And if her brain hadn’t been full of the loss of her dad and the way Ruby had sounded on the phone – utterly, utterly broken – she would have explained that there was so much hurt inside her she was worried that if you removed it all there might be nothing left. Energy and coherence were for her in short supply. Her body and mind were numb, as if suspended and waiting, waiting to get back to Port Charles, where her heart resided. She shook violently, as if freezing cold.
Guided now by his hand on the small of her back, and wrapped in the double duvet that did little to stop her shaking, he steered her towards the car park.
‘Good evening, sir.’
She turned to look at the person Miguel addressed and saw Digby leaning on a car, smoking. Her stomach bunched and it felt unreal; she had temporarily forgotten that he was here.
‘Good evening,’ he replied to Miguel.
She locked eyes with him.
‘All okay?’ He put the cigarette on the floor and crushed it with the heel of his brogue, staring at her wrapped up in the car park at this ungodly hour.
‘I’m . . . I’m going home,’ she managed, wanting to tell Digby, who knew her dad and who was part of her life, her history.
‘Has something happened?’ He stepped out of the shadows.
‘My dad . . . my dad died.’ She felt her gut fold with the punch of her words as realisation dawned that this is what had happened. Her dad had died . . .
‘Oh God, no! Not Ben! Oh, your poor mum. Is Ruby with her? Is there anything I can do?’
Miguel seemed to stagger back a step or two as if sideswiped.
‘What the fuck is going on here?’
Merrin stared at him and then looked back at Digby, as her tears trickled down her cheeks.
‘This is . . . this is the guy, the one who . . . who, you know, from home. I told you once about having something perfect and that it got broken – well, this is him, the person who broke it.’ She cried now, great, breath-stealing sobs that left her spent.
‘Get out of my fucking way!’ Miguel spat, and she watched as Digby stumbled back into the shadows.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the motorway. Merrin was too busy trying to make sense of Ruby’s terrible news. The surreal addition of Digby into the equation was just another strange thing for her to deal with on this momentous night.
‘Digby.’ He kept his voice low, respectful and yet still with an urgency to understand what was going on. ‘The rich kid from Port Charles . . .’
‘Yes.’ She managed to scramble the word from a throat full of grit.
‘Why is he in our hotel? Did you know he was here?’ He gripped the steering wheel.
Merrin wanted him to be quiet to let her think, to try to understand what had happened to her dad, but was also vaguely aware that she was in his car and he was going out of his way to help her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Did you arrange for him to be here on Valentine’s?’ he asked quietly, as if he couldn’t quite bear to hear the answer.
‘No. No. Of course not!’ She pulled the duvet around her form for warmth. ‘He turned up with his wife and kids. I had no idea. It was awful to see him walk in. Awful.’ She let her head fall on to her chest, as if the effort of holding it up was more than she could manage right now.
‘Go to sleep, Merrin.’ He sounded kindly, but also as if this might be his preference.
It was in the early hours, a little before dawn, that she felt the cobbles beneath the car bump them along. She sat upright, and in that glorious second before she remembered what had happened, wondered why and indeed how she was home! She smiled at the sight of Kellow Cottages all lit up like Christmas trees against the dark of night, as if it were not the time when most people were asleep. Miguel left the engine running and came around to her side of the car and, gently opening her door, he removed the quilt to ease her movement. The weather was foul, wet and windy, as he helped her from the car, holding her close for a beat and kissing her face as she hugged him.
‘Thank you for driving me home. Thank you,’ she whispered, laying her head on his chest. ‘Are you . . . are you going to come in?’ she asked weakly.
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I need to get back and I think it’s only right I leave you with your family to come to terms with this, but give your mum and Ruby my condolences. I’ll call you tomorrow and if you need me at any time of the day or night you just pick up that phone and I’ll be here. I love you. I really do.’ His voice cracked.
‘Thank you. Drive safely.’
Miguel held her tightly and kissed her tenderly once more, before climbing back into the driver’s seat. She felt his love and knew she would never forget his actions on this night, knowing it was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for her. As she watched the tail lights of his car trundle back up the road, as if creeping quietly in the dead of night, the door to the cottage opened and out came Ruby, beautifully swollen with pregnancy, but her face red and contorted as she cried from eyes that were now no more than narrow slits.
‘Merry!’ Ruby’s voice was no more than a rasp and her face tortured as her fingers gripped Merrin’s arms.
‘Oh Ruby!’ Merrin fell against her, the two clinging on to each other as if their lives depended on it. Silently they held each other on the slippery cobbles in the dark, as rain fell and the wind rushed at them, carrying salty, sea-laden sheets that soaked their skin and the fabric of their clothes. It was as if this wild corner of Cornwall was roaring at the loss of its son, and she understood, wanting to roar too.
‘He’s gone!’ Ruby gasped.
Again Merrin’s tears broke their banks, as her heart felt like it might dissolve. The sight of her sister and the fact her dad was not running outside with arms wide to welcome her home told her that it was true.
Making their way inside, she rushed up the stairs of the cottage and knocked gently, before walking into her parents’ room. The sight was something she knew she would never forget.
Heather Kellow had got old, just like that and almost overnight. She had lost her shine, her sparkle, her plump face, her laughter and her joy; replaced by a dull, slender imitation of the woman, but one with a vacant expression, sallow cheeks and eyes that wordlessly spoke of pure sorrow. She barely shifted in the bed, but with great effort, raised her head a little from the pillow and said her daughter’s name, her voice, barely audible, one of sadness and gravel.
‘Merrin . . .’
‘Oh Mum! Mummy!’ Merrin climbed on to the rickety brass bed next to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. It was as if her spirit had fled and she now gripped the shell of Ben’s wife. There was no welcome smile, no offer of tea or baked goods, no interest in anything other than lying very still and hoping the minutes might pass, or that they might all wake in a time where either they hurt a little less or they smiled, realising that the whole horrible thing had been no more than the very worst kind of dream.
‘He’s gone,’ she mouthed, as tears sprang from her bloodshot eyes and ran down her face. ‘He’s gone . . .’ This followed by a sound, a whimper that was animal-like and wounded.
‘It’s okay, Mummy. I’ve got you.’ She grasped at words, anything that might help her mother heal.