Page 54 of And Then There Was You

Forty-Six Zach

Zanna called me this morning. None of what she told me was hopeful.

‘We’ve hit a dead end,’ she said, her usual upbeat chatter dulled and weary. ‘My editor Frank is getting antsy about me spending so much time on the story.’

‘Can you stall him? Find new ways of reporting the search?’

‘I’d love to, but he’s not budging. And I don’t want to face facts, Zach, but it looks like Grant, or Guy as he’s calling himself now, just doesn’t want to be found. I’m not giving up, I promise. But I have to put this on the back burner for now or my job could be on the line.’

She’s done so much for Merryn that I couldn’t argue. ‘It’s okay, Zan, I know you’ve done everything you can.’

‘I wish it was better news. Look after Merryn, yeah? She’s had a kicking with all the crap about her ex.’

I said I would. She doesn’t need to know I’m no longer in Merryn’s life. Seth as good as said she’d forgiven him, and he said he’d look out for her. That’s the best I can hope for.

All the same, I miss her. My stupid heart won’t give up hope, even though the universe is yelling at it to quit.

I push it aside as I walk to Pengelly’s. The one place in St Ives I don’t want to be.

I don’t want to work there, or be within ten feet of Luke.

But this late in the season, with my living situation still uncertain beyond the end of the summer, I can’t just quit.

Besides, I want to push him a little. Find out what he really knows about Grant. It means pretending I like the guy and don’t want to smash his fake-smiling, smug face into the nearest table. But if he lets slip something that could help Merryn, my act will be worth it.

Pengelly’s is busy when I arrive, Zanna’s piece about the restaurant in the Cornwall Daily News still bringing in customers. We have a handful of regulars already – who are good tippers at the bar, it transpires – and word seems to be spreading.

Luke is like a strutting cockerel, proudly parading around for all to see.

Pretty quickly everybody on the team has adopted what we’ve dubbed the Pengelly Eye-roll , a shorthand to share whenever our employer is being a dick.

It’s been a kind of gentle mock before, but today it has a definite edge, for me and for Hen, who is still watching Luke like a hawk.

‘Another bottle refilled,’ she hisses as we pass one another with orders from the kitchen. ‘Gin, this time.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive. The marks are still on the bottle.’

I avoid chatter with Luke as much as possible, which is easier today with the crush of customers to serve. At one point, he takes a seat at the bar and opens a copy of the Cornwall Daily News . I can’t tell whether it’s the new edition or the original piece about Pengelly’s as I hurry past.

He must know though. Zanna said Luke’s uncle had threatened to pull advertising from the paper if they didn’t leave. And it was his nephew’s former wife asking: that would have been cause enough to make Graham tell Luke, wouldn’t it?

There’s a lull around four p.m., giving us a chance to breathe as we reset the restaurant for the early evening service. Luke’s unbridled good mood is grating on me now, my last reserves of goodwill running on empty. Is he in such a good mood because he knows what happened at Mariner’s?

After ten minutes of watching his entitled bravado, I need to get out of there. I gabble something about taking my break and head outside.

The harbour is packed as always but the later afternoon hour has brought a relaxed vibe to the groups on the benches and rows of deckchairs that line the harbour-side.

The air is fresher here, the shade the surrounding buildings send across the cobbled street providing respite from the sun.

I lean against the cool wall between Pengelly’s and the gallery next door and wish myself anywhere but here.

I can’t do it.

I thought I could push everything aside and just get on with the job.

But who was I kidding? Luke Pengelly is a lying, entitled bastard, who thought so little of Merryn that he dumped her, left her with the wreck of his last business venture and trashed her heart.

And, as if that weren’t enough, he stood in the way of the most wonderful woman in the world finding her stepdad.

How the hell am I supposed to work with him now?

A rumble from my right summons my attention. A flash of red, pulling to a halt, displacing a group of tourists who were gathered there.

I watch the driver get out of the van and amble across to the ice-cream parlour he’s parked beside. The moment he’s out on the street, I recognise him: the other delivery guy who always asks for Luke.

Leaving my vantage spot, I follow him.

There’s a queue inside the parlour, the generous air conditioning pacifying the waiting customers. As I join them, the delivery guy looks back. A flicker of recognition passes his features as he smiles.

‘Wasson, mate?’

‘All right. You?’

‘Swelterin’ in that tin can.’

‘I can imagine. Ice cream’s the best solution, right?’

‘Always.’ He moves to turn back towards the queue, but I push my advantage.

‘Busy round?’

‘Manic.’ His eyes narrow and for a minute I think he’s sussed me.

‘I do early mornings,’ I say, thanking my stars for the coincidence.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

‘For Downalong Bakery. Delivering bread and cakes.’

Now he’s interested. ‘You hit those roadworks on the Hayle bypass?’

‘Total nightmare,’ I sympathise, pushing my luck. ‘And don’t get me started on the four-way lights on the A3074.’

The road to Carbis Bay. A thought’s occurred to me and I need to test it.

‘Bleddy nightmare,’ he agrees.

‘So, where does your round take you?’

‘All over, bro. Here, Hayle, Marazion, Newlyn. Carbis . . .’

My hunch proved, I mirror his eye-roll. ‘The big hotel in the bay?’

‘Nope. The bar near it? Mariner’s?’

‘Go there often?’

‘’Bout once a week.’ The woman ahead of him passes with her ice cream, causing the delivery guy to turn back to the counter.

I slip back out onto the busy harbour, heart thudding hard.

If the red van delivers to Luke’s uncle’s bar as well as Pengelly’s, chances are Graham Jacobs is accepting the same dodgy alcohol as his bastard of a nephew. Luke clearly doesn’t care about Merryn, but he gives more than a damn for his precious new business.

I’ve got him.

But first, I need to find out what else he knows.

‘Had a bit of sun, have you?’ Luke jokes, his smile noticeably tight.

‘Just needed ten minutes of fresh air,’ I reply. ‘It’s refreshing out there.’

‘I’ll bet.’ I notice the Cornwall Daily News folded beneath his arm. ‘Can I have a word?’

‘Of course.’

‘Walk with me,’ he says, clearly imagining himself as a character from The West Wing .

I follow him out to the stockroom, squashing my irritation down. I want to hear this. Hear his slimy attempt to lie.

‘Problem, boss?’ I ask. I can hear the sarcasm barely hidden beneath my question. Can he?

‘The search, in the Daily News . Zanna Venn says it was your idea.’

‘It was.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘Someone I care about is looking for her stepdad. I knew Zanna could help.’

‘You care about her?’

I fix my stare directly on him. ‘Yes. Merryn is amazing. Merryn Rowe, from Sweet Reverie, over in Star Court?’

I catch his flinch the moment I say her name.

‘Can’t say I recognise it.’

Liar .

‘Oh? I’m surprised. Everyone loves her in St Ives.’

‘I doubt that. St Ives is bigger than you think.’

You are a bloody liar . . .

I want to launch myself at him, pummel him into the ground. But I hold my nerve. I want Luke Pengelly to dig his own trap.

‘I hear they found him,’ I say, scrutinising every move of his expression. ‘Grant Henderson.’

Another flinch. He isn’t smiling now, the bravado gone.

‘Funny, it says in here they’re scaling back the search.’ He brandishes the paper like a weapon.

‘Yeah, well, they say that to keep the story to themselves, don’t they? Protect their big scoop for when the sweet reunion happens.’

‘You should stay away from Merryn.’

It’s not what I expect him to say and it takes me a moment to respond. ‘I thought you said you didn’t know her?’

‘She’s a mess. With a mess of a life. Truth is, she doesn’t know what she wants. She won’t listen to anyone speaking reason.’

‘And you know this because . . . ?’

He inches closer, chest puffed out. ‘I was married to her, mate.’

And there it is.

‘Surprised she didn’t mention me, considering how close Zanna says you are,’ he continues, thinking he’s got one over on me, believing he’s delivering a devastating blow.

‘She mentioned a rat of an ex. She didn’t bother giving him a name.’

‘Watch what you’re saying, Zach,’ he warns. ‘Remember who’s paying your wages.’

Is that what he thinks will work? Threatening me? Does he believe I care so much for this job that I’d abandon Merryn to keep it?

My heart slams against my chest. I don’t have Merryn, but Luke doesn’t know that.

I won’t ever give her up, even if she never speaks to me again.

I love her. She’s changed my life, first with the piano she rescued, then the friendship she offered.

She got me back in the sea. She made me believe life was good again, after months spent adrift, hardly knowing who I was.

I owe her everything. And I’m hers, no matter what.

Luke Pengelly isn’t fit to even mention her name.

In that moment, my choice is clear.

I won’t work for the man who caused Merryn so much pain and trouble. I care about her too much. So I square up to him, aware that my answer will throw all of the plans I’d made into question. ‘You can shove your job, then.’

The Pengelly smile slips.

‘You don’t pay me enough to abandon Merryn.’

‘Okay, what will it take? Twenty pounds an hour? Twenty-five?’

It’s pathetic – and now I see him for who he really is. I can’t believe it’s taken this long.

‘You can shove your money.’

He follows me out through the restaurant, stares from the few remaining diners following our course to the door.

‘Don’t think you can come back,’ he hisses.

‘Don’t expect me to.’

Indignation carries me onto the road and powers me away from Pengelly’s. It lasts until I’m halfway round the harbour.

Then the weight of what I’ve done lands fully on me.

I just quit the best-paid job I had. And we only have a few more weeks of the summer season. My chances of scoring another job are slim at best; of finding one that pays as well practically non-existent.

I flop on a bench and cover my eyes with my hands.

It’s a disaster. But I did the right thing. Luke Pengelly can get in the sea.

Get in the sea . . .

A sudden memory returns of being in the waves off Porthmeor Beach, with Merryn laughing beside me. She did what I’d failed to do since my career ended: get me back out there. Without that act of love from her, I might never have dared to go out on my board again.

Get in the sea, Zach! Get in the sea!

Her and Jakey Lowen, dancing delighted circles around me in the sand, celebrating what we did . . .

I may have lost her, but she left me with a gift I haven’t fully appreciated until now.

Finding Jakey’s number in my phone, I make a call.

‘Trev! ’Bout bleddy time you called me! Wasson, dude?’

I take a breath, imagine Merryn smiling beside me. ‘That offer to do some stuff at the surf school – is it still on?’

His fulsome expletive makes me laugh. ‘You serious?’

‘As I’ll ever be. I just quit Pengelly’s, so I have a bit of time on my hands.’

‘Hired, mate! Come over to mine and we’ll thrash out the details. And bring beer. Time for a bleddy great celebration!’

On my way to his place, I take a detour. At the entrance to Star Court, I stop. I won’t go in, but there’s something I want to do.

I wonder what Merryn is doing now. I hope she’s okay.

I wish I could sneak into the courtyard tonight, to play Merlin and be close to her.

Checking nobody else is within earshot, I do the next best thing. My inexplicable necessity.

‘I love you,’ I whisper to the wind, praying it skims the courtyard cobbles and carries my words through the open window of Sweet Reverie.

I love you, Merryn.

And I’m sorry.