“We do. But it hasn’t come up.”
In all our correspondence recently, I haven’t dared to ask Finn what he was doing about accommodation tonight. Just in case he said something like My girlfriend, Olivia, has found an Airbnb for us—oh, have I mentioned Olivia?
So I just haven’t gone there, and nor has he. We’ve just focused on practicalities.
“Well, yes, he is,” says Cassidy. “Same floor as you.” She gazes at me, looking a bit crestfallen. “Sure you don’t want to be put in the same room?”
“No. Thanks.”
“We thought you two would get back together.” She shakes her head, looking doleful. “We really did. You made such a great couple. I guess you’re a not-couple again now.”
“Yes,” I say tightly, then nod toward the beach. “Well. We should get going.”
Cassidy sighs but doesn’t push it any further, and we begin walking down the hill together, like old friends.
“Oh, you’ll like this,” she says chattily. “We’ve got a couple staying with us, Young Love fans, wanted Mavis Adler to marry them on the beach. They went to an event and pestered her, and in the end she goes, ‘Sorry, I only do divorces.’ ”
I laugh, grateful for the distraction from Finn-related thoughts.
“They were so gutted, poor loves,” Cassidy continues. “So I said, ‘Ask Gabrielle; I bet she’ll do it.’ Well, she jumped at it! She’s getting qualified online. It’ll be the new big thing, you’ll see, Young Love marriages on the beach.” She pauses and surveys the hordes of people gathering on the beach in shorts, wetsuits, and swimwear, clutching surfboards and high-fiving one another. “Mind you, this looks like an even bigger thing.” She stares incredulously for a few more moments, then turns to give me a friendly push on the shoulder. “Sasha Worth! What have you started?”
Twenty-Nine
The next two hours are a blur of organization. Finn and I are totally engrossed, working as a team, instructing groups of willing helpers and turning the beach into a party arena. The council have been great. They put bollards up this morning, saving a massive stretch of the beach just for us. They wouldn’t have done that for just anyone—but then, this isn’t just anyone.
There’s a stage for Terry, because everyone will want to see him. There’s bunting everywhere. There’s a sound system and some tents for shade and lots of water stations and a huge cocktail tent run by Feels of Rilston, which is a new addition to the town and claims to be a “drinks and vibes” venue.
Chef Leslie is masterminding the food, Cassidy is bossing all the hired staff, and Simon has already told me how mortified and devastated he is that we couldn’t host the entire thing in the Rilston ballroom, which is out of action due to a recent flood.
“Simon,” I said, looking around the thronging beach. “Are you kidding? This wouldn’t fit in the Rilston ballroom.”
Because so many people have come. So many. Every time I look around, I’m blown away. When I first had the idea for today, I’m not sure what I expected—but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t these hundreds of people. Former pupils of Terry of all ages are here. From teenagers who maybe had a lesson a couple of years ago, through to the middle-aged and elderly, who learned with him forty years ago. All here, all eager to help, all thrilled that we tracked them down.
It took a while. We started with the names of all the pupils that I remembered, that Finn remembered, that Tessa remembered, that people around town remembered. Every time we got a new name, we pinged off an invitation and said, Please spread the word. Do you know anyone else, can you get the message out?
And it got out. Far and wide. The beach is a happy, buzzing crowd of hundreds of people with one thing connecting them. No—one person.
It’s not a surprise event per se. Tessa’s been telling Terry about it for days, trying to prepare him. But it probably will still come as a surprise. To him.
“Sasha!” Mum’s voice greets me and I wheel round, my heart lifting. There she is, with Kirsten, Chris, and the children in their off-road double buggy, all in matching shortie wetsuits.
“Those dinky wetsuits!” I exclaim, after I’ve hugged everyone. “They’re adorable!”
“Couldn’t resist.” Kirsten grins.
“Mum, are you going to surf?” I look at her wetsuit in astonishment. “You never used to.”
“I’ll give it a go!” she says cheerfully. “Pam’s here, so she’s going to mind the children. She doesn’t want to surf; she wants to do wild swimming later. Says it’s very good for—”
“The menopause,” Kirsten and I both chime in, and start laughing.
“He’s here.” Finn’s voice crackles in my earpiece, and I start. It’s on.
“Terry’s here,” I say to Mum and Kirsten. “I’ve got to go. See you later!”
“Good luck!” says Kirsten. “And well done, Sasha.” Then she adds lightly, “Is Finn here?”
“Yup.” I meet her eye—then look away. “Yup, he is.”
Kirsten and I have had lots of long chats about Finn, so she’s followed me through my roller coaster of feelings. For about two months after I got back to London, I was convinced I’d done the right thing, ending things. Because how could I be with a man who was so heartbroken over another woman? If he couldn’t even tell me about her, he was definitely not over her. And Kirsten was right, we were both still a bit fragile.
Then I woke up one morning, feeling like I’d made a terrible mistake. I should text him and say so! Ask him out on a date, even! We could be back together within the week! I hesitated for a few days, plucking up courage, getting my hair cut, painting my toenails.
Then I saw that picture of Finn and Olivia on Instagram, arm in arm, happy, radiant.
Then I went on eleven online dates in about a week. I even started a bit of a fling with a guy called Marc. It lasted until he told me his “plans for the future,” and it turned out they involved settling down with a girl “a bit like me.” Not me, obviously, a girl a bit like me. I didn’t have the heart to ask which bit.
There hasn’t been anyone since him. But there’s been work and friends and cooking and my new yoga class and seeing my family more. There’s been life.
Now I push my way through the crowd toward the stage, where Finn is standing, together with a tall, bearded guy I don’t recognize.
“Sasha.” Finn’s face crinkles in a warm smile that makes my heart tug. “Meet my colleague Dave. Demon surfer.”
“Welcome to Rilston Bay!” I say, feeling an instant, ridiculous flare of hope. “I’m so glad you could come! So, Finn …” I try to sound casual. “You said you were bringing someone. Did you mean Dave?”
“No,” says Finn after a pause, and his eyes move away from mine evasively. “I meant … someone else.”
Right. Got it.
“Right!” I say, bright and breezy. “Got it! Someone else. Of course. Well, anyway, Dave, welcome!”
Finn is still avoiding my eye, and I feel a pang of grief because this only means one thing. Olivia. And I guess up until now I was wondering … hoping, even …
Anyway.
“Looking forward to it.” Dave slaps his board. “I hear we’re all having a lesson first.”
“If the teacher’s up for it.” I grin, suddenly spotting Tessa and Sean escorting Terry toward the stage, like two celebrity minders. “Terry! It’s Sasha! Welcome! How are you?”
Terry is wearing board shorts and a bright red T-shirt, his skin tanned and wrinkled on his skinny frame. His hair has been cropped short, and his eyes are looking uncertainly around the crowd—adults and children in wetsuits and swimsuits, all holding boards, all beginning to turn toward the stage.
“That’s Terry!” I hear a voice say.
“It’s him!” chimes in another.
“Look, it’s Terry!”
The message starts spreading through the throng, and the faces turn and the surfers start to press forward.
“I think we should begin,” says Sean. “Or Terry will be mobbed. He’s pretty much Beyoncé right now. All right, Terry?” he adds encouragingly.