For Tawrie, it felt painful to give her attire this much attention; it smacked of a vanity that had no place in her routine, and so in haste, she grabbed her jeans, which were cleanish, an almost matching set of underwear and her rose-pink, long-sleeved sweatshirt that had gone thin over the years but was possibly the comfiest item she owned.
Sitting at her desk she tousled her hair until it was practically dry and full of body and sprayed her décolletage and wrists with the fresh, summery Clinique scent that Connie had bought her for Christmas. She ran her fingers over the mascara wand that sat in a pot but decided against make-up. Not only was she fairly confident that the item was dried and ancient, but also Edgar had, after all, seen her fresh from the sea, swathed in a dry robe with sand-spattered hair stuck to her face. It felt like there was no need for the artifice of make-up – he knew what she looked like. Besides, to present a painted face felt like setting an unachievable standard, and with the hope of many more dates filling her thoughts, she didn’t want to have to go through the rigmarole ofgetting made-up every time she saw him. Far better, she figured, to go au naturel. No shocks, no surprises.
One final smile in the mirror, and as her stomach jumped with joyful anticipation she made her way down the stairs.
‘Where are you off to, little love?’ her nan called from the sofa, which sat in the middle of the room, facing the TV.
‘I’m going out, Nan, meeting a friend.’
‘Oh yes, that’s right, Connie told me! A bo-oy!’ There was no mistaking her excitement at the prospect.
Cheers, Connie.
‘It’s nothing. I mean, I am, yes, going to meet a boy – a man – but it’s only for a chat and ... and a drink, and that’s it. I’ll probably be back before nine.’
‘You sound a bit flustered over something that’s nothing.’
Tawrie hadn’t realised her mother was in the kitchen and turned to face her as she came to rest in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe with a cup of coffee in her palms. Her statement lingered like an odour.
‘See you later.’ She pulled her sleeves down over her wrists and kissed the top of her nan’s head before making her way down to Fore Street.
It was a calm night and only the gentlest of breezes stirred the air, which was still full of happy particles at the sunny day just passed. Looking back towards Hillsborough as she made her way up the hill, she saw the faintest tinge of pink on the horizon, a glorious promise of another lovely day tomorrow. It was in moments like these that she remembered how fortunate she was to call Ilfracombe her home.
Sitting opposite the Terrace Tapas with its fabulous deck strung with festoon lights, which she could see from her bedroom window, Corner Cottage looked pretty from the outside. A large wicker lamp shone from the middle window of the upper hallway andmore lamplight lit the downstairs windows. It made the place look cosy, warm. She wondered if he’d invite her inside or simply grab his keys, shut the door behind him and off they’d go. And actually, did she want to go inside? Might that be awkward? But if they went out, where would they go? She didn’t like the idea of bumping into people she knew – a pretty tall order in a small place like this. Especially if Connie had been as liberal with the information to others as she had been to their nan. It was a distinct possibility. Deep down she kind of liked their enthusiasm, it almost validated her own feelings that this might be something. Or maybe it was just the novelty that had got her family excited, which in itself felt like some kind of pressure.
It was a sad fact that after her one and only semi-serious relationship with Jamie, her ex, her last date had been ... she did the mental maths ... nearly two years ago. Living in a small town meant there wasn’t much of a pool to choose from when it came to dating and without a large group of single friends, it was hard to go on the prowl in places like Barnstaple where she’d look like a weirdo hanging about on her own on a Friday night. Plus she was so tired at the end of the day that falling into her bed was preferable to heading out looking for love. Or at least that was what she told herself.
Two years ago! It was a little jarring how much time had passed since she’d agreed to go to the Embassy Cinema on the High Street with Sid from the butchers’. Sid was impossibly good-looking, beautifully handsome with perfect teeth and pale-blue eyes. She had felt a little weak-kneed just stepping out with him. Unfortunately, he also had the personality of a pot plant and, as she was soon to discover, an IQ to match. She had thought she could overlook it, concentrate on his eyes, that smile, but after he’d called her Toz for the eleventh time, asked three times in one hour if the woman on screen was the baddie’s mother, showered the row in front withpopcorn when his great galumphing laugh had caused his body to convulse, she decided, sadly, that no amount of handsomeness in the world could compensate for the rather shallow interior of the boy. He still waved at her enthusiastically whenever he saw her. She was convinced he had no recollection of their night at the Embassy, which was probably no bad thing. Sid was now engaged to Taylor-Marie from Bratton Fleming. She wished them all the luck.
Memories of her last disastrous date caused the first deep stir of doubt as nerves bit. Suppose they couldn’t decide where to go? Suppose Ed did invite her inside, but they had nothing to talk about? She shivered at the thought of how awkwardly soul-destroying that might be. Suppose she was dull, boring and he was expecting her to be sparkly, witty, and wearing mascara or something made of lace or red? With only a hundred or so yards between the bottom of the steps that led up to Signal House and the front of Corner Cottage, she didn’t have time to make a plan and, at the point when it was still possible to turn and run back home, there was the very real risk that he had already seen her approaching. Linen bistro curtains covered the lower half of the windows, which meant that while she couldn’t see in, there was no guarantee he couldn’t see out.
‘You can do this, Tawrie Gunn. You can.’
She took a deep, slow breath through her nose and rolled her shoulders; it helped pre-swim, yet not so much pre-knocking-on-the-door. Particularly not the door behind which lurked the boy she had built up to be something wonderful in her mind. As she raised her hand to knock, it opened and there he was. Her face broke into a smile at the sight of him. He was wearing another shirt, this one pale blue, but it was similarly misbuttoned. She liked his lack of precision, suggesting he too might have grabbed what came to hand in the wardrobe and shoved it on.
Standing back slightly, Edgar stood against the door, as if it were a foregone conclusion that she would step inside.
‘I’ve had a total nightmare!’ he laughed. ‘I need to calm down.’
‘Oh dear, why?’ She stepped into the open space of the sitting room, entered via a wide step up from the small, square hallway where a row of pegs held hoodies and scarves and the stairs to the upper floors wound away to the right.
It was a space that felt weirdly familiar, although she was certain she had never been inside. She guessed it was because, having walked past so many times, the glimpsed interiors and snatched detail had no doubt formed the picture in her mind.
‘Do you want the long story or the short?’
‘Short, please.’ She beamed.
‘Very wise. I have been known to go on a bit.’ He snorted laughter.
And just like that they were chatting, her nerves melted and she was reminded that there was nothing to fear, no need to turn on her practical heel and run. To be in his company felt like walking with a safety net beneath her, a cushion. It felt wonderful.
‘About an hour ago, I realised that I’d invited you over and had no food, no nibbles.’
‘Nibbles?’ she laughed.
‘You know, the nuts, crisps and shit that people put on tables.’
‘Well, I like nuts and crisps but you can keep the shit.’
