It had been only a week after her almost wedding when, quite by accident, Merrin had ended up in this fancy resort in a market town on the edge of Bristol. Having driven along the M5 in her battered, beloved Vera Wilma Brown with her heart and spirit in tatters, eyes swollen from sobbing and a pain in her chest, longing for the home she had only just turned away from, she saw a sign for Thornbury. Her little car, in need of fuel, slowed and she too had a fancy for a restorative cup of tea and so followed the signs to this place she had never heard of. Knowing it was vital she got back on her feet as quickly as possible, her intention was that after a quick rest stop, she would carry on to the bright lights of Bristol, find a job – any job – and go from there. She would show Digby Mortimer, she would show them all that she was not destroyed by the event that had rocked her world, but only thrown a little off course.
Thornbury was a pretty place with a traditional high street crammed with pubs, coffee shops, half-timber-framed buildings and double-fronted Victorian terraces painted in pinks, pale blues and the colour of clotted cream. She noted the groups of women chatting with a coffee in one hand while they rocked the handles of a buggy with the other, and how she envied them. Older men sat outside the pub nursing pints, having animated conversations. People raised their hands in greeting to friends and neighbours on the other side of the street and it felt nice to be among it, as if she could inhale the friendly atmosphere of the place and use it to help heal her broken self. What was it Reverend Pimm had said? ‘Put yourself back together and that’ll be your job for a while; take time to do it, let it be your preoccupation.’
Well, Thornbury felt as good a place as any to do just that. A small market town where people seemed neighbourly, a bit like her beloved Port Charles, which had for her become tainted. Digby had done that. Taken it from her.
Merrin shook thoughts of home from her thoughts and considered what Ruby would say about the place.
‘Bloody boring!’
And Bella?
‘Not a decent fella in sight.’
‘Possibly, but it’s not you who is thinking about staying here, it’s me.’ Her whispered response.
At Milbury Court she had found her niche. Hard work, a no-nonsense attitude to any crisis and a warm manner had clearly made her stand out to the Milbury Fortescue family.
It had felt like a lucky happenstance when, sitting in a coffee shop on the high street, exhausted, the wind knocked from her sails and mentally frail, she had opened the local paper and spied an advertisement: ‘Staff Wanted. Accommodation provided’. On that day, still reeling from her loss and riven with humiliation, she had parked in the shadow of the grand and daunting castle façade and tidied her hair. Then, drawing on every bit of courage she could muster, she had raised her trembling fist and knocked on the office door.
The first person she had called was her sister.
‘I just got myself a job.’ Her words sounded surreal; here she was, building a new life out of the rubble that remained of her confidence, trying to forge on physically when her heart yearned to be in the place she loved.
‘Well.’ There had been a long and awkward pause. ‘That’s that then. You really are staying away.’
‘I think—’
‘We know what you think, Merry, that you can do better without us around reminding you.’
‘It’s not that I think I can do better, it’s about what I need.’ Her voice had cracked; her sister’s suggestion that this was a glorious life choice was wounding.
Ruby had spoken slowly, tearfully. ‘I told you, I promised you I’d help you, be there for you, me and Bella both did, but we can’t do it while you’re God only knows where!’
She heard the croak to her sister’s voice.
‘I still need you and Bells, of course I do. In fact, I need you more . . .’
Hindsight helped her see that this was when the frost had formed on their conversations, not that being able to identify the moment made it hurt any less.
In some ways, the last six months had flown by, but when she thought of home it felt like years since she had been there. She was often invited to join in with the other live-in staff, who all seemed nice enough, and who socialised together after hours. But quiz nights and karaoke, five-a-side football and ten-pin-bowling leagues were not for her. Merrin was too bruised to join in, wanting to keep herself to herself and figure out how to put what had happened behind her. She was, in fact, uninterested in making new friends, not when she was yearning for the old ones she had in Port Charles. Plus, the idea of having to explain how it was she had come to be here and the circumstances that led to her packing up a bag and jumping in her trusty vehicle without too much of a plan was more than she could stand. If people didn’t know what had happened, then she didn’t have to face the daily shame of them judging or pitying her too.
And now here she was on this fine morning, walking briskly along the corridor towards the main reception, where she was to relieve Fred, the night porter, from his duties. Fred was nowhere to be seen and the main phone line was ringing. Merrin picked it up, raising her index finger and smiling apologetically to the man who walked up at that moment and now stood in front of her, tapping his room key and its overly large fob on the wooden reception desk. If it was an action designed to irritate, it was surely working.
‘Sorry, one sec,’ she mouthed, and smiled again, hoping for his understanding, as she tucked her short, bobbed hair behind her left ear and turned her attention to the phone.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Thank you for calling Milbury Court. How may I help you?’
‘Yes, hello.’ The man spoke slowly, so slowly it was all she could do not to ask him to hurry. ‘I’m, er . . . I’m, er, thinking of bringing the wife to stay at your establishment for a couple of days and I have a few questions.’
‘I will certainly do my best to answer them, but can I remind you, sir, if I may, the best way to look at all we offer is to go on our website, and that’s also where you will find the calendar with a list and description of all rooms, services and availability.’
‘Yes, I have been on your website, but, well, the thing is’ – the man drew a slow breath – ‘my wife’s cousin, Brenda, or Mrs Montgomery, as you would know her . . .’
‘I do meet a lot of guests.’ She found a smile, trying to ignore the key tapper, who had now taken to coughing occasionally, as if she were not already painfully aware of his presence.
‘Yes, well, she came and stayed with you a few years ago and she remembers it was very cold. Cold rooms, cold lounge.’
‘Well, I’m certainly sorry to hear that and I do hope it didn’t spoil her stay. As I say, sir, we have a gallery on our website with images and details of all our rooms and availability. I think that might be your best bet.’
Key-fob man now subtly kicked the front of the reception desk and sighed. ‘Be with you as soon as I can.’ Again she smiled and whispered.
The man on the phone continued. ‘That’s all well and good, but I don’t like websites. I prefer to talk to a person, a human person, none of this robot rubbish. Anyway, the wife has sciatica and likes an electric blanket.’
Key-fob guy huffed loudly and almost growled his dissatisfaction. Merrin had to make a split-second decision between a potential customer and a paying one standing in front of her who just might have an emergency.