The applause rises to a roar, and I glance at Finn, feeling a bit overwhelmed. Mavis lifts her hands and gradually the crowd quiets.
“To celebrate this special moment,” she says dramatically, “I would like to change the program of events. I now ask Finn and Sasha to do me the great honor of unveiling my new work, Titan. In this new piece, I depict the vulnerability and beauty of humanity in all its rawness, all its power, all its nakedness.”
At the word nakedness, I sense the crowd perk up with interest. Maybe Keith’s right. Maybe it’s a naked kissing couple! Naked Young Lovers 2. That would bring in the tourists, all right.
Jana, looking a bit miffed at the change in arrangements, shows Finn and me where the rope is to unveil the artwork. We take hold of it together, then glance at Mavis.
“I am delighted to present my most ambitious, significant work to date,” she announces to the audience. “I give you Titan.”
Together, Finn and I pull on the rope, and gradually the drapery over the massive structure falls to the ground, revealing—
Oh my God.
It’s Herbert. It’s a massive twelve-foot statue of Herbert, totally naked, made from some rough gray-white clay. Fully anatomical. Fully.
There’s a muffled squeak from the audience, which sounds like Cassidy, and a couple of startled shouts, and now some laughter, and finally the clapping starts. Herbert is standing, looking totally composed, a mysterious little smile on his face, while Simon looks like he might keel over in horror at any moment.
Sensing that our role is over, Finn and I make our way back down from the stage and are immediately surrounded by people, all asking questions. Meanwhile, Cassidy has elbowed her way over to us and is busily fielding all the inquiries like some sort of publicist.
“They’re staying at the Rilston with us.… Yes, they used to come here as children.… Did you know Sasha is our resident wellness guru?”
“I thought they were a couple,” I hear Tessa telling someone else, over the hubbub. “So I wrote them a message on the sand, ‘To the couple on the beach.’ ”
“They are a couple!” Cassidy wheels round, overhearing. “They’re definitely a couple.” Her eyes twinkle. “I’ve seen them at it.”
“Are you?” says Tessa, glancing at me uncertainly. “I thought …”
“Aren’t you?” Cassidy stares at us, her face gradually falling in dismay. “Oh, you two! No! Don’t do this to me, guys. Aren’t you?”
The clamor of the room seems to die away as I look at Finn’s warm face.
“We’re not a couple,” I say softly to him. “Friends, though.”
“Friends always.” He takes my hand and kisses my fingertips. “Always.”
Twenty-Six
It’s Finn who helps me carry all my stuff down to the station, after I’ve said my fond goodbyes to Simon, Herbert, Nikolai, and been hugged about twenty times by Cassidy.
The two of us stand on the platform, occasional spatters of rain hitting us on the head, and we don’t say much. Occasionally one of us will send the other a wary little smile as though to say, Are we still good? And the other will return it. Of course we are.
“Never did get to the watercolor kit,” I say, after one of the silences becomes too unbearable. “I was going to paint Rilston Bay. Become the next Mavis Adler.”
“Always save something for next time,” replies Finn. “How many steps did you get through in the end?”
“Oh, at least twenty-five.” I smile ironically at him. “Can’t you tell? I’m transformed. I’m a whole new me!”
“I think you are,” he says seriously. “You’re transformed from the person I first met.”
I flash back to the way I was when I first encountered Finn. Exhausted, defensive, binging on chocolate and wine. He’s right: I am a different person now. More assertive. Stronger. Calmer. Fitter.
Then I remember the angry sociopath I thought I heard in the dunes and look up at the balanced, wise, kind guy in front of me.
“Same,” I say. “You’re a whole new you.”
“I’d better be,” says Finn with a wry smile. “The old me is unemployable.”
The sound of the approaching train comes faintly through the air, and I feel such dread I’m almost giddy.
“So!” I muster every acting power I possess to sound cheerful. “Train’s on time.”
“It’s pretty reliable.” He nods.
“Yes, it’s a good service.”
We’re into platitudes, because where else can we go?
“Finn …” I meet his eyes, and just for a moment his guard drops and I see it in his face too. A kind of loss. And bewilderment that this is happening.
He couldn’t love me—I’m convinced of this to my bones. He couldn’t share his anguish, his loss, or anything of his heart. He closed himself off—and he’s still closed off, because his heart is reserved for someone else.
So I closed myself off too—because something I’ve learned these last few weeks is self-preservation. I couldn’t let myself get hurt. Not now, not after everything that’s happened. I’ve been hurt enough by life; I’m still mending.
“Finn … thank you.” I reach out to touch his fingertips, the safest level of connection. “Thank you.”
“Sasha …” His eyes crinkle. “Thank you. Without you, I never would have known the joy of noni juice.”
“Oh, you didn’t try the noni juice!” I burst into shocked laughter. “Please tell me you didn’t.”
“I got Nikolai to bring me a glass yesterday. It is vile. It is unspeakable.” He shudders. “Recommended by Sasha, huh?”
“Sorry!” I can’t stop giggling. “I should have warned you.”
The train is already pulling into the station. Thirty more seconds.
“Well, good luck. I’ll be manifesting for you.” I pull a piece of paper out of my pocket and show him. “ ‘Finn’s wellness,’ see?”
“Snap.” He produces one from his own jeans pocket, and I see Sasha’s wellness written on a sheet of Rilston notepaper.
The train doors are opening. We shove all my clobber onto the train and then I force myself to step on too, leaving Finn on the platform. Ten more seconds.
“Bye.” Tears are gathering in my eyes as I turn to face him. “Bye. It’s been … Bye.”
“Bye.” He nods, then draws breath as though to add something. But the train doors are closing, and I feel panic. Wait. Wait. I had more to say.
But then, maybe I didn’t.
I don’t sit down. I stand at the door, my eyes fixed on Finn’s face, as he gazes back at me through the rain. I’m trying to memorize him, absorb every pixel of his image, internalize him. Until the train is round the bend and I’m staring at a bank of weeds.
For a while I don’t move. Then at last I make my way to a seat and sit, staring ahead. I feel kind of blank. Like a void.
I know this is good. New life. New start. I just have to wait for it to start feeling good.
After a minute or two my phone bleeps, and I feel an almighty pang of hope as I pull it out of my pocket with scrabbling fingers. Finn?
No. Kirsten.
I’ll need to wean myself off those pangs of hope. It’s fine. I’ll manage it.
I open the text from Kirsten and read her message.
Hi, was looking through old photos of Rilston Bay and found this. Is this Finn Birchall?!
I open the photo, my heart thumping, and find myself staring at Kirsten and me in matching pink gingham bikinis, which I’d forgotten about. I look about eight years old, which makes Kirsten eleven. We’re holding spades and sitting in a sand hole, and I’m making one of my trademark funny faces. Mum’s sitting beside us in her swimsuit, which means Dad must have taken the photo. Her face is light and carefree as she smiles up at him. The Mum we had before we lost Dad. She never quite came back in the same way.
And behind us, several feet away, is a boy in red swimming trunks. He has dark hair and he’s holding a fishing net and he’s looking off into the middle distance. Even at the age of eleven, he has distinctive eyebrows, lowered in a frown. He shows no sign of having noticed me or Kirsten, and we’re oblivious to him.