Turns out her dad had been right when he wrote:
When you’re ready and you’ve done enough adventuring and figuring out, come home, Merrin. Come back to Port Charles, this little place where your spirit lingers even after you have driven off in Vera Wilma Brown. Walk the beach barefoot in all weathers, my little maid, and let yourself be. Be open to what is right in front of your very eyes and let yourself be happy.
It was good advice from the man who loved her and had bestowed upon her the greatest gift.
‘How I miss you, Dad.’ She let the words carry on the wind out over the sea.
Currently, she and Alex were sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the master bedroom, waiting on delivery of their brand-new bed. Heather was doing well, excited to cook for Alex, whose appetite was legendary. It gave her the incentive to start cooking again. And in the process she had regained a little of her spark.
Ruby had admired the finished place, but followed it with a barbed comment. ‘It’s nice enough, Merry, but you can’t beat an old cottage for character, can you?’
It made her chuckle now to think of it. The Kellow cottage was worth more financially, but of course, Ruby was cursed with a demeanour that believed the grass was always a little bit greener on the other side. But how they loved each other, always would. Kellow girls.
‘Silly moo,’ she whispered affectionately, with one eye on her sister’s home from this vantage point.
Luuk and Alex were standing on the slipway, chatting. Alex caught her eye and waved, before laying his hand on his mate’s broad shoulder and jogging away. It was nice for everyone that they were mates. And along with Jarvis, they had been christened the Three Amigos and were pretty much inseparable. It certainly made it easier for her, Ruby and Bella to hang out. Luuk was still proving himself in her eyes, but she had to admit, the devotion he showed to Bella and Glynn was warming – and about time too.
Her bare feet gripped the cold, slate floor. The wind kicked up and whipped her long skirt around her legs as she looked out over the coastal path, towards Reunion Point. It was a place she liked to visit from time to time, taking comfort from the thud of her heart inside her ribcage as she stared out over the untamed, ever-moving sea and behind her, nothing but the slow roll of green fields. She liked to be still there and close her eyes, letting her fingers comb the salty air of this place where her heritage lurked beneath her feet and her own story had taken two twists. A proposal and a goodbye, both of which had shaped her in ways she could never have foreseen.
It might have been six years since she had been abandoned in the vestry, but still the thought of that day could, on occasion, make her wince, causing the breath to stop in her throat and forcing her to swallow the sickening embarrassment that was like a toxic sediment lining her throat and sitting in her gut. And being there on the cliff edge sometimes stirred it up and swirled it in her blood like a fresh disease. And it was for this precise reason that she went there. It was good to remember. It helped her appreciate all she now had and how far she had come. And here she was, back in Port Charles for good. Home. And a happily married woman.
The Reverend Pimm had agreed to their rather unusual demands and had married them in secret – no guests, no flowers, no music, no frock and no disaster. Just a solemn exchange of vows with hands grasped, eyes locked and a shoeless walk on the beach to follow.
Three days it had taken, three days, before Heather noticed the shiny gold band on her daughter’s finger.
‘What in Judas’s name?’ She had grabbed Merrin’s hand and studied the little gold circle.
‘Is this what I think it is?’ she had asked with her hand at her throat.
‘Oh yes, did we not say?’ She beamed. ‘We got married. I am now officially Mrs Alex Morgan!’
‘Oh, Merry! Oh, my Lord!’ Her mum had held her in the longest, warmest hug and they had both cried. She was in no doubt that her mum, like herself, wondered what Ben would have made of the news. Merrin guessed he’d have been happy and would most likely have cracked open a bottle of Bella’s dad’s blackberry wine.
Now, in the cool morning light, she looked down into the water, where the fat wooden stumps of an ancient jetty were still visible when the tide was out. Some larger stones, too, that had once been part of the harbour walls, littered the wet sand, and to her they summed up life in Port Charles: things withered, evolved, collapsed and aged, but if you looked hard enough, you could see they never truly disappeared.
She heard the front door downstairs shut and turned to watch her husband lope up the open-plan stairs, using the thick rope bannister for support before coming into view. The sight of him was still a wonder to her, this man who had sprung from the sea on the day Loretta and she had built a bridge. She smiled and waved.
Alex opened the sliding glass door and came to stand behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and placed them on the large mound of her stomach.
‘So, what’s going to arrive first, do you reckon?’ He kissed the back of her neck. ‘Our new baby or our new bed?’
‘I don’t know.’ She placed her hands over the back of his palms. ‘And it doesn’t matter too much; what will be will be.’
‘True that.’ He reached forward and took the mug of tea from her hands, sipping it. He had learnt that in Kellow homes, tea was communal.
‘I was just saying to Jarvis, I’ve heard juicy gossip today. Some of the staff were talking about Loretta Mortimer, who’s the chair of the board of governors. They reckon she was born in a field on the outskirts of town and that old Guthrie Mortimer only married her because his father made him marry someone, and that he drank because he never got over his one true love, Helen. No wonder she’s so spiky! What do you think of that?’
She turned to face him, the man who held her hand across the mattress at night. The man she loved beyond words and would love beyond life.
‘I think that it’s a shame folk still find the need to talk about someone at all, sad that she should be the brunt of gossip and tittle-tattle for all these years. And I think you’ll find the girl Guthrie loved and who loved him in return was called Ellen, not Helen.’
‘Hah! Your gran was called Ellen.’ Alex smiled at the coincidence.
‘Yes she was, my love, yes she was.’
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2012 Paul Smith www.paulsmithphotography.info
Amanda Prowse is an international bestselling author of twenty-eight novels published in dozens of languages. Her chart-topping titles What Have I Done?, Perfect Daughter, My Husband’s Wife, The Coordinates of Loss, The Girl in the Corner and The Things I Know have sold millions of copies around the world.
Other novels by Amanda Prowse include A Mother’s Story, which won the coveted Sainsbury’s eBook of the Year Award. Perfect Daughter was selected as a World Book Night title in 2016. She has been described by the Daily Mail as ‘the queen of family drama’.
Amanda is the most prolific writer of bestselling contemporary fiction in the UK today. Her titles consistently score the highest online review approval ratings across several genres.
A popular TV and radio personality, Amanda is a regular panellist on Channel 5’s Jeremy Vine show, as well as featuring on numerous daytime ITV programmes. She also makes countless guest appearances on national and independent radio stations, including LBC and talkRADIO, where she is well known for her insightful observations and infectious humour.