I also want to ask, Who called you a workaholic, self-centered, or a nightmare? Because I can believe the first one, but not the second two. But it seems tactless to mention it. I’ll leave it for now.
“Work in progress,” says Finn, after a pause.
“What about sleep? You slept last night. A bit, at least,” I add with a smile.
“I slept pretty good.” Finn kisses me. “Can’t think why.”
“When are you having your first therapy?”
“Oh, that,” says Finn. “I’m actually going up to London to see this therapist this evening. Just overnight. I’ll be back here tomorrow.”
“Wow.” I widen my eyes.
“She said we should have our first session in person. After that, we can Zoom or whatever.”
His mood seems to have plummeted. He’s deeply apprehensive, I can tell.
“She’ll only find good things, Finn,” I say, putting my hands either side of his face so he looks at me full-on. “You’re the kindest person I know. The wisest. The best.”
“You can’t know many people, then,” says Finn with a laugh. But I can see he’s relaxed a smidge, and I pull him in for a hug. I’m manifesting the best possible therapist for him. Not just any old random person, the best. You hear that, universe?
“Are you decent?” Cassidy’s voice comes through the door. “Are you at it? Carry on, don’t mind me, I won’t look, just pull the duvet over!”
“Come in!” calls Finn, and I giggle.
“You two!” Cassidy exclaims as she wheels in a trolley full of food. “Now, I’ve got your breakfasts and a little extra Buck’s fizz, compliments of the management, get you in the mood—not that you need it.…” She beams at me. “And I couldn’t resist …”
She hands me a champagne flute stuffed with some sort of shocking-pink silky fabric. Taken aback, I pull it out and unfurl a thong. It’s trimmed with black lace and has Loved Up embroidered on it in turquoise.
“Cassidy.” My eyes fill with silly, sentimental tears. “I love it. Thank you!”
“Aww.” Cassidy tilts her head on one side and surveys us fondly. “We’re all so thrilled for you! You didn’t even want to be on the beach together! And Simon said he never thought you would, because—” She stops, as though realizing she’s about to cross a line. “But I always thought you would. I said, ‘Look at them!’ And now look at you! Well, enjoy!”
As the door closes behind her, I catch Finn’s eye.
“Look at us,” I say, copying Cassidy’s inflection.
“Look at us,” he echoes, smiling.
“Still wish I had the beach to myself, though,” I say teasingly.
“I hear you.” He nods. “And just so you know, I have dibs on the rock today.”
“In your dreams!” I shoot back. “You snooze, you lose.”
I watch as he gets out of bed and starts investigating the breakfast trolley, idly observing the movement of his back muscles and wishing my hands were on them.
“They forgot your eggs,” he says, turning round. “But you could have a croissant, some melon, and a random slice of black pudding?”
“Bliss,” I say. And I mean it.
Twenty-One
It’s midmorning when I emerge from Finn’s room, wrapped in a towel and sated in every possible way. My clothes are all in my room, so I saunter there to get dressed, then stroll down to meet Finn in the lobby. As I descend the stairs, he greets me with a wink and a you and me smile that brings back every exquisite moment of last night. Not to mention this morning.
“Shall we see if the sand fairy sent us a message?” he says, and I laugh, a bit nervously.
Last night, on impulse, we went out to the beach in the dark, lay on the sand for a bit, and talked nonsense about the stars. Then, just as we were about to retreat inside out of the cold air, I said, “Wait!” and found a stick. I gouged out THE COUPLE ON THE BEACH in letters in the sand, then drew a love heart around it. It was so dark, I’m not sure Finn realized what I was doing.
Now I feel embarrassed at having drawn a love heart. An actual love heart. I mean, Finn won’t think … ? Oh God. Maybe I can scrub it out with my foot.
But as we near the beach, I realize I’m too late. There’s a woman I don’t recognize on the beach, and she’s staring down at the sand.
“Look,” I say to Finn. “Someone’s on our beach.”
“Someone’s on our beach?” Finn adopts an expression of mock outrage. “That won’t do!”
“I know!” I join in. “Don’t they realize it’s our private, very exclusive beach?”
“Hi!” he greets the woman, who is now in earshot. She turns to stare at us, and I smile.
“Hi,” I say, but the woman barely registers me. She seems riveted by the sight of Finn.
A possessive, prickly feeling is already rising in me, and I tell myself off. It’s very uncool to be possessive. It’s also uncool to notice that she’s very pretty, with her sleek black Puffa jacket, cropped jeans exposing a hint of ankle, and bouncy ponytail.
But does she have to keep staring at him like that? Even Finn seems to have noticed.
Also—hang on. Isn’t she familiar? Now it’s my turn to stare. I’ve definitely seen her somewhere. But where?
“Finn?” For the first time she speaks, in a husky, sexy voice. “Finn Birchall?”
“Yes.” Finn looks confused. “Sorry. Do we … ?”
“Gabrielle. Gabrielle McLean. Used to be Gabrielle Withers. You don’t remember. Well, why should you?” She gives a kind of incredulous laugh. “This is so weird.”
“Remember what?”
“This.” She points to the message on the beach, and for the first time, I look down. It’s the same as when I wrote it last night. THE COUPLE ON THE BEACH, with a love heart around it. But it’s blurred now, and our mystery beach fairy has added another bouquet of flowers.
“What about it?” says Finn, and Gabrielle laughs.
“It’s us!” she says, gesturing at him, then herself. “It’s for us. It’s about us. We’re the couple.”
What?
I’m sorry … what?
I want to say, Actually, I wrote that message, but my face feels oddly paralyzed. She seems so convinced. So confident. Who is she?
Finn looks dumbstruck, and Gabrielle clearly realizes she needs to elaborate.
“Do you know a painting by Mavis Adler?” she says. “It’s called Young Love. Quite famous.”
“Ye-e-s,” says Finn warily.
And suddenly I know exactly who she is.
“You’re the girl from Young Love!” I exclaim. “I saw the newspaper cuttings. You got married to the guy you were kissing.”
“That’s the story,” she replies slowly, her eyes constantly on Finn. “That’s the story.”
There’s a silent, breathless beat—and then, in a heart-rushing swoop, everything falls into place. I know. I can see it. I can see him. His back. His head. How could I not have seen it before?
But incredibly, Finn still looks flummoxed.
“D’you remember the summer when you were fifteen?” Gabrielle addresses Finn directly. “D’you remember a beach party here? We kissed behind the rocks. Quick teenage snog.”
“Right.” Finn’s brow is crumpled, and I can tell he’s trying to recall. “Sorry, I don’t—”
“Mavis Adler was here that day,” says Gabrielle. “Painting.” She leans on the last word meaningfully, and finally I see comprehension flash into Finn’s eyes.
“It’s us?” he says, looking stunned.
“It’s us.” She nods. “We’re Young Love.”
“Jesus.” Finn breathes out. “You’re kidding. I’ve looked at that painting, what, a thousand times?” He seems dazed. “It was me all the time?”
“So why does the world think it was you and your husband?” I can’t help asking, and Gabrielle instantly looks chastened.
“That’s my fault.” She breathes out and takes a few paces away. “I was already going out with Patrick that summer.” She makes a face at Finn. “Sorry. Didn’t mention that. Anyway, Patrick and I were always snogging on the beach, and he looked pretty similar to you from the back. When the painting was launched and everyone assumed it was Patrick, I just went along with it. Mavis had no idea who we were.”