Page 23 of And Then There Was You

Seventeen Merryn

Sunday opening is a blessing after my run-in with Luke. The café is packed with people making the most of the day, lingering over coffee and brunch, the vibe laid-back and calm, as Murph and I sail from table to table. Lazy Sundays are my favourite and the familiar pace of service soothes me.

For once, I’m glad Ruthie isn’t in today. Murph is a joy, a typical laid-back Cornish dude who does everything at his own speed but is so affable that nobody seems to mind. He feels like a great fit for our steadily expanding team and I’m grateful he’s here.

I let him leave at three p.m., when trade eases a little, holding the fort alone for the last hour. A customer playing a lovely Brahms piece on Merlin and the gentle breeze blowing in from the open front door are balms to my soul.

But the moment the café is quiet and the customers are gone, fury returns from my early morning encounter, joining my lingering frustration with Ruthie and Seth for how they handled the man who ran away last night.

I don’t remember much of the journey back here from the Island this morning, only that when I unlocked the front door I noticed furious red half-moon scars in my palms where my clenched fists had driven my fingernails in.

I am done with people assuming they know what’s best for me.

Everything I now have is here because I made it happen.

The insinuation that I can’t cope alone, or that I need someone else to tell me what to do, stings my soul.

I survived the toughest of childhoods to put myself through college and university.

I kept myself together when Luke blew my world apart with his betrayal.

And I’m here, now, builder of a successful business that is growing, expanding my initial vision beyond anything I could have imagined.

Weariness hits me as soon as the door is locked, the final tasks of the workday done.

I wander through my café, the chairs up on the tables ready for tomorrow’s trading and the space eerily silent after the bustle and life that’s filled it today.

I move to the courtyard and gently replace Merlin’s cover, hesitating for just a moment to stare at the closed piano lid before covering it completely.

Ruthie found it so easy to play. So did Nessie and twenty or more of last night’s guests. Just walked up, took a seat on the old piano stool and played. Like it was simple.

Why can’t I do that?

I could try, here, now, in the silent surroundings of my closed café, with nobody to witness my playing. It’s just Merlin and me in the afternoon sun that fills the courtyard and warms my skin.

Safe in the knowledge that I’m alone, I’m tempted.

Gingerly, I pick up one side of the cover again, lifting the piano’s lid beneath to reveal the keys.

One note. That’s all I need to play to break the spell.

One note to send the painful memories scattering, to reclaim my right to make music on these aged keys. One note to accept I will probably never find Grant. One note to reconcile what I lost then with what I’ve found now. One note to prove to myself that the only person who owns my past is me.

I sit slowly on the old piano stool, watching dust motes spinning in the shaft of afternoon sun pouring into the courtyard. If ever there was a perfect time to play, it’s now. Nerves flutter, but peace calms me.

If Grant were here now, he’d tell me to play.

What if playing is the best tribute I can give him?

My fingers hover just above the keys, in a C chord, the first chord Grant taught me. The slightest movement will bring them down upon the keys.

We start with C. And then we’ll see . . .

My heart lurches at the memory of Grant’s words.

No sharps or flats to worry about here, birdie. Just plain sailing, straight up the scale . . .

This time, I won’t let fear stop me. Merlin is my piano, brought into my life by a gentle serendipity: it should be mine to play.

I take a breath, and . . .

‘The gate was wide open. Again!’

Seth’s bark behind me sends my hands flying up from the keys, like startled seagulls flapping away from an angry shout.

‘How did you get in?’ I demand.

‘The side gate ,’ he repeats, ‘which you always forget to lock.’

My hackles are up already, his rude interruption having robbed me of the chance to play.

‘It’s not even five minutes since I closed the front door.’

‘The side gate should be first.’

‘Says who?’

‘Me.’

I close Merlin’s lid. ‘It’s my gate.’

He stares at me like I’ve just claimed ownership of the waves in the harbour. ‘What the hell does it matter? You need to be safe.’

I jump up from the piano stool, the cover dropping over Merlin as I let go. ‘And you need to butt out!’

‘I’m tryin’ to help you, Mer! Don’t bite my head off!’

‘I’m not the one stomping in here, yelling about the gate!’

I don’t care if he was expecting a fight or not. I needed a target for the anger I’ve repressed all day and Seth just stepped into range.

‘Can’t I be worried about you? Can’t I be concerned after what happened last night?’

I’ve heard enough. ‘ What happened last night was an innocent accident made into a completely unnecessary drama by you!’

Seth reddens and I brace for his reply.

‘He could have been anyone. He could have caused trouble.’

‘Or he could have been a first-time visitor, embarrassed about bumping into Nessie and scared out of his wits by you chasing him away.’

‘It wasn’t his first time,’ he bites back, as I realise my mistake. ‘Ruthie said he was the customer who skipped out without payin’ last week.’

‘Oh so what ? One pot of tea and a plate of biscuits, Seth, not the entire day’s takings. Did you think he’d come back to do it again?’

‘He could cause you grief, bird! He could be casin’ up the café to steal more than biscuits.’

‘Then why did he run away, hm? If he’s this master criminal, casing up the joint to rob me blind, why be scared by you?’

‘You think I couldn’t handle him?’

Now he’s just being ridiculous.

‘This isn’t about you. Because, believe it or not, I have more important things to consider than whether you could beat up a stranger.’

‘Yeah? Like what?’

I square up to him, chin high, knowing that my reply will snuff out his anger. ‘I saw Luke.’

The name steals his thunder. He blinks, winded. ‘When?’

‘This morning.’

‘Where?’

‘Up on the Island.’

‘Oh, bird. How was it?’

‘Like I thought it would be. Him boasting about all the success he’s going to have, and asking me to vouch for him.’

‘What?’

‘With the town traders. He thinks I should be over what he did by now, so I can make his life easier for him by giving in to his every whim.’

‘ Shit , Mer.’

I round on him, determined not to let up.

‘I am so tired of people thinking they can override my desires and decisions as if they don’t matter.

So you’ll forgive me if I don’t want you, or Luke, or anyone in St Ives telling me what I should and shouldn’t do.

My café. My business. My life. Not his. Or yours. ’

He’s silent for a moment. When he speaks again, the fire is gone entirely. ‘I’m not tryin’ to tell you what to do.’

‘You just marched in here shouting at me about the side gate.’

He can’t argue with that and he knows it. He drops his gaze to the floor. ‘I care about you, Mer.’

‘So trust me to look after myself. Please.’

‘I do trust you. Whatever you think.’ Seth reaches into his pocket and pulls out an object. He reaches past me, placing it on the top of the piano. ‘I got you this. You should use it.’ As he moves back, he pauses, close to me. ‘I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to keep you safe.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ I reply. ‘Thanks for your concern.’

I’m still rattled when he leaves. I hate arguing with Seth, but today has been a battle I was unprepared to encounter. I’ve fought so hard to carve out my own space, so it’s only right I defend it.

Looking back at the piano, I see what he left there.

A padlock.

A completely overblown device, with combination lock and thick, steel base where the key fits. The kind of thing that should be bolted to an industrial unit, not the curling wrought iron of Sweet Reverie’s side gate.

Instantly, I’m fuming again.

If the man who ran from the celebration last night were ever to return and see this monstrosity fixed to the gate he entered by, what message would it send?

Sweet Reverie should be welcoming for everyone, not just the people Seth Hartley deems worthy to enter.

And what gives him the right to decide who is and isn’t allowed into my business anyway?

I snatch up the padlock and storm back into the café, throwing it into the bin behind the counter. It lands with a satisfyingly heavy clunk.

Nobody tells me what to do with my business. With my life.

Not Luke. Not Seth. Not Ruthie. Or anyone else.

I fetch the chalk paint pens and open the café door, the early evening sunshine flooding the space. Its warmth soothes me, the golden light it paints the front of Sweet Reverie lifting my heart.

The blackboard sign is where I fixed it last week, the message about the evening opening celebration gone after Murph cleaned it this morning. Time for a new invitation to live there: one that will be open to all, but I hope might be seen by one.

Steadying my hand, I write.

Welcome to Sweet Reverie.

Our piano is waiting in the courtyard, if you want to play.

I surround the words with music notes and add a small gold heart above the name of my café.

It’s the invitation I imagined when we found Merlin on the street and it looks completely at home on the blackboard sign now. This is what I want visitors to see when they visit Sweet Reverie, not a forbidding padlock.

I don’t lock the side gate, just pull it closed and leave it on its latch.

I’ve never had anyone use the side passage to gain after-hours entry to the café in the three years I’ve been trading and I won’t start to worry about it now.

A huge padlock is a challenge, suggesting the building is worth robbing.

The gate remaining as it always has been draws no attention.

That’s how I want it to be. The locks on the back door of the café are secure and I feel safe here at night.

Seth’s overprotectiveness and Ruthie’s dire imaginings are not going to change that.

The man who ran last night will probably never return.

But at least this stops anyone else from feeling too scared to visit my café.

I’m tired, and my heart hurts. I need food, a bath and an early night. Tomorrow will be brighter. I know it will.

Tonight, I need to hide away and let the sound of the sea lull me to sleep.