Page 58 of And Then There Was You

Fifty Zach

He’s in Hayle.

Literally up the road from Carbis Bay.

Talk about hiding in plain sight.

As I guessed, Luke takes us straight to the pub Grant has found work in, owned by a good friend of Graham, no less.

Luke can’t meet my eye as we walk in. He knows how crooked the arrangement is.

How long would he have kept the truth from Merryn if she hadn’t found out?

I know the answer to that and it makes Luke Pengelly even more of a git than I thought he was.

Unlike the constant crush of every pub, bar and restaurant in St Ives, The Lobster Pot is practically empty.

Just a few regulars installed at their tables, half-drunk pints ignored in front of them.

It’s an old-fashioned seafarer’s inn, not a contrived theme pub cashing in on the tourist trade.

Horse brasses still line the dark-stained oak beams that prop up the ceiling, old tattered fishing nets looped between them.

A grey-haired man is collecting glasses at the far end of the pub.

Lean and tall, the skin of his arms tanned to the colour of toffee by years spent in the Cornish sun.

He’s dressed in a faded blue T-shirt and jeans that seem too big for him, the waistband slung low and a silver chain hanging from the belt loops.

His grey hair is pulled back into a stubby knot, thick and wiry with no sign of skin beneath.

He’s nodding to himself as he stacks the glasses in a crate.

Beneath the burr of a talk radio station, I think I can hear him humming a tune.

Luke nods in his direction, confirming he’s the one we’re here to see.

Grant Henderson doesn’t look like a man in hiding. Or someone who doesn’t want to be found. He’s relaxed, at ease in his vintage surroundings. It’s a world away from Mariner’s. Has this new arrangement worked better for him?

We reach the bar and Seth picks up a beer mat, tapping its edge against the scratched wood. The noise catches Grant’s attention, his face falling when he sees us.

‘I don’t want no trouble,’ he calls.

‘No trouble, mate. Just a word.’

There’s a rustle of plastic strip curtain behind the bar and a squat, tattooed man appears. He has thinning red hair and no discernible neck, a large mermaid tattoo on his right bicep. Whether he’s the landlord of The Lobster Pot or not, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.

‘Wasson, boy?’

Grant’s mouth drops open, fear flashing in his stare. ‘I ain’t asked them to come.’

The landlord snorts. ‘Trouble followin’ you round, is it? That’s not what I took you on for.’ His neckless head snaps round, the scowl instantly softening into gold-tooth-peppered grin.

It’s terrifying . I think I preferred the scowl . . .

‘Mr Pengelly, a pleasure to see you. And your – friends . What’ll you have?’

Beside me, Luke breaks into a smile. ‘Bit early for me, Silas. We just need a quick word with Mr Henson.’

So, Graham was telling the truth. Grant is using Henson instead of Henderson.

‘He’s needed in the bar,’ Silas returns, the slightest edge of threat in his reply.

‘Ten minutes,’ Luke soothes. ‘Twenty at most.’

Grant is watching this exchange from behind the shield of the glasses crate, his head switching between the landlord and Luke.

Silas makes a sound like seawater sucked through a channel worn into rock. ‘Lunch rush will be in soon.’

I scan the faded interior of the pub, trying to imagine what a lunch rush looks like here. Two old men and a plate of cheese cobs?

‘Fifteen minutes,’ Luke replies, his ever-so-benevolent smile unwavering. ‘If the – er – rush arrives while we’re talking, of course we’ll let you have him.’

The bushy eyebrows of the landlord drop. ‘Ten minutes. And take it out the back. I won’t have my regulars disrupted.’ He nods at the scant few customers, none of whom appear to have even registered we’re here.

Grant drags his feet to join us, pointing at a door to the left of the bar. ‘Snug’s in there.’

‘Lead the way,’ Luke replies, so brightly I wonder what threat it might conceal.

We follow Grant through the door, down a small corridor and another door, emerging in a tiny room with an ancient-looking hearth on one side and a small curve of bar counter on the other.

Two tables, four upholstered stools and a two-cushion bench seat have been squeezed into the space.

Grant takes the bench, while Luke, Seth and I perch on the stools.

‘I don’t want trouble,’ Grant repeats, his back pressed against the bench as if he might slip through the wall behind.

‘No trouble,’ Seth says. ‘Zach here just wants to ask a couple of questions.’

His pale eyes flick to me.

‘Hey, I’m Zach,’ I say, as warmly as I can. My proffered hand returns to my side, unshaken. ‘And this is Seth. We’re nothing to do with Luke. Or Graham. We’re here for my friend.’

‘Friend? Which friend? I don’t know either of you.’

‘Merryn Rowe.’

The flinch is impossible to miss. I press on regardless, aware that time is short, wanting to get this right for Merryn.

‘She was the daughter of a woman you dated.’ I suddenly realise I’ve never asked Merryn for her mother’s name. ‘Back in Penzance, about thirty years ago? You moved in with her and Merryn and stayed for about two years.’

‘Don’t remember.’ His wary stare isn’t fixed on me.

I glare at Luke, who appears to have lost his charming smile on the journey to the snug. ‘ Tell him.’

Another eye-roll. I hope he’s hating this, being put in his place in front of someone he may well have intimidated into silence. ‘He knows it all, Grant. You’re free to talk.’

So Guy Henson is only a name for others to call him. He’s still Grant behind it all.

Grant brings a many-ringed hand up to rub at his eyes. ‘Of course I remember. Chirpy little thing she was, bright as a button. How I imagine her mum was, before life kicked her.’

I try to imagine Merryn as a chirpy little girl, delighting in a new friend in the home that proved so tough for her to grow up in.

‘You loved her mum?’

He shrugs. ‘I tried to.’

‘You brought your piano,’ I prompt. ‘She begged you to teach her to play. And you did.’

The pale eyes mist a little.

‘On the day you left, you carved a heart under the right curve of the piano case. The part that’s called the cheek? You promised Merryn you would never forget her.’

‘I said a lot of things to get out of tough situations. When kids are there, too . . .’

‘Do you know she’s been looking for you?’

His mouth snaps shut.

‘She found your piano, left on the pavement in North Terrace, St Ives, beside a house gutted for renovation,’ I continue, willing him to respond to it. He’s been evasive at best, and I can’t read his reaction as I speak. ‘She took it back to the café she owns. It has pride of place there.’

‘Did she?’ He swallows hard, casting another nervous glance at Luke. ‘Not that it’s any of my business.’

‘It’s your piano!’ Frustration is fraying the edge of my words. I have to pull back, or I could blow my chance. ‘Why didn’t you respond to the appeal in the newspaper?’

‘I didn’t read it.’

‘Try again with the truth.’

‘I don’t have to take this!’

He’s suddenly on his feet, his escape plan scuppered by the stools on which Seth and I are sitting, barring his route.

‘Sit down,’ I say, repeating softer, ‘Sit down, Grant. Please?’

‘I’ll stand, if it’s all the same.’

‘You need to understand what that piano means to her. What you mean to her.’

‘That’s sweet of the kid, but I was in her life for such a short time.’

‘And you changed everything for her! How she saw herself, how she viewed life with her mother, the hope she discovered – because you were the first person to believe in her.’

Luke is watching me now, his expression clouded.

‘But two years . . .’

‘She was seven years old when you moved in, mate. Two years feels like a lifetime at that age.’

Grant’s eyes flick from me to Luke. ‘This true?’

Seth leans a little so that his face is level with Luke.

Luke swallows hard. ‘Every word.’

‘And she’s been looking for me? In the paper?’

‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘You didn’t know?’

‘I did, but—’ he keeps a careful eye on Luke ‘—I was advised not to reply.’

‘Who by?’

‘Mr Jacobs. And Mr Pengelly . . .’

It’s as I suspected. ‘Why?’

‘I just thought it best.’ Luke’s weary concession is a surprise, but I don’t have time to question him on it.

‘I wasn’t asking you,’ I bark, turning back to the startled barman. ‘Why didn’t you feel you could answer the appeal?’

Grant slumps. ‘My life – it’s been a mess.

All the plans I had, all the doors I tried.

One kick after another. Nobody needs that crap.

Specially not that girl.’ He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand.

I notice a faded rising sun motif tattooed on the underside of his wrist. ‘I remember her, poor kid. Like a little shadow, everywhere I went. Smart as a whip, she was. Learned every song I taught her in no time. I wanted to leave the piano for her, but Marcia would have smashed it to tinder if I had. Kind of thing that woman would have done, just to make a point. I always hoped the kid would get away from her.’

‘She did,’ I say.

‘And her ma?’

‘Passed away, a few years back.’

He nods. ‘I hope she found peace. Reckon her girl needs good stuff now. No shit from the past to get in the way.’

‘She just wants to meet you. To say thank you.’

He’s shaking his head, hands wringing the cloth he carried in from the bar. ‘I can’t. Sorry.’

He edges past me and waits for Luke to lean back to allow him to pass.

Is that it? We just let him leave?

‘She can’t play the piano without you!’

It rushes out of me, a final, last-breath attempt to change his mind.

Grant freezes in the doorway.

‘She’s tried, over and over in her life. I’ve seen it happen. She can’t touch the keys, even though it’s what she longs for most. Because she never stopped waiting for you to come back. And the moment she plays without you, she’ll have to let you go.’

Grant’s knuckles grow white where he grips the doorframe.

‘If you care for Merryn at all,’ I say, my voice thick with emotion, the dying moments of our time already past, ‘if she ever meant anything to you, meet her. Just once. No press, nobody else there. So she can say goodbye and finally move on.’

It’s all I have. I’ve told him everything I know. Now one decision remains – and neither Luke, Seth nor I can make it.

If Grant declines, it’s over. I’ll never tell Merryn I saw him, and I’ll swear Seth to secrecy, too.

What we know about the illegal alcohol at Pengelly’s and Mariner’s will ensure Luke never talks about it, either.

Somehow, I’ll try to reach Merryn again, if she’ll let me.

If she won’t, I’ll leave her to get on with her life.

‘How?’

Grant has turned back into the snug.

Luke says nothing.

I look to Seth, but he holds up his hands. ‘Don’t look at me, Zach. This is your gig.’

I flail for a moment in view of the victory. But then it comes to me. A flash of inspiration; the perfect solution. ‘I have an idea . . .’