Page 52 of And Then There Was You

Forty-Five Merryn

I’m shaking.

As Zanna drives us out of St Ives, fear threatens to overwhelm me. I grip my hands together in my lap, willing them not to betray my nerves. I paced my flat for hours last night, trying in vain to reconcile the flailing threads of everything I’ve discovered.

Luke lied to me.

Grant has been just around the bay, all the time I was married and all the years I’ve searched for him since.

But if he’s been so near for so long, why didn’t he respond to the appeal that apparently half of Cornwall has seen? Is that my answer before we even get to Carbis Bay?

‘How are you doing?’ Zanna asks. It’s meant to be a straightforward question, but I hear the tremor of nerves in her voice; see how tightly her hands grip the steering wheel.

‘I’m terrified.’

‘Me too,’ she admits, in a rush of relieved air. ‘But this is huge, Mer. You’re going to see him. Today!’

I return her excited smile as best I can, feeling like a fraud.

This isn’t how I imagined it would be.

I thought I’d be better prepared, that he would come forward and we would meet, with no questions surrounding how it happened. That I would enter our reunion well rested and excited for what lay ahead. That I’d be finally freed from the questions I’ve carried for decades of my life.

‘I called Zach, by the way. He says he’s crossing everything for us.’

I’d assumed she would tell him, but hearing her say it sends a fresh flood of sadness over me.

We should be here together. Without Zach suggesting the search, this wouldn’t be happening.

He did that for me, not to score points or try to force his way into my life.

He understood from that first night when I told him about Grant, and he didn’t let go until he’d made a way forward for me to find him.

But he isn’t here. He hasn’t returned after the fight, not even to apologise for the damage done to Merlin.

That tells me everything I need to know.

And as for Luke, I had to stop myself from storming round to Pengelly’s last night to tell him what I knew.

But I’m so incandescently furious about his betrayal that I knew my anger would derail everything I want to say to him.

It’s there now, the moment I think of it, tempered only by my fear of the meeting Zanna and I are speeding towards.

I’ll wait until this is over and my molten fury has set like cold, hard steel. Then I’ll tell him exactly what I think of him.

Luke Pengelly isn’t going to know what hit him.

My whirring thoughts cease the moment the sign for Carbis Bay comes into view, PORTHREPTOR , its Kernewek name, written in proud capitals beneath, as all village signs in this part of Cornwall have. I’ve seen it countless times, but today it feels providential.

‘Nearly there,’ Zanna says. ‘It’s going to be great.’

I hope she’s right.

Mariner’s bar is set down a steep hill, over the bridge the coastal train runs beneath and down to the picturesque bay with its golden sand and perfect curve of turquoise-edged sea.

It’s been there forever, as familiar a sight to generations of teenagers as the famous outline of St Ives harbour.

It was the place passed in whispers between local kids, the ultimate goal to score a drink there a rite of passage famous even over in Penzance, where I spent my teenage years.

A bus to Carbis Bay – or a train if you could afford it – followed by a night in the beachfront bar, rolling home in the early hours.

It’s beautiful in the mid-morning sunshine, scatters of tiny white sparkles dancing across the gentle waves of the bay. The bar is open already, taking full advantage of the summer trade from the nearby hotel and self-catering apartments. Will Grant be working this morning?

‘Did you call ahead?’ I ask, as we park and leave the car.

‘I thought it best not to,’ Zanna replies. ‘He may not even be working. But the owner will be.’

My heart sinks. Luke’s uncle, someone I’ve always respected. Graham Jacobs knows everything that happens in Carbis Bay and St Ives, being on every business and community committee going. There’s no way he wouldn’t have seen the news reports. And he knows me well enough to have made the link.

Has he been complicit in hiding Grant, too?

We leave the sand-covered beach road and head onto the weathered boardwalk leading to Mariner’s.

Rope handrails loop between wooden struts either side of the walkway, salt-encrusted and swinging in the morning breeze.

At night the uprights glow, the LED strips hidden in them a curving path of tiny lighthouses guiding drinkers to the delights of the bar.

We climb the steps leading to the main bar area, its open sides bedecked with maritime flags of all colours and shapes.

Several of the high tables are occupied, holidaymakers making the most of the bottomless brunch menu.

Chat and laughter mingle with the smooth jazz soundtrack from the speakers behind the bar and the constant call of seagulls spying targets for their next raid.

Behind the bar, a grey-haired man is serving cocktails, head bowed over the glass he’s filling.

Is that him?

I will my racing heart to slow, forcing air into my lungs as I try to match the barman with the younger man I remember. I can’t reconcile the two, but am I mistaken? As we reach the bar, he looks up – and my questions vanish. It isn’t Grant.

He comes over to us, his too-bright smile and pronounced Eastern European accent final proof, if I needed it. But I’m scanning Mariner’s and I already know Grant isn’t here.

‘Ladies, what can I get for you?’

‘We’re looking for someone who works here,’ Zanna says.

I’m glad she’s taken the lead.

The smile tightens. ‘Oh?’

‘Grant Henderson. Is he working today?’

‘I . . . don’t know this person.’

Zanna nods. ‘Okay. I know he works here. He’s not in any trouble. In fact, he’s going to want to talk to us. It’s good news?’

The barman has backed away a little, his hands held in surrender. ‘All the same, I don’t know him.’

‘Problem, Dragan?’

An older man with an impressive sweep of pure white hair approaches from behind the faltering barman. I see him register me immediately, a broad smile appearing as quickly as he has.

‘Merryn! What a delight!’

‘They’re looking for someone, boss.’

‘That’s okay,’ Graham Jacobs smooths, clamping a hand on the barman’s shoulder. ‘I’ll take it from here.’

He waits until Dragan scurries away before he turns back to us. ‘I didn’t expect to see you for bottomless brunch but please, you and your friend should enjoy it. On the house.’ His wink at Zanna turns my stomach.

‘We didn’t come for that,’ I say, not caring how dismissive it sounds.

‘Hi,’ Zanna says, thrusting her hand across the bar. ‘Zanna Venn, Cornwall Daily News . We’re looking for an employee of yours. Grant Henderson?’

Graham’s smile never moves. ‘You’ve been misinformed, I’m afraid.’

Zanna is undeterred. ‘I have a trusted source who confirmed Grant works here.’

‘Then they’re mistaken.’

‘It’s for me,’ I say, hoping that might tip the balance in our favour. ‘I’ve been looking for him. He lived with my mum a long time ago. Was my stepdad for that time. I have the piano he used to own.’

‘I’ve seen the reports.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell me? You know where I am.’

He exacts a sigh, leaning on the bar pulls as if he’s about to divulge a valuable secret. ‘Fact is, he doesn’t go by that name anymore.’

I feel Zanna’s eyes on me as I take this in. ‘What name does he use?’

‘Guy Henson. Something to do with when he worked as a musician. Had to change his name because there was already someone using his on the club circuit.’

‘So you do know him.’ Zanna eyeballs him. ‘And you know Merryn. Why did you conceal the fact that he was employed here?’

‘Because it’s none of my business!’ He glances at the nearest table of customers who have looked up from their bottomless cocktails, flashing a reassuring smile in their direction before turning back to us. ‘Look, I don’t want any trouble. Luke told me not to get involved.’

Another gut punch. What else has Luke done to scupper our search?

‘I’m asking you – as a friend,’ I say, fixing him with a stare he can’t look away from. ‘Does he work here?’

He flags a little. ‘He did. Until yesterday.’

‘What?’

‘He handed in his notice. We’d not had the best of weeks and a stag party came in.

They started a fight and I think it was too much for him.

He said he wanted to leave and I gave him a week’s wages to ease the transition.

What else could I do? Someone like him, Merryn, he’s never going to settle.

Still chasing the music dream, only working in bars to pay his way. ’

‘Do you have an address for him?’ Zanna asks.

‘He was staying with friends in Carbis. But he’s gone.’

‘Give us their address, then.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Why should I?’ He rounds on Zanna, anger flaring now. ‘And what gives you the right to demand confidential employee information?’

‘Because we’ve been searching for him, which you are apparently well aware of.

’ Her coolness is a study in control. ‘And because it concerns someone you – and your nephew – know well. Don’t be that person who stands in the way of a beautiful reunion at the eleventh hour, Mr Jacobs.

Especially when you rely on the support of the Cornwall Daily News for the many, many community projects you’re concerned with. ’

‘Is that a threat? Because I have your editor’s number. And Mariner’s spends a considerable sum advertising in your news rag. One call and you’ll be out on your ear.’

We’re losing him. No amount of righteous anger is going to stop Graham Jacobs walking away, taking whatever he really knows with him. I can’t let that happen.