THE SEVENTH SUMMER
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I still remember the first time I saw a picture of Finn and Brit together. It was in December, several months after he’d returned to the States, and according to the caption, they’d just been to Variety’s Hitmakers Brunch in LA, which celebrates the twenty-five biggest songs in America – one of which was Brit’s cover of ‘We Could Be Giants’.
They were walking down a littered, graffitied backstreet in Downtown LA. Finn was out in front, his long arm stretched behind him, Brit’s hand firmly encased in his. Their expressions were taut because there were paps around. I could see how hard Finn’s jaw was clenched as he stared straight ahead, but the action made his cheekbones seem even more pronounced, and with his dark lashes and wild hair, he looked heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Brit’s eyes were on the ground, her dark ringlets half hiding her face as she allowed herself to be led by Finn. She was wearing his denim jacket draped over her shoulders.
It was the same jacket he’d laid on a boulder for me to sit on, the same jacket he’d lent to me when I stumbled into a rock pool.
It hurt acutely, seeing that picture, but anyone who paid attention to celebrity gossip would have been intrigued. Who was this hot twenty-something guy who’d snatched Brit Easton’s heart?
Throughout January and February, more pictures emerged online: photographs of them at the beach in Santa Monica, eating ice cream cones; Finn backstage at Brit’s Madison Square Garden gig, watching from the sidelines, his face gleaming with pride; caught at the traffic lights while driving, Finn behind the wheel; coming out of bars, restaurants, nightclubs and gig venues.
On each occasion when Finn knew he was being watched, his expression would be guarded, but when caught unawares, it was impossible to miss the adoration on his face.
Journalists and bloggers followed the story of their romance, unveiling facts about how they’d fallen in love while writing Brit’s last record.
In March, when her first single was released, it went straight to number one, and when her album landed a month later, it hit the top spot in five countries.
The first time I saw dimples fully indented in Finn’s cheeks as he gazed down at Brit, I sobbed. And all throughout May I couldn’t listen to a single song that reminded me of him.
In early June, Brit, who had been as tight-lipped as Finn about their relationship, finally spoke out.
‘We’re very happy,’ she said. ‘We’re just seeing how things go right now and enjoying spending time together.’
Those words made me go and get my hair cut.
I want to say that I’m over Finn. I’ve had a year to move on. But in the months after he left, when I’d heard nothing about him and Brit in the press, I couldn’t help but hope that he’d be coming back to me after all.
Now that hope has been crushed.
I wasn’t ready for him to leave me behind. I didn’t think I’d ever be ready for it.
But then along came Tom.
‘I miss our kitchen,’ Tom murmurs as we lie side by side in my bed, staring up at the ceiling and listening to two small children squealing like banshees in the downstairs apartment. Their father shouts at them to keep the noise down, his booming voice echoing right up through the floorboards.
I smile at his use of the word ‘our’.
‘Me too.’
‘What would you do if you did have a family one day?’ he asks. ‘Would you convert this back into one house?’
‘I’d love to, if I could afford it.’
Tom has only spent three of the last thirteen nights in his room at the Drifty. Somehow or other, he keeps ending up in my bed.
I thought it would feel strange having him here in my apartment, in my bedroom, which contains so many memories of Finn, but Tom seems to fit wherever he goes. It feels natural to be sharing the same space with him. It’s as though I’ve known him for months, not six weeks.
It’s why I was so surprised at the revelation Bill sprang on me last night …
‘I think we might have found a replacement sous-chef,’ he said in an upbeat tone.
‘Who?’ I asked, delighted to hear of another problem solved.
‘Tom!’ Bill exclaimed with a look like he thought it was obvious.
I was taken aback, and when I mentioned that we’d still have to find a permanent replacement at some point, Bill couldn’t believe I didn’t know that Tom planned to stay in Cornwall.
