CHAPTER SEVEN TAWRIE GUNN

CHAPTER SEVEN

T AWRIE G UNN

A UGUST 2024

The Ilfracombe weather was a great dictator of mood. There were bright days with a wide Devon-blue sky that could lift the lowest of thoughts. Days when the kiss of sunshine on winter skin gave Tawrie faith that all was going to be right with the world, that somehow she'd make it through. And sometimes the little town laboured under the bruise of a storm. This dark veil was, in its own way, equally stirring, as the flash of lightning bounced on the water, thunder cracked across the quay and rain lashed the paths and windows, forcing under-dressed tourists to put newspapers, bags or hands over their heads as they headed for cover. And then there were days like this – in between days when the world looked grey, dull and quieter than was comfortable. Days when the water was calm, gulls perched silently and the atmosphere was a little sluggish.

Tawrie would be lying if she didn't admit that she'd half expected Edgar to turn up at the café after their beach encounter, but he hadn't. Worse still was that Connie had looked up every time a man walked in as if she too was on tenterhooks. It made them both jumpy. It was now three days since Tawrie had seen him and she was riven with fear that he might have gone back to wherever he lived. The thought left her a little out of sorts. How on earth could she explain it? A man she'd seen twice and spoken to briefly only once – how could she possibly justify the amount of space he took up in her thoughts or the level of distress she felt at the prospect of never seeing him again?

And as if that wasn't bad enough, she knew nothing about him: not his surname, telephone number or even the city he called home. There were many holiday rentals on Fore Street, and with no clue where he'd stayed, it wasn't as if she could make enquiries. And even if she knew who he was and where he hailed from, she wasn't sure how it might help. The thought of tracking him down like a sad loner, only for him to tell her she'd got the wrong end of the stick entirely, was more than she could contemplate. This thought took her back to square one: the reality that she was preoccupied with this stranger. It was ridiculous. And yet the thought of him and all the romantic associations that followed thrilled her! She craved the image in her head: love, friendship and a future that was more than her biscuit-eating nan and her vodka-guzzling mother.

She threw herself into her morning swim.

‘So that's it, Dad,' she whispered, putting her words out into the surf. ‘As I said before, it was nothing; I didn't even know him. So why am I so sad at the prospect of not seeing him again? What's going on? What do you think I should do?'

The silence of the waves bothered her.

With her heart pounding and her limbs aching from a strong session, she made her way to the middle of the bay and lay on her back, part of her morning ritual, letting her eyes take in the majesty of the big sky and feeling the water embrace her. As ever, a little overwhelmed and in awe of the vastness of the sky and the ocean below her.

‘I'll be back tomorrow,' she whispered. As she turned to swim back, she became aware of a figure on the beach. Instantly she trod water and stared at his outline. Her heart leapt at the sight of him and the happy realisation that all was not lost.

‘Your friend's back!' Maudie yelled playfully, pointing in his direction.

‘So he is.' She turned and beamed at the woman whose eyes glinted with delight.

Edgar lifted his hand in a wave. She waved back, wishing again that she was half-decently dressed and not in this wetsuit that showed all her lumps and bumps. Jago continued to pull through the water, seemingly oblivious, and Maudie did her best to catch him up.

Making every effort to look calm and collected, she tried as elegantly as possible to tread the shoreline and make her way up the beach. Overly conscious of her walk, she faltered and tripped, something she never did! It was typical, and she decided there and then not to attempt to remove her suit, but instead to put her dry robe over her wet stuff, therefore avoiding the mortification and possible repeat of the knicker-dropping incident of a couple of days ago.

‘Hey!' he called as she approached, his manner and tone suggesting they were meeting by arrangement, which suited her just fine.

‘Hi!' She felt her pulse race as she got closer to him. Connie was right, who was she?

‘So, was it cold?'

She laughed as she reached for her towel and rubbed it over her hair and face, trying not to let her eagerness at the sight of him burst from her, swallowing all the glittery rainbows and hearts of joy that she was sure would rush from her throat if she were to sing.

‘As I've said to my nan on more than one occasion, about as cold as yesterday and probably the same as it'll be tomorrow. No matter how I dress it up, this ain't the Caribbean!'

‘True.' He sat on the sand and it felt like the most natural thing in the world to sit next to him. Aware that time was marching on, she hoped Connie would understand that this was an emergency – or at least an opportunity. Either way, she was staying put. Gordy and Nora could wait for their bacon sandwich or carrot cake with two forks, and Gaynor would simply have to step up her game.

‘So what brings you up to Hele Bay at this time of the morning?' She hoped he might say ‘you' and braced herself accordingly.

‘I like to walk and I like it when it's quiet before the whole town wakes up and the streets and paths become crowded.'

‘Yep, that's the downside. When you live somewhere like this, you can't mind sharing it with crowds when the sun comes out. I'm not complaining; I'm always ready for the summer when it arrives, but I do like the winter months, and the quieter times in the day. It feels like an entirely different place.'

‘I've only ever been here in the summer.'

‘You should come back in the winter.' Her words filled her with instant regret. Why had she said that? The last thing she wanted him to think was that she was making a plan, asking him to come back, assuming something!

‘I will.' And just like that her nerves dissolved and she was again filled with something light that felt a lot like happiness.

‘So where do you live?'

‘London.'

She nodded. It figured, most people came here from cities like London, Bristol, Birmingham, looking for an escape.

‘And what do you do in London?'

‘Well, until recently I worked in a bank.' He pulled a downward mouth. ‘Very, very boring. Do you like working in the café?'

‘I do.' She was aware her tone was a little lukewarm. ‘I thought about studying midwifery.' It was a rare admission, especially to this stranger. ‘Can't think of any job more rewarding than being there at those first moments of life.'

‘So why didn't you?' he asked, unaware of all the stumbling blocks she'd have to clamber over for this to be possible. She was unsure how to answer, without giving him an accurate picture of life with Annalee; her role as chief comforter and distractor for her nan and the fact that she was wary of leaving in case ... in case her dad returned and she wasn't here. Yes, this was at the heart of it. Even though she knew it to be madness, it didn't make it any less of a preoccupation for her.

‘I guess I kind of drifted into working for my cousin, Connie, and it's not too bad, it's okay, and so I stayed.' There it was again, that pithy response. ‘So, you're no longer at the bank?'

‘Nope!' He grinned, like this was an achievement. ‘Pretty much like you said before, I woke up one morning and decided I needed to find something that makes me feel good, makes me feel better, and so I've taken a mini sabbatical and am trying to figure out what that might be. I'm having a life rethink. Do you know Corner Cottage on Fore Street?'

‘Yes.' Of course she did, having walked past it nearly every day of her life. She'd had to pass it to get to the High Street, to school, the shops ... It seemed to be a popular holiday rental, right in the thick of things.

‘Well, I've covered the kitchen table with a huge sheet of wallpaper and I'm kind of doodling the future, trying to figure out my next move. At the moment I'm thinking of retraining as a teacher or maybe learning to paint properly!'

‘You should talk to Nora, one of our customers – she and her husband have a house on the harbourside and her father was a famous artist. She has one of his pieces in her hallway. It's very clever, especially to people like me who can't draw or paint well at all. I dabble but my work is like a child's!'

‘Maybe I will. And I'm certainly no great talent, but I enjoy it.' He kicked at the sand.

‘So which is standing out, artist or teacher?'

He took his time formulating a response and she took the opportunity to study his face: the long eyelashes, the laughter wrinkles at the outer edge of his kind eyes, his easy manner. Her stomach bunched with a longing to touch him.

‘I think the teaching. I don't know the first thing about it other than remembering some of my teachers who had an impact, good and bad, but that feels like a good place to start.'

‘I think it's great you're not afraid to make changes that you know will bring you happiness.' She wished she had his strength of conviction.

‘Well, that's the plan, but we'll see. I've never had this kind of freedom before. I went straight from school to uni to work and only changed jobs once, hopping from one bank to another, and here I am.'

‘Here you are.' She roughed her hair with her fingertips, wanting it to dry and stop sticking to her face. ‘I'm not exactly the great adventurer myself. Born here. Stayed here.' Her tone carried the almost subconscious whiff of embarrassment that she'd never left.

‘It's all about finding happiness, right?' She nodded in response. ‘And I have to admit you've inspired me, Tawrie.'

Her name on his lips was ... intoxicating!

‘I have?' She thought he might actually be able to see her heart as it leapt in her chest.

‘Yeah. I think seeing you swim and knowing you do that come rain or shine, it's cemented the fact that I want to find something I love doing. But it feels scary, I suppose.'

‘Well, that's what your wallpaper on the table is for, right? To come up with your next big thing?'

‘Yes.' He closed his eyes and drank in the morning air. ‘I feel different here.'

‘In what way?' It was astonishing to her how easily she could chat to this man, as if they'd known each other for a lifetime.

‘I don't know, really, but in Balham I'm always on the go and it feels like I run from appointment to event to dinner to seeing a friend, to catching a bus, jumping on a train, hailing a cab, riding a lift, seeing a movie. Always something I need to do and somewhere I need to be, but here ...' He exhaled slowly. ‘I can just be.'

‘I sometimes worry I might be missing out on life not being somewhere busy but, you know, life could be worse and I wonder if maybe I'm actually where I should be and that's that.' She trotted out the standard cliché that was becoming less sweet in her mouth the more she voiced it.

‘How old are you?' he interjected, as if unaware that it wasn't a standard question past the age of seventeen.

‘Twenty-nine next birthday.'

‘Same.' He nodded and she smiled at this, another connection.

‘Yeah.' Tawrie drew breath. ‘Sometimes I regret not becoming a midwife, wonder what my life might have been like, but then I remind myself to look up and appreciate all I have around me.'

‘Like the sea and your daily rendezvous with your Peacocks.'

‘Exactly. I was cautious at first about swimming. Actually, more than cautious, I was really scared.' Swimming in the sea that took my dad ...

‘I get that.' He pulled a face and they listened to the waves crash against the rocks. ‘Starting something new, leaping into the unknown.'

‘Bonkers, really, as I've always lived here on the coast, woken each morning of my life and looked out over the sea with gulls squawking their hello. Those that don't know the sea think it's just a vast body of water. But it's so much more than that. It changes every day, a shifting landscape, a moving picture. A home itself, teeming with life: fish, seals, dolphins, even the odd whale – I've seen them all. It's a changing thing that calls to me. It whispers in soft murmurs as it kisses the wet sand. It roars in fierce winds, douses me in winter and calms me in summer.'

‘Wow!' He stared at her as if her words were prophetic, meaningful, and the fact that he was impressed felt like a huge reward. ‘You've really got the bug!'

‘I have. My dad and I used to paddle, but nothing like this, nothing like this feeling of being part of the water.' The mention of her dad was enough to cause her throat to tighten. She didn't want to feel this way, not here, not now and not in front of Edgar. Not when it felt like they were getting on, making progress. And yet it happened like this – unpredictable moments when her grief rose up, reached for her and held her fast. Even now.

‘So your dad . . .'

‘My dad what?' She didn't mean to sound so defensive; it was more a reflex when the subject that sat like a tear across her heart was raised. It made her uneasy to see the red bloom of embarrassment rise on his neck. It wasn't his fault. He was merely entering stage left at this point in the drama, unaware of the tension, the sorrow, the event that had shaped her life.

Shaped all of their lives.

‘Do you ... do you see him?' He swallowed, picking up on her verbal shift in tone.

‘No.' She bit her lip, looking at her wet feet.

‘I'm sensing this conversation is leading me down an alleyway that you don't want to walk, so how about we change the subject?'

He was insightful and she was grateful.

She took a deep breath. ‘It's not that I don't want to talk about it, it's that I don't talk about it. And so, like anything you don't do, whether it's climbing a hill or tackling a tricky subject, it makes it harder when you do try.'

‘I get that. So I guess the obvious thing to say is that maybe if you try to talk about a difficult subject then it will stop being tricky?'

‘Now why didn't I think of that?' She threw a limpet shell at him.

He caught it in his hand. ‘Good skills.'

‘Thank you.'

He smiled and it felt like a moment, playful and comfortable. ‘So, I don't want to push, but I do know a thing or two about broken families. Is it that you don't see your dad at all?'

Oh I see him ... every time I let the water slip over my shoulders, every time I catch my breath in a wave, every time I see my mum draped over the arm of someone who isn't him. I see him, I think about him, and I imagine, even if it's only briefly, a life where I don't have to have this conversation because he is here .

‘I don't see him, no.' She paused and rolled the words around in her mind, hoping they might make their way out of her mouth without too much consideration, no high drama or emotion. It was how she kept the subject in check, how she kept everything in check.

‘That sucks.' He held her eyeline.

‘It really does.'

She shivered as her body cried out for sustenance or a warm drink. Not that she had any intention of going anywhere in that moment.

‘Do you want to do something later?'

‘Like what?'

Like what! Why did you say that, you moron? His question and timing had caught her off guard to say the least. Having blurted her ill-considered response, she wished for a rewind button so she could answer more appropriately, deciding that if a do-over was possible, she'd say, ‘Yes, that'd be great!' Or ‘Oh, I was thinking the same thing!' Or ‘Yes, I think I might love you! Why don't we just cut to the chase and go get married, right now, today?' Having mentally run through these permutations, she decided, on balance, that ‘Like what?' maybe wasn't so bad after all.

‘I don't know, erm ...' He rubbed his chin as he thought. ‘We could go for a walk around the harbour or go down to Rapparee Cove or up around Capstone Hill, whatever you want to do.'

‘Okay, great. Shall I come and knock for you at seven?'

Again she cringed, aware she sounded like a teen looking for a mate who fancied a kick about.

‘That'd be great.' He laughed. ‘Come knock for me. I'm at Corner Cottage.'

‘Yes, you said and I know where it is.'

‘It's on the corner of Fore Street and Mill Head,' he explained and she saw his own anguished expression, as if he too were cringing, aware that she would know every house in the street far better than he. The idea that he might be a little nervous too, a little kerflummoxed with nerves, thrilled her.

‘So that's a date.' He wiped sand from his hands on to his shorts. ‘I mean, not a date ... I mean ...'

Tawrie stared at the man. ‘I know what you mean.'

‘Well, it's nice to see you, Taw, thanks so much for coming in!' Connie turned from the grill with a look of thunder.

‘I'm sorry, Con, I got held up.'

Grabbing her apron and fastening it around her waist as quick as she was able, she was aware of the grin that split her face, making a mockery of her apology, and which she would have controlled better if she were talking to anyone other than her cousin. Having never been habitually late – she was a stickler for timekeeping, in fact, unable to stand the thought of keeping anyone waiting – she tried whenever possible to extend the same courtesy to others. She figured, however, that one rare slip-up was allowed. Especially when the cause was an important one.

‘Oh my God, look at your face! You were with wanker-name lover boy, weren't you!'

‘I might've been.' She screwed up her face and raised her shoulders.

‘I want to give you seven kinds of warning about him, Taw, but I can tell it's too late for all that. You're proper smitten, aren't you?' A twist of a smile appeared on Connie's carmine lips.

‘I think I could be, depends how tonight goes.'

‘What's happening tonight?' Gaynor popped up at her shoulder. ‘Three crispy rashers for table two with extra toast and one more tea, please, Con.' She rattled off the additions to the order and stuck her biro into the back of her hair for safekeeping.

‘Righto.' Connie nodded and peeled rashers of bacon from the waxed paper to throw on to the grill.

‘What's happening tonight?' Gaynor repeated. ‘What have I missed?'

Tawrie hesitated, aware that telling Gaynor, who would pass it on to Sten, was the verbal equivalent of taking out an advert in the North Devon Gazette .

‘Taw's got a date!' Connie let her mouth fall open comically.

‘I wouldn't call it that.' She tried to play it down despite the sparks of joy that crackled in her stomach. ‘It's not really a date, it's more of a get-together.' She felt the bloom of embarrassment on her cheeks and chest. It was almost impossible to stop grinning!

‘I see, and who are you getting together with exactly for this not-really-a-date?'

Tawrie saw the excitement in Gaynor's eye, the ribbing that came from a place of affection.

‘He's called Sebastian Farquhar,' Connie interrupted.

‘He's not, Gay, ignore her. He's called Edgar, Ed, and I don't know his surname.'

‘Don't know his surname? A man of mystery! That's exciting!' Gaynor winked at her.

‘I wish I'd never told you, Con.'

‘Yeah, and I wish you weren't still standing here dilly-dallying and all of a dither, instead of taking bloody orders!'

She took the hint and made her way to the tables where impatient customers waved and tapped menus, as if this might make her hurry up. Not that their impatience could dull her mood – nothing could, not with the prospect of an evening spent with Sebastian Farquhar looming large in her thoughts.

The day passed quickly and her feet barely touched the ground, not only due to the fact the café was busy, but also because her excitement meant that, instead of her usual thudding gait, she felt as if she were hovering on bubbles of possibility. They carried her, lightening her load, so that instead of being dogged by weariness when Connie turned the sign to ‘Closed' and another day came to an end at the Café on the Corner, she was still raring to go. It was only as she hung up her apron that nerves edged ahead of excitement.

‘Bit scared.' She pulled a face at her cousin.

‘Course you are. Because it's scary.'

‘You're not helping!' She had hoped for more encouragement.

‘It is though, isn't it? Putting yourself in the emotional firing line, making yourself vulnerable. Especially someone like you,' Connie added, as she leaned over, using her biro and notepad to tot up the figures for the day, and counted cash into bundles before shoving it into tiny plastic bags ready to deposit at the bank tomorrow.

‘What do you mean someone like me?' She blinked at the implication that she was in some way peculiar.

Connie paused from her task and chewed her bottom lip with her large teeth, as if keen to get the phrasing right.

‘I guess what I mean is that you're lovely, Taw. You're that person, the one everyone loves: kind, bit quiet, caring, just ... lovely! That's the best word. You're not cynical or jaded when it comes to men. You believe the best about people. You're trusting. You're the one who hands in lost mittens and feeds injured birds. You do the right thing and this is a leap into the unknown.'

It was a nice way of summarising her lack of experience but did little to calm her. But Connie wasn't done.

‘This Farquhar bloke . . .'

Tawrie knew there was little point in objecting to his nickname, it had already taken hold.

‘... you've only met him a couple of times, barely spoken to him, and it feels risky. If you were the kind of woman who hooked up with a different bloke whenever the fancy took you' – Connie looked at the floor and she knew that, like her, her cousin was thinking of Annalee – ‘then whatever happens next would be water off a duck's arse, but you're not. You're our sweet, slightly grumpy, serious-faced Tawrie Gunn and I don't want you to get hurt.'

‘I just want to have a nice time. I like feeling like this – a bit excited!' She did her best to explain it.

Connie reached out and cupped the side of her face in her palm. Her cousin might only have been a few years older but she had always loved and mothered her in this way.

‘You're right, Taw, have a nice time and enjoy every minute. Just don't give too much of you away – and I'm not talking about dropping your knickers again!'

‘Again, I wish I'd never told you!'

‘Who else are you going to tell?' Her cousin had a point. ‘Remember, first dates are cringey to begin with, but you'll know when it's going well when the conversation flows and you're not embarrassed to eat in front of him.'

‘Embarrassed to eat in front of him?' This was a new one on her.

‘Yeah, it's a thing. I know loads of people who can't eat on a first date, or a second, or third. The whole putting food in your gob is a big deal!'

‘You sound like you speak from experience.'

‘I do! I lose pounds when I start dating, just nibble like a bird and then have to go home and have bowls of cereal before bed.'

A bang on the glass of the door gave them both a start. She looked up as Connie's boy, Sonny, squashed his face against the door, leaving a greasy smear from his chocolate-covered mouth.

‘Come on, Mum! Dad's in the van and you said we could do crazy golf!' His eyes were wide, whether at the prospect of crazy golf or due to the amount of chocolate he'd consumed, it was hard to know.

‘Right there, my love, is another reason to keep your pants on. All I want is a hot bath, a cup of tea and a nap in front of the telly in my pyjamas. Instead I'm off to play crazy golf with that reprobate.'

Her cousin's words were clear and yet the way her eyes lit up at the sight of her son turned them into a lie.

‘You and Farquhar can join us if you like?' Connie smiled at her suggestion.

‘Yeah, that sounds like fun!' Tawrie let her lip rise in a curl; it was the very last thing in the world she wanted to do.