EPILOGUE
TAWRIESTRATTON
AGEDSIXTY
It was without a doubt Tawrie’s favourite time of the day, when the fire-red sun set over the harbour, and her granddaughter, Minnie, nestled back into her lap, resting her head on her ample bosom. She watched as her daughter Violet’s little girl ran her fingers over the crêpey skin on her arm, clearly liking the way it wrinkled and moved under the pressure.
‘What’s the best place you have ever lived GT?’
This her family nickname, short for Granny Tawrie.
Tawrie stroked the little girl’s strawberry-blonde hair and shook with laughter. ‘Well, that’s easy peasy. This place, Signal House.’
‘Because we get to watch the sunset from here on the terrace?’ Minnie might have only been seven but was whip-smart and about as sensitive as she was quick.
‘Oh, most definitely. But also it’s a bit of a trick question!’
‘Why is it?’ The freckle-faced child turned to face her, the two having enjoyed yet another long summer of beach time and picnics,swimming in the ocean and shell-collecting at Hele Bay Beach. ‘Why is it, Gran?’ Keen for a response, Minnie pushed impatiently.
‘Because apart from my time at university in Exeter, when I got to come home for the odd weekend, it’s the only house I’ve ever properly lived in, little one, and the only place I’ve ever called home. The Gunns, that was my surname before I became a Stratton, they’ve lived in Ilfracombe forever, we’re part of the landscape.’
‘And Nana Freda who died, who we go and visit at St James’s, she was a Gunn!’
‘Yes, Nana Freda was a fierce Gunn, a marvellous Gunn.’ It might have been nearly three decades since her beloved nan had passed away, but sitting here on nights like this it was still possible to feel her presence, to hear her laughter on the summer breeze and feel the warmth of her arms, holding Tawrie fast. ‘Yes, part of the landscape. In fact, little one, I reckon if you cut me open I’d leak seawater scooped up from the harbour down there on the quayside.’ She pointed the two hundred yards down the hill where the view opened up like a fairy tale: flapping bunting, sparkling festoon lights, the waving masts of boats, chattering loved ones hand in hand, families eating al fresco, kids running in sandals still with sand between their toes, and the call of the gulls circling overhead, relaying messages as they swirled and rose en masse, following theBarbara Bout into the water and hoping for a fish supper.
‘And it’s the only placeI’veever been on holiday!’
‘Would you like to go somewhere else, do you think, Minnie-moo?’
Minnie shook her head vigorously, as if entirely unable to imagine her summer anywhere else. This delighted Tawrie more than she could say, as did the fact that Violet longed to be back home here too.
Their daughter had made a first-class job of refurbishing Corner Cottage, and she knew it gave Ed more joy than he could describewhen each half-term, summer break and more than the odd weekend, Violet trundled down from London with her husband Duke, Mortimer the Labrador, their new baby Lance, who right now was sleeping inside, and of course Minnie, who had brought more joy to Tawrie’s life than she could ever have imagined possible.
On the odd occasion, they were even accompanied by Duke’s mother Letitia, who still sighed or huffed before every sentence, made a point of looking out over the harbour as if there were something sour under her schnozzle and pressed the point that they really should try to get over to Biarritz, where the fish was to die for and the sun blissful! Tawrie always nodded that it sounded lovely, before exchanging a long, knowing look with her husband. Biarritz? Was the woman mad? For the love of God, they had Watermouth Cove!
‘Yes, but you have many more years ahead of you, little Minnie, who knows where you might end up?’
‘I’d like to end up right here.’
‘You might say that now, my love, but no one knows what the tide’ll bring in. That’s the beautiful thing about life. You just never know.’
‘Tell me about that day on your birthday when a whole family of dolphins came to say hello!’
It was a story Minnie liked to hear over and over. And one Tawrie was happy to recount.
‘Well, I was in the water, when—’
A raucous scream echoed around the garden, a noise that came from out of sight at the bottom of the steep steps that led from Fore Street up to the front garden of their home. She watched her granddaughter sit upright, as if on high alert. The sudden noise and anticipation were jarring and they both stared at the path, waiting. It was almost a relief when two lolling heads appeared at the topof the steps, Ed and Annalee carrying a bag of groceries and meat from Turton’s butchers for the planned barbecue.
And cherries, of course, always cherries.
Annalee was a wonder to her. Now in her eighties, she was full of life, her long hair tied into a low ponytail, her eyes bright, skin clear and with a joie de vivre that had been present since she finally reached sobriety just before Tawrie’s thirtieth birthday, and months before they welcomed the arrival of Violet. A day when Annalee also turned thirty, of course. Her mother’s strength of character in overcoming the foulest of diseases was phenomenal and Tawrie knew she would forever be in awe of her determination to win the hardest of battles. A battle she fought every single day.
Her mother had explained that when living under the cloud of alcoholism, she was quite unable to grieve the loss of the man she had loved, still loved. This was in part why it had felt easier to keep drinking, holding the tsunami of sorrow at bay, which she knew, the moment she was sober enough to face it, might possibly drown her. This fear, this threat on top of the chronic physical aspects of addiction withdrawal, had been too much for the broken-hearted Annalee to cope with.
But when her daughter had left for university, Annalee had figured it was time she stood on her own two feet, and she had done it. Tawrie would forever be thankful. She might not have had her mother holding the safety net for nearly two decades of her life – that job had fallen to Freda, the strongest Gunn – but she had more than made up for it since, standing tall and inviting the world to do its worst, ready to face all and any foe in order to keep her beloved daughter and her family safe. Sobriety had brought with it other gifts: a return of Annalee’s wit and patience, a renewed interest in the world that found her reading, walking and sitting in the sunshine, appreciating the stunning part of the world they called home. Her pride in Tawrie was evident. She liked nothing better than to sit on any of the benches around theharbour, engage complete strangers in conversation and tell them how her daughter had delivered ‘all the babies in the town’. It wasn’t strictly true, but she’d certainly been there at the arrival of a fair few. She was loving her retirement, but there was still the odd day when she missed the noise and bustle of the delivery suite in Barnstaple, knowing how lives were inevitably altered within the walls of that room. Families that changed shape and couples who had to readjust, only children who gained siblings and grandparents who, without fail or guile, declared with absolute certainty that surely this was ‘the most beautiful baby ever born!’ To which she always replied, ‘It really is and I should know, I’ve seen a fair few.’
She still swam every day when the weather was kind and even some days when it wasn’t, but she never swam alone; that was, after all, rule 101 of wild swimming. Ed was a reluctant swimming pal, preferring to paint in the attic room, now a studio, where the light was just so. Violet, when she was home, loved to join her each morning, giving her just enough space at the beginning of her swim so Tawrie could voice her thanks, repeat her mantras and all the other things she had told Violet were conducive to a good start to the day, rather than confess that in those first few minutes of her swim she liked to speak to her dad, her greeting still the same.
