‘Why’s it called Signal House?’ he asked as they made their way down the street towards Ropery car park.
‘Ah, well, that’s up for debate. It’s a ramshackle old place, a couple of hundred years old and in need of TLC and a big injection of cash. But we love it. There’s a small, odd-shaped room on the top floor, almost like a lookout, and rumour has it that it’s where signals were passed across the rooftops on dark or foggy nights.’
‘Ooh, that sounds nefarious. What were they signalling about?’
‘Well, if the Gunns had anything to do with it I doubt it was to talk about the weather!’
‘I hope it was piracy, or smuggling barrels of grog or treasure!’
She laughed at the distinct excitement in his voice and the way his eyes had lit up. ‘What are you, a child?’
‘Find me a man who doesn’t love pirates and treasure and I’ll show you a man who is tired of life.’
‘That sounds like a t-shirt slogan.’
‘Okay, negative Nelly, sorry if I find the whole idea exciting.’ He drew breath, as they stepped down into the Ropery car park. ‘But have you properly checked the attic and cellar for trapdoors, hidden treasure, secret tunnels, buried scrolls, signs in the wall, that kind of thing?’
‘Oh my God! Trapdoors and hidden treasure? Youarea child!’
She secretly loved how enamoured he was with the idea of Signal House, the family HQ that was as much a part of the Gunns as any living, breathing relative.
‘Here she is! The silver dream machine!’ He patted the roof of a slightly battered, ancient silver Seat Ibiza with a rear window taped shut with gaffer tape and several rusted dents peppering the bodywork, and opened the passenger door.
‘She?’
‘Yes. She has a chassis of extreme beauty. Almost a classic. And within her confines lurk some of my funniest memories.’ He didn’t crack a smile and it made her laugh out loud. This was what he did.
‘Do I want to know?’ She pulled a face. It was inevitable that she wondered if these best memories involved a girl who wasn’t her. Not that there was a darn thing she could do about it, but she very much hoped they would make better memories that were even funnier.
‘Have you ever laughed so much you can’t breathe, sung so loudly your voice goes hoarse, and had to pee in an old plastic Coke bottle because of a traffic jam so bad you feared you’d miss your own graduation?’
‘Yes, yes and no.’ She climbed into the front seat, choosing not to comment on the various stains that lurked on the upholstery.
‘I’ve said too much already,’ he whispered, looking left and right with spy-like theatricality, and this time they both laughed.
It felt exhilarating to be tootling the lanes that ran along the coast in Ed’s car. Although in fairness, she’d have found traipsing up the High Street with him to buy milk or going to the dentist just as much fun. The novelty of being with him, the discoveries still to make, greater than any trip. Even in his battered car that was almost a classic.
The car park in Woolacombe was quiet at this time of evening. Still with the day’s residual warmth lingering in the air, and the sky clear and blue, surfers sat on their boards and bobbed on the shoreline with no real waves to speak of. Their camaraderie, no doubt cemented in the unified love of the surf, was palpable even at this distance. It reminded her of Maudie and Jago, her fellow Peacocks, and how they had become such an important part of her routine.
‘I’d love to learn to surf,’ he commented as they trod the sand-covered stairs that took them down past the Beachcomber café. ‘I think it’s a really cool thing to do. I’ve never been cool, but I reckon I’d feel cool if I was a surfer, and that’s halfway there, right?’
‘Absolutely, and you’re in the right place to do it, here. Croyde, Saunton, you’re spoilt for choice.’
‘I don’t think I’ve ever met a stressed-out surfer. I think putting on that wetsuit and holding that board must be like magic that strips away the worries of life. I mean, they could be running on high octane, frantic all day and thenbam, they step into waves and it all melts away. At least that’s what I think.’
‘I think it’s more than that. The gathering in vans for warm drinks post-surf, the sitting in all weathers looking out over the ocean, taking a minute. I always think it looks nice, inclusive. And I know how much my morning swim centres me, calms me.’ She wanted to know him at a deeper level, understand him, this man she was falling for who was still, in so many ways, a stranger. ‘Do you have many worries in life then, Ed?’
‘Not compared to some people.’ He stared at the sand. ‘Shall we sit here for a while?’
It was hardly the big hike she’d anticipated, as they made their way along the wide beach and sat on the soft sand, staring out at the breathtaking view. Not that she would have changed a thing. They sat close together, mere inches between their shoulders; any greater distance would have been less than satisfying.
‘This really is something.’ He threw his head back and exhaled, letting the last of the sun’s rays kiss his face. ‘Have you never wanted to move away, Taw, go up to the big smoke? Wake up with a view of a skyscraper?’
She stared at him and ordered her thoughts, in case he was fishing, thinking, like her, of their next moves, of what the future might hold if this pace and strength of feeling were to continue.
‘It’s complicated. I love waking up at Signal House and looking out over the harbour. I like to be here on the beach, any beach really. It suits me and I can’t imagine not having it on my doorstep.’
‘Fair point.’
