‘I’ll be right with you,’ a man’s voice told them. ‘I’m just on my knees with Des O’Connor and Val Doonican, and how many blokes do you know who would admit to that?’
Before she had set eyes on the voice’s owner, Clara had decided she would like him: he sounded so cheerful, a real blast of fresh air.
The old woman took a few painfully slow steps through the shop and disappeared behind an old gas cooker.
‘Hello, Mum, you back already with Samson? He found you all right, then? What’s wrong?’
This was progress, thought Clara. They’d found the son. After a torrent of jumbled words, he appeared with his mother. In his arms he carried a cardboard box of old LPs.
Clara explained who she was and what had happened in the
supermarket. At the man’s side, his mother kept muttering something that sounded like ‘Bunny. Blow bunny,’ and twice showed him her empty purse. Then she started to cry. Her son placed the box of records on the floor and put his arm around her. ‘Hey, it’s okay, mum, it doesn’t matter. You took the wrong purse, that was all. It could have happened to anyone. Now, why don’t you sit down, and I’ll make you a cup of tea?’
Helping her out of her coat, he hung it on a convenient coat-stand and settled her into a chocolate brown leatherette sofa. Clara was struck by his kindness and patience and that he didn’t seem at all embarrassed that his mother was crying in front of a stranger. He was well over six feet tall and struck Clara as very much the gentle giant. She put him somewhere in his mid-fifties. He was overweight, but his bulk seemed to emphasise his naturally warmhearted manner.
‘Would you excuse me for a minute?’ he said to Clara, when the worst of the tears were over. ‘I’ll just go and put the kettle on for a brew.’ In his absence, Clara joined his mother on the sofa. The woman reached out to Clara’s arm, squeezed it as she had in the supermarket, and eventually produced, ‘Bes-sie. Name … Bessie.’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Bessie. We forgot to introduce ourselves earlier, didn’t we, what with all those rude people at the checkout?
My name’s Clara, and in the rocking chair is my son, Ned.’
The anxious expression gave way to a smile. ‘Juggly poy. Juggly pies.’
‘Juggly poy?’ Clara repeated, hoping for enlightenment.
‘She’s saying he’s a lovely boy, and has lovely eyes.’
The son was back. He set a mug of tea on a small reproduction sherry table beside his mother, even rustled up a coaster from somewhere.
‘I’m Archie Merryman, by the way,’ he said, holding out a large, strong hand to Clara, ‘and I’m extremely grateful to you. My mother had a stroke not so long ago and the words don’t always come out as they should.’
‘So I understand. I had what I thought was a brilliant idea of getting her to write things down, only I didn’t realise it would be so difficult for her.’
‘The stroke did its worst down your right side, Mum, didn’t it?’ he said, turning to his mother to include her in the conversation.
In the silence that followed, Clara realised that the music had stopped, as had the creaking of the rocking chair. She looked to see where Ned was, and located him on the other side of the shop where he was inspecting a commode. ‘What’s this for, Mummy?’ he asked, his voice echoing slightly.
‘I’ll tell you later.’ She glanced back at the owner of the shop, who was smiling. ‘Children,’ she said, with a shrug, ‘questions, questions, questions. And at the least appropriate moment.’
‘Eshooks berryou,’ Bessie said.
Clara looked to Archie for help.
He interpreted, without a second’s hesitation: ‘She said he looks like you.’
‘Yes, poor lad, there’s no disputing his pedigree. You don’t mind him poking around, do you?’
‘Of course not. It’s good to see someone enjoying themselves. He’s a grand little chap. Are you here visiting Deaconsbridge?’
‘Is it that obvious we’re interlopers? I thought we were blending in rather nicely.’
He laughed. ‘I’ve been here more than twenty years, and I still stick out like a sore thumb. But where are my manners? I should have offered you a drink. What can I get you?’
‘That’s kind, but no thanks. I’ve promised the chip off the old block lunch in the Mermaid cafe.’ Ned had moved from the
commode to a coffee table where he’d found a Star Wars jigsaw. ‘No, don’t tip it out, Ned,’ she called, seeing him ready to settle in for the afternoon - there were enough things here to keep even the most hyperactive child amused. She stood up to go. ‘Goodbye, Bessie, it was lovely meeting you. You take care now, won’t you?’ Then to Archie Merryman, she said, ‘I know it’s a cheek, but would it be all right if I left our van outside your shop while we have something to eat? We won’t be very long.’
‘Sure. It’s the least I can do for you, sweetheart. Enjoy your lunch.’
The bell tinkled merrily behind them as they left, and while they waited for the traffic to pass so that they could cross the road to go back to the market square, Clara thought how nice Archie Merryman was. ‘A juggly man,’ she said to herself, with a smile.
‘It’s beginning to feel like home, this place,’ Clara said to Ned, when they were sitting at the table they had used yesterday and had been served by the same waitress, whose name was Shirley.
‘Why couldn’t that lady speak properly?’ Ned asked, while they waited for their food.
She told him that Bessie Merryman had had a stroke, and tried to explain what that was without frightening Ned. ‘It can happen when you’re young, but usually when you get older.’
He thought about this, tracing a finger along the squares on the checked tablecloth. ‘Will it happen to Nanna and Granda?’ he said, when his finger reached the salt cellar and knocked it over.
‘I hope not, but we never know what’s round the corner for any of us. It’s what life is all about.’
‘Why was she crying?’
‘Well, in the supermarket people weren’t treating her very kindly.
The man in the smart suit probably doesn’t think about anyone but himself, and the young girl on the till was probably worrying about what she ought to wear that night to go out. To them, poor Bessie was a nuisance who they couldn’t be bothered to understand or help.
She knew that, and it was horribly embarrassing for her and made her very upset.’
‘I didn’t like that man.’
‘Was that why you kept stepping on his foot?’
He looked at her coyly from beneath his long lashes.
‘I thought so, you little rascal.’
The cafe was even busier today and it was a while before the waitress brought them their meal. She explained that it was always like this when the weather turned wet. ‘It brings the walkers down from the hills and moors in search of something warm to stick their ribs together,’ she said. ‘It’ll be crazy like this for some days.’
‘I thought you said the weather was breaking at the weekend.
What went wrong with the forecast?’
She wiped her hands on her red overall. ‘I was only out by a couple of days. And any road, we have our own climate round here. We’re a law unto ourselves.’
‘It means that, like any true Deaconite, she makes it up as she goes along.’
The three turned to see who had spoken.
‘Ah, and what would you know about the weather, Archie
Merryman? Are those flowers for me by any chance?’
He gave her a wink. ‘Another bunch, another time, Shirley. Mind if I join you for a couple of seconds? I won’t keep you,’ he said to Clara.
‘No, no, of course not. Please, sit down. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. It’s just that I forgot to pay you back for my mother’s shopping. And … and I also wanted to give you these, to say thank you for what you did.’ He handed the flowers across the table.
Clara was touched. ‘I don’t know what to say except thank you.
They’re lovely.’ She breathed in the heady scent of the purple freesias.
‘Mm … wonderful. But there was no need for you to go to all this trouble.’
‘I’ll have to disagree with you on that point. And this is for you, Ned.’ From a carrier-bag that Clara hadn’t noticed until now, he pulled out the Star Wars jigsaw Ned had been looking at in the shop.
‘Ooh, thank you,’ he said, putting down his knife and fork with a clatter and kneeling up on his chair for a better look.
‘This is very generous of you,’ Clara said, ‘but really—’
‘No buts, sweetheart. Definitely no buts.’ From his shirt pocket he retrieved a roll of money. ‘Now, then, how much was my mother’s shopping?’
‘Glory be, do you always carry that amount of money round with you?’
‘In my trade, cash is the best currency.’
‘Well, you can put it back in your pocket. I don’t need
reimbursing.’
He frowned. ‘That arrangement really doesn’t suit me. I’m used to paying my whack.’
‘It was hardly anything. I was just pleased I was there to help.’
He turned to Ned who, while tracing the outline of Luke
Sky walker on the lid of the jigsaw box with a finger, was working on a long strand of spaghetti. His cheeks were sucked in hard and his lips were pasted with Bolognese sauce. ‘Ned, you have a peach of a mother. You take good care of her, won’t you?’
Clara laughed. ‘Please, stop it, you’re embarrassing him. To say nothing of what you’re doing to me.’
‘In that case, I’d better go.’ He stood up abruptly.
Disappointed to see him leave so soon, she said, ‘Have you left your mother on her own in the shop?’
‘No, Samson’s with her now. He got held up in traffic and didn’t make it in time to fetch Mum from the supermarket as we’d
arranged. I’m trying to give her as much independence as possible, but it’s not easy. Anyway, enough of the moaning from me. Are you leaving Deaconsbridge today or will we be lucky enough to see you around town for a few days yet?’
‘If I can find a suitable campsite nearby, there’s every chance you might see us again. Our plans are fairly flexible.’
‘We’re going to see the Mermaid Cavern,’ Ned piped up. ‘And I’ve got a mermaid of my own. She lives in my pocket. Do you want to see her?’
‘A mermaid in your pocket? Now, this I have to see.’ He watched as Ned dug around inside his pockets. ‘You know the cavern’s not open yet, don’t you?’ he said to Clara.
‘Yes, Shirley gave us the bad news yesterday.’
‘Mummy,’ Ned said, his voice wavering and his face crumpling, ‘I can’t find Mermy.’ His lower lip wobbled. He got down from his chair, came round to Clara and buried his tomatoey face in her lap.
‘I’ve lost Mermy,’ he wailed.
Ned was inconsolable. He had only ever mislaid Mermy once before, during an overnight stay with Nanna and Granda when Clara was away on business. He was so distraught that his grandparents had ransacked the house, combed every square inch of the garden and turned the car inside out. When, in desperation, they emptied the kitchen bin they had found Mermy hiding inside a crushed tea-bag box. Nobody knew how she had got there, but her reappearance had instantly dried Ned’s tears.
Clara knew now that if she was going to calm her son, she would have to convince him that, no matter what it took, she would find Mermy.
With most of the occupants of the crowded cafe looking
sympathetically in their direction, Clara lifted Ned on to her lap. She took a paper napkin from the holder on the table and wiped his eyes.
‘It’s okay, Ned,’ she soothed, ‘we’ll find her. Don’t worry. She probably slipped out of your pocket in the supermarket.’
‘Or she might be back at my shop,’ Archie said, bending down so that he was eye to eye with Ned.
But Ned was far from consoled. ‘Someone might have taken her,’
he whimpered, his breath catching in shaky gulps. He buried his face in Clara’s shoulder.
Shirley came over. ‘You been upsetting the little boy with your ugly mug, Archie?’ she asked.
Clara explained what had happened.
‘Oh, dearie me,’ Shirley said. ‘Nothing for it but to retrace your steps. Where’ve you been today?’
Ned peeled himself away from Clara’s shoulder. ‘Mummy, I think I know where she is.’
‘You do?’
He sniffed loudly. ‘I left her at Mr Liberty’s house.’
Clara didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. A return visit to Mermaid House and its splenetic owner - just how much fun could a girl cope with? ‘Are you sure?’
Another messy sniff and a nod. ‘I was playing with her at the table when you were talking to Mr Liberty.’
Clara vaguely remembered Ned inspecting Mermy with a magnifying glass. ‘And you haven’t seen her since?’ she clarified. ‘Not in Winnie, perhaps?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, that looks like it’s settled,’ Archie said. ‘Where does this Mr Liberty live, by the way? Will you have far to go?’
‘He lives in a castle,’ Ned said, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. ‘He has a tower and I’ve been up it. And he has a secret passageway.’
‘This wouldn’t be Mr Liberty of Mermaid House, Hollow Edge Moor, would it?’ asked Shirley.
‘You know him?’ Clara said.
‘Probably safe to say that most folk know of him,’ Shirley answered. ‘He comes in here every Friday lunchtime. None of the others,’ she tilted her head in the direction of the kitchen, ‘will serve him. I’m the only one thick-skinned enough. The man never has a civil thing to say for himself. If I was being polite I’d say he was a poor old fool who was losing his marbles. But if I was being honest, I’d say he was a disagreeable old crosspatch who ought to learn some manners.’
‘You don’t think he’s just a lonely old man who’s a touch
eccentric?’ Clara wondered why she felt the need to defend him.
‘Try serving him in here when you’re rushed off your feet and he’s banging his spoon on the table to grab your attention.’
‘She’s a sweet, tolerant little thing, isn’t she?’ Archie said, when Shirley had moved on to clear another table.
‘So what’s your opinion of Mr Liberty?’
‘If he’s the same chap I ran into at the hospital the other day, I’d say he’s a man of elusive charm and has a way to go in the tact and diplomacy stakes. What will you do? Go up to Hollow Edge Moor now and see if the little lad’s toy is there, or would you like a hand checking out places closer to home first?’