Page 23 of Forever Finn

“Finn.” She sighs. “Trust me, no amount of time is going to change their minds. It is what it is. I can’t be responsible for what they think, only how I choose to live my life.”

“I love you,” I tell her earnestly. “You know that right? You’re perfect just the way you are.”

“And that’s why you’re my family,” she murmurs. “I have to go. It’s late here, and I’m on the early morning call sheet.”

“Okay, sweet dreams, love,” I say by way of goodnight.

“I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”

I hang up and go back to staring out at the water for maybe another few minutes but really, I’m sure sitting here looking all pensive and brooding looks a hell of a lot better on camera than it feels in reality.

Wincing slightly, I climb down off Dwayne as Deacon affectionately refers to what is probably a thousand-year-old Jurassic rock. Feeling restless, I head back along the beach up and over the dunes and once again follow the cliff walk but this time in the opposite direction.

I’m lost in my thoughts as I amble along the coast road skimming the tops of the cliffs and watching the sunlight bouncing off the rippling waves like precious jewels. Slowly a huge old building comes into view, and as I near it, I slow my pace drinking in every single detail in nostalgic fascination. I’d completely forgotten about this place.

It had once been my favourite place in the bay, and although it had closed by the time I discovered it, it had always intrigued me even though I’d never actually been inside. As I reach the building, I stop completely and stare up at its shabby old brick facade. It’s a gorgeous old Edwardian theatre built at the turn of the 20th century. Back then, according to the local historical society, the bay was a popular destination spot for aristocratic Edwardian Londoners looking for the constitutional sea air. The theatre itself was used well into the seventies but by the eighties and nineties had denigrated into nothing more than a bingo hall for the locals. It’s sad to see such a grand building reduced to a shadow of its former glory.

Something twists in my gut as I glance up at an enormous canvas flapping in the breeze above the entranceway, which reads ‘Save our Theatre!’ in bold black lettering.

“You always did have a soft spot for this place,” a soft voice speaks behind me, and I turn to find a familiar-looking woman looking as elegant as I remember.

“Ms Molly.” I grin, taking in her perfectly coiffed silver hair and immaculate summer dress, which ripples around her thin body in the sea air, but when my gaze trails absently to her feet I choke back a laugh. In complete contradiction to her softly floral chiffon dress is a pair of wild purple crocs on her feet.

“Hello, Finn.” She smiles warmly. “I wondered if you’d ever find your way home.”

I shrug really wishing everyone would stop referring to the bay as home. It was just a place I lived in a million years ago… the place where I buried some of my worst memories.

“I had some time, and I figured I’d stop in and see Reed,” I lie easily.

Although I had wanted to see Reed, I certainly wasn’t about to spill my deepest neuroses to a woman I hadn’t seen in nearly fifteen years. I know Ms Molly always had a bit of a reputation as a voracious man-eater, but the truth is she was always a harmless flirt. While all the others gave her a wide berth, I always thought there was something a little sad and lonely about her. Maybe it’s because that’s how I'd always felt I realise with a jolt. I never quite felt as if people really saw the real me, even my closest friends, Reed and Cody. It was mostly my fault I suppose. I was so uncomfortable in my own skin I never really let them see the real me and the one time I did let Cody see the truth about me well… I’m all too painfully aware of how that ended.

“Well, it’s nice to see you back in the bay.” She reaches out and pats my arm fondly.

“You look good, Ms Molly.” My eyes narrow as I take her in. I’ve always been an observant person but looking at the old woman now, I notice that she seems to have lost a layer of the self-protective mischief that always surrounded her like a miasma.

“Oh, call me Molly, sweet boy.” She smiles warmly, and I notice how relaxed and comfortable she seems to be in her own skin now.

“Molly, then.” I nod, turning to look up at the theatre. “What’s all that about?”

“The council want to knock it down. They’re trying to get it de-listed so they can sell the land.” Molly’s shimmery pastel-coloured lips thin in disapproval.

“Really?” I mutter as I study it closely. “That’s such a shame.”

The building is still mostly intact. The grey-coloured brick facade could do with a clean and the windows need replacing as does the signage and a dozen other things but the bones of it is still solid.

“I bet it was beautiful in its heyday,” I mutter. “I always wanted to see inside it, but it was closed up by the time my parents moved us to the bay.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day.” She grins and lifts her hand, giving the keys dangling from her fingers a playful shake.

“Are you serious?” I ask giddily, instantly reverting back to my eleven-year-old self whose soul ambition in life was to be an urban archaeologist.

“Quite.” She chuckles as she links her arm companionably through mine and leads me up the steps to the locked doors. “After all”—she chuckles impishly—“some things do get better with age.”

11

“You’re smiling again.”

I glance up at Jesse as he leans against the doorframe of my exam room, watching me suspiciously.