‘I will, love you too.’
It was amazing how much better she felt after just one chat with her friend. Sitting up, she tucked her hair behind her ears and took a deep breath, trying to steady her pulse. Bella was right, she had to go outside, plus the Mortimers would no doubt be ensconced in their adjoining rooms and the chances of her running into Digby were slim. Her limbs trembled and she did her best to get the shakes under control. She felt torn, desperately keen to avoid him and yet also knowing this might be her only chance to tell him just how much he had destroyed for her.
After a few more seconds of sitting on the laundry bag with her feet on the cold floor, she slipped her pumps back on and stood up, straightening the waistband on her trousers and retying her cravat. She tucked her hair behind her ears again, wiped her top lip, opened the door with a flourish, and with her head down, walked into the corridor and slap bang into Digby.
‘Oh! Oh, shit!’
She never swore at work and looked over her shoulder, partly to check that her boss wasn’t around or that Mrs Lovely Mortimer wasn’t bringing up the rear with her gorgeous boys, before practically jumping out of Digby’s path and standing as flat as she could against the cupboard door, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Her stomach lurched and she feared she might be sick, as was her MO. She felt a fine film of sweat break out over her skin and her thoughts were scrambled.
‘Merrin!’ He placed his hand on his chest.
‘Well, that’s going to be awkward, I’m Merrin too.’ She hadn’t meant to let the nostalgia float from her lips, didn’t want him to feel a moment of warmth or joy or comfort in her presence. But there they were.
They stared at each other for what felt like an age. His face and all the promises he had made still with the power to lure her. It was confusing because she hated him. His smile lifted one corner of his mouth, but his eyes looked downcast, sad even. And in truth she was glad to see some semblance of regret; it was all she had ever really wanted, to know that he was sorry, that there had been more reason behind his actions than the promise of a credit card.
‘I . . . I had no idea, I am so sorry . . . Mother suggested it and booked it and . . .’ He sounded sincere, his expression one of excruciating self-consciousness.
I bet she bloody did. Merrin remembered Mrs Everit giving the woman enough of the details about her place of work when she had bumped into her in the village shop.
She nodded, believing him. Not that it made this encounter any less devastating. For either of them, it would seem.
‘How . . . how have you been?’ he asked softly.
‘How have I been?’ She stared at him, almost at a loss as to how to begin. ‘I don’t even know how to answer that. How far do you want me to go back? And surely you’re not interested in my welfare now; I mean, you weren’t interested back then when you cut me loose.’ She pulled back her shoulders, emboldened a little at having found her voice, no matter that it shook with nerves. She might have looked together, sounded it almost, but inside, nerves sloshed in her stomach.
‘Oh God!’ He looked up and exhaled, rubbing his face in the way he did and showing her the smooth underside of his wrist, which still for some reason held an unfathomable allure. ‘I’ve always wondered when I would bump into you. I knew I would. But I thought it would be in Port Charles.’
‘In that heaving metropolis? Highly unlikely.’ She released her grip on the wall and put her hands in her trouser pockets to stop them from shaking.
‘I never go back, not really. I didn’t feel comfortable being there after . . .’ He let this hang. ‘It’s like everyone was pointing a finger at me or had something to say.’
‘Really? I can’t imagine,’ she fired.
He gave a low snort of laughter. ‘It was always your place, your home, and I’ve only been back when I’ve had to.’
‘It’s changed massively; we have a casino now, a ten-screen cinema, an ice rink, department store, bowling alley, a Tesco.’ Merrin rattled out the funny to ease the atmosphere and helped hide what she really wanted to say, which was, Why? Why did you leave me like that? I loved you! I loved you!
He nodded and gave a brief laugh. ‘So I’ve heard.’
‘I was sorry to hear your dad passed away.’ Guthrie had only ever been kind to her, or at least indifferent.
‘Yep. Your gran too, Ellen?’
‘Yes, they died within twenty-four hours of each other. Strange.’
‘Yep.’
There was a beat of silence where she looked along the corridor, knowing there was no reason to linger, and yet the pull of a shared history and the awareness that this encounter might never be repeated kept her fast. What did she want from him? An apology?
‘Your boys look lovely.’ She spoke without malice, hiding her hurt that it was his very betrayal that meant the darling little boys belonged to another woman who in another lifetime might have been her, and that he had clearly wasted no time in creating this new life with his new wife.
‘They are.’ He gave her his first open, proper smile. ‘A handful, but brilliant.’
‘And you decided against Horatio? Noah and Freddie, much better.’
Again that chuckle. ‘Actually, it’s Noah Columbus and Freddie Horatio.’ He widened his eyes and held her stare.
‘Poor little sods.’
‘Lydia drew the line at having them as first names.’
‘She seems like a nice lady.’ Merrin was not surprised that he had settled for a well-spoken Lydia, she was far more in keeping with what Ma Mortimer would expect.
He nodded and again his smile faltered, as if this were straying into territory that was less than comfortable.
‘I want to say . . .’ He paused, and reached out almost, but she folded her arms. ‘I’ve wanted to say for the longest time that I’m sorry, Merry.’
She felt her spine soften and her lungs fill with something close to relief. ‘For what?’
‘What do you mean for what?’ His expression was nonplussed.
‘I mean’ – she looked along the corridor, checking she was still able to talk freely – ‘there’s so much for me to feel . . .’ She bit her lip, Come on, Merrin, you have had years to plan this conversation in your head, what do you want to say? ‘Shitty about.’ For the love of God, is that the best you’ve got?
‘I can imagine.’
‘No.’ She took a small step towards him, emboldened and picturing herself in her wedding dress being helped up on to the cart driven by Jarvis, as thick clouds gathered overhead and she didn’t care if she lived or died. ‘I don’t think you can imagine. It’s not only what you did, Digby. It’s how you did it.’ She let this hang. ‘You had every right to change your mind, defer our wedding, even finish things, those were all possibilities and none of those decisions would have hurt me any less.’ She paused, allowing this admission of pain to permeate. ‘But did you need to humiliate me like that? I’m a Port Charles girl and it’s a small place. Far, far smaller than it looks and feels. And not only did you throw me away like a thing you didn’t want any more, but you changed the way Port Charles sees me. I used to be Merrin Kellow, Ben’s girl, the one with the hair.’ She ran her fingers over her short bob. ‘But since that day, I am the one Digby Mortimer left at the altar, the one in the big dress with the fancy cart, all the trimmings.’