CHAPTER SEVENTEEN TAWRIE GUNN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T AWRIE G UNN

A UGUST 2024

‘Bloody hell!' Connie pulled a face of utter disgust as Tawrie waltzed into the Café on the Corner and grabbed her apron and notepad. ‘I can't deal with that smug, happy face all day, it's enough to make me puke! I suggest you think miserable thoughts and start frowning a bit.'

Tawrie could feel the love in her cousin's ribbing.

‘Envy is a terrible thing, Con! Anyway, you should be happy for me!'

‘I am, but I just can't deal with that sickly lovestruck smile. So wipe it off your chops and we'll all have a better day.'

‘Well, aren't you a little ray of sunshine?' She tied her apron around her waist.

Connie turned her attention back to the grill. ‘So I guess we can assume you had a nice time last night with Sebastian?'

Tawrie leant on the countertop and let out a dreamy sigh. ‘I feel like a teenager. I'm literally all of a dither. It was ... it was ...'

‘Two bubble and squeak with fried eggs, both with bacon and one with beans!' Gaynor called over her shoulder. ‘Morning, Taw, you all right, me darlin'?'

‘Oh, she's fine, Gay. About to tell me all about her night of passion with Sebastian!'

‘Ooh, I'll hang around for that then, I do love a bit of love.'

‘Honestly, you two! There's nothing to tell!' She squirmed while her cheeks ached with the width of her smile.

‘Oh, you dirty cow!' Connie brandished the cooking tongs in her direction.

‘What're you talking about now?' She shrank back towards the wall.

‘I know that look! I think there's everything to tell! Just wait till I tell Nan what her little Tawrie Gunn's been up to!' Connie tutted loudly.

‘What's Tawrie Gunn been up to?' They hadn't heard Needle come in, and yet there he was with his reusable cup in his hand, awaiting his morning coffee. His words were offered generally but his eyes fixed on Connie.

‘Wouldn't you like to know!' Connie shot him down.

‘This one might be in love!' Gaynor mock whispered, loud enough for them all to hear, while pointing at Tawrie.

‘Well, that's a turn-up for the books, although I knew something was going on, what with her new happy face. That's how I got my nickname, cos I notice things. Sharp as a needle!' He tapped his temple.

Connie turned with the tongs in her hand. ‘That's not why everyone calls you Needle, Needle.'

‘Isn't it?' He stared into the face of the woman he wanted to take out on his boat.

‘No, love, it's not cos you're sharp. It's because you're a prick.'

Gaynor let out a laugh and Tawrie felt a flicker of sympathy for the man.

‘I know you're joking.' He smiled. ‘And to be honest, Connie, my love, you can call me anything you like, cos if you are talking to me in any way, about anything, then I know I'll be happy.'

‘Oh Connie! You got to admit he's a trier and God loves a trier.' Gaynor grabbed a Diet Coke from the fridge and whisked it out to the back.

‘Well, maybe he can take God out on his boat then?' Connie sucked her teeth and turned her attention back to the grill.

Tawrie left them to it, knowing nothing, not even their bickering, could dampen her mood. She approached the woman sitting alone at a table. She was about her own age, but beautiful, elegant, with long blonde hair carelessly slung over one shoulder and denim cut-offs that showed off her tanned, endless legs. A dainty, thin woman, definitely built for sitting on a pretty seat while improving her needlepoint. Her movements were languid, her limbs rangy, her build narrow, refined. There was no way she came from a long line of log-shifters, hole-diggers, net-menders, barrel-hefters or fish-gutters. A quick glance down at her own sturdy thighs and she felt the cruel twin daggers of comparison and self-doubt simultaneously threaten her confidence. It was an observation that ordinarily would deflate her good mood, but this was no ordinary day and she was still aglow!

With one hand supporting her head and her elbow resting on the table, the woman scrolled her phone with her free hand, suggesting she might have been sitting there for a while, waiting.

‘Hi there, what can I get you?' Tawrie smiled and waited with her pen poised.

‘Hi, erm ...' The woman flashed her impossibly white, impossibly straight teeth. ‘Do you have any herbal teas?'

‘We have peppermint or chamomile.'

‘Do you have any others?'

‘Other than the ones I just told you we have?'

‘Yes.'

‘Connie?' she yelled over to the counter where Needle had just made his exit.

‘What?' Connie called over her shoulder.

‘Do we have any herbal teas other than peppermint or chamomile?'

Connie looked up from the grill. ‘What is the lady looking for exactly in terms of tea?'

Tawrie recognised her cousin's subtle sarcasm, which seemed to be the order of the day.

‘Oh!' The woman sat up straight and beamed. ‘Do you have anything with ginger in it? I like anything with ginger.'

Connie shook her head. ‘No. No, we don't.' She smiled almost imperceptibly at Tawrie and went back to the bangers, which were starting to sizzle.

Undeterred, the customer continued. ‘Okay, erm, what about anything fruity: rosehip, blackcurrant, apple?'

‘Did you hear that, Con?'

‘No, what?' Her manner was decidedly less patient.

‘Can you check the chamomile and peppermint teas and see if they have anything fruity in them?'

Connie abandoned the metal tongs, wiped her hands on her apron and grabbed the slightly dusty boxes from the shelf before scouring the small print.

‘Nothing fruity, I'm afraid.' Connie replaced the box and reached for her tongs.

‘Sorry about that.' Tawrie smiled at the woman who twirled the ends of her hair between her fingers. She was nicely dressed, pairing a long-sleeved white shirt with her cut-offs, and with a tiny turquoise choker at her neck.

‘Okay, so ... in that case, I'll take a coffee, do you have decaf?'

‘Yes.' There was no need to check.

‘Fab, so, decaf coff for me and a black tea for his nibs.'

‘Black tea?'

‘Yes, he's lactose intolerant, and late!' She gestured to the empty chair opposite.

‘No worries. I'll leave the menu with you in case you want to order when your friend arrives.'

‘Thank you.' The woman was sweet, sincere and a bit posh.

‘Right, Gay' – Tawrie leaned on the counter – ‘can I please have—' She was about to put her order in when she was wholly distracted by the rather handsome visitor who appeared at the door.

‘Oh marvellous, that's all we need! Another lovebird to clutter up the place! She's working, you know!' Connie brandished the tongs – her new weapon of choice – in his direction and laughed as Tawrie stared at her man, come to visit her in the café. She was actually delighted. It seemed that he too found the thought of no contact until this evening utterly unacceptable.

‘Well hello you, couldn't keep away?' She took a step forward and watched as he took a tentative step backwards; it made her stomach drop. There was something about the rise and fall of his Adam's apple, the way he exhaled, that made her ears ring and the blood rush from her head. She pushed her foot into the lino-covered floor and let her arms fall by her sides, willing him to spit it out. ‘What's up?'

‘I ... I got a, erm ... I got a ... text, a text from, erm ...' He wiped the sweat from his top lip.

‘Spit it out!' She found his behaviour confusing and concerning in equal measure.

‘I got a text, telling me to be here. I texted back, but she didn't reply ...' He swallowed. ‘I don't have time to explain, but I ... I have a girl, a someone. A ... a girlfriend.'

‘What?' Her voice croaked as the ground rushed up to meet her. It was as if he spoke in a foreign tongue. Unable to process his words, she felt numb, rooted to the spot and wasn't sure whether she wanted to vomit or sob. Her legs shook and she felt the floor tremble beneath her as she sought clarification, leaning now on the countertop.

He looked over her shoulder and exclaimed, ‘Oh fuck!'

It was the first time she'd heard him swear like this and it didn't suit him.

‘You all right, Taw?' She heard Connie ask behind her.

‘I don't ... I don't know what to say.' It was all she could manage as her heart leapt at the sight of his greying complexion. He stared ahead, looking into the café, while she kept her eyes on his face.

There was no need to ask who he was looking at; she knew before he spoke, could tell by the look on his face as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the pretty, dainty woman with the tanned legs who liked herbal tea with ginger. Alerted as she was by the rosy flush to his cheeks and nose, the way sweat broke on his forehead and the rather harried way he shoved his fingers into his hair, and knowing in her soul what was about to unfold, guessing at the words yet to be spoken, Tawrie's heart felt like it was being squeezed and her pulse raced loudly in her ears.

‘I ... I don't know what to say,' she repeated, quieter this time, hoping that if she whispered and he responded in kind, she might not have to hear the words that she was confident were about to slice her heart into pieces and wash away the pillars of confidence on which she had stood since meeting this man.

‘It's ...' He spoke deliberately, seemingly his lips were stuck to his dry teeth. ‘It's Petra. Petra, erm, she's my, she's the ... I didn't know she was coming, I—'

‘Bear!' The woman jumped up from the table, clearly delighted to see him. She trotted the length of the café and practically leapt into his arms. He held her fast and Tawrie wondered if she were actually there watching as the two slid together, faces touching, lip to lip, nose to nose, arms entwined, or whether she were invisible, disappeared altogether, spirited away into nothingness, which would explain the hollow void where her stomach used to lurk and the slight ethereal echo of all sound.

‘What ... what are you doing here?' Edgar managed, as he placed the woman gently on the linoleum.

‘I missed you!' Petra spoke the simple truth as she stared at him. ‘And what kind of a welcome is that?' She prodded his chest. ‘I thought I'd come down and surprise you but didn't know where the house was. I knew it was close to the harbour, so I thought I'd come here, grab a cuppa, message you and voilà!' She curtseyed.

Tawrie could barely look him in the eye as Ed turned towards her.

‘This ... this is Petra.' His voice shook.

‘Hi! I'm Petra. Bear's fiancée.'

‘Fiancée? Wow!' The words coasted out of her mouth on forced laughter. ‘Congratulations to you both!' She grinned even though her preference would have been to sob.

‘Oh, thank you! I'd show you the ring but it's still being properly sized at the jeweller's.' Petra cupped her hand over her mouth as if sharing an aside. ‘His great-grandmother's ring, and let's just say she had rather sausagey fingers!'

‘Ha!' Her laughter was an odd sound, staccato and loud.

Ed tried to hold her eyeline but she looked away, concentrating on Petra's dewy complexion, that great cascade of thick hair, and her bright smile.

‘I don't know your name?' Petra took a step closer and Tawrie wished she had a smaller nose and that she'd brushed her hair.

‘This is Tawrie, she works here in the café.'

This time Tawrie looked up and stared right at him. Was that her introduction? Was that who and what she was to him? Apparently so. She felt the embarrassing tightening of her throat and knew that she would take any action to avoid crying here in her place of work, in the town she'd lived her whole life, in front of these two.

‘That's me, Tawrie who works here in the café. But I guess you'd rather gathered that, as I've just taken your order.'

Ed looked like he might faint.

‘Cute!' Petra wrinkled her nose. ‘Tory as in David Cameron? Carrie's fancy wallpaper, Boris, and his chums, tiny Rishi?'

‘Yep. Yes that's me. That's it. Tory. True blue.' She grimaced.

‘Wow! That's quite a name.'

‘Isn't it just?' She threw her head back and tried to match Petra's stance. ‘And Bear, that's an unusual name too!' Again she grinned at the man who had held her hand while she told him about the loss of her dad; the man who had told her he loved her not three hours since.

‘It's a-a nick-nickname, not many people call me it.'

‘A nick-nickname, I see.' She held her ground, recalling how he had said something similar as they'd got to know each other, making, she now knew, false confessions. ‘Well, there we go.' She took a deep breath, entirely disinterested in his explanation. He was a liar and she felt like a fool for having believed anything he'd said. Not that this revelation made it hurt any less. ‘Anyway, I should be, erm ...' She pointed in the general direction of the grill, where Connie stood with her mouth open, the sausages all but blackened. ‘I just need to ...' She pointed out the door and Connie nodded. This time with no sarcastic commentary, no jibe, just a look of either horror or abject fury, it was hard to tell.

‘Take your time.' Her cousin gave a brief nod. ‘Do you want me to come with you?'

Tawrie shook her head, knowing they were busy and with her gone things would quickly turn to chaos.

‘Nice to meet you, Tory, hope to see you around!' Perky Petra threaded her arm through Ed's and clung on like they were about to run a three-legged race as she steered him towards the back of the café, where their drinks would arrive any second.

‘Oh, you will.' She smiled at the woman. ‘Ilfracombe is a small place. It's hard to avoid people, even if you wish you could.' Her eyes lingered briefly on Ed's and she wanted to scream at the sadness that lurked there. How dare he pretend he was bothered! His only regret, she was certain, was having been exposed as the shit he was.

‘I'm going to order us salad,' Petra informed him as the two walked to the back of the café.

Stumbling out of the building, Tawrie did her best to remain upright as she made her way to the benches that overlooked the harbour. Ordinarily it was a place for quiet contemplation, reflection or rest. Today it was a lifesaver. Collapsing down on to the wooden seat, she kept her head down and her gaze fixed on the floor, trying to sort the jumble of thoughts that whizzed around her head, as sadness kept a vice-like grip on her throat and she fought for breath.

‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! I can't believe it! You're such an idiot, Tawrie Gunn.'

Putting her hands over her face, she did her best to make sense of what she now knew. Put simply, she had been used and lied to, and the very worst thing, apart from shagging Ed while his pretty girlfriend had no clue, was that she had been so willing, eager! She'd even dropped her knickers the first time she spoke to him. Although even that didn't seem quite so funny now.

What was it Connie had said? ‘Don't let him in. Don't let him get to your heart.'

Tawrie had agreed that she wouldn't, but she had lied. The lure of him and all he represented had been greater than her ability to think rationally.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there but she wanted to be sure he and his fiancée had left the café before she returned, and she was confident Connie would call and give her the nod. The thought of having to see them again, holding hands, cheerily chatting ... She bent low and breathed deeply through her nose to try to stem the rising nausea.

‘Tawrie!'

To hear his voice over her shoulder was a surprise. She sat up straight, still in shock, still trying to make sense of the news, to comprehend the worst kind of betrayal, to recognise that she was an idiot. A na?ve idiot.

‘Tawrie, please.' He spoke softly and sat next to her. Just the scent of him, the proximity of him, was enough to open up the channel of distress as her tears fell. ‘Please don't cry.'

It felt easier to ignore him. She watched his hands grip, flex, and regrip his fingers, suggesting he might want to take her hand, but thankfully knew better than to try.

‘What do you want? Why're you here?' she managed through her tears.

‘I told Petra I was going to the loo.'

‘Lying to her too.' She gritted her teeth.

‘I told you I needed to sort things, so that we could make plans—'

‘And in my na?vety,' she interrupted, ‘I thought you meant redirect your mail, cancel your London gym membership, bring more clothes! Whatever! But not in a million years did I think it involved a partner!'

‘I-I wanted to tell you, I really did. I tried, but ...'

‘But what?' she sniffed. ‘When did you try, and what could you possibly say to justify being such a shit?'

‘I was going to tell you tonight, that was my third thing, but I didn't want it to sound trite, I promise—'

‘Oh well, a promise from you is all I need to convince me!' She snorted her derision and wiped her face.

‘I know how it looks ...' he began.

‘Do you?' she fired. ‘We were in bed together only a few hours ago.' She pointed up towards Fore Street. ‘We spoke about everything from cricket balls to first loves, going through a bloody checklist! And at no point did you think it might be a good idea to mention that you're getting married?'

Frustratingly, her tears fell harder.

‘I'm not getting married.' He swallowed.

‘Oh, right, it's just that I think you'll find that's what fiancée means!'

He rubbed his eyes and she noted the slight shake to his fingers. ‘It's all a fucking mess.'

‘It is. A mess of your making!' she spat. ‘I feel like such an idiot. I believed everything you told me!' This was the hardest thing for her to fathom: how she had fallen and how quickly. ‘I've got to give you credit, you were very convincing.'

‘You can believe me! I love you! I do.'

Those words were no longer the key to a portal in which she could see her future. She looked out over the water and let her pulse settle.

‘Do you know, this is where I was sitting when I first saw you.'

‘I thought it was at Hele Bay?' His mouth twitched briefly, as if he were happy in the memory.

She shook her head. ‘No. I was standing right here. It was like I was aware of you before I actually saw you, and when I did, I remember thinking, there you are. As if I'd been waiting for you, waiting for you without even knowing it.'

‘It's the same, the same for me, but—'

‘But what, Edgar, Bear, Ed, whatever your bloody name is?'

‘It's such a mess!'

‘Yes, so you've said.' She sucked in her cheeks to stop a sob forming.

‘I need to tell you—'

‘No, no you don't need to tell me anything.' She cut him off. ‘I want you to leave me alone. Please just go away.' Her veins ran cold with humiliation.

‘Tawrie, please, I want to explain, I need to—'

‘I said go away! You don't need to do anything. Don't you think you've done enough?' She was unaware of just how loudly she had yelled until Needle came alongside.

‘Everything all right here, Taw?' He stood with his shoulders back, chest out, as if prepared to go toe to toe with Ed, and she was strangely glad he was there. Despite having him witness her distress, it felt good to have the support of someone who knew her, knew her family. Here in this little town, where she belonged and Edgar Stratton did not.

‘Everything's fine, thanks, Needle. Just saying goodbye to this wanker-named blow-in.' She found there was nothing rewarding in having spoken so foully about the man she loved, nor the expression of hurt that flashed across his face. ‘You'd better get back to your fiancée, your decaf coff might be going cold.'

He looked from her to Needle and then at his watch, before walking slowly, shoulders hunched, back to his fiancée, who thought he was in the loo.

‘You all right, love?' Needle placed his hand on her shoulder. His kindness was almost more than she could stand.

‘I will be. I'm going to go home for a bit.'

‘Want me to walk you?' He bent his head and looked into her eyes; sweet, kind Needle who might not be sharp, but was lovely.

‘I'll be okay, Needle, but thanks.' She turned and walked away, although with her thoughts spinning like a tornado, tears clouding her vision and with the collapse of the adrenaline-fuelled happiness that had been holding her up, tiredness now lapped at her heels and her footsteps faltered.

Ed turned to look at her as she passed him at the café entrance, making her way up Fore Street.

She kept her gaze firmly ahead, willing her robust legs to move faster, as she fired off a text to Connie.

JUST NEED AN HOUR

Her cousin's reply was swift: a single kiss.

Having made it to the top of the steps, she spied her nan in a deckchair, reading the paper in the sunshine with her broad-brimmed straw hat hiding her face.

‘Here she is! All okay, little love?'

Standing in front of the big old house, she felt unable to move, rooted to the spot and not sure where to turn, what to say or do next. There was a new feeling now: acute embarrassment and shame that she had dared to think she might have met her soulmate and would now have to admit it was a sham.

‘What's up, darlin'? Thought you were at work?' Freda folded the paper into her lap.

These words were enough to pull the ripcord on her distress, which she had managed to keep tightly packed in until that moment.

‘Oh Nan!' Running forward she flopped down on the grass in front of her and placed her head on her lap. Her tears came thick and fast and with her eyes tightly closed, she wished she could wake up from the whole horrible nightmare.

‘What on earth's the matter, Tawrie Gunn? This isn't like you! What's happened, love?'

‘He's engaged. The boy you met by the bins, he's engaged to a girl with thin legs and she's ordering him salad!' Her sobs upset the rhythm of her breathing and she welcomed the feel of her nan's palm on her scalp.

‘There there, little maid, don't cry. Don't you cry. He's not worth it. They never are.'

‘I thought he-he was different.' She hiccupped. ‘He made me feel different! But it wasn't real. None of it! He's a liar.'

‘I tell you what we're going to do.' Her nan sat forward and threw the newspaper on the floor. Tawrie sat up to face her, her eyes stinging with tears. ‘We're going to have a cup of tea and you're going to wash your face and then we're going to go down to Corner Cottage and we shall tell him what an arsehole he is!'

‘I'm not going to do that.' She laughed at the thought. ‘I'm never going to speak to him again. I can't.'

‘Well, I'll go then!'

‘You don't need to do that, Nan; I don't want him to know how upset I am. And I don't want to upset his fiancée, it's not her fault.' She felt the start of a headache.

‘Well, I mean this' – Freda pointed her slightly bent finger with its nobbled, arthritic knuckle – ‘if he or anyone else gives you any grief then you tell me and I'll bloody sort them out! Or I'll send your Uncle Sten to sort them out! He got all his judo belts when he was little. They both did.'

And just this reminder of her dad as a boy was enough for Nana Freda to reach for the tissue that lurked up her sleeve.

‘Thanks, Nan, but I'll be okay.'

Tawrie hoped this was the truth as she trod the stairs, ignoring her mother's closed door and what had occurred behind it earlier – a literal shit-show that now paled into comparison with her own woes. She stopped on the half landing to stare at the middle window of the upper hallway at Corner Cottage.

It helped to say it out loud, to help the facts percolate.

‘You have a girlfriend, Ed. A fiancée! Someone that isn't me! Another woman who, I guess, will never know we had sex last night. And you were telling the truth about one thing: it is a bloody mess.'

She felt the twin blades of regret and shame slice through the image of the two of them on the floor of the laundry room and then, later, entwined on the wide bed beneath the eaves of the attic room. Where she had felt so safe.

She pushed the door open to the cluttered bedroom in which she'd always slept and lay on the bed, tortured by images of her and Ed eating crisps from the packet, drinking ‘the other, pink stuff' and playing Uno, as wave upon wave of tears filled her nose and throat. Her interior monologue was mournful. Of course this is how it ends for me, for us. What did you expect, Tawrie? This, right here in this room, is the life you have always had and it's not going to change, not now. Not ever!

Lying on her front, she buried her face in her pillow and wished she could curl up and shut out the whole wide world, just for a while.