Page 9 of And Then There Was You

He helps himself to another tangle of noodles. ‘Pro surfer. Just wandered in, apparently. Flynn nearly lost his mind over it.’

‘That’s a coup for the shop, then.’

‘It would have been, if he’d stuck around.’

Sensing a story, I put down my fork. ‘Okay, now I need the details.’

‘Chap came in, chatted with Flynn, seemed to like the shop, but when Flynn headed into the back to fetch me, the bloke did a runner.’

‘Who was he?’

Seth frowns. ‘Zach someone-or-other? Can’t say I was payin’ much attention. My head was too busy killin’ me to focus. Flynn was gutted, though. Bloke’s a bit of a hero of his, apparently, huge on the pro-surf circuit. I couldn’t get more than three words out of him for the rest of the day.’

I think about my assistant and how nice it would be if she decided to go quiet for a shift. ‘You’re lucky. I had Ruthie bending my ear all afternoon, after . . .’ The coincidence hits me. ‘We had a disappearing customer, too.’

‘What? When?’

‘While I was out getting milk. Came in, ordered tea and biscuits, then when Ruthie took it over, he’d gone.’

Seth chuckles. ‘Maybe it was the same bloke.’

I laugh too, because what are the odds of that happening? ‘Maybe it’s just the day for runaway customers.’

‘You’re probably right.’ Seth sits back in his seat, patting his stomach. ‘I am stuffed , bird. You’d best get me paintin’ that instrument before I crash right here.’

So, we set to work. And as petals burst into bloom around the green stalks and leaves I painted before, the piano begins to glow with colour.

The visible signs of time and carelessness become invisible, the wood shining between the newly painted features.

We’re surrounded by possibility, the beauty of what we’re creating inspiring new additions to the design.

Snaking speedwell flowers and ivy around the piano’s base, honeysuckle and lavender creeping around the side of the piano from the mural on its back, with a collection of seashells and a series of curling waves in four shades of blue along the pedal board to mirror the landscape in which it now resides.

I find a small pot of pale gold paint in between the tester pots. I can’t remember where it came from, but its discovery brings inspiration. Just above the line of multi-blue waves, I add a tiny golden star with a spiral at its heart.

Seth smiles when he sees it. ‘Your star charm? Nice.’

My fingers move to the small brass star at my neck that hangs from a black leather lace. I wear it every day, a link to my past that very few people know. That Seth recognises its importance speaks volumes about how close we are.

I don’t tell many people because the reason behind it isn’t easy to share.

I wear the star with its own chimera at its heart to remind me that I can always escape; that I can find peace above it all.

In recent years, it’s become my talisman, my tangible proof that better things exist beyond the crises.

It represents the escapes I found for myself as a kid whenever dealing with Mum got too much.

The things that saved me then were the sea, the stars and music, wherever I could find them.

As a teenager, I would climb out of my bedroom window, head to the beach and watch the stars when I needed to escape.

The sound of the sea and the spectacular night sky unhindered by light pollution calmed me, gave me hope, anchored me to the landscape in a way that no birthright could ever do.

So it’s fitting that I honour the piano with the star that has guided me to safe harbours, time and again.

My thoughts return to Grant, as they always do, and the search that looks less and less likely to ever bear fruit.

Maybe acknowledging it with the star on the piano – both symbols of my childhood – will be enough.

Maybe returning the piano’s sound to my life, here, in my café, will fill the missing gap I’d hoped the search would.

‘This looks so cool.’ Seth puts his brush down and scrambles up from the dustsheet to get a better view. ‘You know what we need to do now.’

‘What?’ I put the final touches to the pale gold star and stand beside him. It looks wonderful and the still-bare wood around the design makes the flowers, foliage, shells and waves stand out.

His eyes sparkle despite the heavy smudges of tiredness beneath them. ‘Play it.’

‘Seth . . .’

But he’s grabbed my hand and is pulling me around the piano. ‘Come on, it’s been here a whole twenty-four hours and we haven’t even heard how it sounds in its new home.’

‘I don’t think we should . . .’ I rush, panic building. I know what he’s doing, and the heart behind it is admirable. But I can’t touch the keys. I’ve tried and failed every time. Tonight has been so perfect, the happiest I’ve felt in forever. I don’t want anything to spoil it.

He’s set a chair beside the painted piano, ready for me to play. And now his free hand is reaching for the lid . . .

‘Stop!’

Seth drops my hand in surprise.

The courtyard carries the last reverberation of my shout.

I didn’t mean to yell out loud and now I’m backtracking as my best friend stares at me.

‘Wasson, Mer?’

‘Nothing. I’m sorry, I . . . It’s late. We’re both dead on our feet. And . . . I think we should let the paint dry first.’

His gaze narrows as he looks between me and the piano. ‘We didn’t paint the lid.’

‘We painted round it. From the side of the piano . . .’ Lamely, I point at the few glossy green ivy leaves curling around the edge of the piano, willing him to buy the excuse. ‘If we lift the lid, it will rest against the ivy leaves and smudge them.’

‘I guess . . .’ He’s far from convinced, but it’s all I can offer. Because how could I ever admit the rest? ‘But tomorrow, yeah? We should get the gang over. Christen this baby with beers.’

‘Maybe.’ Keen to move the conversation to safer ground, I squeeze his arm. ‘Come on, it’s late and we should be in bed.’

‘Bleddy hell, bird! Help you paint a piano and you’re invitin’ me upstairs?’ When I blush, Seth’s laugh booms loud around the empty café.

‘You should be so lucky.’ I’m laughing now, embarrassed but relieved at least to be discussing something else.

‘Nah, we’d end up murderin’ each other,’ he says.

It’s true. We’ve often been mistaken for a couple but I love him like the brother I never had. Besides, I know his heart lies elsewhere.

‘Of course, if a certain someone else in this café made you an offer . . .’

He reddens on sight. ‘Now hang on, Mer . . .’

‘I’m just saying, you’ll never know if you don’t ask her.’

‘That’s my cue to leave.’

‘You and Ruthie would be amazing together,’ I rush, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

‘Okay, I’m off! Here I go!’ As expected, at the mention of his secret crush, Seth blesses me with a swift kiss on my cheek before he dashes out of the café.

When he’s gone, a stillness settles. I’m glad of it: exhilarated by the work we’ve done but exhausted by the barrage of memories and thoughts that have returned tonight.

Maybe now the piano is finished and I can reveal it to my customers, it will pacify the ghosts from my past. Perhaps then I can just remember Grant and that brief period of childhood stability and forget the rest that has always accompanied the memory.

Carefully, I wheel the piano to the place I’ve decided it will live – opposite the entrance from the side passage, leaning against the wall. I shift a few of the courtyard tables around to give it space. It fits like a dream. I knew it would.

Maybe I should open a couple of nights a week.

I could certainly use the extra takings, even if I have to pay for more staff to cover the new hours.

And seeing the piano in its permanent home makes me want to show it off.

An evening opening would lend itself more to musical accompaniment, and if we offered a tapas-style menu it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch from what we already serve during the day.

If we invite diners to bring their own drinks, too, it could make Sweet Reverie an enticing location for the evening crowd.

I imagine somebody sitting at the piano, some guests gathered around, as I serve small plates of delicious bites inspired by the Mediterranean. On a summer’s night, with music and laughter and conversation accompanied by good food, Sweet Reverie could be the perfect place to be.

I’ll do some costings tomorrow, maybe mention it to Seth for his input, too.

But not tonight.

Gathering the paint things together, I take one last look at my beautiful, flower-strewn piano in its new place of honour, before I switch off the strings of white lights over the courtyard and head to bed.