‘Yes.’ She looked out to the island that sat on the horizon. ‘Just over there.’
Edgar’s eyes darted to the island and back to her face.
‘Why do you think that, how does it help?’ His eyes were mournful and gently she shrugged her leg free from his hand. She didn’t want to be pitied, didn’t want him to see her as many in the town did,that girl, bless her...
‘Because he went out in his boat. And he never came home and we never found him, and no one saw his body, we didn’t bury him or burn him. We had a memorial service but there was no “him” to bury or burn and so ...’ She closed her eyes and ran her palm over her face. ‘I think he might not really be dead. Even though I know deep down he is. It’s complicated.’ A quiet, wry laugh left her lips, a mask to her embarrassment at having spoken so candidly. ‘It’s had the biggest impact on my life.’
‘Of course it has!’ he interjected.
‘When it happened, I kept waiting for the facts to sink in, for it to feel real and I’m now twenty-eight and it never has.’
‘Do you want me to take you to Lundy?’ His offer was beautiful, sincere, and moving because of it.
‘No, but that’s the kindest offer. Thank you.’
‘It’d be easy, we could hire a boat, go on one of those trips that leave from the harbour.’ His enthusiasm for the trip grew.
‘I can’t, Ed, but thank you.’
‘Why can’t you?’
‘Because’ – she drew on every bit of courage she possessed to make the admission – ‘because if I go to Lundy and find he’s not there, then I know it’s true, don’t I? If I go and he’s not there, thenI know he’s never coming home and somehow that feels worse. Because when things feel like too much at home or it’s a hard day in the café, I think about’ – she swallowed – ‘I think about him coming back, think about my daddy coming home, and it makes things better.’
He didn’t laugh, didn’t judge, but simply reached for her hand.
‘Do you speak to anyone about it, about how you feel?’
‘No, because I’m okay! I have a great life, a happy life, really. There are just things that I find hard, too hard – like going out in a boat. I don’t want to. And I can’t bear anyone being late. It bothers me. I know we’ve joked about it, but I try wherever possible to be on time because if someone says they will be at a certain place at a certain time and you’re relying on them, it’s really shitty when they’re not there. It makes you feel ...’ She paused, seeing shadows of the day her dad was lost, hearing her mother wailing and her nan sobbing. And while not able to fully recall the detail, which was like a photograph out of focus, blurred, she could remember quite clearly how much of it had felt.
He was supposed to be home by four.
That’s what he said, four or five at the latest.
Why isn’t he home?
Have we called the sailing club?
Has someone checked if his boat is in the harbour?
Can someone call Sten?
She shivered as the breeze picked up and carried across the sea to lift her hair and cool her skin.
‘Shall we head back to Corner Cottage? Go get some hot chocolate?’ He stood and reached down for her hand to help her stand.
‘Yes, please.’
He didn’t let go of her hand as they walked back along the beach, towards the steps that would take them up to the car park.
‘I never got to hear the three things that I don’t know about you.’ She looked up at him.
‘We’ll pick it up at home, how does that sound?’
Home.
‘It sounds good.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
