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 Zoë 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.
Zoë 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. Zoë 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,’ Zoë 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.
Zoë 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 Zoë 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.
Chapter Ten
Accidentally Annwyl
A handful of booklovers called in through the rest of the afternoon and Annie had seen to them but only rung up one title (a new children’s picture book), making today’s total sales a meagre six pounds ninety-nine.
By five, the old man had napped, picked at a really delicious-smelling stew from the Siren’s Tail and been examined by the doctor, who’d taken one look at the brandy Minty had ordered for him and pushed the glass away saying it could do more harm than good. Minty ended up downing it herself to settle her agitation.
The old man had fiercely refused the blood and urine samples, upsetting everyone, uttering over and over again, ‘NO!’ The doctor had insisted it was that or an ambulance, and he’d finally agreed with a lot of consternation. When asked if he took any medication, he insisted he did not but then conceded that perhaps he did, he wasn’t sure.
