The Burnout

by Sophie Kinsella

“No, it doesn’t hurt,” I tell him quickly. “It’s better now.” “Good!” He looks pleased. “So it’s just inside here we have to fix.” He taps his head. “I’d love that,” I say. “Believe me.” “You know what you’ve got to do?” He leans forward, his blue eyes suddenly cogent and intent. “Trust yourself. Believe in yourself. Will you do that?” “I…OK.” My voice is choked. “I’ll try.” “Oh, my dear.” Terry’s eyes cast around the beach again, as though he’s trying to work out the reason for my distress. “Look, look, look,” he resumes eventually. “I know your friends laughed at you. And I’m going to have a word. But what you must remember is this. No one remembers the wipeouts. They don’t! People remember the triumphs!” His blue eyes give a hint of the old twinkle. “They’ll remember all the times you caught that wave and you rode it into shore. I’ve seen you do it,” he adds encouragingly. “I know you can do it.” I can’t move. I can’t reply. His words are hitting me deep inside. “Now,” adds Terry knowledgeably, “you want to know why you wiped out?” “Yes,” I say, desperate to hear his answer. “Tell me. Why did I wipe out?” “Because you tried,” says Terry simply. “You tried, my dear. And that puts you above most people.” He lifts his hand for a high five, and as I gently slap his hand, he clasps mine, his fingers dry and papery. “Believe in yourself. You’ll do well.” “Thanks, Terry.” Two more tears spill down my face, and I wipe them away. “For…everything. Everything.”