It had been hard work over the last couple of months, putting in the effort to mine the glue that would keep them together. The endless hours spent analysing and trying to understand how they had reached this point and where they might go from here had left her emotionally and physically exhausted. Their decision the previous evening proved that the glue was brittle and all that work had been in vain. On top of this, the accident. A bucketload of sadness dumped on her and every other doorstep in Ilfracombe, a reminder that what they shared and how they lived was fleeting. It was a mudslide of distress that made no allowance for how far they as a couple had come, the healing they had managed and thefoundations they had tried hard to rebuild. It was a fierce, fast deluge that washed it all away.
And here she sat at the table, pushing her body down into the chair, trying to stay upright, to feel stable, as her thoughts got stuck on what came next. Her husband stood before her. It was like watching skin and tissue fall from bones, leaving nothing but the ashen, skeletal remains of their marriage exposed, raw, and entirely irretrievable.
‘Can I get you anything to eat, toast?’ His demeanour told her that he too was entirely affected by the situation.
‘No, thanks.’ Her stomach rolled with revulsion at the thought of taking food; her hollow gut and the subsequent jitters felt preferable, matching the shaky nature of her thoughts.
‘I’ll go have my shower. If that’s okay?’
‘Sure.’ She watched him creep from the kitchen, trying to make the least amount of noise, to be the smallest he could, and she understood. She pictured their bed, and knew that if the kids were still at Ellis’s house, she’d crawl beneath the duvet, sink into that soft space and hide away for as long as she was able. But she was needed, on guard for when her kids awoke.
Reaching for the diary she’d secreted in the table drawer, she took her time, writing slowly, methodically, honestly.
Don’t know where to start ... what a terrible, terrible couple of days. Sometimes something comes along that floors a community, that derails the normal and changes the shape of a place, and such a thing happened yesterday.
I’ve felt caught up in it while also trying hard not to hijack another person’s misery – someone I barely knew. I couldn’t stand for anyone to think I was trying to claim a part. But the truth is I feel so very sad for the man, astranger to me really, and his family, sad for the whole town.
Dotted around the harbour this morning were flowers in jam jars and on the steps of cottages, or bunches with their bases wrapped in wet cotton wool, interspersed with candles whose flames flickered mournfully in the growing light of day. Sorrowful, beautiful beacons that made me weep. I pictured families behind the front doors, gathered in clusters, kids held close, couples holding hands or with arms around backs, heads forward, noses pressed into sleeves and tissues pushed into eyes. Finding solace where they could in the arms of those they love and this for me amplified the realisation that my safe harbour is smashed to smithereens on the sharp rocks of betrayal.
The whole town is quiet; the atmosphere has gone from crackling with the joy of summer to feeling muted and toned down. Even the gulls sit quietly on rooftops, as if aware that this is a time for stillness.
The news spread like a lit fuse ... travelling along its twisted, looping route, gathering gasps and cries as it went. The worst kind of gossip, each fragment of news added to, as more information came to light and the bigger picture revealed itself.
There’s been an accident . . .
A man went overboard . . .
Probably hit his head . . .
Not exactly sure who . . .
He was sailing alone . . .
They can’t find him . . .
They’ve found his boat . . .
He’s obviously dead . . .
The man who married Annalee, his mother Freda owns Signal House ...
An Ilfracombe family . . .
They have a little girl ...
How will they get over something like this?
And that’s how I found out it was Daniel Gunn. This is the information that floated through the open window, over the phone, gleaned from Hugo’s chats with Jack, and from the whispers I overheard in the harbour, as those that knew and loved him struck matches with which to light their candles.
Shock doesn’t come close. How my heart aches for sweet Annalee, and for Dan too, the handsome man. I feel for his family: his kind mother, and most of all for that little girl, Tawrie, whose daddy is not going to come home.
I cannot imagine that family’s pain. I know what it’s like to have the plug pulled on your world, to feel your heart cleaved open, but Hugo is in the shower right now. He is here! In the face of what the Gunn family are going through, our bump in the road and what comes next pales into insignificance.
I have the French doors open, as is my habit, and the morning air is warm and still. The place feels different. Only yesterday it was buoyant, so much so I felt I could look down at the street and see a carnival. It’s as if the whole town weeps. But no one will ever weep as hard or as long as Annalee, the woman with the sparkle in her eye as she walked with her arm linked with that of the man she so loved. I shan’t ever forget her happy, happy face: a woman who looked like she had the whole world at her feet and was loving every second of it. How I envied her and how I envy her still, knowing that the strength of feeling she will carry in her heart is something I can only dream of.
I hope they find Daniel Gunn.
I hope they get to lay him to rest and say their goodbyes.
