CHAPTER NINETEEN TAWRIE GUNN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T AWRIE G UNN

A UGUST 2024

With leaden limbs, fatigue-riddled bones and a cloak of sorrow about her shoulders, Tawrie cycled slowly. Hele Bay Beach was quiet when she pulled up and placed her bike and duffel bag in her favoured spot. It was rare and deflating to look out over the water and not feel the rush of excitement at the prospect of striding in. Not even the sight of glorious sunshine spreading over the water could lift her. Never could she have imagined that to walk into the big briny and feel its embrace would seem like a chore. Her heart just wasn't in it, but she was damned if she was going to let someone like Edgar Stratton spoil this for her too.

Images of his laughing face and his words, offered so sincerely, had plagued her throughout the night, and she knew that if she hadn't heard from his own mouth that he had a girlfriend, she would not have believed it. Her experience of him and the trust quickly built, based on nothing more than instinct, had led her to believe that he was the real deal and that her feelings were indeed reciprocated.

A quick glance along the shoreline and she spotted Jago, already in and pulling through the water. Maudie was a little way off to his right.

There was no sign of Ed, something she had hoped for and dreaded in equal measure. Practising in her head how she would ignore him, while thinking of all the questions she wanted to fire at him. It was a quandary. She longed to see him, the love drug residue still lingered in her veins and fed the craving. At the same time, the prospect of seeing him and not being able to touch him because he was not hers was galling. A realisation that caused her stomach to grip with loss.

With her swimming costume on, wetsuit left at home on this warm day, she strode into the water and felt the frustrating sting of tears; she waded further until the water lapped her thighs and still those tears just kept on coming. With her head now in her hands and her goggles dangling on her wrist, she knew there was no point putting them on only to have them fill from her leaky eyes. Her shoulders shook as frustration and fatigue combined to make her do something that the darkness, rain, and wind had failed to do: look back at the shore, where her dry robe nestled invitingly on her bike, and wonder if she had the strength to swim at all, or whether she should give up and go home, just for today.

The water chopped against her and she took this as the push she needed to get on with it. Further still she ventured, until gentle waves lapped her shoulders and neck and she closed her eyes, letting the ocean soothe her.

‘What's wrong with me, Dad?' she whispered, swallowing the salty mass of distress that gathered at the back of her nose and slipped down her throat. Pulling her arms through the sea, she moved swiftly out into deeper water before slowing, eyes closed, the sun on her face as she opened her heart to the body of water where she felt most at home.

‘Why is it never my turn? What did I do? Should I have put mascara on?' She sniffed. ‘I don't wear make-up because I don't look like Connie so I don't see the point, and I would hate anyone to think I was like Mum, always with a face full of the stuff. I don't want anyone to think I'm like her.' Her tears added salty drops to top up the ocean. ‘I really liked him, more than I was supposed to after such a short period of time. I couldn't help it. I loved him. I love him. He felt like mine, and I know that's a ridiculous thing to say for a grown woman – romantic, fanciful even – but it's the truth, he did. And I liked the way it felt; in fact, I loved it.'

‘It's okay, take your time ...' The voice was soft, kind.

Dad?

She took a sharp intake of breath and opened her eyes towards the sound coming from the ocean. It was of course Jago who had come alongside her and spoke again. ‘Who are you talking to, Tawrie Gunn?'

She turned in the water. ‘Oh! Jago! I didn't know you were there.' Her humiliation was complete.

‘I didn't want to interrupt you; sounded like you were having quite the chat.'

His kindness was like flicking a switch that made her tears surge.

‘Be steady, Tawrie, nothing is worth crying over, dear.'

At the sight of the kindly old man who was most definitely not her father, she cried harder, sinking down into the water, crying and bobbing like a lost seal pup. The disappointment of the voice not belonging to her dad was more than she could or would ever confess.

‘I'm ... I'm oka-ay.' She stuttered.

‘It's horrible to see you like this! You are always so sunny! So delighted to be a Peacock! It gladdens our hearts. We look out for you every day and when we see your bike appear on the slipway, it makes us so happy!'

She found his sweetness and the sentiment he expressed profoundly moving.

‘I can't help it.'

‘I don't want to pry and you don't have to tell me a thing, but is it because of that young man? Maudie said you were quite keen.'

Tawrie nodded. ‘I was. More than quite keen.' She could picture Maudie mouthing the understatement. ‘But not as keen, apparently, as his fiancée.'

‘Fiancée? Oh, what a rotter!' Jago shook his head, spitting water that had trickled into his mouth.

She couldn't disagree.

‘You know, dear, I remember everything about the early days with Maudie when we first met – everything. What she wore, what we said, the things that made us laugh. Although in fairness most things made us laugh; we were quite the giddy young things.'

This she could relate to: the giddiness.

‘I wasn't only excited for what was happening in that moment, but also for everything that lay ahead. I knew very quickly that it was her. That she was who I'd been waiting for.' This phrase was so reminiscent of her experience, it was at once a validation of her feelings and a devastating reminder of what had slipped through her fingers. ‘And even though we've been together for a hundred and fifty years' – he rolled his eyes comically, his face lapped by the sea as a wave came in – ‘I still feel like that. I'm still happy, excited to be with her, even though what comes next for us, at this stage in our lives, is without doubt the toughest part of any love affair.'

She felt the boulder of sadness in her throat, picturing her beloved dad, knowing how devastating and unrelenting grief could be.

‘And that's what you need to hold out for – someone who makes you feel like that.'

‘Thank you, Jago.'

‘Not at all. Maudie isn't the only one with advice, difference is I don't feel the need to give mine every five minutes.' He winked at her. ‘Shall I tell you a secret?'

‘Yes please.' She was cheered by their interaction, the closeness. It was odd yet perfectly comfortable, bobbing about in the sea with her fellow Peacock.

‘I'm not deaf. Or at least not as deaf as she thinks I am.'

‘Jago! Why would Maudie think you were?' She was perplexed.

‘Because I let her think it, my dear! For the last decade or so at least, my beloved wife has spoken with complete candour, confident that I can't hear a word. I know all her secrets. I know where she hides her chocolate stash, songs that remind her of former crushes, I know that when I slurp hot tea it maddens her to her very core. I know that when our daughter says she'll ring and doesn't it cuts her to the quick. I know that she farts when she thinks I'm occupied with something. I know she makes up the lyrics to songs, filling in the gaps with nonsensical words. I know she gives me the fattest chop, the crispiest potatoes, the largest glass of whatever we're drinking. I know she loves me and I know how to amend my behaviours to make her life better. And all this I know because she speaks freely, confident in the knowledge that I can't quite hear.'

‘I love how much you two love each other.' She felt the beginnings of a smile; it was impossible not to find this fact wonderfully life-affirming.

‘Morning, darling.' Maudie swam over, breathing hard, her chest heaving, muscled arms steadying herself – she was a strong swimmer.

‘Morning, Maudie.' She leaned back and let the water coat her hair.

‘Goodness me, was there ever a more mournful greeting! What's the matter, Tawrie? You've lost your sparkle today!'

‘I have a bit.' She hadn't planned on crying again, and yet those darn tears broke their banks regardless.

‘Now, now whatever is the matter?' She saw Maudie exchange a look with Jago and his subtle long blink.

‘Just feeling a bit sorry for myself,' she confessed.

‘Anything to do with that young man?' Maudie was a woman with her finger on the pulse.

‘He's a rotter, Maudie! I've just told Tawrie as much,' Jago piped up.

‘Well, I'll tell you what I've always told my daughter.' The old lady took her time. ‘If someone doesn't want you then they're not the person you thought they were and therefore what you miss about them, or the life you imagined with them, doesn't exist. Because they are not the right person. They're a fraud and who wants to be lumbered with a fraud! Do you understand?' She spoke plainly, as was her way.

‘Kind of.' She didn't want to think of Ed in those terms, didn't want to accept that he just didn't want her. The wanker-named liar.

‘I'm losing the morning, better get on.' Jago lifted his hand and pulled away, satisfied there was little he could do or add.

Maudie stared at her. ‘Right, get a grip, Tawrie. Take control of your emotions because you're going to need them. You need to present as strongly as you can.'

‘I know.' She nodded and gave a false smile, something she was quite adept at: digging deep, finding a smile, and standing firm and calm while her nan and mum fell apart. ‘I'm fine,' she lied. ‘I'll do a couple of laps and head in.'

‘You might want to rethink that.' Maudie jerked her head towards the beach as she swam off.

Tawrie turned in the water, sending a bow wave out around her. Her heart jumped in her chest. There he was. Sitting by her bike with his knees up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his shins. He was wearing the pink linen shirt and she could guess that the buttons would be askew. Her thoughts were jumbled. Her body, it seemed, had forgotten that they were estranged, and the familiar flame of attraction leapt in her stomach and radiated along her limbs, before her brain put the lid on it, extinguishing all possibility of physical contact.

‘ I want to say I love you. ' That's what he'd whispered and it had felt like magic.

‘ It's the same for me ... I'd like you to say it. '

It felt surreal, recalling this exchange while staring at him from the water, trying to figure out how they had tumbled so far, so quickly from that perfect moment.

Having made her way over the rocks and up to the wet sand, self-consciousness slid over her sea-slicked skin. It felt exposing, him seeing her in her swimming costume, especially after the intimacy they'd shared, now made shameful in light of his deceit. She decided to act as if he were invisible, ignoring him completely. To be this close to him was uncomfortable, unbearable, almost. Not that she intended to let him know this.

‘Tawrie,' he began, standing now as she reached for her towel and rubbed her wet hair. ‘I don't know what to say, but I know I need to speak to you. I've hardly slept.'

As she concentrated on getting dry and changed, invasive and unpleasant thoughts popped into her mind with imagery she could have done without. Had Petra climbed into that double bed in the attic room, lain her head on the pillow where Tawrie had slept and stared at the ceiling? How had Ed felt about it, a second bedfellow in such a short space of time, the sheets barely cold after they'd spent the night entwined and making promises he had no hope of honouring?

Gathering her dry robe from the bike she took a few steps to the left and pulled it over her head, rolling her wet swimming costume down to her waist, as ever welcoming the feel of the soft fleece lining against her skin. Her gaze she kept on the ocean, watching as Maudie and Jago took their last strokes of the morning swim.

‘I guess I thought ...' She heard him swallow. ‘... I thought I had time to think of what to say, trying to find the time when things were perfect, knowing I was going to shatter it, trying to figure out how to tell you that—'

‘That you're a liar?' Still she didn't look at him, but not speaking, not giving in to the words cued up on her tongue was a lot harder than she'd thought it would be.

‘I'm not, I'm not, I—'

‘It doesn't matter how you dress it up or try to justify it. You're engaged to be married to a woman who wears your sausage-fingered great-grandmother's engagement ring, when the adjustments have been made that is. You must have been texting her, calling her and her you. I mean, of course, you guys are engaged after all.'

‘Taw.' The sound of her name on his lips was like a punch to her throat.

‘And all while we drank wine, held hands, scoffed crisps, played bloody Uno, walked on the beach ... while we kissed. And we kissed a lot. Even when I slept with you.'

‘I never meant—'

‘Never meant what? Never meant for me to find out? What was your plan, Bear ? To piss off back to London after a summer fling and leave me stranded, filled to the brim with all your bullshit?'

‘It wasn't bullshit, none of it. It's complicated, I—'

‘No! No, it's not complicated. You lied to me! It's actually very, very straightforward.'

‘I didn't.' He sounded close to tears and she took small comfort from it.

‘You did, you lied through omission, which is the same as telling a big fat lie!'

‘It's . . . it's not . . .' He spoke softly.

‘Oh, but it is! It's exactly the same, and the worst thing is that I fell for it! I fell for it all!' She placed her palms on her forehead where the beginning of a headache was brewing. ‘All that bloody detail about hating your life, wanting to teach or paint, and never once dropping into the conversation the fact that you are engaged to Perky Petra! I feel like such an idiot. You made me into an idiot. And you know what? I have enough going on in my life without you throwing rocks into it as well.'

‘The reason I came here, apart from hating my job, which is true, is that I never wanted to get engaged, not to her. I thought I'd put some distance between us to figure all my shit out and then you just came into my life out of nowhere! She's great, really lovely and we've been together for six years and she wanted more—'

‘Why are you telling me this?' She felt torn, wanting him to shut up while actually craving the detail.

‘Because it's important!' He lunged forward and gripped her by the tops of the arms. ‘It's important. And if you want me to sod off and not bother you again that's fine, but I won't be called a liar.'

She shrugged free, laughing in the face of his insistence when the exact opposite was the truth.

‘I didn't know how to tell her that things were moving in the wrong direction. She's a nice girl, a great girl, and I didn't know how to say that while she was daydreaming of pageboys, marquees and flower arches, I was trying to figure out how to end things. I've never felt so trapped in my life! What started out as a suggestion from her, no more than a joke over dinner, all got very real very quickly when my stepmother got involved. The next thing I knew, they're making plans, looking at fucking dresses and my dad had got his gran's ring out of the attic!'

‘None of that is relevant. None of it. That's how you got to that point in your life and good for you, but it's what came next that bothers me. You told me you loved me, you slept with me, you let me fall in love with you! I'm twenty-eight, Ed, not a kid, and I've never, ever felt so shitty. And trust me, the bar was already pretty high.'

‘I never wanted to make you feel like that. I couldn't bring myself to say it out loud. You and I were in this brilliant bubble and I knew mentioning Petra would burst it and I wanted to stay inside it forever. I didn't want to risk scaring you off.'

‘Scaring me off? You've done more than that. You've hurt me! Hurt me deeply!' She cursed the croak to her voice.

‘And that's the hardest thing for me to reconcile. I didn't speak plainly to Petra for fear of hurting her and not knowing how. I hid the truth from you for the same reasons. I feel like shit. Absolute shit. I didn't plan any of it, I didn't. You just happened to come along when I was trying to figure out my life and my next steps, and it's like—'

‘Don't. Just stop. I just don't want to hear it! Your weakness is cringe-inducing. And I guess the good news is, you were worried about hurting us both but now you don't need to be. You can go back to your fiancée and she'll be none the wiser. You can omit the truth with her too.' She pulled on her trainers and righted her bike.

‘Are you okay, Tawrie?' Maudie called as she and Jago walked up from the shoreline.

‘I will be, Maudie. See you tomorrow.' She spoke plainly, no false smile, no platitude to ease the atmosphere, just the truth. It felt good.

‘I'm not weak and I'm not a liar! I mean it, Taw.' Edgar, it seemed, had no intention of shutting up and she felt shards of guilt prick her conscience that she'd been so harsh. ‘I didn't plan it, but meeting you has made me think about what I want and where I want to be and—'

‘Well, let me help you out.' She slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and stared at his face, his handsome face, with the floppy fringe that hung over his forehead. ‘What you want is to marry your fiancée, who seems very nice, and who I feel very sorry for because you're lying to her too, and where you want to be is London, so do me a favour and sod off back there as soon as possible. Please, just go away, for all our sakes.'

‘Please, Tawrie, I just want to be with you, be near you!' He pawed at her arm as his tears mustered.

It was more than she could take. ‘You don't understand!' She cared less now that tears sheeted her face, or that talking was difficult with this particular level of distress altering her voice, the rhythm of her breathing. All attempt at control was abandoned as her sorrow spilled from her. ‘Loving you was like going to a different place, a place I doubted existed. I wanted to stay there forever. It was wonderful. It was winning. It was all the good things I thought it might be.'

‘Tawrie.' He took a step towards her and she took a step back.

‘And now it's gone and it's worse than having never been there at all because I know that it exists, and I know that I've lost the key and I can only go there in memory, like ... like with my dad. It's the same; I can't see him or feel him or touch him, I can only remember little bits – like his singing, the scent of nail varnish and bowls of fucking cherries!'

‘Tawrie—'

‘Stop saying my name! It's not yours to say any more. I'm no part of you and you're no part of me. You're someone else's. You're fickle and false, a liar, and that's that.'

‘T—' He started but clearly heeded her warning and thought better of it. His tears didn't have the same impact as they would have only days before. Before Petra had pitched up. ‘I'm not fickle or false and I'm not a liar.'

‘Oh no? You keep saying that as if it might make it so. Like father like son! Isn't that what they say? I sat and listened to you tell me how bitter you were about how your dad treated your mum and his whole catalogue of misery and bedhopping, and then you do this!' It was a low blow and she knew it. ‘I slept with you; you said you loved me!'

‘I am not like my father, I'm not. I think—' His voice was raised now, jaw tense, eyes blazing.

‘It's irrelevant what you think. What matters is what I know!' she shouted.

‘What you think you know!' he implored. ‘But that's the trouble – you make your mind up and that's that!'

‘You don't know me! Just like I don't know you!' she spat.

‘I know that you can't fully grieve because you think your dad might live on Lundy and is hiding from you!' His return attack was well aimed and lodged in her breast. To hear her greatest secret spoken so freely in anger was something she knew she'd never forget.

‘Fuck you, Edgar, fuck you!' Her voice was gravel thin, she cursed without caring that Maudie and Jago might be close enough to hear – it was all too late for that.

‘You need to face what happened and free yourself, you need to ...' He calmed and swayed slightly, and for a brief second she feared he might fall.

‘You need to stop talking before I lose it!' She turned on her heel as fast as she was able and wheeled her bike up to the road, moving quickly, determinedly, doing all she could to get away from him.

‘Tawrie!' he yelled.

‘Just go back to London and live your split-down-the-middle life. I hope everything works out for you both.'

As the wheel touched the road, she jumped on to the saddle and raced home back to Fore Street, her sight clouded by the tears that fogged her vision.

It felt good to have told him to go away and yet no matter how strong she had sounded, how firm her outward stance, her insides were shredded with sorrow.

‘God, you look like shite.'

Connie's observation, voiced as Tawrie walked into the café to start her shift, did nothing to help ease her flagging confidence. She knew, however, that this whip-smart ribbing was preferable to probing questions about how she was doing, why her eyes were a little red, her demeanour a little off. She knew that kind of investigation might lead to a total breakdown, here in public, and a tear-soaked admission that her heart was about as scrambled as the eggs Connie ladled on to hot, buttered toast. Her plan was to keep it together, get through the day and collapse tonight on her own time.

‘Thanks, Con, that's exactly what I needed to hear.' She let her lip curl in distaste at her cousin's remark.

‘Who got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning?' Connie pulled a face, trying to cheer her up, but at the mention of getting out of bed, her mind flew to the cosy attic room and again she felt winded at how quickly her life had turned from a fairy tale to rat shit. Her shoulders slumped and her cousin's expression turned to one of concern. ‘You okay?'

It hurt knowing Connie had been right all along; Sebastian Farquhar wanted nothing but fun, and he'd got it.

‘I saw him this morning, he came down to Hele while I was swimming.'

‘So what did he have to say for himself?' Connie spat.

‘I can't ...' She grabbed her apron and notepad and was about to go through to the back tables when Connie grabbed her arm.

‘Oh, Taw ...' This time her voice was full of love, brimming with kindness.

‘I'm okay,' she managed. ‘We can talk later. I just can't go into detail; I don't want to cry any more.' She kept her voice small.

‘All right, honey. But I'm here. You know that. And what you need is time with Sonny, he'll cheer you up – he's collecting football cards and needs help putting them into this book thing.'

‘How would that help me?' She was confused.

‘It definitely would. Plus I need a babysitter tonight.' She beamed.

‘Sure, not like I've got anything else on. Where are you going?'

‘Nowhere.' Her cousin looked away and she guessed it was a date, as if the subject was too touchy to share.

‘I'll look after Sonny, happily. Course I will.' She breathed in through her nose and went to work.

‘Tawrie!'

The temptation was to keep on walking, to make out she hadn't heard her name called from the door. The voice, however, was one that had replayed in her mind all night, as torturous thoughts interrupted her much-needed sleep.

With as upright a posture as she could manage, in spite of wanting to sink to the floor, she turned slowly to face the future Mrs Edgar Stratton.

‘It's me, Petra! We met yesterday, Bear's fiancée!'

Petra stood in the doorway with an open smile, bright-eyed and with her skin aglow. It seemed Ed was right, she was a nice girl, a great girl, and Tawrie wanted nothing more than to disappear through the floor, and yet it wasn't Petra's fault. Civility felt like the best option. It was that or give the woman the full facts that would, she was certain, leave his fiancée feeling even more wretched than Tawrie did, and she couldn't do that to this sweet stranger.

‘Yes, of course I remember you. How can I help?' She looked through the open door and into the street, praying that Ed wasn't accompanying her. The very thought left her feeling cold. Thankfully he was nowhere to be seen.

Gaynor, tactful as ever, tried to help, creeping up behind her, her voice soft, kind. ‘Want me to deal with the young lady, Taw, so you can take your orders out back?'

‘'S'alright, Gay. But thank you.'

‘Thing is, Tawrie,' Petra continued in her breathless, energised way that was as guileless as it was endearing. ‘Bear's gone for a hike and I wanted to grab some breakfast and whatnot to take back to the house. We only live up on the corner.' She pointed over her shoulder, as if this might help her locate where ‘we' lived.

Yes, I know it. Walls painted in a warm white with pale-blue linen accent pillows on a blue-and-cream striped sofa, a patchwork rug and ornate shells dotted here and there.

‘Anyway, I'm rubbish at cooking, shopping and all that, so I thought I'd pop down and stock up!'

‘Right.' She moved through the café to behind the counter, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible. Petra followed her.

‘I'm a real stickler, actually. He can't eat dairy, oh, and we try and be meat-free, nothing with sugar in, not too much salt or anything overly processed. So as long as it fits with all that, I'll take whatever you have!'

Tawrie felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth and words were not immediately forthcoming. She pictured the evening spent gorging on crisps and wine and recalled his shared sentiment of the merits of a good pasty, the coffee they'd drunk with milk and, for him, sugar ... more lies, even his eating habits a sham. Who was this man? Grabbing a menu, she held it out.

‘May I draw your attention to the vegan breakfast options right here.' She used her pen to point to the wild mushroom ragout on sourdough toast drizzled in parsley and garlic oil with roasted vine tomatoes on the side and all sprinkled with seed mix.

‘Oh, that looks delish! I'll take two large helpings to go! Fab! Thank you.'

‘No worries. Did you get that, Con? Two large vegan breakfast specials to go?'

‘Got it.' Connie nodded and kept her head down.

Tawrie kept her eyes fixed on the woman as she fished in her pocket for a credit card. It wasn't like she had a choice. There was something exquisitely painful in studying her competition. Not that it was any such thing. Petra was the marvellous woman he would marry, whereas she was merely ... What are you, Taw, or more accurately, what were you? A blip? Someone to waste the day with while he idled away the summer weeks. Yes, and yes . In a way it was a good thing, because had it been a contest, Tawrie could see that she'd lose. Comparison left her wanting in every way. Not only was Petra perfectly narrow about the shoulders, but her skin was unweathered, eyes bright, her laugh a tinkle, like glass, and not the throaty braying that Tawrie had been chastised for on more than one occasion. If this girl were fine china, Tawrie was cement. If she were a flower, Tawrie was a sturdy oak. And on it went, until it felt easier to look at the card machine and wait for her to pay, anything other than look into the pretty face and know that whatever came next, she could never be like Petra, who seemed to have it all.

It was a relief when, gratefully jostling her vegan breakfasts in her dainty hands, the woman left the café.

The day ground on and Tawrie's mood didn't lift. She tried her best, chatting to Nora and Gordy who popped in for a cup of tea and a wedge of soft carrot cake to share, two forks. She liked them, enjoyed being in their company, their happiness was ordinarily infectious.

‘So when's the big Gunn Fire, Tawrie?' Nora asked as she stirred her tea. ‘We couldn't believe it last year. We'd taken Amber for a wander and stumbled across this festival! Right there in Rapparee Cove! It was amazing!'

‘I'm surprised you remember it, Nora. I seem to recall rum was your tipple of choice and then you danced around the fire with Needle and a couple of the lads from the RNLI!'

‘That sounds about right.' Nora beamed at her. ‘And I fully intend repeating the activities this year. My sister Kiki, her new partner David and our nephew Ted will be here. They're coming down for a holiday. Ted makes out he's happy to hang out with us old fogies but he's a proper teenager and only really wants to be plugged into a device with a screen.'

‘Can you blame him?' Gordy chuckled.

‘It's in about four weeks.' She smiled weakly, having allowed herself to picture the event with Ed by her side. That too was now dashed and her enthusiasm for the whole event was sadly lacking.

‘It'll be wonderful!' Nora grabbed a fork from the table and cut away a chunk of carrot cake. ‘This will be the last fattening thing I eat before then. I want to get into my white jeans.'

‘I bet you a pound it won't be!' Gordy looked at his wife adoringly and it was like a bolt through her throat, witnessing this much love when her heart was so sore.

‘How are you doing?' Connie asked, wiping the countertop as the clock ticked towards closing time.

‘Bit numb.'

‘Get yourself off home. I can finish up here.'

‘It's okay, Con, it's not fair on you – plus, don't you want to go home and get ready? What time do you want me over?' She was, however, grateful for the offer to leave early. The truth was, for the first time ever, she was nervous about walking up Fore Street, wary of wandering the harbour, fearful of seeing Ed and Petra, of putting any more images that would torture her thoughts into her mind.

‘Around seven?'

‘Sure.' She tried a smile.

‘I didn't want to be right about him, you know. I was only ever half joking. I was over the moon to see you so excited.'

‘I know.' And she did.

‘I've never seen you look so happy and I'm angry that he led you up the garden path. I could clock him one. Honest I could, and Needle's ready to tear a strip off him.'

‘He's lovely, Needle.' She spoke her thoughts out loud.

‘What makes you say that?' Connie stopped cleaning and held her gaze.

‘I just think he's kind, constant and he's there for you. There for all of us.'

Her cousin blinked and looked up along the harbourside towards the pub where Needle held court.

‘I suppose he is.' She looked back at Tawrie and smiled. ‘So you reckon I should go out on his bloody boat?'

‘Well, it'd shut him up if nothing else!' She pointed out the obvious.

‘You might be right, Tawrie Gunn.' Connie tucked her hair behind her ears and stuck out her chin. ‘You just might be right.'

‘Only me, Nan!' she called as she closed the front door behind her and walked through to the kitchen where Freda was unpacking groceries into the cupboards.

‘Have you had a better afternoon, darlin'?'

‘Yeah, fantastic!' She ran the tap for a glass of water. ‘I've loved it. I love coming home with feet that feel like they've been shredded, hair that smells like bacon and aching legs. I hate people with their inane bloody questions: "Does the steak pie have meat in it?" "Is it okay if we take the macaroni cheese without the cheese?" "Do you have sushi?" I mean, Jesus! Read the menu, eat off the menu, pay for what you eat, that is literally all they have to do and yet it's always so complicated!'

‘Not such a good afternoon then, love?'

She let out a long sigh and knew that what ailed her could not be taken out on her nan. ‘Sorry, Nan. It's just that the world feels a bit shitty right now.'

‘I understand, little maid. I do.'

‘Anyway, I'm babysitting for Sonny tonight so I've got that to look forward to.'

‘He's no bother, lovely lad.'

‘He is, Nan. I guess I'm just a bit out of sorts.' She was about to explain how Petra had come in to order take-out and how it had made her feel, when the sound of the front door being flung open and hitting the wall caused them both to turn. Tawrie's heart thudded as Uncle Sten ran in, flustered and breathless, his cheeks flushed. ‘Oh God, them bloody steps!' He fought to catch his breath, bent double as he addressed the floor, his hand over his heart. ‘Glad you're both here. It's Annalee ...'

The panic to his tone was enough to make her stomach drop to her boots. That and his manner of entry lit the touch paper of long-forgotten memories. It happened this way sometimes – snippets of the very worst day came back to her quite vividly. Things she had overheard as she sat on the sofa wrapped in a crochet blanket, trying not to eavesdrop on the adults while her heart beat fast and her tears refused to come. Feeling like she should be crying but not knowing how.

RNLI crew are still out looking but they're losing light ...

They've found his boat . . .

Oh good Lord, they've found his boat ...

Nothing. No sign of him ...

The spar was flapping about, untethered and it were proper windy ...

They reckon he's gone overboard ...

The light's fading, they'll resume the search at daybreak.

Shaking her head from these memories, Tawrie turned to face her uncle.

‘What's happened, is she ... is she okay?'

He stood upright and she saw that his face carried a look of pity.

‘I'm not sure, love. She's fallen down the stairs that go down to the Harbour Beach. Her head's proper gashed and her teeth are in a state. Her face is a mess. I said I'd run her up to the A&E but there's an ambulance on the way, which is probably best. Reckon you should come too. She's not on her own, she's with the gang from the pub. They brought her up to the top of the steps.' He panted as his breathing settled and he made for the front door, as if time was of the essence.

‘They shouldn't have moved her.' She tried to digest the information that came thick and fast and knew this much to be true. Her world moved in slow motion as it occurred to her that she might have lost her mum.

Sten raised his arms and let them fall as if it were literally out of his hands.

‘I'm coming.' Freda reached for her soft suede bag that carried her essentials like phone, purse and mints.

‘No, Mum.' Sten spoke softly. ‘We don't know how long we're going to be at the hospital and it's better you're here. Don't want to take over the place, do we?'

‘I guess not.' Freda looked less than happy with his suggestion. ‘But if you think I'm not coming down there to offer comfort or help in any way then you'd be wrong, son.'

‘Fine.' He nodded as he turned to Tawrie. ‘You ready, love?'

‘Yes,' she managed, her voice sounding strangely disconnected. ‘Can you let Con know?'

Her nan nodded.

‘Mum, we'll run ahead, take your time, don't want two falls on our hands.'

‘I'll be fine!' Freda snapped as Tawrie followed her uncle down the steps at speed and quickly passed the entrance to Ropery car park, where to her mortification she spied Ed climbing into his silver dream machine. Petra was ensconced in the passenger seat. Not that Tawrie had time to think about it. At least he was taking her advice and sodding off back to London. It was one less thing to worry about, knowing she wasn't going to bump into him any time soon.

‘We've brought her up to the top, Sten!' Calvin, one of her mother's drinking buddies, called out, as they rounded the back of the closed café and made their way across the cobbles to the harbour wall where the stairs were steep and the drop long. Tawrie sped up as she spied her mum lying on the ground. There was a small crowd gathered around her and someone had placed a rolled-up anorak under her head as a makeshift pillow. Elbowing her way through, she dropped to her knees and smiled into her mother's face. Her mother who was bashed and bleeding, but very much alive. The relief was palpable.

‘Hey, Mum. You're going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay.'

It was shocking to see her face up close: her lips and eye were badly swollen, and her hair was stuck to her forehead with blood, which also ran from her nose. It was distressing and horrifying in equal measure and Tawrie felt the iron jaws of disgust and duty clamp around her throat, even as her heart flexed with sadness at the pitiful sight.

Her mother was shaking and Tawrie whipped off her hoodie, leaving her in a t-shirt, as she wrapped the thick top, still warm from contact with her skin, around her mother's body.

‘Let me through!' Her nan bustled through and sat on the floor on the other side of her daughter-in-law. ‘You listen to me, Annalee Gunn' – Freda spoke through a mouth contorted with tears – ‘you get yourself better, my girl, cos there's only four weeks till the Gunn Fire and we need you in top form, do you hear me?' Her voice was reed thin over vocal cords pulled taut with distress.

Annalee tried to talk, tried to sit up, but Tawrie pushed her back down. ‘You need to lie still, Mum. You don't know if you've broken anything. You need to stay still.'

‘We've called an ambulance!' Calvin yelled.

‘Yes, nice one, Cal,' Sten said.

Annalee reached out and gripped Tawrie's arm with a bloody hand – one of her false nails had been ripped off and taken her original with it. Injuries to her body were not uncommon – nothing like this, of course – but always, it seemed, alcohol anaesthetised her against the pain. Tawrie bent low so she could hear her mother's words, whispered from a mouth disfigured by swelling and clotted with blood.

‘Smshhhhhhtuuuuummn.'

‘I don't know what you're saying, Mum.' It was a nonsensical ramble and Tawrie was none the wiser. She looked at Freda with the hope that she might have more of an idea but her nan shrugged.

‘Smshhahahhhtuuuuummn,' Annalee tried again.

Tawrie sat up a little and held her mother's eyeline. ‘You can tell me later. Don't try and talk now. The ambulance is coming and you're going to be okay. I'll stay with you, I promise. Nan's right here too.' She spoke as gently as she was able, not wanting others to hear her mother's incoherent speech, and wary of getting too close to her mouth where the foulest stench of wine and vodka-infused breath was enough to make her want to vomit. Any remaining lumps of her heart were now pulverised. This was her mother, her mummy ... She felt protective, distressed, concerned, and this was all underpinned with fury at the fact that Annalee's wounds were effectively self-inflicted. She had fallen publicly while inebriated and the whole town would be talking about it. It wasn't so much that the gossip bothered her, but rather that it was her mother's reputation, or what remained of it, that was to be brutally dissected, or worse, made the butt of jokes from Barnstaple to Croyde. It was heartbreaking.

‘Are you all right, little one?' Her nan reached out and ran her palm over her arm.

‘Yep.'

‘You've had better days though.'

‘I have.' Keeping her eyes low, she didn't want to acknowledge the gawpers and gossips who gathered around, drawn to witness the misery of a fellow human. She wondered what it must have been like on the day her dad died. The spectacle ...

Sten's shout brought her back to the present. ‘It's here! I can hear it!'

The sound of the ambulance siren seemed to cause greater interest and the crowd at the top of the steps had grown. Tawrie hated how exposed her mother was and felt torn up inside at how many bore witness to her frailty, her disease.

Annalee lay back with her eyes closed and Tawrie again whispered to her, ‘It's going to be okay, Mum. The ambulance is here and they'll get you sorted. I won't leave you. I'll be right by your side.'

The paramedics pushed the crowd out of the way and were swift in their actions, checking Annalee over, giving her a jab for pain relief and putting her on the stretcher and into the back of the ambulance.

‘I'll go with her.' She followed the stretcher and climbed up into the high vehicle as her mother was secured with straps.

‘I'll drive and meet you at the hospital, so we've got a car there!' Uncle Sten yelled, heading to his truck.

‘Please let me know how she is and what she needs and what's happening.'

She raised her hand in acknowledgment of Freda's yelled request and welcomed the kiss her wonderful nan blew in her direction.

‘And don't leave Tawrie on her own!' This time Freda pointed at her son.

‘As if I would!' Sten shouted over his shoulder.

As the doors of the ambulance closed, Tawrie's pulse raced.

Her nan was right. She'd had far, far better days.