CHAPTER FIVE TAWRIE GUNN

CHAPTER FIVE

T AWRIE G UNN

A UGUST 2024

Tawrie had found it hard to sleep. And not for the usual reasons of sleeping with one ear cocked, waiting for the reassuring sound of her mum safely home. Or listening out for the tell-tale creak of the stairs that meant her nan couldn't settle and was on the move, no doubt heading to the kitchen in search of biscuits and a cup of tea. This she had done routinely since the day her son had failed to come home.

Last night was different. Tawrie hadn't been able to sleep because the image of a floppy-haired man in a pink shirt had filled her thoughts. How could she explain it? Not that she'd ever try, knowing if she heard the same from anyone else she'd think they'd lost all reason. And in a way, she had.

It was early, earlier than usual – a full fifteen minutes before her alarm – and yet she was wide awake. With her bag packed ready for her swim, she trod the stairs and paused before she left, stopping at the sofa that faced the television to kiss her nan on the back of her head. The old woman reached up and patted her hand.

‘Off on your swim, love?' The old woman's voice carried the croak of one who had been silent for many hours.

‘Yep.' Tawrie spoke softly, as she pulled the blanket up over Freda's shoulders and left her to doze. The shopping channel was on with the sound muted. A girl with bouncy blonde hair was holding up a curling wand, eyes wide, like it was a gold bar she'd found, running her fingers over it as if it were a very precious thing.

As with any chore when her mood was joyous, her bike felt light as she lifted it down the steps and clambered on. Her trusty duffel bag she slung across her body. The town had a life of its own at this time of the morning: fishermen and day-boat skippers alike trundled towards the harbour with bags, boots and packed lunches in their hands. Council gardeners drove slowly in their vans, stopping at the various hanging baskets, tubs of flowers and planted verges to water the blooms and ensure another bright and beautiful day for all who intended to spend time in the seaside town. It felt like a privilege to be in the streets as they came alive, to see traders unlock doors, turn signs from ‘closed' to ‘open', and shake off the previous day's fatigue, preparing to do it all again.

Her ride was easy, not a bump in the road or slow-moving tractor hampered her journey to Hele Bay Beach. She arrived just as the sun broke free of the horizon. It seemed particularly beautiful today. Her spirit was light, her hopes high and her routine now slick. She had a spot to leave her belongings and a preferred path down to the water's edge; both made for a speedy entry into the green-blue sea. Quickly she stowed her bike on its side, impatiently yanked off her trackie bottoms and dry robe and slipped into her half wetsuit, perfect for the warmer water at this time of year.

Raising her hand in a wave, she greeted two-thirds of the Peacock Swimmers, who were already in the sea. Jago and Maudie pulled through the water like a couple of selkies with their pink inflatable floats tied to their backs. She liked to tease Jago about his pace, pointing out how she could go twice as fast when they swam alongside each other. He liked to remind her that at eighty-six, that was his prerogative. There was something comforting about the sight of them each morning, nice to know they were expecting her, looking out for her, this couple who had welcomed her into their routine, and into their lives, with open arms.

With her clothes and bag in a neat bundle, dry robe ready to put on the moment she needed it, and positioned just so, she almost ran to the shoreline. Gone was the hesitation of those early days, as she waded purposefully into the foam-edged waves, and breathed deeply as her shoulders dipped beneath the surface. It would have been a hard thing to fully explain, but that first second of immersion was like a note of heavenly music, a beam of perfect light, a singular feeling of contentment, leaving her feeling happy, clean, clear and energised for whatever the day might hold!

For those unfamiliar with the bay, it might have seemed daunting, compared to the neat, tight boundaries of a public swimming pool or lido, which not only hemmed you in, but kept you from venturing beyond its tiled walls. But so accustomed was she to the placement of the rocks, the cut of the cliffs, the slope of the sand and the dips and troughs of the seabed that it fuelled her confidence. The idea that she could, in theory, swim and swim until she hit land, was exhilarating. Or even better, the thought of swimming and swimming, and changing course until she hit Lundy ... now that really would be something. If only she weren't so fearful of making the trip.

She chose a familiar route and pulled her arms through the water, always starting with the breaststroke while she let her body acclimatise before switching to front crawl.

‘Here I am and what a morning it is! What to tell you, how to tell you!' She smiled, softly whispering the words to her dad that felt too personal to voice out loud. ‘It's a weird thing that even I'm finding hard to fully fathom. It feels like a big thing but is actually nothing. And so if it's nothing, how come it feels so strongly like something? I'm waffling, I know. So here it is: yesterday, I saw a man. That's it! I wish I had more! No interaction, no conversation, just plenty of attraction – from my perspective anyway. I don't even know if he saw me. There was something about him ... I can't shake the image of him in my head. He's stuck there, not that I'm complaining. So that's it! As I said, a big something that's actually nothing, but everything has to start somewhere, right?'

Moving now with purpose, her breathing and movement were in sync as the sounds of the ocean calmed her and she crawled against the motion of the tide. Having swum for no more than twenty minutes, slowing as her session came to an end, taking her time to tread water, to lie on her back and stare up at the big sky, she bobbed on the salty waves and let the sun glance her face with its morning kiss. With her mood buoyant and excitement fizzing in her stomach, she enjoyed the feeling of strength from another swim completed as she made her way to the shallows.

‘Oh, I see, another half session for our youngest peacock!' Maudie yelled.

‘Some of us have to get to work!' She laughed her reply.

‘My heart breaks for you.' Maudie flipped on to her back. ‘I don't miss it, living to the beat of the ticking clock. I can highly recommend retirement.'

‘Doubt I'll ever retire, not with the state of my finances.' Her humour cloaked this dire truth and not for the first time she pictured herself on a ward, in a uniform, just as she had when she was young, and had felt like anything was possible. If life had taught her one thing, it was that it never turned out quite how you might think. She could never have foreseen, at that young age, events so catastrophic that she would find herself acting as human glue to keep the Gunn family from falling apart. She wondered what plans her dad might have had.

‘She's fibbing, Tawrie, just ignore her,' Jago piped up. ‘She'd go back to her job in a second! Wouldn't you, love?'

‘Maybe.' Maudie stared up towards the sky as if in thought and Tawrie wondered if ‘maybe' meant she might like to return to those younger days if not the job itself. She knew she'd worked as an administrator for a family optician for decades.

‘We'll be out in a bit.' Jago surged forward and continued with his swim, leaving his wife to bob like a seal on a rock as the day grew livelier around them.

Tawrie left the water and trod the slight incline towards the spot where her bike and dry robe awaited. She unzipped her wetsuit and let the top half fall down to her hips, to reveal her swimsuit; she tousled her thick hair with her fingertips, rather liking the way the slightly damp ends curled up under their spritz of salt water. Tipping her head to the left and then right, she did her best to rid her ears of water. Facing the sea, she revelled in the feeling of achievement, enjoying the shiver on her skin as she looked at the vast body of water that from this point looked quite foreboding. She thought of the conversation she'd had with her nan when she first started, and it made her smile.

‘ Where are you going to swim to, anyway? '

‘ Lundy. I'm going to go all the way out to Lundy. '

That her nan hadn't questioned it was endearing, but it was typical; Freda adored her, never underestimated her and had always done her best to increase her granddaughter's self-belief. It also wasn't lost on Tawrie that she kept her close, as if believing she could prevent further heartache by keeping her within sight.

Ensconced now in her dry robe, she slipped her wetsuit out from beneath her and pulled down her costume, kicking it into the cosy nest on which she now stood, and with her knickers and sweatpants in her hand, she took another few seconds to stare at the ocean.

‘I still wonder where you are ...' she whispered, letting her words drift out across the big blue on the gentle breeze.

‘Have you been in?'

She jumped. The voice was unexpected, loud, energised, excited, and took her entirely by surprise, but it wasn't even close to the shock she got when she turned her head and there he was. P-p-pink shirt man, standing near her bike and fixing her with a grin.

The words caught in her throat, as her brain scrabbled to find a response. Her face and chest flushed hot; she had, after all, been talking about him mere minutes ago. The possibility of him overhearing was non-existent, but no less mortifying in the imagining. He was wearing a t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops and his hair stood up as if he'd gone out without washing it or looking in a mirror. Not that she cared. To be this close to him, to see him again, to have the opportunity to stand face to face with the man who had kept her from sleep; it felt like fate, it felt like an opportunity, it felt bloody marvellous!

Tawrie had never been vain, but in that second she was aware that her hair was a mess, she was doused in salt water and swamped in a dry robe that could do with a wash. She wished her cossie and wetsuit weren't bunched beneath her wrinkled feet and that she wasn't holding her knickers and sweatpants in her hand.

‘Been in, yes, yes I've been in,' she babbled, pointing at the sea, wishing she were calmer, and that she had her underwear on.

‘Is it cold?'

‘Everyone asks me that.' She took in his freckled skin, his clear eyes.

‘Of course they do! Because no one other than a fruit loop would consider jumping into the Bristol Channel, it looks bloody freezing!'

She liked his voice. His accent neutral, his tone pleasant, the pace not too fast or too slow, not boorish or sarcastic. He sounded as nice as he looked.

‘Well, I guess I'm a fruit loop because I do it every day from March to September.'

He lifted his arms above his head and exhaled slowly, resting them flat-palmed on the top of his head. Her eyes were drawn to the gap where his t-shirt lifted and she saw the slight roll of a tum over the waistband of his shorts, the dark hair sprouting, his sun-kissed skin. She found it hard to explain her desire to touch him. She gripped her clothes bundle – something, anything to occupy her twitchy, nervous hands.

‘You do it every day without fail? You're not being serious? You don't mean like when it's raining too?'

‘I do mean every day. I am being serious and yes, in the rain too.' She was, in that moment, proud of her efforts, glad to have this one thing that set her apart, and even happier to be sharing it with him.

‘You're right, you are a fruit loop.' He hugged himself and laughed. ‘I'm joking! It's awesome!'

‘Is it? Why?' Delight flooded her being at the prospect of him finding her or any aspect of her ‘awesome'.

‘Because how many people can say they do that? Not many, I bet. I mean, I know people who take a dip in the local pool or jump into lakes when they get the chance and, of course, a swim on holiday, but to come here every day and get in the sea ... that's awesome!'

His words felt like praise, like approval, and she felt her heart race, struck by how easily they chattered and how delighted she was by his presence.

‘I suppose.' She stood up straight and sucked in her tummy.

‘So I guess the question is, why do you do it?' He sure was full of questions and she was flattered by his interest.

‘Why?' she stalled.

‘Yes, why do you get out of, what I am assuming is a warm bed, and put yourself through it?'

‘Erm, it makes me feel good, it makes me feel ... better.' She wasn't about to give him every detail, not when he felt she was already, apparently, in fruit loop territory.

‘Brilliant.'

‘What is?' She looked up at him, this time a chance to study the shape of his jaw, his neat top teeth, uneven bottom row, his Adam's apple. Her eyes settled on his hand. No wedding ring. Not that everyone wore one, of course, and she knew you didn't have to have taken vows to be in a committed relationship.

‘The fact you've found something that makes you feel good, feel better. That's the key, isn't it? Discovering the things that get you through the day and going for it!'

‘I guess so.'

‘And you swim alone? You don't drag your partner down here on dark, rainy mornings?'

‘No partner to drag ...' Was he fishing? She felt her stomach jump with excitement at the possibility, and wished Connie were here to ask – she was so good at decoding flirt-speak and picking up on those subtle signals that might mean attraction. Actually, that was a bad idea. One look at Connie with her fabulous boobs, big mouth, doe eyes and tiny waist and Tawrie's own broad, barrel-hefting shoulders and robust, log-shifting legs could only fare unfavourably in comparison. She'd do her best to keep him away from Connie for a while. This she thought only half in jest.

‘But I don't swim alone, that's a big rule of wild swimming: safety first, obviously. We're in a club, the Peacock Swimmers.'

‘Oh right.' He looked around. ‘Where's the rest of the ostentation?'

‘The what?'

He laughed again, but in a manner that was friendly and not mocking. ‘That's what you call a group of peacocks – an ostentation. Isn't it great?' Enthusiasm spilled from him. ‘Those glorious feathers, the display, the theatre, is there anything more ostentatious?'

‘Not that I can think of. You're right, it's great!' And it was. ‘There are only three of us, actually, and the other two are still swimming.' She pointed to the dark, bobbing heads of Maudie and Jago, trailing their inflatable, pink floats.

‘Ah yes, I see them.'

‘But even though we're a little gang, I like to swim alone, secure that they're close by, but it's all about the solitude. Time to think, getting lost in the moment.'

‘I see. And here I am spoiling your morning, interrupting your thing!' He slapped his forehead. ‘I should go, let you stay in the moment or whatever.' He rolled his hand.

‘No!' She spoke with a little more force than she'd intended, not wanting to sound super-keen while feeling super-super-keen. ‘I mean, you're not spoiling my morning, interrupting my thing, not at all.'

‘I'm Edgar. Ed.' He touched his fingers to his chest as if English might not be her first language. It made her want to laugh. In fact she wanted to laugh anyway, she felt a little giddy.

‘I'm Tawrie, Taw.'

‘Tory? As in Thatcher? Old Etonians and privilege?'

Resisting the temptation to scoff, and not for the first time, she explained, ‘No, Tawrie as in the river Taw, T-A-W. The river.'

‘I've never heard it as a name. It's ... different! And different is good. There were three Rebeccas in my class at school.'

‘There were three Tawries in mine.'

‘Were there?'

‘No.' She smiled, happy that he'd taken the bait. ‘Actually, my dad chose it. Could be worse, we might have lived by the Mississippi and then everyone would sing at me wouldn't they. " Mrs M, Mrs I, Mrs SSI Mrs SSI Mrs PPI!"' Edgar stared at her and she felt her face colour. ‘Did you not learn that rhyme at school?'

‘No.' He shook his head. ‘We did maths and English, art, that kind of thing. No river poem songs.'

He was funny too. He was funny!

‘Where are you staying?' It was her turn for questions.

‘Fore Street.'

‘Oh okay, well we're neighbours. How long are you staying?' Forever? Say forever!

‘Not sure.' He shrugged and she caught the double blink that gave away more than his vague response, wondering what was behind it. Was he nervous, hiding away? She understood the desire to do both.

‘Well, I have to get to work.' She hated the thought and could have quite happily stayed there all day, getting to know pink shirt man , Edgar. Ed.

‘Where do you work?'

‘The Café on the Corner, it's my cousin's place.'

‘Maybe I'll pop in?'

‘Sure, it's by the quay, on the, erm, on the corner.'

‘I guess the clue is in the name.' He stared at her.

‘Yep.' She swallowed, nerves filled her up and it took all of her energy not to give him her number, arrange a time and place to meet, pin down the detail. Luckily this was Ilfracombe and it was pretty hard not to bump into people.

‘Taw ... Tawrie.' He spoke her name and seemed hesitant, shy even. She felt her gut bunch with desire, the sound of her name on his lips was something quite fabulous. ‘Tawrie,' he began again and she stared at the man who displayed similar nerves. Could it be that he was feeling the same?

‘Yes, Ed?' She took a step towards him and looked up at his face, speaking his name as deliberately as he had hers.

‘I-I'm not sure how to say this.' He licked his dry lips and her heart jumped.

‘Just say it!' She giggled like the swishy-haired girls who had always felt alien to her, like the blonde who had held a curling wand as if it were gold.

‘Tawrie ...' He took a breath.

‘Yes, Ed?'

‘You've dropped your knickers.' He pointed at the grey blob that sat by her foot and as she stooped to gather them into her hand, she made a wish that when she righted herself he had disappeared, but no, there he was and he was laughing.

‘You've been a right dizzy tits this morning, what's the matter with you?' Connie as ever cut to the chase as Tawrie concentrated on using a fresh cloth to wipe the drips from the bottles of ketchup that got sticky after a day on the job.

‘Don't know what you mean.' She felt the twitch of a smile around her mouth.

‘You're being odd. Smiling and humming as if you're actually enjoying yourself! And let's be honest, most of the time you look ...'

‘I look what?' She laughed despite the accusation that she knew was coming.

‘Not so smiley.' Connie opted for tact. ‘And when Gordy and Nora came in with Amber the dog and asked for bacon sandwiches with brown sauce, followed by carrot cake with the usual two forks, you took them a couple of flapjacks and waltzed off as if nothing was amiss! Gaynor had to whip the plates off the table and get the order right. Luckily Nora doesn't mind much, being the girl's girl that she is, but Gordy looked like he'd dropped a quid and found a feather!'

‘I didn't realise!' She giggled.

‘That's exactly my point!' Connie stared at her, her face screwed up. ‘Oh my God!' Her cousin put down the loaf she was wrapping in clingfilm. ‘You like someone!'

‘What?' She felt a flutter of panic at her accurate summation.

‘You heard me.' Connie continued to study her. ‘You've got that look, as if you're daydreaming about something, or more specifically someone.'

‘Ah, is it the same look Needle has when he asks you to go out on his boat?' Deflection was, she figured, her best form of defence. How could she begin to explain the ridiculous, fanciful and unfounded feelings she had for a man she'd only seen twice? She was not that person!

‘Oh my God!' Connie repeated as she stepped out from behind the grill and called out, ‘Gay, can you keep an eye for a minute, Tawrie and I are just going to the benches.'

‘Sure, love!' Gaynor gathered up the dirty cups that littered a tabletop and in this moment of quiet, Tawrie let her cousin grab her by the arm and drag her out to the seats by the quayside.

‘Sit!' Connie pointed and she did as instructed. Her cousin sat by her side. ‘From the top. Go! And I want it all, every detail, every second, all of it.'

‘You're so bossy! Always have been.'

‘Stop stalling, come on, spill!' Connie clicked her fingers.

The truth was she kind of welcomed the chance to talk about him, wanting her cousin's feedback or at least validation of the complex feelings that filled her up.

‘It's weird, Con, I only saw him for the first time yesterday.'

‘Where?'

‘Right here, actually.' She jerked her head to the cobbles behind them.

‘Who is he?'

‘His name's Edgar, Ed.'

‘Wanker name.' Connie pulled a face.

‘I don't think so, I think it's lovely.' She smiled at the thought of their chat at Hele Bay Beach earlier.

‘ Lovely? Who are you?'

‘I know!' She closed her eyes briefly, acknowledging that this dizziness was most out of character. ‘And then I saw him again this morning; he was on the beach when I came back from my swim.'

‘A stalker?' her cousin gasped, the glint in her eye suggesting this was just as juicy.

‘No! Nothing like that. He was just out and about and we chatted ...'

‘Okay, well I'm going to have to stop you right there. You know the rules: no tourists, no holidaymakers, no day trippers, they're never worth it. Never! Nine times out of ten they're tethered to a missus back home and are looking for either a shag or a free stay for their next holiday. Sometimes both. And if you let yourself get involved, it's only you that's going to get hurt.'

‘Do you think I just arrived here yesterday? I know all that, of course I do, but have you ever seen someone and it's like bam !' She punched her palm. ‘You just ... I don't know, like ...'

‘No, Taw. I never have.'

‘Not even with Gary?'

Connie shook her head and looked out over the water, clearly thinking about the man she'd been at school with, his family local like hers. They were married and divorced within ten years of leaving school. And shared the care of their eight-year-old boy Sonny, whom they adored equally.

‘Not really. I mean I loved him, still do in a way, probably always will, but what you're describing? Nope. For us there was no bam , more like we drifted into our relationship. There was no moment of impact, but then neither was there a sharp fall when it ended. It was tame, easy, nice, just not enough. Not enough for either of us. And I'm happy he's with Lena, she's good for him and is great with Sonny.'

There was a beat of silence while this settled.

‘It can't be real, though, can it, Con, this crazy storm that's raging inside me? It has to just be a silly thing that will come to nothing. I'll get to know him, find out he's a psycho or a moron or boring and that'll be that, right?'

‘Yes, probably.'

‘Thank you for helping set my expectations.' She nudged her cousin.

‘You did ask! And for the record, I'd like nothing more than for you to find someone who makes you feel this way. I want it all for you, Taw: the bells, the whistles, all of it.'

Tawrie felt a surge of emotion in her throat, thinking two things: first, how comforting to hear this was how her cousin felt; and second, if and when she did find someone, how sad it was that her dad wouldn't be here to witness it.

‘But a tourist whose life is elsewhere? That's also not enough, not for you. I mean, I'm not saying don't have fun – do! Have lots of it! But don't let him in.' Connie placed her hand over her heart. ‘Don't let him get to your heart.'

‘I won't.' She hoped it was a promise she could keep as she tried to ignore the flame of joy that roared in her chest whenever she thought of him.

A car beeped its low, loud horn behind them and they both jumped. She turned to see her Uncle Sten pull up in his shiny double cab pick-up with the windows rolled down.

‘'Ark at you two lazy wenches! Sunbathing instead of runnin' that café! Place could go up in smoke, but as you two've got a decent suntan, s'pose that's all that matters!'

‘Give it a rest, Dad, we've only been out here five minutes!' Connie yelled their defence.

‘That's what I always say when I get caught napping on the job!' He laughed. ‘Anyways, I've just seen Needle, he says do you want to—'

‘No, I bloody don't!' Connie shot him down. Sten laughed heartily.

As they stood, Connie took her arm and held her eyeline. ‘I want you to have a great summer, Taw, but be warned, if any wanker-named blow-in causes you a moment of grief, I'll bash his face in, got it?'

‘Got it.' She laughed, peering along the quayside in case Edgar should pop up. ‘But I don't think I need to be worried; he seems ...'

‘Oh Taw, give it a rest, they all seem ... until they're not!'

‘I dropped my knickers.' She stared into the middle distance as she recounted the event.

‘Jesus, love! Fast work! I don't know whether to be horrified or impressed!' Connie's mouth was open.

‘No, not like that! I mean literally, they fell out of my hand and he just ... he made it okay.'

‘Oh my God! Are you the stalker?' Connie gasped.

Tawrie fell into her as they laughed. It was a moment of welcome silliness as they made their way back to the café while her Uncle Sten checked his teeth in the rear-view mirror of his cab, no doubt wanting to look his best for Gaynor. His friend.