Page 30 of And Then There Was You

Twenty-Four Zach

I dreamed of her last night.

Did she find my card and the bracelet I sent for her? I hope I chose the right one.

It’s an early start again, but a better night’s sleep has made a world of difference. An extra shift, too, which Matt has indicated might become permanent if I’m interested. I’m definitely interested – the more days I can fill with work, the better.

I load up the delivery crates, the delicious scent of the warm bakery soothing any nerves I might have harboured this morning. Merryn is in my thoughts and the reason for my smile as I work. When Matt comes out to the van with the final crates, he gives me an amused look.

‘You win the lottery or something?’

It feels like I did. ‘No,’ I reply, my smile a cheeky betrayer.

Matt clocks it immediately – not that it’s hard to miss. I feel like my entire body is glowing. ‘Well, whatever you’re on this morning can you save some for me? I could do with a smile like that.’

‘Have a slice of your sourdough. That’ll keep the smile in place all day.’

‘Nice. Smooth. I hope you’re using that line on your rounds.’

‘My one and only catchphrase, boss.’

‘Cheeky git!’ He laughs, waving me off. ‘Away with you.’

My delivery round is fun today, but then everything about the day feels good.

Even though the weather is a drizzly sea fret that mists and fogs the van’s windscreen.

Even when unexpected roadworks on the Hayle bypass mean a twenty-minute convoluted diversion that introduces me to tiny, mud-covered roads I never knew existed.

Even when a flock of sheep floods the road ahead, their apologetic farmer offering me suitably sheepish smiles as I become his flock’s unofficial escort for a long, frustrating mile to their new grazing field.

Nothing can steal my good mood today because of the promise of tonight.

When I return to St Ives and sign off at the end of my Downalong Bakery shift, it’s all I can do not to run to Star Court to see if the signal I suggested to Merryn has made it onto the blackboard sign outside Sweet Reverie.

I hang back in the alleyway at the entrance to the street, as a group of laughing locals bundle into the café. I’ve seen some of them in Aggie’s beach café, though their names escape me. One guy in particular is a builder, I seem to recall. But I could be mistaken about that, too.

When they’re safely inside Sweet Reverie, I glance at the surf shop to make sure the kid I met before isn’t looking out.

I don’t want to meet his boss again, either.

Seth . I still don’t know the deal with him and Merryn, but if there’s a smile drawn on the sign by the courtyard gate at least I’ll know she wants to see me.

That’ll stick in old Sethy’s gullet, which is the best form of retaliation I can hope for after he chased me halfway up Tregenna Hill on Saturday night.

I check myself. I can’t make this new thing with Merryn about getting one over on her friend, however much the prospect that they’re more than friends might bite at me.

This has to be about us and Merlin.

Nobody else.

When I’m certain the coast is clear, I enter Star Court.

Walking to the side gate seems to take an eternity, each step matching the thud of my heart.

If Merryn can’t see me tonight, it won’t mean she never wants to, I remind myself, though I know not seeing the signal will be a kick.

I pass the edge of Porthia Surf and focus on the blackboard sign, a step away.

I look and . . .

. . . it’s there .

A simple smile in a small round circle, drawn in the same shiny gold chalk paint that Merryn’s first invitation was, hiding at the bottom right-hand corner of the sign advertising evening openings starting tomorrow.

Satisfied, I keep walking, past Sweet Reverie and out of Star Court.

I’d forgotten about the evening openings. Wednesday, Thursday and Friday nights, closing at eleven p.m. What will that mean for future piano meetings?

Wait – I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s nothing to say this will become a regular thing. Tonight will only be the first we’ve agreed together. It may not be possible to extend that.

The thing is, I hope it will.

How did I get here? Just a few days ago, I’d never spoken to Merryn Rowe, never played the piano in the café courtyard. How have so many hopes piled up on top of what happened on Sunday night?

Needing to walk, I pass through the town and round the harbour towards Smeaton’s Pier, taking the road to the left to Wheal Dream, where the St Ives Museum is, and the infamous ‘invisible man’ overlooking tiny Bamaluz Beach.

Today he’s sporting sunglasses, a yellow Eighties-style sun visor and bright orange and pink flowered Bermuda shorts, suspended by a clever system of invisible threads to look as if a ghostly body is wearing them, above a wooden box with blue and white striped slider sandals stuck to its top.

Visitors are posing with him, his sudden discovery a source of great amusement.

It’s one of the things I love about St Ives – the quirkiness you find around its streets.

Like the secret cat drawn in the cement between the cobbles near Norway Stores that Mum always loved to spot, or the small plastic toy dinosaurs that randomly appear in the stone flowerbed planters that edge the harbour.

Little glimpses of humour and whimsy that keep St Ives feeling like a real place, not a Cornish-themed Disneyland as many of the most popular fishing villages on this coast seem to have become.

I take the steep steps down around the cliff overlooking Bamaluz and out to St Ives Bay, my sneakers crunching on the sand deposited on the steps by countless feet from the town’s beaches.

Kids race up past me, salt-covered and sea-damp, trailed by weary parents carrying armfuls of beach stuff.

Young couples canoodle on the large rocks at the edge of Porthgwidden car park; older couples stand on the shingle beach opposite, where teens are balancing stones in impossible-looking towers.

The benches overlooking the small sweep of Porthgwidden Beach are all occupied, bags and spades and towels resting beside them.

Sandwiches already eaten, takeaway coffee from Aggie’s place still in hand.

The beach café comes into view as I walk along the path edged with cast-iron lampposts that, as a kid, I believed came straight from Narnia.

Beside it, Porthgwidden Beach hums with life, the sand rammed with holidaymakers.

I wouldn’t want to be jostling for space down there, but I like that it’s busy.

This beach is the one swimmers prefer, and on a day like today it beckons whole families into the sea.

I need to get back into the ocean. Maybe I could start by swimming here.

Maybe playing Merlin tonight will help me make up my mind.

So much of the jumble of thoughts, fears and issues fell into place on Sunday night as I sat at the piano.

Like I knew it would. If I can’t make sense of life in the water yet, the piano may well be my saving grace.

That’s if it continues to be available to me after tonight.

I have a feeling Merryn understands that, without me having to explain it.

It’s why I’m counting my blessings that I have her.

Well, I don’t have Merryn. Not like that.

But the more I think of her, the more I hope I might.

Is it possible to fall in love with someone after one, impossibly late, conversation?

‘Someone’s happy,’ Aggie says, when I arrive at her beach café. She’s seated on a stool at the end of the driftwood bar, holding court as her staff buzz around making coffee and serving customers. She really should be resting, but Aggie Keats doesn’t know the meaning of the word.

‘Happy to see you,’ I reply.

‘Well of course you are, Zachy. But that’s not what I meant.’

I might have known Aggie would read me so easily. ‘Things are looking brighter.’

‘Good. You all done for the day?’

‘Yes. Surprised to see you here, though.’

Aggie receives this with an exasperated eye-roll. ‘I’ve heard that from everyone today.’

‘Maybe they have a point?’

‘Maybe they’re interferin’ bastards .’

O-kay . . . ‘Rest is important, though, Ag.’

‘Rest is doin’ my chuffin’ head in,’ she retorts. ‘I don’t do rest, Zachy. Never have. Sittin’ on my bum goin’ slowly mad in an empty flat? No thank you. Kieran tried to suggest it this mornin’ and I reckon his ears are still stingin’ from my reply.’

I wince on her partner’s behalf.

‘Anyway, you haven’t answered my question. What’s with the smile?’

‘Just happy.’

‘Spoilsport.’ She tuts and hands me a coffee her assistant has just made. ‘There you go. On the house.’

‘It’s okay, I’ll pay.’ I dig in my pocket and hand her the money. It’s a point of principle: I’ve relied on the kindness of friends for too long now. Part of getting back on my feet is paying my way. ‘And I have some money for Kieran, too.’

‘Save it.’ When I protest, she silences me with a raised eyebrow. ‘You’re doin’ him a favour, lookin’ after the studio.’

My mood dips. ‘Except for the other day.’

‘Don’t sweat it, lover. We got the graffiti off the wall so no harm done. We all forget stuff, like you and your phone so His Nibs couldn’t contact you. Yesterday I found my socks in the fridge.’

‘Yeah, but you have an excuse. You’re pregnant.’

Her eyes narrow, mischief alive in her expression. ‘You sure you’re not? Might explain all your random smilin’.’

I love the joke. Love too that she’s noticed the effect Merryn’s signal has had on me. I won’t tell Aggie – or anyone else – what’s happening, though. It’s just mine and Merryn’s.

Having a good secret to hide is a blessing for me. I’ve avoided talking about the bad stuff – the injury, the decision to leave the pro-surfing circuit and how I lost everything in its wake – each one a secret shame I’ve carried, stuffing them away deep within myself.

The piano at Sweet Reverie is a secret I can finally treasure.

And its owner.

I can’t wait for tonight.