Page 41 of And Then There Was You

Thirty-Five Merryn

The article goes live next day, the print edition appearing a day after it’s published online. And then – nothing. For a whole, agonising week.

Zanna assures me this is to be expected. ‘It takes a while for word to get out,’ she says, when I call her for an update. ‘People need time to think about things, ask their friends, remember back. Keep the faith, okay?’

I know things take time and I keep reminding myself how quickly wheels have been set in motion. That the new campaign has three years of my own fruitless searches behind it. But with every day, my fears grow. What if he doesn’t want to be found? Or what if he’s no longer here?

‘We’re just trying doors,’ Zach reassures me, as we’re curled up together in bed. ‘I know it’s tough, waiting it out. But things arrived at the right time – me and Zanna and the newspaper search. Maybe that was for a reason. Maybe Grant is waiting to be found.’

In his arms, his heartbeat strong against my ear, I could believe anything was possible.

It doesn’t stop the fears, though.

And there’s the small detail of Zach working for my ex-husband to contend with.

I haven’t said anything to Zach because it’s a job he needs and it isn’t any of my business.

But it kicks me every time he’s waxing lyrical about Luke.

I get it: I was as blown away by Luke’s confidence and iron-clad self-belief as everyone else.

It was only when what he wanted stopped being me that I saw it for what it was.

Selfishness. An absolute unwillingness to take any responsibility for his actions.

He won’t ever change, so why even try to challenge it?

All the same, I wonder if Luke has said anything to Zach about being married to me. He probably doesn’t even know we’re together. But when he reads Zanna’s article about my search for Grant, there’s no way he’ll be able to ignore it.

Luke told me to forget about looking for my stepdad. But now I am – and his ‘star’ employee is not only helping me search for Grant, but is also my new lover.

I don’t know how he’ll take that, and if it will make problems for us.

But before I can worry about that, there’s someone else who definitely needs to know.

We’re eight days into the appeal, when I decide to tell Seth about Zach and me. I suspect he knows already, the mention of Zach in Zanna’s launch piece impossible to ignore.

I wait until I’ve finished work for the day and the café is prepared for the morning, before I venture round to Porthia Surf. Seth is cashing up when I walk in, his head bowed over the till.

‘We’re closed,’ he says, not looking up.

‘I know.’

He raises his eyes to meet me and lets out a sigh. ‘Hey, Mer.’

‘I haven’t seen you for a couple of days. Everything good?’

He shrugs. ‘Busy, you know.’

‘Okay.’ Why doesn’t his reply feel genuine? ‘Can we chat? I brought coffee and pie.’

Instantly, he brightens. ‘Well, in that case, you can head upstairs, if you like. Place is a pit but it’s home sweet home till September. Find somewhere to sit and I’ll be up in five.’

The flat above Porthia Surf is a mirror-image layout to mine, which always makes me feel like I’ve entered a parallel universe.

That and the fact that it’s a weird combination of mismatched furniture and piles of boxes of stock.

Seth only stays here during peak season, when he can rent out his flat and make over a thousand pounds a week from it.

I have quite a few friends in town who do this, the income from high summer holiday rentals enough to cover mortgages for the next few months.

This place is pure Seth: a story behind every piece of furniture and soft furnishing.

The armchair came from his nan’s house when she passed away, still sporting the handmade crochet triangle across the high back cushion.

He pulled the brightly coloured rug from a skip, in surprisingly good condition, and he found the slightly wonky bookcase in a flea market over in Padstow, years ago.

Even the teapot he loves to bits came from a craft sale in the Guildhall, reduced because the stallholder didn’t think anyone could love its garish yellow, turquoise and burgundy checkerboard design.

Where my flat has one large bedroom, Seth’s is divided into one decent-sized room and one tiny boxroom – the room I slept in while I was renovating my building.

I feel a wash of nostalgia when I look over to it from my perch between stacks of surfing magazines on the old saggy sofa.

I dealt with so much in this cramped, eccentrically furnished space.

This is where my dream of Sweet Reverie was born.

I will forever be grateful for the tough but rewarding months spent here.

Ten minutes later, Seth jogs upstairs, his hand raised in apology. ‘Sorry, bird, my cash-countin’ skills are off today.’

‘I see you’re settled in,’ I say, handing him the box of pie as he evicts a magazine pile to sit beside me.

‘Yep.’ He grins as he looks around the unconventional space. ‘I mean, it’s not Tregenna Castle, but it’ll do.’ He takes a large bite of white chocolate and strawberry pie. ‘So, anythin’ you want to tell me? Or any one ?’

I swallow a groan. Of course he knows. My best guess is Ruthie, but anyone who was at Jack and Seren’s proposal picnic could have mentioned it to him. Our friendship circle is small and tight-knit: not much escapes the grapevine.

‘I’m with Zach,’ I say slowly, watching his expression carefully.

He nods, his attention held by the slice of pie. ‘How long?’

‘Couple of weeks? It’s still very new.’

‘The pro surfer.’

‘Yes. He used to be.’

‘I should send Flynn round. He’d be over the moon.’ His expression doesn’t betray his opinion. ‘Ruthie says he was the bloke who skipped out without payin’ for his tea and biscuits.’

‘He was embarrassed. That’s why he ran.’

‘Hm.’

‘But he’s an amazing musician,’ I insist. ‘And – he’s helping me to look for Grant.’

I see Seth’s shoulders stiffen.

I was expecting to.

Seth’s always known about my search for Grant, largely because I started it again during the months I was lodging with him here.

After years of Luke telling me I was wrong to assume Grant would even remember me, let alone want me back in his life, I sought Seth’s support when I decided to search again.

He gave it, of course, but not as enthusiastically as I thought he would.

I haven’t mentioned it since I moved into my place, the search becoming my own private mission.

I wonder if he’s seen the Cornwall Daily News campaign, or the article that launched it.

Ruthie’s been careful not to share her opinion on it, beyond smiling at customers who have wished me luck with the search, but might she have been more candid with Seth?

‘Say something,’ I urge, when the pause becomes uncomfortable.

‘Not for me to say.’

‘I’m asking.’

He hefts a sigh. ‘I just . . . I don’t think it’s a good idea, Mer. I never have. People go out of our lives for a reason.’

‘Because my mum threw him out.’

‘Or maybe he didn’t want to be found. Too messy, too much water under the bridge. It’s been years, bird. Don’t you think he’d have come lookin’ for you if that’s what he’d wanted?’

After Zach’s unwavering support, Seth’s words hurt. Out of everyone, I hoped he’d understand.

‘I thought you believed in signs.’

‘I do.’

‘Finding his piano – the actual piano I learned on – is a sign I can’t ignore.’

‘And three years of searchin’ with no sign of the bloke?’

‘I was on my own before. I’m not now.’

‘Zach.’ He scoffs.

‘Yes, Zach. And the paper, and the campaign.’ I don’t understand the scowl this earns me. ‘Okay, what?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘You don’t get to say that, Seth. If you’ve something to say . . .’

‘I just think it’s weird.’

‘What’s weird?’

He shifts on the sofa so he’s facing me. ‘You haven’t mentioned the bloke for years and then this surfer turns up and all of a sudden you’re launchin’ a big campaign? This isn’t you, Mer. Jumpin’ into things without thinkin’ them through, hookin’ up with complete strangers.’

‘I’ve been looking for Grant since I left Luke. And Zach isn’t a stranger.’

‘You’ve only known him five minutes!’

Where is this coming from? And if Seth had such an issue with Zach, why didn’t he tell me? My guess is that he’s known for a while, his responses far too considered to be a knee-jerk reaction. ‘I’m really happy, Seth.’

He stares back. Whatever else he might think about my life and the choices I’m making, he has to see that. Even customers who hardly know me have commented on it this week. ‘I get that. And I’m happy for you.’

‘It doesn’t sound like it.’

‘I think he’s untested. I mean, he’s kippin’ at a mate’s place, he’s left the surf circuit and what is he even plannin’ to do?’

‘I wasn’t aware he had to submit a five-year plan in order to date me.’ I put down my coffee cup. ‘I should go.’

‘No – Mer – wait.’ His hand is on my arm. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt.’

‘I’m not going to.’

‘You don’t know that. And I’ve been there, remember?

I saw what that bastard Pengelly did to you.

I don’t want your lovely heart to get broken again.

And searchin’ for Grant is a bad idea. You don’t know what his life has been like, or what kind of person he is.

You were a little kid when you knew him.

How can you be sure he’s someone you can trust? ’

‘I know it,’ I insist, fighting a lump that’s taken residence in my throat. I only have my instinct to trust, which Seth can’t feel like I can. I know Grant: I know the dad he was for me when he didn’t have to be. I don’t think someone would change from that, even with the passage of time.

Besides, if I stop believing Grant wanted to be as present in my life as he was, where does that leave me?

‘I don’t want to argue with you,’ I say, struck by a strong desire to leave Seth’s place. ‘You don’t have to agree with me. I just thought, as my friend, you should know what I’m doing – with Zach and with Grant.’

‘Thanks for tellin’ me. Don’t leave, Mer. Stay and chat a bit? About other stuff?’

‘I’m tired,’ I reply, done with this now. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

He’s still staring after me when I leave.