CHAPTER THIRTEEN TAWRIE GUNN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T AWRIE G UNN

A UGUST 2024

At the sight of Edgar standing in his open doorway, glancing comically at his watch, she sped up, jogging the last few steps.

‘You're late!' Edgar tutted. ‘And I thought you said you hated tardiness.'

‘I do. And give me a break, it's only five past!' She had once again found herself in a quandary with so little to choose from inside her wardrobe, opting finally for a plain white tee, which had gone a little grey over the years, and her jeans.

‘Hey' – he held up his palms – ‘it's not me that set the rule.'

Reaching down, he took her hand and helped her up the steps. Closing the front door with urgency, he pulled her into him and kissed her hard on the mouth. It was as if nothing would do other than this close and urgent contact, suggesting he too had been thinking about it all day. Almost picking up where they left off, it was an act that was at once new and exciting, yet also the most natural thing in the world.

‘That's better.' He ran his hand over her hair and looked into her face. ‘This is weird, right? Like really weird?'

‘What bit?' She blinked, as happiness fizzed in her veins.

‘The whole "known you for five minutes, but feels like a lifetime" thing. Is it just me?' He kissed her again.

‘No. It's not just you.' She made the delightful confession.

‘I don't know whether to be excited or shit scared.' He spoke softly.

‘Both.'

‘Yep, both.' He held her close and she inhaled the scent of him. A smell that was still a little unfamiliar, yet gloriously intoxicating.

‘I need to sort things, Tawrie. It's a lot.' His expression was thoughtful and she loved how seriously he was taking this new coupling. It gave her confidence.

‘It is a lot!'

‘I need to sort things so we can make plans so we can ... so we can ...' he stuttered.

‘So we can what?' She leaned back to properly see his face.

‘Go forward, if that's what you ...' His shyness was attractive.

‘Yes, it's what I ... No doubt.' She placed her hand on her stomach, trying to quell the feelings that threatened to burst from her.

Squashed into the hallway, she was aware of something fundamental shifting in her world. She swallowed and tensed and it was in this second that a portal to a place she had always doubted existed opened up right in front of her. A moment when she felt just like the women who chattered in the café about ‘him indoors', their ‘other half' or their ‘bloke'. Women like Nora who looked at Gordy as if he had just fallen from Planet Fantastic; women who had heeded the call, submitted, agreed to share their life with a human who was not a relative. And it was nothing but thrilling, exciting and wonderful with all the possibilities it suggested. It was a realisation, an acceptance, and she was ready. More than ready.

He exhaled slowly and only then was she aware that he'd been holding his breath, confirming for her that her response meant as much to him as his suggestion had to her.

‘That makes me very happy.' He kissed her again. This time it was gentle and brimming with intent, and it sent a surge of longing right through her core.

She smiled at his simple summary, not only in delight at their easy reunion, but also in anticipation of their walk and the whole night ahead. It was an exchange that she knew would invite further analysis when she was alone, something to ponder as she waited tables or scraped food waste into the bin, or idled in the shower or swam at Hele Bay Beach. Words, plans almost, that would keep her warm when any cold wind of doubt whistled in via her rattly sash window or through the gap at the bottom of the front door.

‘I thought we could go to Woolacombe and walk the beach right round to Putsborough? Do you fancy it?' His eagerness was infectious.

‘Yes, great. Haven't done that for a while.'

‘I'll drive.' He grabbed a bunch of keys from the wooden hooks that hung on the wall. At least one, she noted, was a door key. She felt a stab of anxiety about the home he had in London – a place she couldn't picture, a routine of which she was ignorant – and she wondered how, whatever this grew into, things would pan out if he stayed in the city. Simultaneously, she wondered if this quiet, harbourside life would suit him when the sun was absent and the shops were shut for the season. This was no doubt what he meant about sorting things out, untying the knots of his current life.

‘I'm parked in Ropery.'

They made their way down Fore Street. Tawrie's stomach jumped at the sight of her nan putting the rubbish into the wheelie bin that lived in the bin store at the bottom of the steps that led up to Signal House. It felt way too early to be introducing him to family, way too early for publicly acknowledging they even spent time together. It felt like a pressure, putting a stake in the ground that she knew came with expectations, at least from her excitable kin. Not that there was much she could do about it. Without time to second-guess it, her nan shouted.

‘Tawrie Gunn! There you are!'

‘Hi, Nan.' With little point in trying to avoid it, she decided to bite the bullet. ‘This is Ed. He's staying at Corner Cottage.'

‘Hello Ed, love. I'm Freda.' Tawrie noted the way her nan studied him from top to bottom, fully aware that he was so much more than Ed from Corner Cottage.

‘Lovely to meet you, Freda. We're just off to Woolacombe for a walk on the beach if you want to join us?'

Tawrie was dumbstruck – happy he'd been sweet enough to invite her nan along, but also worried, in case the old lady said yes.

‘Oh, that's very kind of you, dear, but I've just made a cuppa.' She pointed up the steps. ‘And also my programme's on in a bit. But you two have fun!' Her nan winked at her, an act that smacked of approval. ‘See you later, Taw. Love you, my girl!'

She felt her heart swell. ‘Love you too.'

‘And come up any time, Ed, kettle's always on!' Freda hummed softly to herself as she trod the stairs.

‘I will!' Ed seemed taken with her nan, as they watched her disappear up the steep steps. ‘She's fab!'

‘Yep.'

‘Why's it called Signal House?' he asked as they made their way down the street towards Ropery car park.

‘Ah, well, that's up for debate. It's a ramshackle old place, a couple of hundred years old and in need of TLC and a big injection of cash. But we love it. There's a small, odd-shaped room on the top floor, almost like a lookout, and rumour has it that it's where signals were passed across the rooftops on dark or foggy nights.'

‘Ooh, that sounds nefarious. What were they signalling about?'

‘Well, if the Gunns had anything to do with it I doubt it was to talk about the weather!'

‘I hope it was piracy, or smuggling barrels of grog or treasure!'

She laughed at the distinct excitement in his voice and the way his eyes had lit up. ‘What are you, a child?'

‘Find me a man who doesn't love pirates and treasure and I'll show you a man who is tired of life.'

‘That sounds like a t-shirt slogan.'

‘Okay, negative Nelly, sorry if I find the whole idea exciting.' He drew breath, as they stepped down into the Ropery car park. ‘But have you properly checked the attic and cellar for trapdoors, hidden treasure, secret tunnels, buried scrolls, signs in the wall, that kind of thing?'

‘Oh my God! Trapdoors and hidden treasure? You are a child!'

She secretly loved how enamoured he was with the idea of Signal House, the family HQ that was as much a part of the Gunns as any living, breathing relative.

‘Here she is! The silver dream machine!' He patted the roof of a slightly battered, ancient silver Seat Ibiza with a rear window taped shut with gaffer tape and several rusted dents peppering the bodywork, and opened the passenger door.

‘She?'

‘Yes. She has a chassis of extreme beauty. Almost a classic. And within her confines lurk some of my funniest memories.' He didn't crack a smile and it made her laugh out loud. This was what he did.

‘Do I want to know?' She pulled a face. It was inevitable that she wondered if these best memories involved a girl who wasn't her. Not that there was a darn thing she could do about it, but she very much hoped they would make better memories that were even funnier.

‘Have you ever laughed so much you can't breathe, sung so loudly your voice goes hoarse, and had to pee in an old plastic Coke bottle because of a traffic jam so bad you feared you'd miss your own graduation?'

‘Yes, yes and no.' She climbed into the front seat, choosing not to comment on the various stains that lurked on the upholstery.

‘I've said too much already,' he whispered, looking left and right with spy-like theatricality, and this time they both laughed.

It felt exhilarating to be tootling the lanes that ran along the coast in Ed's car. Although in fairness, she'd have found traipsing up the High Street with him to buy milk or going to the dentist just as much fun. The novelty of being with him, the discoveries still to make, greater than any trip. Even in his battered car that was almost a classic.

The car park in Woolacombe was quiet at this time of evening. Still with the day's residual warmth lingering in the air, and the sky clear and blue, surfers sat on their boards and bobbed on the shoreline with no real waves to speak of. Their camaraderie, no doubt cemented in the unified love of the surf, was palpable even at this distance. It reminded her of Maudie and Jago, her fellow Peacocks, and how they had become such an important part of her routine.

‘I'd love to learn to surf,' he commented as they trod the sand-covered stairs that took them down past the Beachcomber café. ‘I think it's a really cool thing to do. I've never been cool, but I reckon I'd feel cool if I was a surfer, and that's halfway there, right?'

‘Absolutely, and you're in the right place to do it, here. Croyde, Saunton, you're spoilt for choice.'

‘I don't think I've ever met a stressed-out surfer. I think putting on that wetsuit and holding that board must be like magic that strips away the worries of life. I mean, they could be running on high octane, frantic all day and then bam , they step into waves and it all melts away. At least that's what I think.'

‘I think it's more than that. The gathering in vans for warm drinks post-surf, the sitting in all weathers looking out over the ocean, taking a minute. I always think it looks nice, inclusive. And I know how much my morning swim centres me, calms me.' She wanted to know him at a deeper level, understand him, this man she was falling for who was still, in so many ways, a stranger. ‘Do you have many worries in life then, Ed?'

‘Not compared to some people.' He stared at the sand. ‘Shall we sit here for a while?'

It was hardly the big hike she'd anticipated, as they made their way along the wide beach and sat on the soft sand, staring out at the breathtaking view. Not that she would have changed a thing. They sat close together, mere inches between their shoulders; any greater distance would have been less than satisfying.

‘This really is something.' He threw his head back and exhaled, letting the last of the sun's rays kiss his face. ‘Have you never wanted to move away, Taw, go up to the big smoke? Wake up with a view of a skyscraper?'

She stared at him and ordered her thoughts, in case he was fishing, thinking, like her, of their next moves, of what the future might hold if this pace and strength of feeling were to continue.

‘It's complicated. I love waking up at Signal House and looking out over the harbour. I like to be here on the beach, any beach really. It suits me and I can't imagine not having it on my doorstep.'

‘Fair point.'

‘But recently, I don't know.' She kicked at the sand with her toes.

‘Tell me.' He spoke in a way that was calm, encouraging her trust.

‘Recently' – she took a deep breath – ‘I keep thinking of what comes next and how the last decade has gone by so fast. I've always liked the idea of becoming a midwife, but never felt able to, erm, to leave, not really.' Her face flushed. In her mind, admitting she was anchored to her home, her family, still smacked a little of failure or dire inaction.

‘Why not?' His expression was one of interest, far from mocking, which she might have expected from someone less empathetic.

‘I like to be close to my nan, she's ... she's been through a lot. And I know that I make things better for her and my mum too, I guess. I'm like the sticker after the dentist, the sugar after the medicine.' She gave a short laugh, but the truth was sharp and hard to swallow, like a stick in her craw. ‘I know things would be harder for them if I wasn't there.'

‘So not only sugar after medicine, but a sacrificial lamb too, giving up your own dream and happiness. Sorry, that sounded really judgey. What's it got to do with me?' He looked anguished, at no more than the thought of overstepping the mark. It was endearing.

‘I am happy.' She pressed this truth. ‘I am. Content in many ways. There are worse lives.'

‘There are.' He smiled, looking out over the wide sweep of the beautiful bay.

‘I guess it's an age thing where I'm starting to realise that I don't want the next decade to whizz by just as quickly without achieving more.'

He twisted to face her, concentrating on what came next in a way that made her stomach bunch with longing. She folded her hands into the hem of her t-shirt.

‘Losing someone in the way you lost your dad is awful – it must change how you feel about everything. Distort a regular life.' His voice barely more than a whisper.

‘It does. It did. And it is awful – for me, Mum, my nan, all of us.'

‘Yes, but it's not too late, never too late.'

‘It's not that easy, though, is it?' She needed him to understand the bonds that kept her tethered.

‘It's not.' He swallowed. ‘And I understand. But wouldn't your family want you to set your goals and go for it?'

‘They would, definitely, but it's how I feel that's the stumbling block.'

There was a beat of quiet while he, like her, stared at the moving sea as if reflecting. It was, however, a comfortable silence.

‘I know you said memories of your dad were sketchy, but there must be some that stuck?'

‘Yes, one or two. But it's like I only remember bits of him, and not as much as you'd think.' Her voice was low as she whispered the private sadness. ‘I don't know if I've blocked a lot of things out, but it's almost like my grief reset my mind in some way. I don't remember too much about my early childhood at all.'

‘So what do you remember about him?' She liked how he was trying to get closer to the man who had meant so much to her.

‘I remember him singing when he was in the bath, loudly! I remember the feel of his chin on my cheek when he kissed me goodnight and he hadn't shaved. I smell nail polish sometimes when I think about him, which is odd. And I remember he used to bring me a big punnet of cherries in the summer and we'd eat them together on the terrace and spit the stones into the flower bed. Like we were rebels, laughing and spitting stones when no one was looking.' She smiled at the memory, the scent of fresh cherry now strong in her nose. ‘I don't think there has ever been anything quite as beautiful as those glossy red cherries with their delicate green stems, sitting in a white china bowl on the table and what they represented – that he'd thought they were perfect for me – and what they represent now – one of the strongest and loveliest memories of time spent with my dad. A time when I didn't know what it felt like to have a blanket of sadness thrown over Signal House. Happiness. Security.'

‘I love that. And of course you have your mum too?' He was joining the dots.

‘Uh-huh, she ...' How to phrase it. ‘We're not exactly close, not like I am with Freda. My mum drinks a lot.' She hated that she had to share this, a negative. A reason for him not to like her: a minus point, a burden, something problematic, a dark cloud that hung over her rosy life. But what was the alternative? Hide her mother away? If only that were possible.

‘Don't we all, given half the chance.' His tone was jovial.

‘No, Ed.' She cut him off, this the one aspect of her life where there was no room for humour or excuse. ‘Not just a lot, more than a lot. She's ... she's an alcoholic.' It wasn't a word she used often; the connotations too difficult to jostle with.

‘I'm sorry, Taw.' His body stiffened and he sat up straight, as if awkward to have misjudged it. ‘That must have sounded flippant. It's a horrible disease, it really is. It affects so much more than just the person drinking.'

‘Mmm.' She was disinclined to match his empathetic tone. Too many thoughts and experiences had filtered through the bedrock of despair for too long. Was it her mother's drinking that encouraged her dad to seek solace on his boat? How happy could he have been living with someone like that? It was a hook on which to hang her anger and it had always been this way.

‘It can't be easy for you.' He placed his arm across her shoulders and she sidled even closer, resting her head on his chest, liking the safety of it.

‘It isn't, but I'm used to it.' She shrugged, wanting to change the subject, as she felt perilously close to opening up about her feelings towards Annalee, and that was not where they were at. Yet.

‘So, I know you said your dad drowned.' He spoke reverentially. ‘Was it in a pool, the sea? If you don't want to talk about it that's fine, of course.'

It was an odd topic, as everyone she knew and everyone she mixed with knew the details and she was therefore unrehearsed in having to voice the tragedy out loud.

‘He had a small boat, a little wooden sailing dinghy. It was his hobby, his pride and joy. If he wasn't in it, he was cleaning it, repairing it or painting it. As I mentioned before, she was called Ermest after the River Erme. He was pretty obsessed with rivers and the sea.' She smiled. ‘He and my Uncle Sten had always sailed together since they were kids. One Sunday morning, my dad was on the quay waiting for his brother, but Sten got held up, so Dad went out alone and he never came back.' She gave the simplified version. ‘He used to put his keys and wallet in a little Tupperware box on the seat and it was there in the boat when they found it. The boom was loose, flailing. The water was quite choppy. They think it probably hit him on the head and he fell overboard, maybe knocked him out or whatever. It doesn't make any difference, it ends just the same.'

‘Tawrie.' He pulled her even closer to him, holding her tightly. She closed her eyes and let the soft fabric of his jersey brush her cheek. It was a place she wanted to stay. ‘You must miss him.'

‘Every day.' I miss the shape of him on the stairs, sleeping with a feeling that I was safe because my family was complete, sleeping soundly and deeply because he and Annalee had their hand on the tiller, not me. And so I get into the sea where he rests, part of him, and I let the water hold me and I know it's him, close to me. ‘It changed everything. Uncle Sten gave up his office job and bought some land – he felt so guilty, still does probably. He thinks that if he'd not been late that day and had gone out with my dad then it wouldn't have happened, but I think it's pointless to feel that way. My nan lost half of her heart and even though my gramps had only died three years before, this was worse for her, way worse.'

‘Her child.'

‘Yes.' She snuggled in closer. ‘And it made me want to stay close to where he died, close to my family, our home, his home. It's complicated.' She sat up and wrapped her arms around her shins, hoping that physical containment might help keep her emotions at bay.

‘It's funny, isn't it, the things that happen that shape our lives, and yet are nothing to do with us – accidents or decisions made when we were young and it's like we are at the tail end of the flip. We feel the force of it but are powerless to change things. Passengers on a journey where the coordinates are set by those in charge – our parents or whoever.'

She turned to look at him. ‘Did you lose someone?'

He shook his head. ‘No, no.' His tone vigorous as if he was aware they were not comparing like for like. ‘But my parents divorced and it was huge for me. The start of living under two roofs, having two Christmases, two sets of clothes, two home addresses, two step-parents, one house with a cat, one with a dog, one that was vegetarian, one where meat was served at every meal. One where my sister lived most of the time and the other where I did. Then new babies popping up. A fractured family, or a normal family, I'm never quite sure. But certainly different to the one I felt I wanted.'

‘It sounds complicated.' She liked that he was confiding in her.

‘It was complicated, it's still complicated, but it's also great a lot of the time, and I remember those days vividly – happy times. But you know that feeling in your stomach that you've been cheated somehow, like if only they'd not been so rubbish, your life would have been a bit easier? Does that sound ridiculous?'

‘No, I get it.' Of course she did, not only was her own mum rubbish most of the time, but the what-ifs surrounding her own dad's passing were many. What if Annalee had been a sober wife, would he still have sought the escape of a day on Ermest ? What if Sten hadn't been late ? And her biggest secret, the thing she never shared: what if he wasn't really dead, but had merely run and was now living a secret life on Lundy?

‘I'm being unfair,' he sighed. ‘My parents are wonderful, both of them, genuinely. I mean, they're very different and I'm closer to my mum, but my dad's not a bad person, it's just that ...'

‘It's just that what?' she urged.

‘It's not the same, is it? It's never the same, having to negotiate new partners, new siblings, half-siblings. It's a lot. It's always been a lot.'

It was her turn to take his hand and keep it warm inside both of her own. Their breathing was in sync as they looked out over the wide stretch of sand as the sun sank on Woolacombe Bay. The silence was cathartic.

‘This is the life, Ed.' She smiled.

‘It is, isn't it? This really is the life!' He tilted his head back, allowing her to study his profile while he sought out the last of the rays.

‘No.' She shifted on her bottom, which had gone a little numb, and curled her legs beneath her. ‘I mean this is the one life we have, this is it! So when you said did I not ever want to wake up in the big smoke with a view of a skyscraper, the answer is I try not to think too much about it on a day-to-day basis, but sometimes I re-evaluate and remember that you're right: it's not too late.' She swallowed and he lowered his face to look at her. ‘I think we all need to do more of what makes us happy rather than what we think we should. And I'm realising that more and more.'

‘God.' He wiped his face. ‘That's the dream, right? Doing more of what makes us happy rather than what we think we should.' He looked a little overcome with emotion. Her heart flexed at his level of understanding.

‘I speak to so many visitors, people who come into the café, who tell me they're a teacher, an estate agent, a police officer or whatever!' She let her hands rise and fall. ‘And they say their dream is to move down here and be by the sea, to sit on the beach like this, to live simply, learn to surf, make friends, sit on the harbour and watch the world go by. And it makes me want to weep because this is the life! This is it! There's not another one cued up. And they go back to wherever they've come from, grabbing slices of happiness from their days by the sea and longing to be here. It must feel like punishment. I want to say to them, why not now? Why not today? You need to prioritise your happiness and not do something because you're expected to or happen to find yourself on that track. Jump off! Start over! Because if losing my dad and watching my mum live her life through the neck of a bottle has taught me one thing, it's that life is short. It's too short, Ed. And in those moments I understand that I am good at giving the advice but not so good at acting on it.'

‘There's no shame in being loyal, in feeling responsible, in loving your family so much you want to make everything better.'

He got it and she could barely stand to look in his eyes, wary of what else he might read in her face, as the desire to be held by him was almost overwhelming.

He took a moment to speak, his eyes studying her face and she felt the intensity of it. She wondered if this might be the moment he kissed her again, and she braced for it, trembling in anticipation and with a swirl of nerves in her gut, wanting him to do it, wanting more. Instead he looked away.

‘I do get it. It's not always simple, is it? Not always possible to pack a bag and jump track, otherwise everyone would do it.' For a second she wondered if he might cry and wanted to know what thoughts could have caused this in the kind, glorious human who she was falling for.

‘But that's the thing, Ed, everyone can do it! I'm not saying it can be done without some hard choices being made or without consequences, but anyone can do it if they're brave enough. That's my issue – I'm just not brave enough.'

‘There's always more to it than bravery. You're right: every decision has a consequence.' He blinked and she would have given anything to know what rattled inside his head. With more time under their belts she might have had the courage to ask him. ‘So come on, tell me three things I don't know about you that you think I probably should.'

She wriggled again to get comfortable on the sand, relieved for the lightening of the mood.

‘Oh gosh, erm ...' She looked skyward as if this was where inspiration might lurk. ‘Oh, I know!' She clicked her fingers. ‘I share my birthday with my mum and my nan, we were all born on September the fourteenth.'

‘That's mad!'

‘It is, and we all celebrate together. We have a party down at Rapparee Cove called the Gunn Fire and everyone's invited, and it's become a kind of thing, far bigger than our birthdays! But it's lovely – we just sit around, eat, drink, chat, dance, and there's a bonfire of course.'

‘That's amazing. September the fourteenth, you say? I'll put it in my diary. If I'm invited?' He batted his eyelashes at her. It made her laugh. Not only his antics, but the thought that he'd be there. It was a plan, a future plan and her stomach folded with happiness at the prospect of it.

‘No one's really invited, not properly, it's much more organic. Everyone discusses it and everyone looks forward to it and everyone turns up!' She shrugged. ‘That's it.'

‘I can't wait!' He rubbed his hands together and his enthusiasm for this tradition filled her with joy. ‘Okay, two more things.'

‘Hmmm.' She tried to think. ‘I can whistle loudly, like really, really loudly.'

‘How loud?'

‘You know when you're in public and someone whistles so loudly that everyone turns to stare and dogs howl and kids cover their ears?'

‘Yep.'

‘It's that loud.'

‘Impressive. How did you learn to do it?' He tilted his head.

‘I didn't, I could just do it! I think it's like being ambidextrous or colour blind, you're just born with it. It's a skill.'

‘It sure is. And far more useful than being colour blind. Can you do it now?' He braced himself.

‘Nope. It'd probably break all the bulbs in the street lights along The Esplanade, if not the windows in the houses, your ears would bleed. It wouldn't be pleasant.'

‘Wow! It's like a superpower!' His eyes were wide.

‘It really is.'

‘Right, final thing.' He scooched closer on the sand and she liked the proximity of him. It helped her say out loud the hardest of things. She took a long, slow breath, wanting to share with him the thing she had never shared with anyone before, another secret that bound them close.

‘I talk to my dad.' Pausing, she glanced at him, checking out whether his reaction was one of support or scorn. It was, unsurprisingly, the former.

‘Of course you do. I think that's quite standard.' He placed his hand on her leg and she felt the heat from his palm radiate through her whole body.

‘Yeah, but not just the odd "I miss you" or anything like that. I mean I ... I give him an update every morning when I get in the sea. I tell him my news, what I've been up to, all kinds of things.'

‘So, you've only been talking to him like that since you became a Peacock?'

Despite the intense nature of their discussion, she wanted to laugh as he called her a Peacock. She shook her head.

‘No, I used to talk to him before, but it'd be while I sat on the bench having a break from the café, staring at the sea, or if I went for a walk around Capstone Parade and looked out over the water.'

‘So always with the sea as your focus?' His expression was intense, suggesting he wanted to understand and found nothing amusing in it. It gave her the confidence to continue.

‘Yes. Because ...' The next words shrank back from her tongue and she swallowed.

‘Because what, Taw?' She felt the increased pressure from his hand, gently squeezing her leg.

‘Because I ... I think he's in the water.' There, she had said it.

‘You think his spirit lives on in the water or it reminds you strongly of him?'

She could see he was trying to better understand.

‘No, Ed. I know it's not true, not really, but it makes it easier for me to picture him living under the sea. Like, in a specially adapted cave or able to breathe under the water. I imagine that he might have sunk to the bottom of the sea and was saved by kelpies and now lives in a cave on Lundy with a special breathing apparatus that he can't leave because he'd drown. Married to a mermaid, with new merchildren, my replacements; half-kid, half-fish.' She could see he didn't know whether to laugh or commiserate and she understood. ‘Or ...' She took her time. ‘I also think he might actually live on Lundy. More to the point, I think he might be hiding on Lundy.'

‘Lundy?'

‘Yes.' She looked out to the island that sat on the horizon. ‘Just over there.'

Edgar's eyes darted to the island and back to her face.

‘Why do you think that, how does it help?' His eyes were mournful and gently she shrugged her leg free from his hand. She didn't want to be pitied, didn't want him to see her as many in the town did, that girl, bless her ...

‘Because he went out in his boat. And he never came home and we never found him, and no one saw his body, we didn't bury him or burn him. We had a memorial service but there was no "him" to bury or burn and so ...' She closed her eyes and ran her palm over her face. ‘I think he might not really be dead. Even though I know deep down he is. It's complicated.' A quiet, wry laugh left her lips, a mask to her embarrassment at having spoken so candidly. ‘It's had the biggest impact on my life.'

‘Of course it has!' he interjected.

‘When it happened, I kept waiting for the facts to sink in, for it to feel real and I'm now twenty-eight and it never has.'

‘Do you want me to take you to Lundy?' His offer was beautiful, sincere, and moving because of it.

‘No, but that's the kindest offer. Thank you.'

‘It'd be easy, we could hire a boat, go on one of those trips that leave from the harbour.' His enthusiasm for the trip grew.

‘I can't, Ed, but thank you.'

‘Why can't you?'

‘Because' – she drew on every bit of courage she possessed to make the admission – ‘because if I go to Lundy and find he's not there, then I know it's true, don't I? If I go and he's not there, then I know he's never coming home and somehow that feels worse. Because when things feel like too much at home or it's a hard day in the café, I think about' – she swallowed – ‘I think about him coming back, think about my daddy coming home, and it makes things better.'

He didn't laugh, didn't judge, but simply reached for her hand.

‘Do you speak to anyone about it, about how you feel?'

‘No, because I'm okay! I have a great life, a happy life, really. There are just things that I find hard, too hard – like going out in a boat. I don't want to. And I can't bear anyone being late. It bothers me. I know we've joked about it, but I try wherever possible to be on time because if someone says they will be at a certain place at a certain time and you're relying on them, it's really shitty when they're not there. It makes you feel ...' She paused, seeing shadows of the day her dad was lost, hearing her mother wailing and her nan sobbing. And while not able to fully recall the detail, which was like a photograph out of focus, blurred, she could remember quite clearly how much of it had felt.

He was supposed to be home by four.

That's what he said, four or five at the latest.

Why isn't he home?

Have we called the sailing club?

Has someone checked if his boat is in the harbour?

Can someone call Sten?

She shivered as the breeze picked up and carried across the sea to lift her hair and cool her skin.

‘Shall we head back to Corner Cottage? Go get some hot chocolate?' He stood and reached down for her hand to help her stand.

‘Yes, please.'

He didn't let go of her hand as they walked back along the beach, towards the steps that would take them up to the car park.

‘I never got to hear the three things that I don't know about you.' She looked up at him.

‘We'll pick it up at home, how does that sound?'

Home.

‘It sounds good.'