The boys, chubby little babies who teetered on fat legs, as if walking were still a novelty, ignored their mother and disappeared on to the deep sofa. She could hear them burbling sweet baby talk.
‘They’re lovely.’ She smiled at the woman who now rested her stunning Birkin bag on the countertop.
‘Yes, they are lovely, most of the time, but my God, don’t be fooled by their sweet faces; they can be absolute monsters. And they gang up on me, you know. There are many days when the time I love them most is when they are sound asleep and I get a big fat gin as a reward for surviving the day!’ She ran her hand through her hair, a large, square diamond sparkling in the chandelier’s light. Merrin wondered if it were baubles like that which kept the woman happy, maintained the illusion of love.
‘Well, we have a wide selection of gins and so I hope you enjoy your stay here. Would you like to check in?’ Whilst not wanting to hurry the woman, she had a million chores awaiting her attention.
‘Yes, please! Let’s do that. My husband’s parking the car and probably secretly smoking somewhere, which is why he’s taking so long. He thinks a handful of Polos can disguise the smell, the poor love.’
Merrin laughed, liking the woman’s easy manner. She understood. It was this quiet tolerance that kept the wheels oiled for her and Miguel too, turning a blind eye to his penchant for eating in bed, showering the clean bed linen with crumbs, and his love of the trashiest pop music her ears had ever endured. He, too, could no doubt give a dozen examples of habits of hers that drove him to distraction, but the two of them worked. They were mates who had good sex. That was it. He told her he loved her and, whilst she would not exactly call it love, she knew her life was better with him in it and was happy to have a partner in this sometimes transient environment, where they could close their door and play at families on a rare day off. But as for the future? Merrin wondered where she might venture next when she had a little more experience under her belt – a warm country, maybe? And if Miguel wanted to come along, that would be fine, but if he didn’t, she would miss the beautiful man, but that would be fine too.
‘We’re here for two nights and please tell me your swimming pool is open. I can’t function without my morning swim. My mother-in-law is treating us for Valentine’s and I want to make the absolute most of it.’
‘Well, how lovely!’
‘Oh, she really is.’ The woman crinkled her eyes in fondness.
‘Good news: the indoor pool is open in the spa and we have wetsuits if you fancy a dip in the outdoor pool.’
‘Really?’ The woman sounded amazed.
‘No, not really, it’s beyond freezing, you’d have to chip the ice off.’
‘Oh, my God! You’re hilarious!’ the woman yelled, throwing her head back to reveal her shiny, white teeth.
‘I have my moments.’ Merrin liked that this fancy-pants woman found her funny. ‘Have you travelled far today?’
‘From London. Thought we’d grab a couple of days away either side of this treat. We are actually en route to Cornwall for a flying visit.’
‘Oh, Cornwall! That’s where I’m from.’ She pictured the bay of Port Charles and felt the familiar pang of loss. She missed her mum’s cooking, sleeping in her childhood bed, walking barefoot over the cobbles, all the way down to the water’s edge, and even her fat sister. Wasting no time, Ruby was nearly five months pregnant and Heather had gone into knitting and crochet overdrive – the little babby had a whole wardrobe of impractical and beribboned items waiting in a drawer. Merrin felt strangely removed from her sister’s pregnancy, not only by the fact that she was physically absent, but also because becoming a mother was so far out of her sphere it felt very much as if Ruby, like Bella, was leaving her behind.
‘But you’re sensibly living away from the hordes during the holiday invasion?’ the woman asked.
‘Something like that.’ She smiled. ‘Can I take your name, please?’
Merrin opened up the computer screen to check the woman in and it felt as if the three things happened simultaneously. First, the little toddlers tumbled playfully from the sofa and came careering back to the reception desk, chattering and laughing loudly as they ran and shoved each other, before crashing into their mum’s long legs. Second, the woman spoke her name, clearly, audibly and without hesitation, but to Merrin’s ears it arrived as a garbled message that took a second to decode, and third, the door opened and in walked Digby Mortimer.
‘That’s Mortimer. M.O.R.T.I.M.E.R.’ The woman turned at the sound of the door opening. ‘Hello, darling, there you are! Just checking in. The boys nearly escaped and I am in need of a large gin! This lovely lady has been making me laugh. I’m sorry, I’m so rude, I didn’t ask your name?’
Weakened, she felt her body slide forward a little until her legs made contact with the back of the unit. It kept her upright. Aware that she was staring, but unable to look away, her stomach flipped and she found it hard to take a full breath. Her mouth was dry and she could feel the twitch of discomfort under her left eye, as beads of nervous perspiration gathered on her top lip.
There he was, right in front of her. She had imagined this moment many times and it was never like this. It was the first time she had seen him since she abandoned him on Reunion Point, where he sat holding the thin engagement ring that with shaking fingers and a shredded heart she had placed in his palm.
‘Merrin.’ She answered the woman’s question.
Her voice so quiet, no more than a squeak, as the woman leant forward, craning her neck.
‘Sorry, what? Did you say Mary?’
She shook her head and swallowed. ‘It’s Merrin,’ she managed, and coughed.
‘Merrin! I’ve not heard that name before, it’s lovely!’
The woman’s words were confirmation that Digby had never mentioned her to his wife, and knowing that the whole episode that had so shaped her life and had such an impact on her self-esteem was not even worthy of discussion was devastating.
‘Have you heard of it, Digs?’
Digs . . .
‘Is it common in Cornwall?’ She turned to look at her husband, who stood by the door, transfixed and awfully pale.
Merrin took the opportunity to stare at him. He looked horror-struck and clammy, suggesting he was just as surprised as her. His hair had thinned a little and his eyes were smaller than she remembered. The navy linen shirt that hung outside of his jeans was the same item that he used to wear, and as much as she tried to douse it, a familiar flame of longing rose in her gut for him, the cowardly, cowardly pig.
Eventually he gathered himself and it was a shock to hear his voice, as clear and as lovely as it lived in her memory. ‘I-it’s n-not that common, but I have . . . I have . . . I did hear it before. Once. It reminded me of the sea.’ His voice carried the rasp of emotion and he swallowed. Like her, he seemed unable to look away and, judging by his searching expression, she was convinced she was the last person he had expected to see.
‘Are you okay, darling?’ The nice lady walked over and placed her manicured hand on his crumpled sleeve.
He nodded and tried out a smile, before pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his sweaty forehead. ‘Actually, I feel a bit . . . a bit sick.’