This is all your fault. Headache. Hangover. Asked a man to kiss me after I’d been sick in a drain. You told me to get out there and this is what happened!
The reply came quickly.
Keeping it classy, I see. Nice! X
(but super proud of you, girl!)
Merrin jumped into the shower and took her time, letting the hot water pound her skin and restore her. She did a double shampoo, before lathering her face with soap and giving her teeth a good scrub. With a towel on her head, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. The effects of her hangover had lessened a little and the sickly smell of booze and sick had left her skin. In fact, she looked quite rosy and with more of a sparkle in her eye than she had seen for the longest time. Bella was right, this wasn’t a rehearsal, it was her one life, and it felt good to have stepped out of her comfort zone. A strange sensation swirled in her stomach and she recognised it as excitement.
The knock on her door was quiet; in fact, she listened for the second knock to make sure she hadn’t imagined it.
‘Miguel!’ Still in her dressing gown, she popped her head through the gap of the open door, hiding inside. It felt a little odd to be chatting to him like this on top of her behaviour last night. ‘Are you still talking to me?’ she asked with no small dollop of embarrassment.
‘Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything to embarrass yourself.’
‘Apart from be sick and then ask if you wanted to kiss me.’ She closed one eye briefly; it felt easier not to look at him fully.
‘Apart from that. Anyway, two things: first, I brought you this.’ He lifted a small tray into her line of sight with a large glass of fresh orange juice with ice cubes bobbing on the top, a steaming mug of black coffee, a big, fat, flaky croissant and two Paracetamol. ‘Thought this might help you start your day, although I must say you don’t look too bad.’
‘Oh, thank you!’ Making sure her robe was secure, she opened the door. He walked in and placed the tray on the table. ‘That’s so kind.’
‘And I do, by the way.’
‘You do what?’ She wrinkled her nose, wondering how she had lost the thread.
‘Well, that’s the second thing. I wanted to kiss you. So I thought we should get it out of the way before it becomes one of those things that takes on more significance than it deserves and gets awkward.’
‘I don’t want that.’ She smiled and let the door close.
‘I don’t want that either.’ He took a step towards her and placed his hands either side of her face. The novelty of his handsome face was something she hoped would never wane. His kiss when it landed on her mouth was nice, soft and pleasant, promising even, but the fireworks of longing that had jumped in her gut at the mere touch from Digby . . . they were absent. But what did she expect? This was brand new and she was changed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
JARVIS
No matter that the sky was grey and the cloud heavy over the water, Jarvis liked the routine of being back on dry land, liked to wander the familiar paths of Port Charles. Yes, he loved his job on the boat with Ben and Robin, loved the banter, but there were things he missed when he was at sea. He picked up the newspaper from the stand outside Everit’s corner shop and went inside to hand the coins to Mrs Everit herself.
‘You heard the sad news this morning, Jarvis?’
‘No?’ He held his breath. In a small place like this you most likely knew the family who bad things had befallen, but similarly he knew Mrs Everit had a tendency to gossip and so her interpretation of ‘bad’ or ‘sad news’ might be that the milk van was running late or the broadband was playing up.
‘Old Guthrie Mortimer died. Very suddenly, apparently. In his sleep. Most unexpected.’
He nodded and breathed out, feeling a flicker of empathy for Digby, knowing what it was like to lose your dad from your life. ‘But not that unexpected, really, Mrs Everit. He was getting on and I think I’ve seen him drunk more than I’ve seen him sober.’
‘Not that we shall speak ill of the dead.’ She fixed him with a hard stare that left him admonished.
‘’Course not. You have a nice day.’
He folded the paper under his arm and made his way down Fore Street towards Kellow Cottages, deciding not to mention it to Ruby. He didn’t want to take the shine off their plans. The two had agreed to head up to St Austell for a spot of shopping and then grab a pasty in Mevagissey on the way home. He wasn’t too chuffed at the prospect of shopping, but liked that she chose to spend her day off with him. Truth was, he liked her full stop. And on his latest fishing trip he had thought of her more often than not, missing her friendship, her humour, her warmth.
The roaring fire of passion and desire he had felt for Merrin was now no more than the smallest glow of an ember, but as long as it was there at all it was hard to see Merrin’s sister as anything other than a good mate. So what that he and Ruby had kissed once up at Reunion Point? A good kiss, actually, a surprisingly good kiss, but one fuelled by cider and so surely it didn’t really count. Scouring the headlines as he walked in the cold morning air, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of Ruby on the harbour wall, deep in conversation with Bella.
He combed his unruly hair with his fingers, as Ruby turned and called to him.
‘Jarv!’
‘All right?’ he called back with his nerves jangling. Hoping he didn’t blush or stare, he walked in a deliberate fashion towards the duo, who whispered in the way they always did, like witches plotting. He smiled, reminded in that moment of what it had been like to see the two of them with Merrin; the village was poorer for the loss of the atmosphere the trio had created. The last time he had seen them all together, Merrin had looked destroyed, lost, and Ruby had been distracted, prowling and incensed by the Mortimers’ treatment of her sister. Not that he blamed her; that was what you did: stood by those you loved. His admiration for Ruby had in fact grown because of how fiercely she loved and protected her family. It was still beyond him how a bloke like Digby the dickhead could throw away a woman like Merrin. But as his mother liked to remind him, ‘Love can be fickle and your feelings for the object of your desire can turn on a sixpence into something a lot like loathing . . .’
He’d have to take her word for it. Walking towards the wall, he watched the two women, who, with furrowed brows, were once again deep in conversation. Maybe they had heard about old Guthrie Mortimer. As he approached, the sun punched a hole in the clouds and peeped its head through, showering light that lit the whole cove. He slowed and felt his heart give a little rhumba, recognising the feeling in his veins as one of longing. And all at no more than the sight of this girl . . . This girl, with the bright smile and her thick, long hair resting over her shoulder, was something else. Ruby, who had been under his nose his whole life, who had been by his side since they were kids and who had punched him in the mouth when he had dared laugh at her wonky haircut.
‘Glad you’re here, Jarv.’ She smiled and her words warmed him. ‘Gran’s been taken ill.’
‘Ellen? Oh no, she all right?’
‘Not really.’ Ruby ran her fingers across her forehead, suggesting a headache might be lurking there. ‘She’s been taken to Truro Hospital; she’s proper poorly.’