Chapter Eight
The small coastal town of St. Ives was quiet during the winter months. There weren't any tourists and they wouldn’t arrive until Easter, when all the little tea shops, ice cream parlours, and shell shops would open, eagerly awaiting the rush. Tonight was cold, and the rain drove into them as they walked huddled together down the meandering cobbled streets to the harbour. The smell of the sea was strong as it wafted on the wind and salted their lips. Boat rigging whipped vigorously against the masts of the boats moored in the harbour.
They came across the restaurant that Thaddeus had eaten in twice before since coming to live in the town. It was aptly named the Light House. On entering, their wet coats were taken from them, and they were ushered to a quiet table for two at the rear of the eating area. Thaddeus requested that Winnie be seated with her back to the restaurant window, which looked out onto the harbour. Their cutlery and wine glasses twinkled with a warm orange brilliance from an open fire that roared and spat a few feet from them. Thaddeus ordered a bottle of white wine, while Winnie gazed in awe about the restaurant.
"What are you having, Thaddeus?" she asked over the sound of the snapping wood in the hearth.
He rested his hands beneath his chin and spoke, "You were cooking dinner tonight, so you can choose."
She looked down at the menu and said, “I wouldn't know where to start. You choose.”
He grinned at her across the table. “Let me see,” he said reading the menu.
Before long, the waiter had arrived beside them.
"We would like two avocados for starters and for our main course, chicken stuffed with mushrooms, a side order of roast beef, and a mixture of vegetables."
Thaddeus looked up at the ruddy-faced waiter and smiled. "Thank you."
"Very good, sir," the waiter nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Better than those fish fingers, huh?” Winnie smiled at him.
But it was as if Thaddeus hadn’t heard her. He was suddenly staring over her right shoulder and out of the window and onto the street outside. It was as if someone or something had grabbed his attention.
“Is everything okay?” Winnie asked.
As if being snapped out of a dream, he looked at Winnie and said, “Everything is just fine.”
“What were you looking at?” she quizzed him.
“It was nothing,” he said back.
Thaddeus sat and watched the burning embers of the fire cast their golden reflections in her copper hair. The silky curls looked as if they were alight. Then a sudden urge came over him to reach out and lose his hands in its soft texture, to soak up its seething light through his fingertips. He stifled the temptation and spoke to her.
"So if you don’t mind me asking, where is your family? Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
She looked squarely at him. “I’ve never known my father. He did a bunk before I was even born. My mum was only sixteen herself when she fell pregnant with me. I guess that’s why she gave me up.”
“Gave you up?” Thaddeus asked. “Adoption, you mean?”
Winnie could sense what she believed to be genuine concern in his voice for her.
"My mother had an older sister and she dumped me on her when I was barely two years old,” Winnie explained. “But my auntie didn’t really want me. She had three kids of her own. Her husband was hardly ever around. So she kicked me out into the care of the local authorities. I was bounced from one family to the next. Missed lots of school and stuff like that. When I was thirteen, I ended up living with this family called the Martins. The dad was a real pig, he made me unhappy. So I ran away when I was fourteen. Got picked up a few times by the cops and ended up back in care, but I never hung around for long. In the end, the cops stopped looking for me. They had more important stuff to deal with, right?”
The waiter reappeared and opened the bottle of wine. Thaddeus seemed annoyed by the interruption. The waiter poured half a glass for Thaddeus.
"Would you like to taste, sir?"
Thaddeus kept his eye on Winnie and just waved his hand at the waiter, who acknowledged this by saying, "Very good, sir.” He poured a glass for Winnie, placed the bottle on the table, and left.
"Where do you come from?" Thaddeus inquired of her.
"All over the place,” she half-smiled. Then looking up at Thaddeus, she said, “I haven’t always been homeless since running away.”
“How come?” Thaddeus asked, taking a sip of wine.
"When I was about fifteen, I was with this guy called Simon. He was older than me - not by much - but enough. Old enough for the council to pay his rent, so he had his own place. He was really good to me at first. You know, like real thoughtful and understanding,” she said. “I stopped wanting to run away because he made me feel special inside. For the first time, I felt needed.”
"What went wrong?" Thaddeus asked, now regretting how he had patronised Winnie earlier that evening.
"I guess he knew how much I needed him and he kinda took advantage of the fact,” Winnie explained. “I think he got to thinking that he could treat me however he wanted, because I needed him so much. You know, he thought because I didn't have much else going for me, I'd let him get away with whatever he wanted."
"Did he mistreat you?"
"No, not really,” she said, and briefly looked away.
In that moment Thaddeus knew that this Simon had hurt her and probably badly, but he didn’t want to push her into telling him something that she was uncomfortable talking about.
“He never laid a finger on me,” Winnie insisted as if being able to read Thaddeus’s thoughts. “He knew I was insecure, and he played on that. To tell you the truth, Thaddeus, I would have preferred a good thump. At least you know where you stand, but when you’ve got someone playing with your heart all the time, boosting you up one minute and knocking you down the next, you never know where you stand. Believe me, that hurt a lot more than a good thump."
Thaddeus sipped at his wine as the waiter reappeared and placed their starter before them. The waiter was gone as quickly as he had arrived. Thaddeus and Winnie tucked into their avocados.
"How did he knock you down then?" he pushed ever so carefully.
"Bit by bit, he ate away at my confidence by sleeping with other women. He would tell me about them - how much better they were than me. He wanted me to try stuff that I wasn’t comfortable with. My confidence got more and more knocked, and each day I continued to stay with him, I felt that little bit less special.”
Thaddeus pushed his empty plate away and took to his wine again. Winnie continued to eat.
"So what did you do about this Simon?" he asked her.
Winnie chewed over her last mouthful, and then continued her story. “I did what I know best, and ran. I went back to London. At first I kidded myself that I would only stay a day or two. I fooled myself into believing that I would find work somehow. One day leads into another, then into weeks and months. You get dirtier; the tiredness drains you along with the hunger and the sleepless nights. Then the despair sets in. You end up staying - you become trapped.”
Their empty starter plates were whisked away and their main course was laid before them. Curls of steam rose up off the chicken’s golden and crisp meat, and the beef looked almost raw as it sat in a pool of its own juices, red with blood. The vegetables were in a side dish and they looked soft and bright in colour. Thaddeus picked up a large knife and began to cut away at the chicken. The knife slipped through its succulent body as easily as cutting butter. He laid several thick slices on Winnie's plate, as she in turn heaped a spoonful of vegetables onto Thaddeus's plate and then her own. Thaddeus helped himself to a large portion of the chicken, tearing both its legs off and placing them on his plate alongside a thick slice of the bloody beef. They both sat and forked the food into their mouths.
Thaddeus watched her while she ate, and something she had said played over and over in his mind. Winnie had said that what she did best was run - that’s all she knew what to do. She had run from her aunt, run from the care homes, run from Simon to London, and had now run away from there to be with him. Winnie never seemed to hang around for too long and he knew that he would need her to stay a while longer - a lot longer. Thaddeus found himself captivated by her energy, her anger, the fire that seemed to burn brightly inside of her. She was alive and she wasn't stupid. He hadn’t expected that - but he liked it. Those feelings he would have to bury somewhere deep inside. He couldn’t afford to let himself care about her.
Winnie looked at Thaddeus, the crossed words they’d had back at the house now seemed like a far-off memory. Nobody had ever bothered to sit and listen to her before. Nobody had ever cared enough. Thaddeus was already on his second helping of chicken when he noticed Winnie watching him over the rim of her glass as she sipped her wine. "What about you, Thaddeus?"
He looked straight at her as he refilled her glass again and said, "What about me?"
“Tell me about your life,” she said.
He turned and looked into the fire. His voice was soft, almost a whisper. “I wouldn't know where to start, Winnie."
The world swam lazily back and forth as the wine relaxed her and strengthened her confidence. “How about at the beginning,” she said.
Thaddeus looked away from the fire and back at Winnie. “The beginning,” he said thoughtfully. “Life is full of beginnings and endings. I wouldn’t know which one too chose.”
“Start from the day you met your wife,” Winnie found the confidence to ask him. “You said you knew you loved her from the very first moment you saw her. I’d like to hear about that. It sounds romantic.”
Again, Thaddeus looked away and said, “I’d rather not talk about that. I still find the death of my wife hard to come to terms with.”
“I’m sorry,” Winnie whispered. “I didn’t mean to...”
"Let’s go home,” he said, suddenly standing. “It’s getting late and I have work to do."