Page 32 of And Then There Was You

Twenty-Six Zach

I can’t stop smiling as I play the opening bars. I know Merryn will appear any minute and the waiting is delicious.

I could pretend that this is all about Merlin. That it’s the pull of the Play Me piano lifting me up and making everything seem brighter. But that would be a lie.

It started with the piano.

But Merryn is the reason I’m smiling tonight.

I can’t explain it, only that she’s been on my mind. Everything hopeful and positive I’ve encountered since has somehow linked back to her. And now the notes beneath my fingers cast a spell, an enchantment that will summon her to my side.

We hardly know each other, bound only by the piano and this fragile arrangement now hanging on the appearance of a drawn smile on a blackboard.

But I can’t stop thinking about her, about the way the music I played made her shine.

I never thought my playing, hidden from everyone in my life except those closest to me, was capable of that.

There’s a click to my right. When I turn, she’s there.

‘Hi.’

‘Evening.’

Our smiles are mirrors of each other.

‘I wasn’t sure if you’d seen the sign.’

‘I checked this afternoon.’

‘I hoped you might.’ She moves to sit on the step between the courtyard and the café, where she sat before. ‘Don’t let me stop you. Play what you like.’

My fingers return to the keys, but it takes effort to wrench my eyes away from her. She’s beautiful, her skin illuminated by the soft glow of the courtyard lights strung above us like stars. Her hair is down tonight, resting in soft waves on her shoulders. And her eyes sparkle as they watch me.

I didn’t imagine how she made me feel. It’s stronger now.

I pull my attention back to the melody, closing my eyes so they don’t tempt me to look back to her.

The music flows, a piece I learned one summer after hearing it through the tinny speakers of a beachfront café after a competition.

I sought it out and taught myself the melody.

As I play, memories of that time return, when I took life for granted.

When the only restlessness that bothered me was the need to better my surf record.

So much has changed, but the song’s ability to bring me peace remains.

Merryn doesn’t make a sound. I can feel her attention on me, as tangible on my shoulder as if her hand was resting there. I wonder what the song means to my audience of one – if she recognises it as she did the folk song I played before, or if the tune is a new discovery.

As I play, I’m aware of how new this all is.

Audiences have stilted my playing in the past, making me self-conscious, aware of every missed note and beat.

I would shy away from playing when friends demanded a show, joking my way out of it, or playing a throwaway piece to shut them up.

‘Chopsticks’ to elicit groans, ‘King of the Road’ to invite a sing-song.

Nothing personal. Nothing with any meaning.

Tonight, I want Merryn to hear the pieces that touch me most.

When the song comes to an end, I wait for a moment before daring to look at her.

She applauds; I bow.

And a soft silence settles between us.

When I imagined how tonight might play out, I didn’t anticipate this. It’s as if the courtyard is charged, as if every note, every breath has the potential to change everything.

‘What next?’ I ask, at last, because I need to speak and it’s all I can think of.

‘Whatever you want.’

‘Fast? Slow? Techno remix?’

That makes her laugh. It’s the loveliest sound . . .

Man , I have to pull this back. I’m getting carried away.

‘Play the first song you fell in love with.’

Bloody hell.

‘Put me on the spot, why don’t you?’ I laugh, willing my brain to focus, settling on a song my dad used to sing around the house, before he and Mum divorced and he moved away: ‘Everyday’ by Buddy Holly. It’s a classic I’m sure she’ll know – and when I look over my shoulder, she’s nodding along.

‘Do you sing?’ she asks, when I reach the chorus for the second time.

‘Not really. Do you?’

‘No!’ She gives a shrug. ‘Maybe sometimes. Not tonight.’

I smile and return to the piano. ‘Perhaps we should duet.’

I don’t mind that she doesn’t reply.

When the song ends, I move straight into a theme song from a film I’ve long forgotten and couldn’t name if someone paid me.

It’s a slow, lilting melody that drifts around the courtyard, the notes returning to me despite it being years since I last played them.

It calms me, the initial thrill of Merryn’s arrival settling into something more meaningful.

‘What song is that?’

‘Something from a film,’ I reply, wishing now that I’d committed the title to memory as I have the tune. ‘Can’t remember its name.’

‘I like it.’

‘Thanks.’ I reach the final few bars and stop, pivoting on the stool to look at her. ‘So, tell me about Merlin. You found him on a street?’

Merryn hugs her knees to her chest. ‘On North Terrace. Seth and I were walking and saw it on the pavement.’

A stab of jealousy registers in my gut at the mention of his name. I dismiss it. ‘Just left outside? Who does that?’

‘I couldn’t believe it either. The house it was outside is being developed, so I reckon they just gutted it and left Merlin on the pavement.’

‘I suppose it’s a good thing they left him to be taken, rather than chucking him in a skip,’ I offer.

She smiles. ‘There is that.’

‘And you painted it?’

‘With Seth, yes.’

Okay, I can’t avoid this now. ‘The guy who chased me.’

‘Sorry about that. I ripped a strip off him about it, if it helps.’

Surprisingly, it does. But it doesn’t answer the question I don’t want to ask. ‘You two seem close. From what I saw on Saturday night.’

‘We are.’

‘Close as in —’ I hate what I’m going to ask ‘—together?’

She blinks. ‘Oh.’

‘I’m prying, sorry.’

‘No, it’s okay. I’m not with Seth. He’s my best friend. He’s also hopelessly in love with my assistant, Ruthie.’

Surf Shop Seth and the Scary Waitress? The image makes me laugh, instantly clamping a hand to my mouth. ‘Sorry. That’s some pairing.’

‘It would be if either of them ever dare to admit how they feel.’

‘Do you think they will?’

‘Maybe.’ Her smile is my reward. ‘We’ll have to warn the town if it happens.’

We lapse into easy silence, but secretly I’m punching the air. She’s not with Seth. The connection I saw was friendship, which explains his overprotectiveness. If I had a friend as lovely as Merryn Rowe, I’d be a fierce defender, too.

I don’t ask if she has anyone else. The fact we’re here, together, arranged by a secret sign nobody else in St Ives knew about, is confirmation enough.

‘Why don’t you play something?’ I ask, needing to switch the focus from everything I suddenly want to say.

‘This is about you playing.’

‘But Merlin’s yours. And I’d like to hear you.’

Her reaction isn’t what I expect. She shrinks back, her smile fading. ‘I – can’t.’

‘Of course you can. I don’t mind.’

‘No, I can’t, Zach. Don’t ask me.’

It’s so sharp, so at odds with the woman I’m slowly getting to know, that it knocks breath from me. What have I said? She rescued a piano, brought it here, and lovingly decorated it. The whole reason I’m here is that she wanted to share it with me. It makes no sense.

‘Why?’

When she doesn’t reply, I slide along the piano stool and pat the space beside me. ‘Sit with me.’

‘It’s okay. I don’t . . .’

‘Sit with me, please? I won’t make you play, I promise.

’ I hold out my hand, willing her to move.

Maybe I should drop the subject, return to playing tunes for her.

But I can’t leave it while the strange atmosphere exists between us.

I don’t want this to be awkward, or something Merryn won’t want to return to.

She considers my invitation for an age.

Then, just when I think I’ve blown this whole thing and she’ll never ask me back, she stands and crosses the floor. When she sits beside me, the closeness is breathtaking.

I have to pull this back; convince Merryn to trust me.

‘What can I play for you?’ I ask.

‘Anything.’

Placing my hands on the keys, I opt for the bravest thing I know to play. A piece of my own, one of the last tunes I wrote before I had to give up my home.

A song of the sea.

It’s gentle and slow, a wistful memorial to the life I knew I was losing.

I’d left the circuit and officially retired as a pro.

All of my sponsorships had ended and I was staring at a future I hadn’t planned.

But the biggest loss to me was the sea herself.

For months I’d tried going out with my board, but the pain in my knee sent me straight back to shore.

The only thing I’d ever known about myself was slipping away – so I turned to the only other solace I had.

And ‘Wavechaser’ was the result.

It’s a risk, even though my piano stool companion doesn’t know any of its history. Playing ‘Wavechaser’ for Merryn feels like offering her a piece of my soul, presenting it to her with the fear she might refuse it.

Beside me, she listens, her eyes glazed as the music takes her somewhere far from the courtyard. Up close, the dark brown of her eyes seems endless.

It’s intense and close, the connection undeniable.

A kiss in musical form.

Reddening, I stare pointedly at the keys, hoping Merryn doesn’t read my thoughts, which seem as loud and obvious as if they were written in neon above my head.

When the piece ends, my fingers draw back from the keys, resting on the lip of the wooden surround.

‘That’s beautiful,’ Merryn breathes.

You’re beautiful , my mind replies. ‘Thank you.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘“Wavechaser”.’ It’s the first time I’ve said it aloud, the act making it a real piece instead of a collection of notes I play about with.

‘I haven’t heard it before. Who wrote it?’

I take a breath. Nobody knows I write – not even Mum. I wish I’d told her before she passed away. One of many still-boxed regrets I’m not ready to unpack yet. ‘I did.’

When I dare to look at her, Merryn is staring at me.

‘It’s beautiful, Zach.’

My heart swells. ‘Thanks.’

‘What made you write it?’

I wasn’t expecting the question, but now she’s asked, it was obvious it would happen.

My nerves twist. I haven’t talked to anyone about what happened, not beyond the shield of flippant replies designed to ward off any unwanted prying.

But the way Merryn is looking at me – and my desire to keep her wanting me to be here – makes my choice clear.

‘I was a pro surfer,’ I begin, my voice hesitant, my heartbeat loud in my ears. ‘But my knee was injured when my board hit it in a wipeout. I had to retire and lost pretty much everything because of it. I wrote ‘Wavechaser’ because I couldn’t get back into the sea.’

She listens, holding me with her gaze.

‘I don’t know, I just needed to say what I was too scared to admit out loud. And my piano was the only place where I could make it make sense.’

‘It’s a love song,’ she says.

Her words stop me dead. Helplessly, I stare back. ‘I think it is.’

I want to say more, attempt to express exactly what her response means to me, but all I can think about is gazing at her. She’s so close to me, the beginnings of a smile on her lips. I could be there in a breath . . .