‘You think I’m going through the motions?’ She couldn’t disguise her discomfort at the topic or the whiff of truth that went with it, feeling her face colour.
‘Not exactly, but I can see that he doesn’t light that fire inside you and I worry you might be treading water.’
‘What does that even mean?’ She looked at the sleeping Glynn, conscious of having raised her voice and not wanting to wake the baby.
‘You know what it means.’ Bella reached out and took her friend’s hand. ‘I love you, Merry. You and Rubes are my sisters, even if you are a Cornwall-fleeing traitor.’ She made as if to spit on the path and Merrin laughed. ‘And I want the best for us all and this is the last time I’ll mention it, but when you were with Digby the dickhead’ – this, too, made Merrin chuckle, despite a rising sadness – ‘you were glowing! And it was wonderful to see, but since then, whenever I’ve seen you, it’s like you’re a little diluted, a little turned down, as though you’re afraid to fully grab life or love in case you get it thrown back at you again. And the way you hide away in Thornbury . . . I mean, I can’t believe you’re being brave enough to go to the shop. You! The girl who runs barefoot over rocks. My fearless Merry.’
‘God, that’s so sad.’ Merrin felt the sting of tears at the back of her throat. ‘I don’t want that to be how I’m viewed. But I know it’s the truth. Trust me, Bells, I’m so much better than I was; coming here is such a big deal, and I figured going to the shop would be a good rehearsal for tomorrow.’
‘I get it. And I think it is sad. And I only say it because I want the best for you. I want you to glow like you have this incredible secret; I want you to be that happy!’
‘I do like Miguel.’
‘I know you do, and you don’t have to justify yourself to me or anyone, but the fact is, I like salt-and-vinegar Pringles, doesn’t mean I want to spend my life with them.’
‘Are you honestly comparing beautiful Miguel to a salt-and-vinegar Pringle?’
‘I actually am.’
Merrin turned and looked out over the bay, where the streetlights were starting to flicker on. It was always her favourite time, as the stays on the masts of boats in the harbour knocked in the gentle swell of the tide, and the sky turned pink and orange with the promise of warmth tomorrow. Gulls took to the cliffs to bed down for the night and lamps in windows were clicked to life, sending beams of honey-coloured light to pool on the pavements and walkways. It was beautiful, cosy, and the place she had walked happily for the first two decades of her life.
‘I know you love me, Bells, and the feeling is entirely mutual.’ She squeezed her friend’s fingers. ‘And I know what you’re getting at. I think . . . I think it’s hard to go through what happened to me and not be a little bit damaged by it, even if you do your very best not to be. And I also think that the kind of crazy, full-on, all-encompassing, firecracker love is something that’s easy when you haven’t seen the other side. But as you get older and live a bit more . . .’
‘The cynicism sets in?’
‘Something like that.’ Merrin smiled at her friend, whose face fell, confirming that Bella knew it as well as she. ‘The good thing is, Miguel and I are on the same page. We’re happy and things are plodding along nicely.’
‘Yaaay!’ Bella did a mini fist pump. ‘The phrase that all romantics the world over hope to hear: “plodding along nicely” – just so lovely, passionate.’
‘Okay, now I know you’re taking the piss and I need to get to the shop before it closes. Can you imagine Kellow Cottages without tea bags in it?’
‘God, no. I think the whole place might fall down! Like the ravens leaving the Tower.’
‘Exactly.’
The girls continued their march along the path until Merrin stopped in her tracks and looked back towards the cottage, picturing the safety of her mother’s parlour.
‘You can do this, Merry.’
‘Okay.’ She closed her eyes and briefly gripped her friend as tightly as she was able without squishing the sleeping Glynn, before they peeled off in different directions.
‘Can you pick me up some Pringles, salt and vinegar?’ Bella called over her shoulder.
Merrin stuck her tongue out at her friend’s back.
‘I know what you’re doing,’ Bella tutted.
Merrin rounded her shoulders, as if this might offer some small disguise as she waited by the step of Everit’s for the tourist family to come out with their booty. A standard haul, by the looks of things: an ice cream each for the kids, a large bag of toffee popcorn, no doubt for movie night, a bottle of white, a slab of Cornish Blue cheese, a jar of The Cornish Larder chutney and Popti crackers. She knew that no matter how old she got, this place would always take her back to her childhood, when, with warm pennies gripped tightly in her palm, she and Ruby would scan the sweetie counter and agonise over which to choose. Even right now in her early twenties, the temptation to march in and ask Mrs Everit for a quarter of pineapple cubes or a slack handful of fizzy shrimps was strong. She took a deep breath and walked in.
‘Oh Lord! Oh, Merrin!’
She heard the shock in Mrs Everit’s tone and was a little confused, having expected the woman to rush forward with a deep hug, or at the very least to go into verbal overdrive, telling her how she and Mr Everit had fared since her last visit. But this greeting sounded almost panicked. It was hard not to think about the last time she had seen her, running back from her devastating encounter with Digby, her heart broken and with her pretty wedding make-up streaking her tear-soaked face. It was only when Merrin let her eyes settle on the woman with her back to her in front of the counter that the reason for Mrs Everit’s tone registered.
Merrin felt the breath catch in her throat and knew beyond a doubt that if the shopkeeper hadn’t given her away, she would have quietly taken the three steps backwards and left the shop as discreetly as she had entered. The slender legs in jeans, riding boots and a neat, pale-blue shirt, tucked in, belonged to none other than Digby’s mother.
The woman turned sharply, her eyes narrowed, as if it took a second to place her, though that could have been down to the fact that Merrin was far skinnier now than she had been in those days, and also the loss of her long hair. Merrin felt her legs shake and was convinced her tremble would be apparent to anyone looking. She forced her limbs rigid as if this might hide her nerves. The blood ran from her head, leaving her feeling simultaneously faint and icy cold.
‘Hello.’ Loretta’s tone was clipped and her manner that of someone addressing a stranger.
‘Hello.’ Despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, Merrin was not going to look away or blink or cower in front of this woman. Merrin, knowing her husband, old Mr Guthrie Mortimer, had passed away around the same time as Granny Ellen, was wondering how or whether to offer her condolences, when the woman, who looked remarkably together for one who had only a year since been widowed, spoke calmly and steered the conversation.
‘I believe congratulations are in order. Your sister’s getting married, isn’t she?’ Her fingers flexed ever so slightly around her handbag.
‘That’s right.’ Merrin held her ground. Why, Loretta? Why were you so foul? What did I ever do to you? Many was the night she had imagined this meeting and this conversation, picturing how she would stand firm and demand answers from the woman who had so nearly become her mother-in-law. But when it came to it, Merrin realised she wasn’t up for the fight, didn’t want to dredge the murky waters of her misery and wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the woman as possible. Loretta Mortimer was toxic and the less she had to do with her, the better chance she had of coming away unscathed. Merrin looked briefly towards the door, her head jerking involuntarily as she calculated whether she might get to it before she was sick.