‘Sebastian Farquhar is waiting for you on the bench by Verity.’
Connie flicked her head towards the Verity statue that dominated the quay and Tawrie’s heart jumped.
‘What?What?’ She tucked her unruly hair behind her ears. A third of her wished she weren’t wearing a dirty t-shirt, a third wondered if it would be a good or bad idea to go and see him and a third thought she must have misheard, as this was ludicrous. ‘How, when did ...? Oh my God, why? I mean ... I don’t think I can see him! I don’t know if I want to!’ She turned in a circle like a dog chasing its tail until Connie reached out to steady her, holding her still with her hand around her forearm.
‘He came by this morning. I told him to go away.’ Tawrie knew her cousin was taming the actual words she used. ‘He said he had to see you blah blah blah and that he’d be on the bench by Verity at eleven o’clock.’
‘What’s the time now?’ She felt a rising sense of panic. Supposing she was too late to see him, supposing he’d already gone? And equally horrifying was the prospect that he was still there waiting and she would have to face him.
‘It’s seven minutes past.’
‘Shit! I need to think!’
‘You need to do whatever your heart tells you to, Taw.’ Connie let go of her arm. ‘It’s really that simple.’
‘Nothing about this is that simple!’ Her gut churned and she thought she might actually vomit right there on the cobbled quayside where she’d first seen him all those weeks ago. ‘I’ll go and see him and tell him not to come back; I think that’s for the best. Closure.’
Connie kept her voice level. ‘This is something you and Farquhar need to sort out, one way or the other. But I will say that I’ve never seen you so happy as you were when you thought things were rosy between you, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you so low when they weren’t. And the way you’ve bounced back over the last month has been incredible; it shows strength and I’m proud of you.’
‘Thank you, Con.’ Just the idea that he was mere minutes away from her at that very moment was almost more than she could stand. Her heart jumped as she mentally wrestled with what she might say to Ed. It was a lot.
‘You’ve got this; you’re amazing!’ Connie reached for her sponge.
‘This just might be the shittiest thing to do on my birthday!’
She cursed the warble to her voice and made her way along Broad Street, heading towards the mighty brass statue of Verity that towered over the pier. As she walked along the quay, Nora and Gordy were coming in the opposite direction with Amber, their beloved golden Labrador.
‘Hey Tawrie, how are you? What a day!’ Gordy looked up at the blue sky where clouds were no more than wisps and the air was still.
‘Happy birthday!’ Nora tutted at her husband, who seemed unaware of her special day.
Tawrie loved Nora and Gordy, was always pleased to see them, but over their shoulders she could make out the pink linen shirt of the man she was going to meet, a man, she noted with relief, who was prepared to wait a while for her, and a man with whom she needed to have a final conversation, a decent goodbye that would free her to go off to college without the many what-ifs that crept into her thoughts in the wee small hours. She willed Nora to speak faster.
‘My sister and nephew are arriving any minute – we’re all so looking forward to the Gunn Fire. I’m bringing baklava – we used to live in Cyprus and I think I’ve finally mastered it! And if it’s no good we’ll wait till everyone’s had a drink or two and then bring it out.’
‘Oh Nora, that sounds fab, can’t wait to taste it!’ She smiled. ‘Anyway, see you in a bit!’ She didn’t want to be rude but was in no mood to stand chatting. Hurrying past, she slowed as she walked along the pier, minding she didn’t trip on the gaps between the concrete planks, as she was wont to do, just in case he was looking.
Again she felt the swirl of nausea. It had been easy to dismiss their brief encounter as no more than a fanciful diversion, something she had built up in her mind, imagining the gloriousconnection to fuel her own fantasy. The reality, she suspected, was nothing more than a lukewarm dalliance, for him at least, and it was vital she remembered this if she had any hope of keeping her dignity. This self-instruction, however, was a darn sight easier to adhere to when she wasn’t about to come face to face with him, the man who had made her heart skip, her brain muddle and had filled her with something that had felt a lot like happiness.
It was as she stared at the back of his head, sitting on the right-hand side of the bench with his arm stretched out and resting along the top, that he turned to stare at her over his shoulder, as if he’d sensed her arrival.
The pier wasn’t deserted, nor silent, there was the usual toot of car horns, the call of gulls, the chatter of visitors and the sound of waves breaking on the slipway and against the harbour walls. And yet the two stared, eyes locked, as if they were alone. Her initial reaction was to cry: the sight of him as profoundly moving as it was desperately sad for all that had passed. She tensed her jaw and pushed up under her nose with her thumb, managing to keep her tears at bay. Her eyes never left his and she watched as he turned slowly, wiping his own nose and, she could see, tensing his jaw.
Stepping cautiously past him she caught his scent, clear and distinct, and one that had filled her dreams since the first time she’d seen him. He was familiar, attractive and captivating, yet also a stranger. And a liar. Not a person to trust. A shape-shifter who had deceived her into thinking he was the one, when all the while he was someone else’s. Her strength was in recognising it and knowing that this was goodbye.
She sat in the middle of the bench, a position she chose carefully, not wanting to seem churlish by going to the far end, yet nor could she risk a sightseer plonking down between them and ruining all attempt at conversation. This felt safe. Next to him but not too near.
‘Hap—’ He coughed, his voice hollow, raw. ‘Happy birthday, Tawrie.’
‘Thank you.’He had remembered.She kept her eyes on Verity, the magnificent statue that dominated the entrance to the harbour standing at over sixty feet tall. Tawrie loved everything about her: Verity the pregnant warrior woman, holding her sword aloft in one hand and scales of justice in the other, standing on books that represented truth. The allegory wasn’t lost on her.
‘You look wonderful. It’s so good to see you in person and not ... not just in my head.’ She knew what he meant but stayed silent.
‘There’s a lot I want to say,’ he continued. ‘So much I’ve imagined saying to you and yet now here you are and I’ve gone blank. I can only think to give you clichés that I know you won’t want to hear.’ His voice alone was enough to warm her, to draw her in. She moved a little to the left.
‘Probably not.’ She was at least grateful for his insight.
‘I came back with my mum; we got in late last night.’
