Chapter Nine
The Wanderer Returns
There was no getting away from it: Harri was nervous that Tuesday morning. He made up for it by keeping busy. He’d baked a batch of glacé cherry buns, icing them and letting Annie put the half cherry on top for decoration. Then he’d swept and mopped the floors, all while Annie dealt with the scattered arrivals throughout the morning. Nobody could be induced into buying anything, no matter how chatty Annie was.
By twelve, the drizzle had chased away most of the visitors and Harri had fallen to entertaining Annie by reading aloud from one of the Valentine’s display books.
‘The Roman festival of Lupercalia fell in February and is closely linked to our modern Valentine rituals. Lupercalia, a festival of fertility, saw the pairing up of the unbetrothed by means of a lottery system which varied across regions.’
‘ Pfft , no one tell Mrs Crocombe she could be running a love lottery as well as a betting book!’ Annie cut in.
The mention of the old matchmaker quietened Harri and he returned the book to the display.
‘How um, do I go about it then?’
‘Hmm?’ said Annie absently sorting the postcards in the rack by the till.
‘Uh, dating again?’
This drew Annie to a stop. ‘You’ve been on dates,’ she shrugged.
‘Not for a decade. I mean, me and Paisley would go out and stuff, but it’s different when it’s your girlfriend.’
‘Are you asking me for first date tips?’
‘You’ve been on more dates than I have, not that that’d be hard.’
‘I haven’t been on as many as you think, honestly. Look, where did you take Paisley on your first proper date?’
‘She took me to her debating society meeting,’ he said, a slow smile forming.
‘Geez, what was the topic?’
Harri pretended for a moment like he couldn’t quite remember but it was in fact burned in his brain.
‘Romantic attachment is a capitalist construct designed to dupe women into forfeiting their economic and bodily freedoms and submit to the patriarchy,’ he said. ‘Or something like that. Paisley was leading the debate.’
‘For or against?’
‘For.’
‘ Ach , you guys were pretty romantic, I seem to recall.’
She wasn’t wrong. In the beginning they’d been magnificent. Harri had been completely overwhelmed by his date that night, watching Paisley on the stand, stating her case, point after point. She was nineteen and fearless. He was nineteen and smitten. She’d been so full of fire and energy.
He’d curtailed her ambitions, surely? Living with him had dampened her spark. The realisation hit him like rockfall.
‘Hey?’ Annie was before him now, her head tipped, assessing his face. ‘You were gone again. Listen,’ she sighed. ‘If you insist, I can teach you, okay? Just don’t go getting all sad again. Here.’ She crossed the room so she could pull on her coat. ‘I’ll be Anjali the eligible vet from the very nice British family.’
Harri watched her, bemused. ‘We’re acting?’
‘Role playing. Okay?’ She fixed two chairs in front of a tiny bookshop table with its vase of dried flowers. ‘You introduce yourself.’
Annie transformed into an adorably unsure person, pretending to scan the room looking for her date.
‘Uh, I don’t know about this…’ said Harri.
‘ You must be Anjali ,’ Annie hissed, breaking character for a second.
Harri jolted towards her. ‘You must be Anjali?’
Annie simpered a smile and nodded shyly.
‘That’s not how English girls act,’ he said, laughing.
‘The ones in books do.’
‘From a hundred years ago. Start over.’ He wasn’t quite so shy now he was smiling into Annie’s wickedly gleaming eyes.
‘Hi, I’m Anjali,’ she said, sticking out a hand.
He looked at it. ‘Bit formal, no?’
‘If she offers her hand, you shake it.’
Harri obeyed, taking hold of Annie’s hand. ‘I’m Harri Griffiths. It’s…’ He paused, searching for the right words, but finding his brain circuitry was having trouble making connections. It had everything to do with Annie clasping his hand the way she was. She was looking at him with curiosity, really playing her part, like they were strangers. ‘…so nice to meet you… uh… like this.’
‘ You can offer to take my coat ,’ she whispered. It took him a moment to register.
‘Oh! Uh, of course. Allow me…’ He’d moved behind her and was cupping her shoulders with his palms, peeling her coat from her. A wave of her perfume reached him. Almond milk, sunshine and summer. Time seemed to be running slowly.
He didn’t know he’d messed up until she turned, a strange look on her face. Was she still playing the part of Anjali? He couldn’t figure out what was going on.
‘You know, maybe she should take off her own coat?’ said Annie, finishing the job of removing it and putting it over the back of the chair.
Had she picked up on him being weird again? This was excruciating.
Whatever it was, it had awakened Harri from the faltering feelings that were interrupting his brain signals. ‘Right, sure, but… I’ll get your chair, right?’
‘Why, thank you!’ Annie had never sounded more Texan. They both smiled. Annie seated herself and Harri tried to shove her chair closer to the table, but it didn’t budge.
‘Why do we do this?’ said Annie. ‘Hoofing someone’s chair when they’re on it? It’s weird. Won’t she think it’s weird?’
‘Who? Oh, Anjali! Yeah, it is kind of a strange thing to do. It’s supposed to be gentlemanly.’ He hurried into his seat across the little table. He mimed picking up a menu and handed it to Annie. ‘You can choose the wine.’
‘What if I order the hundred bucks bottle of Champagne?’
‘Who said I was paying?’
‘Touché. I’ll have a lemonade.’ Annie was back in English girl mode and her body blazed with enjoyment.
Harri couldn’t help getting carried along. ‘May I say you look very pretty tonight?’
If she hesitated, it was only for the tiniest beat. ‘You may.’ She fanned herself with the invisible menu. ‘What are you looking for in a woman?’
‘Ooh!’ Harri drew back his jaw. ‘Bit direct!’
‘Dates have to be direct. Pussy-footin’ around gets you nowhere.’
‘Oh, okay.’ He thought for a bit, and Annie kept her eyes laser-focused on his. She was having fun. So was he. ‘Let’s see. Umm. She’d have to read, and like food. I’m a big foodie. And uh, I uh…’ He felt himself getting coy. ‘I like snuggling, I suppose.’
‘Snuggling,’ Annie echoed in his accent. ‘You’re too cute.’
They were beaming now. ‘And I want someone I can just be myself with,’ he continued. ‘Someone who’ll drink their morning coffee with me, and tell me about their day at night, and someone I can just be with.’
‘Are you going to ask your date any questions?’ Annie put in, that eyebrow quirking again.
‘I was just about to! Same question to you. What are you looking for in a date?’
Annie assumed a brash coolness. ‘Obviously,’ she held down one finger, counting. ‘Hotness.’
‘Of course.’
On her second finger she counted, more seriously, ‘Kindness.’ Then, ‘Nerdiness.’
‘I’m currently three for three,’ Harri joked.
‘Four, good teeth.’
‘This is England, you know?’
Their laughter took their little game to a new place, and when Annie pulled her hands to her lap under the table and leaned a little closer, Harri felt she was looking right into him.
‘Five, nice brown eyes.’
No one was laughing now. Silence held them fixed across the table, smiles growing wistful.
‘Did I say you look really pretty tonight?’ Harri’s voice came out gruffer than usual. He wasn’t aware.
‘You already said that.’ He could swear Annie (or was she lost in the role of Anjali?) was looking a little peaky.
The fear of making her uncomfortable sent a little current of common sense to Harri’s brain, and he became aware of the bookshop around them once more. He broke eye contact and leaned back in the chair.
‘Was that okay? Will I do?’
Annie scrunched her eyelids closed then opened them again. He caught the deep whisky-coloured flashes of amber in her irises before she drew back her chair and stood. The dream of the fake date disappeared entirely.
‘ Hoo-ee! Anjali better watch out!’ she hooted. ‘There’s a new wolf in town. And he’s come down from them mountains hungry.’ She was mugging again, brash Southern accent and all. There was nothing to do but join in and hope the strange sensations of having got lost in their game were one-sided.
‘A wild Welsh wolf,’ he joked, returning the chairs to their spots, still dazed from whatever it was that just happened.
He couldn’t help thinking of meeting the teenage Annie for the first time. She’d arrived at their flat with little more than a stuffed backpack and an incandescent light shining through her skin. She’d made all the flatmates a grilled cheese and talked them into going out that night to the freshers’ meet and greet drinks.
He’d arrived in Aber shy and sheltered, having avoided social stuff and sports all through school, preferring to read at home, much to his dad’s bewilderment.
Annie had been delighted to meet him. She thought he was interesting, right from the off. Miraculously, he found he could make her laugh. When she spoke to him, she seemed to see right inside him, even when he’d been a stuttering, shy kid with nothing very interesting to say. She’d stuck by him while he came out of his shell, had encouraged it, in fact. He’d never made a friend as easily before or since. In fact, he hadn’t made any proper friends since. Now he was taking dating advice from her. He’d brought about the end of his long-term relationship just to be here with her for two weeks. If this wasn’t serious, unshakeable friendship, he didn’t know what was.
The door opening ended deeper introspection on Harri’s part, and Annie was putting her coat away, seemingly happily oblivious to Harri’s ruminations, thank goodness.
A bony, beige dog had trotted through the open door and was shaking himself so vigorously on the mat he overbalanced and had to sit down on his skinny question-mark tail.
Jowan followed behind his beloved mutt, giving him a gentle shove further inside so he could shut the door. ‘Go on, sit by the fire, Aldous,’ he told the creature.
He eyed first Harri, then Annie. ‘Not interruptin’ anything?’ he asked warily.
Annie clearly didn’t hear him. ‘ Aww , is this the famous Aldous?’ she asked, following the mutt to the fire.
Aldous circled once on the hearthrug before plopping himself down and generously offering Annie the chance of scratching his bald pink tummy.
‘Scourge of the county vets?’ Harri added, grateful for the reprieve. ‘He got his haircut then?’
‘Certainly did,’ Jowan said fondly. ‘And there was no biting whatsoever. Anjali found he has not a tooth left in his head, poor old boy.’
Harri looked at the little curly-coated terrier, wondering how old it could possibly be.
‘Live forever, Bedlingtons,’ Jowan told him, as if reading his mind. ‘At least, I hopes they can.’ The old pirate turned pensive.
‘You’re just in time for a cherry bun and tea, if you like?’ Annie offered.
Aldous watched her through sleepy eyes as she made for the kitchen. He’d have been offended at the lacklustre petting he’d received if he wasn’t so cosy by the fire.
Jowan followed her through the low door and Harri went behind him, his eye on the two shopping bags in Jowan’s grip.
‘Quiet on the slope today,’ Jowan confirmed, while Annie told him they hadn’t taken a penny all morning.
‘Some days is like that,’ he said, his accent as thick as Devonshire clotted cream.
Harri hung back by the cafe entrance while Annie poured out three mugs of tea and lifted the glass dome off the buns.
‘There we are,’ she said.
Before Jowan sat, he offered up the bags onto the cafe counter. ‘Minty sent these, for the shop. They were left over from a Big House wedding last Valentine’s. Thought you could brighten up the place.’
Harri took his tea and watched Annie unpack the love heart bunting, blush balloons, baby-pink tealights and scarlet tablecloths.
‘I can definitely use these!’ she said. ‘Tell Minty thank you from us.’
Jowan took a long slurp of tea. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘Oh, and there’s been a deal of interest in your silent reading club; half the village is plannin’ on coming. It might pay to make it a potluck with the baking. Reckon you’d run short on buns, knowing this lot.’
‘Got it,’ said Annie, happily.
‘I hear you’ve fallen into Mrs Crocombe’s clutches,’ Jowan went on, smile-lines radiating from the corners of his eyes.
‘Does everyone know?’ said Harri, dismayed.
Annie was setting about hanging some crocheted heart bunting along the shelves behind the cafe counter.
‘I should say so,’ said Jowan, gently. ‘There’s a pretty penny riding on young Annie here and our Kit.’
Annie laughed hard.
‘What about me?’ Harri acted affronted, folding his arms, all to cover the very real pang of offence he felt.
‘My money’s on you,’ Jowan twinkled.
Annie turned, an enquiring look on her face. ‘Who?’
‘The two of you,’ Jowan said, and Harri’s opinion of the bookish old pirate plummeted. He’d thought he was above Mrs C.’s betting book. Obviously not.
Jowan tried to cheer him up. ‘There’s no harm in it, not really. We need sommit to get us through the long winters.’
Annie set a cherry bun before him on a plate. ‘Harri’s nervous about tonight,’ she told Jowan, like Harri wasn’t standing right there.
‘Anjali’s the gentlest soul,’ Jowan replied. ‘Pretty as a picture an’ all. Nothing to be nervous about.’
Harri was about to grumble that it wasn’t Anjali he was worried about, but all the Clove Lore eyes upon him, when the door tinged open in the shop.
‘I’ll go!’ Annie swept out, leaving Jowan and Harri alone with the jumble of Valentine’s décor.
‘That one’s a firecracker,’ Jowan observed.
‘Yes she is.’
‘Delicate though, I reckon, underneath it all.’
Harri cocked his head, but he couldn’t say anything as Annie had her head around the door again.
‘Jowan?’ she was whispering. ‘Can you come through?’
When Harri passed into the shop behind Jowan he found the old man from the day before panting and dripping wet, fit to fall to his knees.
Jowan was dragging the armchair closer to the fire, sending Aldous scurrying for cover into Annie’s arms.
‘Sit, please. Let’s get you dry,’ Jowan said and the man obeyed, shuffling to the chair.
‘I’ll get a blanket,’ Harri said, running for the linen cupboard in his room.
‘I’m gonna bring you some tea,’ Annie told the man loudly. ‘And cake. Stay there.’
The man said nothing, only accepting their help.
Jowan went so far as removing the man’s sodden slippers, setting them on the hearth to steam. He wrapped the old man’s bare feet in a towel.
‘Are you on ’olday?’ Jowan asked him. ‘Visiting someone in Clove Lore?’
The man shook his head. His tiny spectacles were spotted with rain but he didn’t draw them off.
Annie, still gripping the unimpressed Aldous under one arm, set the tea and bun on the table by the man’s side.
The man set about feeding himself with a deliberate restraint, placing the paper napkin across his damp lap like this was the Ritz.
The three stood back and observed him, Aldous wriggling until he was comfortably curled up against Annie’s chest, totally disinterested in the stranger.
‘You don’t recognise him?’ Harri whispered. ‘We thought he must be a local.’
‘Never seen him before,’ Jowan said. ‘And I’ve lived ’ere all my life.’
‘What should we do? He seems lost,’ Annie said, rocking the little dog and hugging him close.
‘Do?’ Jowan said, perplexed. ‘Dunno. Might just be passing through.’
‘But he was here yesterday. He slept right there for a long time,’ said Annie.
Harri started at this. ‘You don’t think he’s been outdoors all night, do you?’
‘I hope not,’ Annie replied in a low voice, approaching the man again. ‘Is there anyone we can call for you? To pick you up? Any children? A carer?’
The man looked at her with an air of irritation. Harri saw the sharpness in his eye. It was the same look he’d given them yesterday when they’d suggested he’d been left behind by a coach group.
‘Reckon I’ll call Mint,’ Jowan said. ‘She’ll know what to do.’
Within the hour, the bookshop was full of whispering locals, and the old man was fast asleep, his cup drained and the cherry bun delicately nibbled away. Aldous had, unnoticed, crept up onto his lap and was also sleeping soundly in the warmth from the fire, happy to share the best seat in the place with the old stranger who, to the little dog’s expert nose, smelled of mothballs, Murray Mints, and conservators’ resin, not that anybody ever asked Aldous’s opinion about anything.
As they dozed, oblivious, the village elders, Minty, Mrs Crocombe and Mr Bovis, agreed he was no Clove Lore local; they’d recognise him if he was.
Two brothers, Monty and Tom, definitely identical twins, Harri concluded, had called in too, and confirmed he hadn’t been a fisherman pal of their late father’s, and they’d left again, but not before a friend of the twins, a young police officer by the name of Zo? arrived. She was in running gear, evidently not on duty today.
Minty spoke to her with discretion. ‘If he’s here; he’s in our care. No need to involve Social Services just yet,’ she said, and Harri had been surprised to see Zo? deferring to the lady of the manor.
Zo? made a few phone calls on her mobile and came back to let everyone know there were no active missing persons reports for anyone meeting the man’s description. ‘Not in the county, not in the country,’ she elaborated.
Minty’s eyebrows raised. ‘Check his pockets?’ she said.
Zo? did as she was told, deftly lifting the strange objects out one by one.
Harri tried to piece it all together. ‘A pocket watch, and are they matchboxes?’
‘Miniature books,’ Jowan corrected him. ‘Fine ones too. And that’s a mariner’s compass, not a watch.’
‘Has he come from the sea?’ Mrs Crocombe wondered aloud.
‘Wearing slippers?’ Bovis screwed up his face at the suggestion. ‘He’s a landlubber, if ever there was one. A grockel?’
Annie wanted to know what the heck a grockel was.
‘An outsider,’ Jowan confirmed, as Zo? reached into the sleeping man’s chest pocket and revealed the bow of an antique key. The man’s hand flew to hers and held the key fast as he jolted awake.
Zo? yelped in surprise. ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she told him once she’d collected herself. ‘I’m just looking for ID. Do you have any?’
The man fixed his eyes upon her. He didn’t look cross now; he looked afraid. Zo? stepped back.
‘I have to let the chief inspector know; in case a report comes in.’
‘Of a vagrant?’ Minty asked.
‘Of a missing vulnerable person. But there’s nothing out from any of the care homes nearby.’
‘Check them again,’ Minty instructed. ‘In the meantime, he ought to stay here.’
The man was struggling to reach his slippers on the hearth, rocking like a turtle on its back to get himself upright.
Harri knelt at the man’s feet. ‘It’s okay,’ he told him. ‘You can stay here and rest. We’ll look after you until we find your family.’
‘I can call a car to take him into custody, until Social Services can find him somewhere to stay,’ Zo? said. ‘That’s the proper procedure for an unidentified absconder from any institution.’
‘Custody? We don’t know he’s absconded. He could be a holidaymaker. And how long would all that take anyway?’ Minty said dismissively. ‘No, young Harri is right. He should stay here until his people come looking for him. Harri, go get him a pair of your socks, if you don’t mind.’ It was not a question. Harri went to his suitcase immediately.
Zo? admitted that there were only the cells at the police station to house him if she took him in. ‘But the chief would probably have him admitted to hospital right away anyway.’
Minty was even less keen on this idea. ‘Call the surgery. Dr Mateeva will come out to see him here. Jowan, ring the Siren’s Tail, have Bella send up a dish of her winter stew and a brandy.’
Harri was back and fitting his socks on the old man’s feet. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this; Minty ordering everyone around like she was queen of the whole village. Nevertheless, the flurry of obedient activity proved she as-near-as-dammit was.
‘What’s your name?’ Harri asked him softly under all the hubbub.
The man seemed to look around for something, struck by an idea, but it died away and his eyes fell dim again. He shook his head.
‘It’s okay,’ Harri told him.
He became aware of Annie’s soft eyes on him from behind the old man’s back. She smiled affectionately when he looked to her as the rest of the villagers dashed here and there: Mr Bovis to fetch one of his jumpers, Mrs Crocombe taking the man’s damp coat away to her washer-dryer behind her ice cream shop down the slope, and Zo? continuing to make phone calls, all while Minty held court.
Harri had time to register amongst the chaos how warm and how like a community this little corner of Devon felt suddenly. He was, at least for today, a part of something bigger than just him and Paisley and his barista job and his circumscribed little life split between what was now Paisley’s flat in Port Talbot and his parents’ place in Neath. It felt oddly reassuring.
Annie came to sit at the other side of the old man and the sleeping dog, and she patted the back of Harri’s hand, just for a second, letting him know without words that she felt the same about the funny little bookshop and all its drama, while the lost stranger nodded off once more.