Closing her eyes briefly, she tried to imagine coming home for good. What would that life look like? The way it had felt to see Loretta had floored her, briefly, but she had survived her once and she could survive her again. Mrs Everit’s unwavering support meant more than she could possibly say. It spoke of community and was the very thing Merrin loved most about living in Port Charles. Did it matter that at some level she felt like an outsider, aware of how things had trundled on without her, and that her being here felt like something special, unusual, a novelty, as if she had lost her place as a local and lost her confidence in her ability to fit in?
‘And where would I live?’ she whispered into the ether, knowing now that the world was big and she was yet to find her place in it. Gone was her dream of having a husband and a family in this little fishing village and so she had forged another life. It was supposedly a temporary life, but it had become her only life, her permanent life with work at the heart of it; working hard to keep distracted from all she missed in this little cove.
‘Oh, my God!’ Miguel wailed from under the covers. ‘I have the worst headache in the world. I feel like your dad might have actually put that axe in my head.’
‘Well, I can’t think why you feel so bad, love? Do you think it was that bag of chips you brought home with you last night; maybe they had some dodgy vinegar on them?’
‘I’d forgotten we got chips!’ he admitted.
‘Or . . . could it be the endless pints of beer you sank on an empty stomach yesterday?’
‘I don’t know what happened!’ He sat up, his whole demeanour riddled with regret, and she felt the smallest amount of pity as she looked at his pale face and bloodshot eyes.
‘You got Kellowed is what happened – my dad’s specialty. He kidnapped you and robbed you of an afternoon. But don’t worry, I shall protect you from him today and you don’t need to think about alcohol until much, much later, when we’ll no doubt raise a glass in toast to the newly-weds.’
‘Oh, my God! Merrin, please don’t even mention alcohol.’ He lay his head back on the pillow and pulled the duvet over his face. This was where she left him, as she tiptoed down the creaky stairs and into the parlour.
‘Morning, my little one.’ Her mum was sitting by the range with a cup of tea. ‘Oh, Merrin! How lovely it is to see your face as you walk down the stairs. You have no idea how wonderful it is to have you here!’
I think I might . . .
‘Morning, Mum. Excited?’ She walked over and kissed her mother on the cheek, and took the mug of tea from her hands, sipping it gratefully as she thought of her wedding morning and the pure joy that had coursed through her veins at the prospect of meeting Digby in the church.
‘So excited! I’ve been up since silly o’clock!’ Heather tutted. ‘It’s all well and good getting an early start, but I’ll pay for it at the other end of the day. I’ll be ready for my bed by eight tonight. And how are you, my lovely? I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you today.’
‘I’m fine.’ Merrin’s answer was brisk, a shutter going up to stop any further enquiry into the very thing she was trying not to dwell on. ‘Dad still asleep?’
‘Yep, sleeping it off. I’ll give him a few more minutes and then I’ll take him up a cuppa. Where are you going?’
‘Just outside.’
Opening the cottage door, Merrin stood barefoot on the uneven cobbles, liking the way they fitted inside the high arch of her instep as she curled her toes around them. It was still her favourite place to stand, and how she had missed it, this little ritual that anchored her to the ground she so loved. She breathed out long and slow and closed her eyes briefly, feeling instantly better, calmed. This was the perfect spot with the widest view. Looking out over the purple bruise of sky where clouds hung low over the ocean, she offered up a silent prayer: Please don’t rain! Not on my sister’s wedding day . . .
She inhaled the salt-tinged breeze and closed her eyes. How she loved this little corner of the wild Cornish coast, where her roots still ran deep, despite her absence.
‘So what will you do, Merrin? Visit often? Stay away?’ she asked herself, and she was just pondering the response when a voice called from above.
‘Oi! Merry, you dozy mare – do I have to fetch my own tea today of all days? You’re my bridesmaid, you’re supposed to be waiting on me – catering to my every whim!’
She turned and looked up at Ruby, who was smiling and hanging out of the little upstairs window. It was what she needed, this jovial, loving familiarity that meant she and Ruby were at peace and Merrin would get through the day.
‘Is that right? Good morning, bride! How you feeling?’
‘Bloody parched!’
Merrin laughed. ‘Does Jarvis want one?’ She figured, as she was making.
‘Jarvis? Don’t be ridiculous. He in’t here! It’s bad luck to see the bride the night before the wedding; you should know that!’
Merrin swept the cobbles with her toes; good luck or bad hadn’t come into it with someone like Ma Mortimer pulling strings in the background.
‘I made him sleep at Nancy’s.’ Ruby yawned. ‘I thought she could deal with his hangover. Anyway, I’ll be down in five!’
‘Is that Ruby?’ her mum called from the parlour.
‘Yep, she wants tea!’
‘On it! But tell her not to dawdle; I’ve got the curling tongs on!’
Merrin felt an unwelcome pang of envy that this had once been her . . . her day . . . her future. She swallowed the bitter reminder of how it had ended.
The rain, thankfully, held off and it was now a big, bright, summer-blue day. One where the sky and ocean were of a similar hue and to look out over the vast expanse made the world beyond the harbour wall and all its glorious possibilities seem infinite. She and Miguel stood with the throng on the apron in front of the cottages; the atmosphere was electric and everyone was laughing.
She and Bella wore tea dresses in a delicate shade of rose pink, with pin-tuck fronts, sheer blouson sleeves and three-quarter-length pleated skirts. They had tortoiseshell combs in their hair, and ivory T-bar shoes that were perfect for dancing in later.
‘You look gorgeous,’ Miguel whispered in her ear, his words enough to partly fill the gaps of doubt inside her with the dust of confidence. Her heart felt like it rattled in her ribs as she fought to suppress the image of walking out of the cottage with her dad and her first sight of the cart in all its floral glory. It had been . . . perfect. And her girls waiting to escort her to the church, the photographer clicking away and her gran about as proud as she could be . . .
She hated that tears now gathered at the back of her throat; it was way too early in the day to give in to tears. This was the first taster of her sister’s wedding day and Merrin knew she was going to have to fight hard to keep her high emotions tamped down. Her plan was to think only about the moment, nothing further ahead, and to remember that this time yesterday felt only a blink away, as it would this time tomorrow . . . She was grateful that her trembling hand sat inside Miguel’s.
Her dad and Robin were in smart, navy pinstripe suits with large pink carnations on their lapels. She thought they looked like Port Charles’s answer to Al Capone, but kept this to herself. Jarvis’s dad stood awkwardly on the periphery, smoking, as if not quite sure of his place. Merrin watched him taking in the view and wondered if he mourned it as much as she did. For this alone she felt a pang of empathy for the man. Nancy Cardy looked so happy, beaming in her finery, her arms linked with her sister’s. It was lovely for the Kellows and the Cardys, as the two were officially becoming family. She couldn’t help but think briefly of Digby’s mother, who had kept her and her loved ones at such a distance, which hadn’t made any sense to her, until it did.