward, “my apologies for this unfortunate oversight. If you would like to enjoy a complimentary drink in the bar, we will rearrange your seating to a more conducive—”
“We’d rather stay like this,” Finn cuts him off mildly. “At the same table. If we may?”
“It was us,” I add, gesturing at the furniture. “We pulled the tables together.”
“It was …” Simon looks utterly bewildered, his head swiveling from me to Finn and back again. “It was you?”
“I hope that’s OK,” adds Finn. “There was no one around to consult, so we took matters into our own hands.”
“But why do you want to sit together?” blurts out Cassidy. “You’re not a couple. You can’t stand each other!” Her gaze narrows. “Are you a couple?”
Just for a microsecond, my stomach flutters at the word couple, and I blink. Wait. Why did that happen? Why the flutter?
Oh my God.
Am I … could I be … is it at all possible I’m interested in sex, suddenly? Am I finally coming alive again? Am I waking up?
Quickly, I try to imagine a sex scene, to tease myself—to test myself. Come on. What’s sexy? Two naked bodies. Copulating.
Argh. No. Bad word.
Having intercourse.
Argh. Also a bad word.
Every vision of sex I conjure up seems distant and irrelevant. So maybe I’m not fully back to life. But I definitely felt something. Will it come back? Maybe?
“No, we’re not a couple,” Finn is saying patiently. “We’re just two guests hanging out together who wanted to chat. Right, Sasha?”
“Right!” I give a super-bright smile. “Just that.”
“I see!” says Simon at last, in the tones of someone who totally doesn’t see. “Well. Enjoy your dinner.”
Fifteen
God, the sea air smells good. Everything feels and smells and tastes good at the moment, I realize. From the breeze to my new organic shower gel. My senses are coming alive, my energy levels are up, everything’s feeling good. No libido as yet, but I don’t even care about that, as I am a healthy, balanced person with many facets in my life, from exercise to fun to friendship. I’ve been in text contact with Dinah every day, and after each conversation, I’m smiling.