Page 29 of And Then There Was You

Twenty-Three Merryn

I don’t want to sleep, but I do, the call of my bed overwhelming when I return upstairs to the flat. I just about manage to stay awake long enough to drink a mug of tea and set an alarm for ten p.m. before sleep claims me.

My dreams are cluttered, racing from one thing to another, a constant tension underpinning them. I’m running, desperate to return home, frustrated when the road ahead of me stretches out to infinity.

When my alarm rouses me, darkness fills my room. The urge to turn over and fall back asleep is strong, but a sudden panic pushes it aside.

What if Zach has visited already? What if I’ve missed him?

I hurry downstairs, switching on the lights in the café this time.

It’s silent, save for the usual clicks and hums of the fridge behind the counter that are so familiar I don’t hear them most of the time.

When I look out into the courtyard, the piano is still beneath its cover, the stool where I left it earlier, empty of any player.

My heart hits the cold slate floor beneath my bare feet.

He wasn’t going to return immediately, was he? Considering how exhausted I’ve been, and how fast sleep came after work, he’s probably in his own bed now, attempting to make up the sleep deficit. To come back here on so little sleep would have been the worst idea.

He said he’ll come back , I reassure my fretting mind. I have to trust that he will, but also that he’ll take care of himself.

I’ve been thinking about what he said, that he doesn’t have a permanent home right now.

Does that mean he’s staying with someone else, or is he all alone?

And is he working, or relying on someone else’s kindness to get by?

I hope there’s someone looking after him, although his willingness to break into a café after hours to seek refuge at an old piano suggests there isn’t.

The way he played, as if each note was a lifeline, makes me wonder what he’s dealing with all by himself.

When Luke left me with the mess of the restaurant, I lived at Seth’s place for four months, sleeping on a single futon in his cramped second bedroom.

It was far from ideal and the combination of what I was dealing with and our forced proximity made for an uncomfortable time together.

I was broken, scrabbling around to salvage whatever shards of my former life I could.

Seth was amazing, despite the stress and extra upheaval of keeping me fed, watered and cared for.

I don’t know how I would have navigated those initial months without him.

I know that’s why he’s protective of me now, despite how much I’ve achieved since. I’ll go to see him tomorrow, to clear the air. Despite my frustrations with him, he’s my best friend. I miss him when he isn’t around. I know he’ll have been miserable today, too, with us not talking.

We do this occasionally. Blow up at each other, then hide away while the dust settles. But we always bounce back. At the end of the day, that’s the best anyone can hope for.

Does Zach have a friend like Seth in his life?

Certain he isn’t coming now, I turn off the café lights and make my way back to the stairs.

I glance at the front windows, as I always do before going back up to my flat, my eyes following the line of glass to the front door.

When I see the light coming through the stained-glass border around the door’s panel, my gaze drops.

Something square and pale is lying across the doormat, bright in the shaft of streetlamp glow coming in from the street.

I hurry across the cold floor and bend down to pick it up.

It’s an envelope, with what feels like a card inside. It’s bulkier in the centre, bowing the surface of the envelope. When I turn it over in my hands, my breath stalls.

For Merryn x

I don’t recognise the handwriting, but its arrival here, unexpectedly, in the dark, sets my pulse racing. I hurry upstairs and go straight into my bedroom, switching on my bedside lamp.

I get into bed, pulling the covers back over my legs. Settling my breathing, I open the envelope.

There’s a card inside. I smile when I see the photo of a cute ginger kitten on it curled up asleep on piano keys. As I open the card, something slides out, landing on the bedsheets. I reach down to retrieve it, surprised when my fingers close around beads and woven thread.

A bracelet. Woven twists of braided yellow cotton, with beads caught between. Dark blue, like the sky at midnight, white with tiny sparkles of silver and a central bead of pale yellow.

It’s beautiful.

I slip it onto my wrist, fastening the ties over my padding pulse, and lift my hand to admire the beads against my skin. They look at home there, as if it’s where they were always destined to be.

Is this from Zach? Did he choose this for me?

I return to the card, reading the handwritten message inside it:

Merryn,

I’m so sorry I can’t play tonight.

(Tiredness got the better of me, as I suspect it has you.)

But I didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten you. That’s impossible.

So this gift is for you.

Can I play for you tomorrow?

If it’s okay, draw a smiley face on the sign by the gate. If not, leave it blank.

I’ll look for your invitation.

Until then, take care. And thank you.

Zach x

My hand flies to my mouth, the new bracelet dancing against my wrist. It’s perfect. The gift, his words and the heart behind them bring tears to my eyes.

I’ve wondered how we would do this, not having any way to contact each other unless he comes to Sweet Reverie.

Now I know how to extend the invitation.

Until we can talk more and work out how we make this startlingly new thing happen, a simple smile on the blackboard will act as my secret signal to Zach.

Nobody will suspect a smiley face drawn on the sign by the side gate. But we’ll know.

I don’t know what’s happening here, but Zach’s card and gift and his suggestion of a signal system gives it a hope and possibility it hasn’t had before.

I love it. I love all of it.

I switch off my beside lamp and curl up beneath the sheets, impossibly happy.

On the pillow beside me, the bracelet on my wrist glints in the soft light from the street that pours in through the gap in my curtains, falling across my bed. For the first time in years, I feel I’m not alone here.

Heart full, I close my eyes, as thoughts of my secret friend pull me gently to my dreams.