‘Because we get to watch the sunset from here on the terrace?’ Even at that young age, she was aware of the privileged view that was theirs alone.
‘Oh, most definitely, but also it’s a bit of a trick question!’
‘What d’you mean?’ She had turned to face the woman who had looked after her faithfully, watching her every move, fingers twitching, as if waiting to catch her if and when she fell. ‘Why, Nan?’ She was unsure if she was comfortable with the accusation of trickery. It felt a bit like being called a liar and lying was the worst thing.
‘Because it’s where all my memories live. It’s the only house I’ve ever lived in, the only house your daddy lived in too, and the only place I’ve ever called home. The Gunns have lived in Ilfracombe forever, we’re 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 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 walking 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 the trawlers out into the water and hoping for a fish supper.
‘And the only placeI’veever lived,’ Tawrie had noted with a slight lament to her tone, as if she might, on occasion, want to be somewhere without memories that cut her like a knife lurking behind every corner, somewhere without people nudging, pointing, and whispering as she walked past.
‘That’s his daughter. . .’
A year might have passed since her father had been lost, but the attention hadn’t lessened.
‘Yes, but you have many more years ahead of you, little Taw, who knows where you’ll end up? I’ll say to you like I always saidto my boys, go wherever the wind takes you. I will never clip your wings, but my God I hope it blows you back to this little town.’ Her nan had reached for a tissue and wiped under her eyes.
The topic of her boys, one now gone forever, was still painful. Tawrie more than understood; her own life was framed by the raw edges of loss, a feeling of being different, as if living cloaked in sadness was unique to her family. It certainly felt that way growing up. Age and perspective had helped shatter this illusion, but in her mind, everyone else in her class went home to a happy household where two parents helped with homework and cooked supper. It was a fantasy she liked to envisage, like probing a bad tooth with her tongue, inviting and dreading the pain in equal measure. She might have been young, but she understood enough to know that her self-appointed role was as chief distractor, to help provide her nan with moments of happiness that she knew offered brief respite from her grief. It was as exhausting as it was limiting. Tawrie couldn’t imagine what her nan’s life would be like if she wasn’t around and felt the weight of the responsibility. She did her best to rally the mood.
‘I’d like to travel a bit, I think, but still end up right here in Signal House.’ She couldn’t imagine being away for too long, couldn’t imagine not having her nan within reach.
‘You might say that now, but no one knows what the tide’ll bring in, love. That’s the beautiful and terrible thing about life. You just never know.’
A raucous scream had 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 felt her nan shift beneath her, sitting upright, as if on high alert. The sudden noise and shared anticipation was jarring and they both stared at the path, waiting. It wasn’t the first time Tawrie had heard thefamiliar wail, it happened often of an evening, but it was still a kind of relief when two lolling heads appeared at the top of the steps.
‘Ahoy there!’ her mother had shouted. ‘This is Rod. He’s very kindly walked me home from the pub.’
‘Rob!’ the man giggled and corrected. ‘Not Rod.’
‘Rob! That’s what I said.’ She batted at him, catching the side of his head with her cupped palm.
‘Hello, Rob!’ Tawrie waved and almost instantly her nan reached for her hand and tucked it down by her side. It changed everything, these two people coming up the stairs, screaming, laughing, falling, touching each other’s backs, and leaning their heads close together. It was as though they’d taken a rock and lobbed it hard at the happy moment she’d shared with her nan, leaving them staring at fragments of the lovely time just passed. This was the first time her mother had brought a guest. Tawrie, too young to fully understand the implication of it, still felt her tummy flip, as if instinctively she knew this was no good thing.
‘Rob’s going to have a look at the damp patch in my bedroom.’
‘With any luck!’ The man wheezed and almost toppled backwards before steadying himself on the wall lined with ancient shells that had been pushed by patient fingers into the drying concrete long ago, then painted white.
Annalee had roared as the two stumbled forward and made it through the grand front door. This time her nan pulled her close to her.
‘Don’t wait up, night night, Gunns!’
‘Night night, Mummy!’ Tawrie was about to wave again but remembered her nan’s unspoken instruction, and so sat very still. It was conflicting, wanting to make her mum happy like she did her nan, but aware, by the weighted atmosphere and her nan’s reaction, that to wave might not makeherhappy.
‘Bloody disgrace,’ Freda had muttered and settled back into the chair, but the magic had gone entirely. Their chat was spoiled. The air had turned chilly, and the fire-red sun had sunk behind the wall of night, leaving them once again in shadow.
‘I mean it, tell Connie that if she fancies a trip out on my yacht ...’ Needle’s shout pulled her from the memory, his words left trailing.
His yacht was in fact an inflatable rib but was no less loved by him for that. Ilfracombe and all its surrounds might be in Tawrie’s blood, but she didn’t go on boats, big or small. The idea made her skin jump. Her swimming was proof that she had no aversion to the sea per se but was far more comfortable walking into and swimming in the water rather than being on it. She understood more than most the danger of getting it wrong while out boating ...
‘I’ll tell her. Can she bring a friend?’
‘No, only room for two, I’m afraid!’ Needle laughed.
Tawrie waved over her shoulder and sped up.
‘Afternoon!’ Connie called from the grill, her way of letting Tawrie know she was late. Not that she needed the jibe – she was as bothered about her tardiness as anyone.
Without waiting to exchange pleasantries or offer an explanation, she grabbed her apron from the hook on the wall. The grill and kitchen were open to the café, diner style.
‘Give it to me one more time, Gay.’ Connie’s mouth was set in a thin line, an expression of frustration she recognised, as her cousin faced the older woman whose grey hair was fastened in a plait down her back, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, a confused crease in the middle of her forehead. Gaynor might have been the wrong side of sixty-five but was still beautiful. Her handswere elegant, her manner particular, but her ability to waitress? She and Connie had often remarked that no one got all the gifts!
