‘I guess you’re right.’ He answered quickly enough to launch a dagger of rejection that this time landed squarely in her breast. She looked down, not for the first time that day, to see if she could see any injury. Her chest heaved as sobs continued to build inside her. Her distress was evident and she wished she had better control of it, wanting to talk calmly, but with her hurt causing pain to every fibre of her being, there was very little she could do about it.
‘Why . . . why did you wait until today to change your mind? All the weeks leading up to this, all the times we talked about our future and you had a chance to say you weren’t happy, or that you’d changed your mind. We sat there with Reverend Pimm and agreed to always communicate! There were so many opportunities for us to figure stuff out, or at least for you to let me down with my dignity intact. Why let me get ready and arrive at the church like . . . like an idiot?’ The situation became more monstrous as she voiced it. And with the protective layer of doubt, the cushion of hope that had meant it might not be the end fully slipped from her mind and, finally, shock subsided, nudged out by the beginnings of fury.
‘I didn’t know quite how strongly she felt and I never thought they’d cut me off.’ His answer was vanilla, weak and irritating because of it. She had been put aside for the promise of money and in that moment she despised him for his lack of backbone, hating his voice, everything about him.
‘You really are the worst kind of human being,’ she fired.
‘I feel it!’
‘Good! I’ve put everything on hold for so long, working part-time jobs and waiting for my life to start because of all we planned, all your promises. You told me not to go full-time in any one job where I might have a chance of working my way up the ladder, you said it was because we’d make plans together, that we might travel, that there might be a place for me at Mortimer’s, that we’d have a baby, build a life, a home! God, I am an idiot!’
She pushed her palms into her face and rubbed away the never-ending stream of tears. ‘I actually feel sorry for you, Digby.’ She stood and wiped the grass from her legs, before slipping the narrow engagement ring from her finger, the ring given to her in lieu of the engagement ring he had promised her: his grandmother’s ring, which had never materialised. ‘Here’s the ring you decided was better because your gran’s ring was “old-fashioned”. Was that the truth or another lie? Did you simply not want me to have it? Maybe your mother decided I wasn’t worthy of it?’
The way he blinked told her this was in fact the case and she wanted to hurl the meaningless band of gold into the ocean. Not that she had cared, not really, but now it was just another clue to the sorry ending to their story. As she gave it back to him, his hand, she noted, was shaking as much as hers.
‘I do,’ she pressed. ‘I feel sorry for you, Digby, because I would have been wonderful to you. I meant every word I said, even if you didn’t, and I would have worked hard to make you happy. But now I can’t even stand to look at you, and that’s a shame for you, I think, to have fallen so far in my view.’
His expression was one of anguish; it seemed that her words had hit home and this brought her an ounce of satisfaction.
‘Merrin, look, we need to talk about what happens now; we could bump into each other when I’m home and—’
‘This is not your home!’ She cut him short. ‘It’s mine! My home! And as to what happens now?’ She balled her shaking fingers into fists as she stared at him. ‘What happens now is that I pick myself up and get on with my life and you jump back into your mother’s apron pocket and catch the crumbs she throws you. And every day you live like that, know that you are not good enough – not for me, anyway.’
‘I thought you loved me!’ he called as his eyes misted.
‘I do.’ She whispered the saddest fact, then whimpered, a wounded sound over which she had little control. ‘And that’s the hardest part. But I will learn not to.’
Making her way back along the coastal path towards Port Charles, she knew without a doubt that his eyes would stay glued to the horizon and he would not do her the courtesy of watching her walk away.
She nodded to herself. I will. I will learn not to love you.
And then a thought struck her that was so obvious it brought some small amount of relief. I will learn not to love anyone in this way ever again and I will not trust anyone in the way I have trusted you, because this feeling – like I might break, like I couldn’t care less right now if I live or die – this is not worth it, not worth it at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MERRIN
Merrin concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Ignoring the physical pain in her chest, her narrowed throat and her eyes now bitterly sore from sobbing, she gripped her trainers in her fingers and stumbled her way along the harbour wall, counting the steps and the moments until she could fall through the front door of the little cottage and into her mother’s arms.
‘I want to disappear . . .’ she whispered.
‘Ah, there she is!’ came the shout.
She looked up in time to see Mr and Mrs Everit walking briskly towards her, still in their Sunday best and clearly making the most of the effort they had gone to, parading around the harbour. Her heart sank, wanting nothing less than this interaction in her current state of distress.
‘Merrin, you poor little lamb,’ the woman called, and waved as she drew close. ‘What can we say?’ Mrs Everit reached out and pulled her into an awkward hug. ‘If I’ve said it once today, I’ve said it a thousand times, you were the prettiest bride I ever did see.’
Her stomach bunched with something close to shame to hear the words of falsehood, because she might have looked pretty, but she was no bride. Shrugging herself free, she took a step backwards, hopefully out of reach, whilst trying to acknowledge, as best as she was able, the misplaced compliment.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, rubbing her thumb on the underside of her finger, where she used to feel the bump of a gold band; just another thing that had been taken away from her today and that she would have to get used to.
‘Not that it makes what happened any easier for you, I’m sure.’ The woman tutted and shook her head with a look of abject pity. ‘Now will you look at the state of your face, what a thing! Of course, I can’t imagine what you are going through. Mr Everit was as keen as a puppy offered sausage on our wedding day, couldn’t get me up the aisle quick enough.’
Merrin glanced at Mr Everit, who gave a salient nod in confirmation.
‘But you listen to me, girl, I’ll tell you what I’ve told everyone I’ve seen: you are only young and there’s plenty of time to find someone who will take you on. Didn’t I say that, Walt?’ She nudged her husband, who again nodded his confirmation. ‘People will stop talking about it in time.’
People are talking? Of course they are! They all are! Merrin felt her face colour at the confirmation of her worst nightmare.
‘And then you can get back on the horse!’ Mrs Everit exclaimed. ‘Don’t you worry, Merrin, someone will want you!’
‘I . . .’ Words of goodbye failed her.
‘Merrin! Merrin!’ She heard the voice calling behind her and turned to see the Reverend Pimm, who, in his jeans and shirt, took a second longer for her to place than was comfortable. He signalled from the pavement in front of the pub and beckoned to her.