Follow Me Home (45 page)

‘He seems fine to me – he's about six weeks old and already smiling at everyone. He loves Daisy.'

I'm glad the baby's thriving. It's early days, but hopefully he'll be one of the lucky ones and the hole will close on its own within the first couple of years of his life.

‘Do you mind if I go and watch the midnight barrel?' I say after a while. ‘I'll wave.'

‘That's okay with me.' Emily gazes out of the window. ‘I don't like the feeling of being crushed among all those people – I'd rather watch from a distance. Wish Murray luck if you get close to him. He and Lewis were somewhere by the Dog and Duck the last time I heard from them. What's the time?'

I check my watch. ‘Eleven thirty. I'd better grab my coat.'

‘Have fun.'

‘I'll try to,' I say, a little concerned now that I might run into Lewis, whom I've avoided so far.

‘Have you seen Gran?' Emily says suddenly.

‘She was here when I came back in from the last barrel. She said she was going to bed, or, more
accurately, I suggested she should go. I'll check on her on my way out.'

However, when I knock on her door and push it ajar, her bed is empty, the duvet on the floor. ‘Gran? Where are you?' I turn the light on. Her handbag isn't in its usual place on her bedside chair. A pulse of doubt begins to beat at my temple. ‘I can't find her.'

‘What do you mean?' Emily says, joining me on the landing.

‘She isn't in her room.' I run downstairs. Her coat is gone and her shoes. ‘She's gone out.'

‘Out?' Emily frowns as Daisy begins to cry upstairs where she left her. ‘How can she go out on a night like this? It's cold and she's too fragile to stay on her feet in that crowd of people. What does she think she's doing?'

‘She doesn't think – that's the problem. Oh god, this is all my fault.'

‘Of course it isn't.'

‘She wanders off all the time – I forgot to lock the door.'

‘Are you saying what I think you're saying?' Emily exclaims.

I nod. ‘It's the only way . . .'

‘We'll talk about this later. First, we must find her,' Emily says. ‘If only Frosty could talk.'

‘You must have heard something.'

‘Nothing at all. It's been pretty noisy,' she says, looking hurt. ‘She can't have travelled very far on a night like this.'

‘She could have gone down to the river, or she could
be halfway to Talymouth by now. I wish you'd kept an eye on her.'

‘Is this what it's like, Zara? When you said ‘keep an eye', I didn't realise I had to watch her like a hawk. I didn't imagine she'd wander off like that.'

‘Let's not fight. Let's concentrate on finding her. You stay here in case she comes home.' I run down the stairs and outside into the street, jogging up through the crowds and pushing my way to outside King's Head House, where Murray, wearing a ragged old sweatshirt full of holes from last year's tar barrel and covered in smuts, stands beside a giant barrel that's been soaked in tar. His hands are wrapped with layers of rags to protect his skin from the heat. Lewis is beside him, his hair gleaming in the light of the streetlamp. My chest tightens because, as I feared, seeing him brings the feelings I had for him flooding back, the pang of love and the pain of loss, but I dismiss them quickly. I have to find Gran.

‘Murray,' I yell, but he doesn't hear me over the sound of shouting and cheering.

‘All set,' he bellows, and one of the other local farmers – Chris, I think – lights the final and heaviest barrel of the night and helps hoist it onto Murray's shoulders, where it burns, spitting sparks and a tongue of fire.

‘Lewis!' I yell at the top of my voice. I push in closer as Murray starts to run the barrel down the street, until I can feel the flames lick at my skin as the barrel passes too dose for comfort.

‘Zara, what the hell are you doing?' Lewis says, whisking me out of the way.

‘Trying to find Gran. I need help. She's gone missing.'

‘I saw Kev not so long ago,' he shouts in my ear. ‘He was outside the flower shop chatting to a group of tourists who hadn't realised what they'd let themselves in for when they decided to see one of Talyton's local traditions.' He takes my hand and pulls me through the crowd, jostling people aside as we push against the flow of people. ‘There he is.' Lewis waves and, within five minutes, Kev is doing his best to alert his colleagues to look out for an elderly woman of Gran's description, although I've struggled with what she's wearing because I'm really not sure, apart from her coat. Lewis and I make our way towards King's Head House, hoping to spot my errant grandmother.

‘Do your parents know?' Lewis asks.

‘I'll try them now.' I call my mum, who is safely ensconced at a friend's house on the new estate, having watched the earlier barrels for the children and teenagers. ‘Gran's gone missing,' I say abruptly. ‘Lewis and I and the police are searching for her. I thought you should know.'

I'm not sure of my mother's reaction because my father takes over the conversation.

‘Where are you, Zara?'

‘At the top of Market Square.' I watch as Lewis starts asking the onlookers who remain, milling around, if they've seen a lost OAP. ‘I thought I'd walk around the one-way system first.'

‘I'll take your mum down to the river,' Dad says. ‘Keep in touch, won't you?'

‘It's a plan,' Lewis says, as I cut the call, ‘but forgive me when I say I don't think you'll find her there. Rosemary likes bright lights and company. She isn't going to wander off along the river by herself.'

‘So where would you look, seeing you know her so well?' I say, trying not to sound sarcastic when Lewis is, after all, being helpful. He could be watching Murray and the other barrel rollers, jostling for possession of the barrel and lost in a plume of smoke.

‘The funfair,' he says. ‘I bet you any money that's where she's gone.'

I hope he's right, I think, as we jog down towards the Centurion Bridge and the Green, following the flashing lights and the cacophony of music and screams of fear and delight.

‘This really is like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack,' Lewis observes as we step into the magical world of the fairground.

‘Should we split?' I ask tentatively.

‘Good idea. You take the centre while I do the stalls on the perimeter. We'll meet back here at the Hoopla. Don't worry. We'll find her.'

I make my way past the Wild West shooting range and the Lucky Dip, spooked by the enormous fluffy toys: tigers, bright yellow lions and puffins. Where is she? Am I going to find her before she freezes to death or falls and breaks her hip? I look across to the Haunted House ride, a conveyor-belt trip through a garish pink castle, and back towards the Teacup ride where a single
grey-haired woman, dressed in a flowing nightie, is spinning around with one hand in the air and the other holding onto the bar in front of her.

‘Gran?' It's definitely my grandmother and I give the attendant a good telling off, I'm ashamed to say, to assuage my anger and guilt at myself for not locking her indoors.

‘What were you thinking of? She's eighty.'

‘She had the right money. I don't need to ask for proof of age,' the attendant grumbles, letting her off the ride. I step forwards and take her arm, noticing how her eyes are flicking back and forth as she tries to steady herself.

‘Oh, that's such fun,' she chuckles. ‘Sarah, you must have a turn.'

‘I'm good, thank you. And I'm Zara, not Sarah – not that it matters.' I'm just glad to find her alive and well. ‘Where's your coat? And your purse?'

‘I gave them to a nice young man to look after while I was on the ride.'

‘Oh, great.' My heart sinks again. ‘I don't suppose he's hung around to give them back to you.'

‘I have no reason to doubt him,' Gran says.

‘Who was it?'

‘His name escapes me, but he was very kind, although he did make me miss my turn on the Big Wheel.'

How naïve is that, when Talyton St George is filled with strangers tonight. I swear under my breath. ‘You do realise we'll have to go and cancel your bank cards,' I say crossly.

‘I left them at home. I'm only carrying cash.'

‘How much?' I ask.

She smirks. ‘I raided the till. I'll go to the bank tomorrow.'

I'm lost for words, and my grandmother's hands are turning bluish-purple in the lights along the walkway as I rest my jacket around her shoulders and lead her back towards the Hoopla.

‘Come on, Gran.'

‘I don't want to go home.'

‘It's getting late. It must be past your bedtime.' I change the subject. ‘Look, there's Lewis. Do you remember him?'

Lewis comes over to greet her. ‘Hello, Rosemary.'

‘Hello, young man. You're Zara's husband,' she says brightly. As I attempt to correct her misconception, she continues, ‘Have you come to take me home?'

‘Yes, I have,' he says gently. ‘You look as if you've been having fun.'

‘I've been on all the rides,' she says, smiling as she takes his arm. ‘I feel quite giddy.'

‘And cold, I should imagine.' Lewis places his hand over hers as though to warm it up.

‘It's all right,' I say, meaning, don't worry, she's my problem, but he seems keen to accompany us back to the shop, weaving through the crowds that are beginning to disperse now that the final barrel has been run. It lies burning in the street, a smoking skeleton of charred wood and incandescent white metal, watched over by the rollers who will rescue the hoops to sell to the highest bidder as souvenirs.

I catch Kev on our way to let him know the good news. He's at the foot of a lamppost, trying to talk a drunk down from the top.

‘The show's over,' he calls. ‘Come on down, matey.'

‘Good luck with that,' I say. ‘I don't envy you your job.'

‘It has its moments.' Kev smiles. ‘I'm glad Rosemary's turned up safe and well.'

I let Lewis and Gran into the shop where the rest of the family, apart from Murray, is waiting anxiously.

‘Thank goodness,' Mum says, taking my grandmother's hand. ‘What did you think you were doing, you silly old fool? You worried us sick.'

‘She went to the fair, didn't you, Gran?' I say in explanation. ‘She's okay, a bit cold, that's all.'

‘Should we call the doctor?' Emily asks when we join her upstairs with the girls.

‘No,' I say. ‘All she needs is a hot drink, some warm clothes and a seat by the fire. There's no harm done, apart from the fact she's lost her coat and a purse full of cash. She says she gave it to someone to hold onto for her, but she can't recall who it was.'

Mum smiles ruefully. ‘They'll be miles away by now.'

‘There's no use crying over spilt milk,' Gran says, joining in, and I have to agree. There are bigger things to worry about, as my mother reminds me a while later, having asked me to join her downstairs in the shop on the pretence of checking the till. The others are drinking tea and eating honey on toast, including Murray, who's joined us to have Emily attend to the
inevitable burns on his head, neck and hands. Poppy is awake now, too, playing with Frosty and wishing aloud that she was at home with Sherbet.

I open the till with Mum looking on. It's empty apart from a few pennies and ten-pence pieces.

‘There's a place in the old people's home that Dad and I looked at earlier this year. I rang them last week.'

It's a statement of fact and I have no stomach to argue. The till snaps shut.

‘You were right. I was wrong,' I say eventually. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘You can see this can't go on. Someone, probably Gran, is going to get hurt, or worse.'

‘I know. I'll speak to her tomorrow.'

‘Thank you, darling.' Mum embraces me. ‘Let's forget any unpleasantness that there's been over the past few months and start again without blame and recriminations. We all want what's best for Gran, for you, and for the family as a whole.'

Tears prick my eyes and the bitter taste of resentment towards my parents for what I've perceived as a lack of empathy for my grandmother dissolves like a fruit sour.

‘What about Norris?' I ask.

‘I'll take Norris.'

‘You don't like cats.'

‘You didn't like dogs, but it didn't stop you. It will be one less thing for Gran to fret about, knowing Norris is being looked after.' Mum smiles wanly. ‘It's been quite a night. Dad and I are going home, but we'll be back in the morning to open up.'

I can do that.'

‘We have to share the responsibility between us, both looking out for Gran and keeping the shop running while we decide what has to be done with it. It's only fair. Let me know how it goes.'

‘If she'll talk,' I say ruefully. I feel as if I lost Gran tonight.'

‘Well, you did.'

I don't mean it in that way. What I mean is, it's like she's gone, the person she was has walked out into the darkness, leaving this person who's vaguely familiar, but not the same. Everything has changed.'

My mind runs ahead. It isn't just my grandmother, I'm about to lose my home, and so soon after the blow of letting Lewis go. Life's a . . . I recall how Gran once described it, not as a bitch, but as a beach filled with pebbles, each pebble an experience that you might pick up either to keep in your hand or throw into the sea.

‘It's going to be a tough time, but we'll get through it.' Mum gazes at me as I struggle to contain my emotions. ‘Are you going to be all right tonight, love, or would you like me to stay?'

‘Would you mind?' I leap at the offer.

‘I'm offering, aren't I?' Mum gives me a half-smile as I thank her, and soon after, Dad leaves, along with Emily and the others. I'm aware of Lewis looking at me, as if he's trying to tell me something. I'm eternally grateful that he helped look for my grandmother, but I don't want to open old wounds.