CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE TAWRIE GUNN

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

T AWRIE G UNN

14 S EPTEMBER 2024

‘It's my birthday! Oh, it's my birthday!'

Tawrie smiled at the sound of her nan yelling loudly downstairs, hoping that when she got to seventy-four, she'd have a similar level of enthusiasm for the day. In fact, it wouldn't go amiss right now. She'd smile broadly anyway, knowing it meant a lot to Freda and knowing that if her plans became a reality, this time next year things might be very different. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she grabbed her duffel bag and raced down the stairs.

‘Well, whaddya know? It's my birthday too!'

‘Twenty-nine! How is that even possible! I must have blinked and look at you, Tawrie Gunn, look at the beautiful woman you are!'

‘Hardly!' She ran her hand through her locks, which needed to feel the slosh of a good shampoo, and over her skin, which was sun burnished in places.

Freda pulled her into a tight hug. Annalee's absence was obvious, but that was just too bad. And why, after all, would today be any different? Her mother would, as ever, be languishing in bed, no doubt nursing a headache and letting her body settle after a night of soaking it in booze.

A month after her tumble down the stairs and their subsequent row, there had been a shield of discomfort that sat between them at every encounter. This, Tawrie found, was far harder to live with than the vague indifference that had been their norm for as long as she could remember. When in the kitchen, she noted how Annalee would approach quietly, and after spotting her, scurry back upstairs like a scolded mouse. When contact was unavoidable, they passed awkwardly on the stairs, or looked towards the floor as they crossed at the bathroom door. A small, almost imperceptible nod was the standard greeting if their paths collided in the street.

For the first time, Tawrie wondered if her absence might encourage her mother to seek help. If she wasn't on hand for every eventuality, could that be the thing that forced Annalee to take control? She could only hope so. Either way, she knew it was time to make the changes she needed for her own happiness, time to forge her own path. It was a prospect that was equally terrifying and thrilling.

‘Excited for tonight?' Her nan released her and looked into her face.

‘Yep!' she lied. Her energy for the Gunn Fire wasn't what it usually was, not with the lingering hurt of Ed wrapped around her heart and the acute disappointment that this year she had thought she might arrive at Rapparee Cove with a partner to dance with around the flames, one who might help her home afterwards. She fully accepted what Maudie had said – that he was not ‘the one', because if he were, things would have turned out very differently. Yet, even with this level of understanding, her heart didn't hurt any less.

‘But first my swim.' She kissed her nan on the cheek. ‘I'm not working until mid-morning – Connie said no rush – and then we'll do cards when we have cake later, like we usually do.' It was only in recent years that she'd understood the ritual was more than likely to allow her mother to sober up and be present for the exchange of birthday cards around the kitchen table. Birthday or not, there was no way Annalee would let an event like this get in the way of her drinking.

‘See you later, birthday girl!' Freda called.

‘See you later, birthday girl!' She double-pointed at her nan. These jokes never got old.

Tawrie pedalled up Fore Street and gave a start at the sight of the honey-coloured lamplight coming from the landing of Corner Cottage. Was he home? Her heart skipped and she held her breath when a woman's face appeared at the window, an older woman in a nightdress who with her arms wrapped around her trunk, looked wistfully down the street. Just like that Tawrie's heart rate settled and she kept her gaze onward. It wasn't surprising he'd rented the cottage out – that was, after all, the norm and it had, she'd noticed, been empty for nearly a month. It was closure of sorts and she did her best to embrace it.

‘New beginnings. I'm not going to fret over him today. Not on my birthday,' she whispered, determined to keep her maudlin thoughts and reflections at bay.

Her arrival at Hele Bay Beach was not without fanfare. She cackled with joy as she parked her bike.

‘Happy birthday!' Maudie carried a helium balloon towards her, a big red heart. Tawrie howled her laughter. Jago stood by his wife like her assistant but his face was split by a smile that shouted affection. ‘Okay, Jago, one ... two ... three ...' She counted her husband in and for what felt far longer than the seconds it took, her fellow Peacocks sang ‘Happy Birthday' to her very loudly, slightly off-key, and even included a couple of ‘Hip hip! Hoorays!' for good measure at the end, which only prolonged the ordeal.

Tawrie found it both endearing and mortifying in equal measure and was thankful the beach was empty.

‘Wow! Thank you! Thank you so much! And will you look at that! Can't remember the last time I had a balloon! It's ace, thank you both so much!'

‘We've made you a cake too. Come back to the cottage after our swim and we can have hot chocolate and a big slice.'

‘I will, thank you, Maudie.' Reaching out she pulled the woman into a hug, before tying the bobbing balloon to her handlebars. ‘And thank you, Jago! You guys are the best.' She then hugged the lovely man who had given her such good advice when it felt like her heart might break and she couldn't seem to stem her tears.

‘Right!' Maudie clapped. ‘Birthday or not the water awaits!'

The three walked with purpose down to the shoreline, every bit as proud and upstanding as the peacocks they represented.

An ostentation, no less.

Tawrie pulled away in the water and quickly got into her stride, breathing in time with each stroke. It was one of those swims when her body fell into an easy rhythm and she felt at one with the sea, taking as much comfort from it as she ever had.

Here I am, Dad ... Here I am on my birthday. I wonder what the day was like for you? Nan has said it was the best day of your life when I came along, but she says a lot of things, I'm sure, just to make me feel better. Over twenty years without you and one day soon, I'll surpass the age to which you survived. That'll be strange. All the time I think about how different my life would be if you were here. One loving parent would make all the difference. I think I'd be less lonely. And that's all any of us want, right? Not to be lonely. Anyway, I have news, big news. I guess, I've decided ...

‘Tawrie! Tawrie!' Jago shouted with such urgency, it was a jolt to her system that halted her in her tracks, prematurely ending her chat with her dad. She stopped swimming, breathing hard, and turned in the water to locate him. Her overriding thought was that one of them must be in peril and she quaked at the thought, knowing how easy it would be to open a mouth, let the lungs fill with water and sink to the bottom like a stone. It wasn't a pleasant thought, but one she'd had often enough nonetheless – never with the intention of doing so, but rather as a terrible reflection on how she had lost her dad.

‘Look! Look!' Jago yelled, pointing towards the horizon. Instantly satisfied it was not a crisis, that neither he nor Maudie were in trouble, she held her salt-water-wrinkled palm over her eyebrows and stared ahead.

A sharp intake of breath and her mouth stayed open, entirely rapt by the sight that greeted her, followed by Maudie and Jago's excited yelps and chatter.

There was one, two, three, four! Four! Four dolphins breaching the water in a glorious arc, the colour of slippery wet grey beach slate. Droplets of seawater, each one a tiny prism, fell from their glistening bodies as they leapt and re-entered the water with such agility she felt like a cumbersome thing in their ocean. She'd seen dolphins around the coast before, of course, but this display, this welcome so close to her was a greeting on another level entirely. It was a gift. The very best gift on this, her special day, and her tears gathered at the pure privilege of it. Surely something of this beauty and magnitude on today of all days was a sign!

As Tawrie felt the ripples of their breach and re-entry surround her, she knew it was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, one that she'd remember forever, and she was thankful that Maudie and Jago were part of it, knowing how special it was for them too. A reward of sorts for taking to the water every day and gratefully sharing this space with these beautiful creatures in the place that was their home.

‘I can't believe it! I just can't believe it! What a thing! What an incredible thing!' Jago shouted, making his way over to his wife. Tawrie watched as the two embraced like hand-holding otters, and a lump rose in her throat.

‘Thank you, Daddy,' she whispered, letting the water lap over her shoulders. Thank you ...

Connie was washing her car on the cobbles on the quayside with a bucket of water by her side.

‘Car washing? What's the point of having Sonny and washing your own car?' she laughed, masking the flutter of nerves in her chest. She had worked at the café for nearly ten years; this was not going to be easy.

‘Have you met the kid? He goes to school in odd shoes, how could I trust him with this beauty?' Her cousin ran her hand over the shiny paintwork of her beloved van. ‘Anyway, happy birthday, Taw!'

‘Aww, thanks!'

‘Excited about tonight?' Connie asked enthusiastically as she re-soaked her sponge and doused the windscreen.

‘Yep.' She nodded.

‘Is that it? "Yep". Jesus, I've had people show more joy when I give them the bill!'

‘Well, you are very reasonably priced.' She smiled at her voluptuous cousin who even managed to make cleaning the bird shit off her windscreen look sexy. ‘How come you're out here?' She pointed to the Café on the Corner.

‘Jan and Gay can handle things; we've got too much to do! I've cancelled your shift – we need to get ready for tonight!'

Tawrie laughed, delighted to have this day off and looking forward to celebrating in the way she'd been doing since her birth. Her heart might be bruised, but it was still her birthday and that meant celebration. But first, she had to talk to Connie and her stomach churned at the thought, aware that once she'd told her, news would reach her nan's ear and then her mother's. She exhaled slowly.

‘There's a lot to do – we want a roaring fire and cushions!' Her cousin beamed, as if the idea was a novelty. ‘Lots of cushions!'

‘So what can I do to help?' She pushed up her long sleeves.

‘Plenty later.' Connie wrung out the sponge and let the water trickle along the floor towards the drain. ‘Twenty-nine, Taw, it's quite the age!'

‘Thanks, I think.'

Connie stopped cleaning and stared at her. ‘There's something I want to say to you. No' – she put her finger over her lips as if mentally regrouping – ‘there's something I need to say to you.'

‘Sounds ominous!' She pulled a face. ‘And actually, there's something I want to say to you.'

‘Okay, you first.' Connie indicated with the sponge and flicked water in her direction.

She drew breath, trying to remember what she had settled on when having the conversation in her mind; it had seemed so much easier in her head.

‘Go on then! We haven't got all day!' Connie urged. ‘What did you want to say?'

‘What it is ...' She blew a breath out nervously. ‘... is that I'm leaving the café. I'm giving you my notice and I'm going to college. I'm going to become a nurse, a midwife, specifically. I'm going to do it.' She waited to see how Connie would react, while feeling good to have said it out loud, her words coasted out on pure relief!

‘You're leaving ?' Connie stared at her.

‘Yes, I mean, not immediately. I need to sort dates, but I have an offer of a place, and I haven't even told Nan yet, but that's the plan. I'm going for it.' The two women locked eyes. ‘Say something!'

‘My darling cousin, sister to me, lifelong friend.' Connie toyed with the sponge in her hand. ‘I think that's bloody marvellous!' The quiver to her bottom lip suggested otherwise.

Tawrie put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, that's charming! You could have at least tried to talk me out of it, told me you'd miss me, how valuable an asset I am, anything!' Humour right now was the mask she reached for.

Connie started to laugh.

‘It's not funny! It's a whole change of life for me, a huge step!'

‘Yes, it is, my love. And you're right, you can't work in the café any more.' Connie put her sponge in the bucket and came to face her. ‘I love you, Taw, we all do. You're a smart woman who's been hiding away in this little corner of the world, serving bacon sandwiches and cups of tea to fill your time. You're right, you need to stop doing that and think about what you really, really want to do with your life, where and how you want to live it. You've always said you wanted to help bring babies into the world. And now you're actually going to do it!'

‘Well, I hope I can. I've said a lot of things in my time, including that I wanted to marry Harry Styles. Don't think that's likely now.'

‘But that's the point, Taw. Nothing is likely unless you chase it, unless you make it happen. I think you'll be a brilliant midwife.' Connie sniffed the emotion that pooled in her eyes. ‘This is it, little Tawrie Gunn, you're setting yourself free. I'm so proud of you.'

‘Thank you, Con.' Her throat tightened with emotion, unable to imagine not spending each day with Connie and the gang. She watched now as her cousin straightened and cleared her throat. ‘Nan will be okay, won't she, if I'm not here all the time? And ... and Mum?'

‘They will. They will be fine. They were always going to be fine – or not. And you hanging around, hovering with your emotional first-aid kit wasn't going to make a bit of difference. That's the truth, my love.'

‘That's what I figure. It's taken me a while, but that's where I'm at. I need to let go.' Looking out over the sea, she knew the responsibility she felt for her nan and mum weren't the only things holding her back. Where are you, Dad? The question leapt into her thoughts.

‘You do, you need to let go.' There was a beat of silence while this sank in, before Connie shifted on her feet, exposing her nerves. ‘Okay, here goes, now I have to tell you something.'

Tawrie had momentarily forgotten that her cousin also had news. She hated the mounting tension and wished that whatever it was Connie had to say, she'd just spit it out.

‘Sebastian Farquhar is waiting for you on the bench by Verity.'

Connie flicked her head towards the Verity statue that dominated the quay and Tawrie's heart jumped.

‘What? What? ' She tucked her unruly hair behind her ears. A third of her wished she weren't wearing a dirty t-shirt, a third wondered if it would be a good or bad idea to go and see him and a third thought she must have misheard, as this was ludicrous. ‘How, when did ...? Oh my God, why? I mean ... I don't think I can see him! I don't know if I want to!' She turned in a circle like a dog chasing its tail until Connie reached out to steady her, holding her still with her hand around her forearm.

‘He came by this morning. I told him to go away.' Tawrie knew her cousin was taming the actual words she used. ‘He said he had to see you blah blah blah and that he'd be on the bench by Verity at eleven o'clock.'

‘What's the time now?' She felt a rising sense of panic. Supposing she was too late to see him, supposing he'd already gone? And equally horrifying was the prospect that he was still there waiting and she would have to face him.

‘It's seven minutes past.'

‘Shit! I need to think!'

‘You need to do whatever your heart tells you to, Taw.' Connie let go of her arm. ‘It's really that simple.'

‘Nothing about this is that simple!' Her gut churned and she thought she might actually vomit right there on the cobbled quayside where she'd first seen him all those weeks ago. ‘I'll go and see him and tell him not to come back; I think that's for the best. Closure.'

Connie kept her voice level. ‘This is something you and Farquhar need to sort out, one way or the other. But I will say that I've never seen you so happy as you were when you thought things were rosy between you, and it's been a long time since I've seen you so low when they weren't. And the way you've bounced back over the last month has been incredible; it shows strength and I'm proud of you.'

‘Thank you, Con.' Just the idea that he was mere minutes away from her at that very moment was almost more than she could stand. Her heart jumped as she mentally wrestled with what she might say to Ed. It was a lot.

‘You've got this; you're amazing!' Connie reached for her sponge.

‘This just might be the shittiest thing to do on my birthday!'

She cursed the warble to her voice and made her way along Broad Street, heading towards the mighty brass statue of Verity that towered over the pier. As she walked along the quay, Nora and Gordy were coming in the opposite direction with Amber, their beloved golden Labrador.

‘Hey Tawrie, how are you? What a day!' Gordy looked up at the blue sky where clouds were no more than wisps and the air was still.

‘Happy birthday!' Nora tutted at her husband, who seemed unaware of her special day.

Tawrie loved Nora and Gordy, was always pleased to see them, but over their shoulders she could make out the pink linen shirt of the man she was going to meet, a man, she noted with relief, who was prepared to wait a while for her, and a man with whom she needed to have a final conversation, a decent goodbye that would free her to go off to college without the many what-ifs that crept into her thoughts in the wee small hours. She willed Nora to speak faster.

‘My sister and nephew are arriving any minute – we're all so looking forward to the Gunn Fire. I'm bringing baklava – we used to live in Cyprus and I think I've finally mastered it! And if it's no good we'll wait till everyone's had a drink or two and then bring it out.'

‘Oh Nora, that sounds fab, can't wait to taste it!' She smiled. ‘Anyway, see you in a bit!' She didn't want to be rude but was in no mood to stand chatting. Hurrying past, she slowed as she walked along the pier, minding she didn't trip on the gaps between the concrete planks, as she was wont to do, just in case he was looking.

Again she felt the swirl of nausea. It had been easy to dismiss their brief encounter as no more than a fanciful diversion, something she had built up in her mind, imagining the glorious connection to fuel her own fantasy. The reality, she suspected, was nothing more than a lukewarm dalliance, for him at least, and it was vital she remembered this if she had any hope of keeping her dignity. This self-instruction, however, was a darn sight easier to adhere to when she wasn't about to come face to face with him, the man who had made her heart skip, her brain muddle and had filled her with something that had felt a lot like happiness.

It was as she stared at the back of his head, sitting on the right-hand side of the bench with his arm stretched out and resting along the top, that he turned to stare at her over his shoulder, as if he'd sensed her arrival.

The pier wasn't deserted, nor silent, there was the usual toot of car horns, the call of gulls, the chatter of visitors and the sound of waves breaking on the slipway and against the harbour walls. And yet the two stared, eyes locked, as if they were alone. Her initial reaction was to cry: the sight of him as profoundly moving as it was desperately sad for all that had passed. She tensed her jaw and pushed up under her nose with her thumb, managing to keep her tears at bay. Her eyes never left his and she watched as he turned slowly, wiping his own nose and, she could see, tensing his jaw.

Stepping cautiously past him she caught his scent, clear and distinct, and one that had filled her dreams since the first time she'd seen him. He was familiar, attractive and captivating, yet also a stranger. And a liar. Not a person to trust. A shape-shifter who had deceived her into thinking he was the one, when all the while he was someone else's. Her strength was in recognising it and knowing that this was goodbye.

She sat in the middle of the bench, a position she chose carefully, not wanting to seem churlish by going to the far end, yet nor could she risk a sightseer plonking down between them and ruining all attempt at conversation. This felt safe. Next to him but not too near.

‘Hap—' He coughed, his voice hollow, raw. ‘Happy birthday, Tawrie.'

‘Thank you.' He had remembered. She kept her eyes on Verity, the magnificent statue that dominated the entrance to the harbour standing at over sixty feet tall. Tawrie loved everything about her: Verity the pregnant warrior woman, holding her sword aloft in one hand and scales of justice in the other, standing on books that represented truth. The allegory wasn't lost on her.

‘You look wonderful. It's so good to see you in person and not ... not just in my head.' She knew what he meant but stayed silent.

‘There's a lot I want to say,' he continued. ‘So much I've imagined saying to you and yet now here you are and I've gone blank. I can only think to give you clichés that I know you won't want to hear.' His voice alone was enough to warm her, to draw her in. She moved a little to the left.

‘Probably not.' She was at least grateful for his insight.

‘I came back with my mum; we got in late last night.'

She nodded. So it was his mother she had seen in the window. A woman who under different circumstance might have been important in her life. It was an odd thought.

‘Tawrie—'

‘Look,' she cut him short. ‘I've come to see you because it felt rude not to and I think we need a goodbye that's calmer, and final. I didn't want you pitching up at the café and it being awkward or anything.' Her words carried the tang of realisation that he could turn up at the café whenever he felt like if she no longer worked there. ‘So yes, I thought it would be good to say goodbye properly. To wish you well.' The tremble to her mouth said more than her words, and a glance at his face told her he felt the same.

‘I've been in limbo; I can't sleep, I can't eat.' He didn't seem to be listening.

‘That's really nothing to do with me,' she countered, recognising her own behaviour in his confession. ‘I just wanted to see you one more time and leave things ... neatly.'

‘It's everything to do with you, though.'

‘It's not, Ed. Not any more.' To say his name was electrifying; an image of the two of them in that big bed in the attic flashed into her mind. She blinked furiously. ‘You were the only one holding all the cards.'

‘I know that's what you think.'

‘Because it's the truth,' she countered calmly.

He nodded, his expression mournful. ‘I guess so. It's just that ...'

‘What, Edgar?' She used his full name, putting distance between them; this one word indicative of a formality she neither felt nor wanted.

‘You only see the world through your lens.'

‘Doesn't everyone?' She glanced at him and he was beautiful. She hated the disloyalty of her gut that folded in want.

‘I don't think so, and what I mean specifically is that you're immersed in your own world, safe, small, and I'm not knocking it, not in any way—'

‘Sounds like you might be a bit.'

‘No, it's just that it seems to me ...' His tone was measured, his turn for defensive action. ‘... that you've been hurt, that you have a lot going on and so you keep your drawbridge up, never deviate from your routine, head down, eyes low, trying to get through life without getting bumped into or pushed off track.'

‘Again, Edgar, doesn't everyone?'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘Some people want the challenge of things being shaken up a bit; they don't want to tread gently or predictably, they want to take the rough road and learn as they go.'

‘Maybe I'm just different to you. Plus, your observations are based on knowing me for a nanosecond.' No matter that it felt like a lifetime.

‘I do know you. You know I do.' She felt an upturn in her mood at this. His defiance, his insistence. ‘I think we have a pretty similar outlook; I just think it's easier to live your best life when you're open.'

She pulled her knees up and held her arms around her legs. ‘I was open to loving you. I was open to it all.'

‘Taw, we can't say goodbye, this can't be it.' He looked close to tears and it killed her.

‘I think it has to be.' She cursed the crack to her voice. ‘I'm agreeing with you. It's easier to live your best life when you're open.' She spoke earnestly. ‘I only came here to say goodbye. Closure.' Her throat hurt, the longing for him made no allowance for this truth. She bit her lip, not wanting to remember nor remind him of that beautiful encounter when they'd got merry and laughed their way up the stairs to the room where she had woken feeling desired, happy, whole.

‘You have every right to feel the way you do.' He held her eyeline. ‘But I'm not a liar.'

‘I think ... I think you've lied by omission, not giving me the full picture is lying,' she whispered, her eyes gazing out to sea.

He nodded, and this was agreement enough. ‘I'm sorry.' He twisted to face her. ‘I'm so very sorry.' His words were warming, welcome. ‘But I didn't know what to say or how to say it. Have you ever got caught up in a situation that you wanted so badly to last forever that you kind of believed it and to shatter it felt too painful, so you went along, hoping the universe might help put everything in place? Even though you know deep down you're ballsing things up spectacularly, and it'll come and bite you eventually.'

‘Funnily enough I do know how that feels.' He was describing their whole, brief relationship. ‘And actually, Ed, I don't blame you, not really. I'd choose Petra,' she joked, even though the words were like glass in her mouth. ‘She's probably from a loving family and her mother is not living at the bottom of a bottle of vodka, and she was probably conceived in love; she knows how stuff is supposed to work! I'm not like that. I'm damaged. I come from damage. I'm pretty sure my own dad went out alone to escape my mother's shite. He never stood a chance, did he?' She cursed the tears that pooled. ‘I'm not going to end up like him or her. I'm making changes to my life. I understand that I can't fix things here, can't continue to be the sacrificial glue that holds everything together. People are still going to fall down steps and get lost at sea no matter how much I smile or make tea or quietly tiptoe up the stairs night after night. I have to build my own life. As do you. I don't wish you any harm, Ed.' Her voice broke. ‘The opposite, actually; I hope you and Petra will be happy together.' It was hard to say, but no less genuine for that.

‘Taw—' He tried in vain to interrupt, but she had found her stride and was not going to quieten her voice in case she lost her nerve.

‘I'm sure she knows about being loved and loving someone, and what to do and how to act, and I'm sure her drawbridge is lowered. I bet she didn't drop her pants on the floor the moment she met you, and if she had I bet they wouldn't have been her old grey, never to be seen, usually saved for a period pants, that she keeps meaning to throw out! I bet they'd be pale and lacy! I can't even get my knickers right!'

Her chest heaved with all it expelled. Her speech was fast, her breathing irregular and her desire to cry strong. It was as if someone had pulled the plug out of her emotional tank and out it all came. All of it, whether she wanted it to or not.

‘Tawrie, please—'

‘Please what?' She turned to face him. It was hard to get the words out with her throat narrowed with emotion. ‘You keep saying that, but I only wanted to say goodbye, for us to end calmly. You look gutted but you can't choose someone else and be devastated. That's not fair on any of us. That's not how it works.' She paused, her next words were whispered and he listened, closely. ‘The news that you're getting married landed like a dagger in my chest. And I don't know if I'll be able to see you in the street in the summer and wave politely, thinking of what might have been while you visit Corner Cottage with your wife.' She drew breath, her words genuine and ones that crawled around her thoughts when there was a lull in her day. ‘Which, incidentally, if I stand on the little stool in the bathroom and look out of the window, I can see the roof of. Or if I look from the landing I can see the bedroom window. How do I do it, Ed?' She hated this open admission, it wasn't what she had intended, but she couldn't stop. It was too much, all of it. ‘How do I switch off how I feel? I think going away is the very best thing for me for a million reasons.' She stood to leave. There was no point in continuing this exchange.

‘Sit down. Please, Taw. Just sit down . Please. Just for a minute.' He pointed at the bench and she sat, feeling she owed him this at least, his chance to get a neat goodbye. ‘I've told Petra, and I moved out the day we left here.'

She wished she didn't feel the flicker of joy at this news. It did Petra, innocent in the whole deception, a great disservice and was confusing. This was supposed to be goodbye.

‘Is she okay?'

‘Yes, I think so. Her mother has moved in. I've been staying with my aunt. I want to show you something.' He twisted on the bench to face her and she took the opportunity to stare at his lovely face.

‘What is it?' Despite her best resolution, she was curious.

He reached into the confines of his backpack, resting against the bench, and pulled out a couple of sheets of folded paper.

‘I'm in no mood for reading a letter, and if it's a birthday present of some kind, then I don't really want one from you, Ed, and I mean that kindly.' It was too painful; the thought of having a memento to pore over in his absence, inhaling the paper for the faintest whiff of his touch in her low moments. Even the thought was pitiful.

‘You're going to want to make time to read this.' He squished up next to her, his thigh touching hers, his arm alongside her arm, and just this physical proximity was enough to send a shiver of longing through her bones.

‘I really don't want to, Ed.' She knew that any words of promise would only haunt her in the quiet hours and make her question her resolve; words that might pluck the string of loneliness that provided the saddest background music to her life.

‘They're not my words.' He ran his fingertips over the flimsy sheets. ‘They're my mum's.'

‘Your mum's?' She turned to face him, his mouth closer now and she felt her gut bunch with a visceral longing to kiss him.

‘Yes, from her diary, when she and Dad moved down and my sister and I were sent to stay with my aunty for a bit. That summer I told you about.'

That summer . . .

‘It was such a weird time for Dilly and me, unsettling, odd. We were told it was our forever home.' He swallowed. ‘I remember they'd tried to recreate the bedrooms we'd left and I was just happy to be back with my mum and dad, and over the moon to be by the seaside. Until it all went pear-shaped.'

‘What happened?' It was still an odd thought, that had his family stayed, he would have been a boy on her doorstep, like Needle, always there.

‘What happened is all in her diary. I've read it – we read it together, and I wrote some paragraphs out. You have to see them.'

‘I'm not looking at words from your mother's diary! That's like ... no! It's such a personal thing. I'd hate the thought of anyone looking at something I'd written in confidence.'

‘Do you write a diary?' He stared at her.

‘No, but that's not the point.'

‘The thing is, Tawrie Gunn, it's not only her story of that summer, it's mine, and it's yours too in places.'

‘What d'you mean? How is it mine?'

‘I want to read you something.'

He was making little sense. ‘Ed, I haven't got time, I need to ...' Her mind couldn't think quickly enough of a place or chore on which to hang her lie.

‘What you need to do is listen. Trust me.' He fixed her with a stare before unfolding the paper and coughing gently to clear his throat.

With the sheets balanced in his right palm, he took his time, reading slowly, as each word painted a picture that took her right back, the description enough to help her remember, and her face broke into a smile.

‘"Met the lovely Annalee Gunn today, my neighbour. A woman infatuated and desperately in love with her husband, Dan. I cried like an idiot. She was very sweet to me. I like her. She brought her daughter, Tawrie, who according to Bear was the worst playmate – her inability to play on the Nintendo 64 and her lack of interest in football consigning them to never be friends! At least he and Dills will know someone when they start school, even if it's just to nod at in the corridor or to stand next to in the lunch queue ..."'

There was so much to mentally unravel; she put her hand over her mouth, laughing while tears gathered.

‘She met my mum! She said she was lovely!' It was a surprise to hear and strangely comforting too. ‘And that bit about my dad, read it again!'

Tawrie sat forward, concentrating on every nuance.

‘"A woman infatuated and desperately in love with her husband Dan."'

‘Wow! Oh my goodness!' She couldn't help the tears that now trickled down her face. It was bizarre to hear about them as a couple, something she'd never witnessed first-hand, and new information too, another facet of her dad's life that helped build a picture. And it wasn't what she had previously envisaged. Any mention of him when she had so little actual memory was like unpicking the stitches that kept all her hurt contained and out it came now, leaking through her eyes.

‘Yes, wow! And I'm sorry I thought you were a terrible playmate, but honestly? That still holds true for me if you have no Nintendo 64 skills ...'

‘I remember it now, Ed. I remember coming to Corner Cottage. I thought it was familiar when I walked in, but I couldn't put my finger on it. But that was it – I came to your house for a play date.'

‘I remember it too.'

‘Is there more about my dad, any more about my parents?' She hardly dared ask.

‘Yes.' He handed her the sheets of paper, the words painstakingly written out in his uneven script. ‘I think you should go someplace quiet and read it. I've read the whole thing and it's helped me understand my life and a bit of yours too.'

‘Thank you, Ed.' She took the gift and placed it on her lap. It was the very best present on this, her birthday.

‘Let me know when you've read them, maybe we can talk then?' he asked with so much hope it took all of her strength not to fall into him.

‘Come to the Gunn Fire if you like.' It felt like the right thing to do, an invite for this man who had taken the time to write out these pages by hand and had waited for her here on the bench by Verity. She stood and stared at the sheets of paper in her hand. Nervous and excited in equal measure.

‘I might just do that.' He beamed.