‘It’s true. When . . . when your dad left, I felt like my heart had been shredded; I didn’t know how to stand up, how to breathe. I fell down.’
He nodded. He remembered every single second of it. Her distress floating from beneath her bedroom door and how helpless he had been to fix things, and how that helplessness had balled in his gut and made him feel both empty and full at the same time.
‘And then, last year when he came back, wanting to give things another go, saying he’d had a change of heart, again, and that he would like to come home.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Do you remember what I did? What I said?’
‘Yep,’ he whispered. Knowing she was going to remind him anyway.
‘I cried. I had always planned how mad I would get if I saw him. I had planned all the things I would scream at him!’ She spoke through gritted teeth. ‘But I didn’t. I cried and I very calmly told him how he had spoilt so much; he had given up our lovely life, for what? A thrill. A buzz. Walking away from his family, his home and from Port Charles for something unknown, the promise of a happier, better life that came packaged in a face that was younger and prettier than mine. But it was good, Jarvis, because it was closure. And you now have closure because she is gettin’ wed. You will heal and you will feel better. Maybe not today or tomorrow or next week, but one day.’
Again he fixed his eyes on the cove and nodded.
‘I’ll leave you to it then. Remember, Jarvis, love can be fickle and your feelings for the object of your desire can turn on a sixpence into something a lot like loathing. They don’t tell you that.’ She tapped the wedding ring that still adorned her finger on the doorframe as she left.
Jarvis closed his eyes, and when he was certain she had gone, gave in to the feeling that had been building at the back of his throat and stinging his nose, as he cried great, gulping tears that fell down his ruddy cheeks and dripped from his chin.
‘I love her!’ he whispered out into the morning sky. ‘I’ve lost her for good. And that ain’t ever going to feel better.’
Jarvis turned on the path after delivering his card and walked across the cobbles in front of Merrin’s house. He could hear the guffaws of laughter, mainly coming from Bella’s big gob, and knew they were probably laughing at him, but what did it matter? It wasn’t as if he could hurt any more than he already did. He curled his fingers into his palm, capturing the point where her fingers had briefly touched his when he handed over the card. Try as he might, he couldn’t remember exactly what he had written, and a cold knife of fear cut his confidence at the very thought that in his distracted state, he might have accidently written something soppy or inappropriate on her wedding day – something which she would now reveal in front of Digby the dickhead. He closed his eyes briefly and prayed this was not the case, fearful that the words on the card, sent with the very best of intentions, might at some point come back to haunt him. His stomach leapt with the threat of nausea. She had looked happy, smiley. But what had he expected? It was this fact alone that had prevented him from saying the words cued up on his tongue. The words he had practised as he had showered and walked down the hill with the big gold envelope in his palm.
‘It’s you, Merry. You are my one. My person. You are kind and calm and sweet, at least you always have been to me, not like some of the other gobby girls around here. And I can’t stop thinking about you and I can’t sleep for thinking about you. And if ever things don’t work out with Digby – you know where to find me. I’ll be waiting. I’ll wait for ever. Because I love you, and whatever it was I did or didn’t do that stopped you holding my hand and kissing me, then I’m sorry, and I wish I could go back and do things differently. I had been about to tell you we needed to make more effort, really get to know each other, when you met Digby, and that’s when my world fell apart.’
‘All right there, Jarv!’ Mac from the pub called out from the dock. He raised his hand. ‘Cheer up, lad, it might never ’appen!’ Mac chortled, but Jarvis could only smile briefly. The fact was, it had already happened. And he had never felt so low, not ever.
He kept his eyes on the coast path he had been walking his whole life. He knew every square inch of the rocks, stones and earth; in all lights and in all weathers, he could find his way with no more than his footfall, but this morning he needed to concentrate on every step. Not only because it stopped him having to interact with Mac, whose words of ribbing or solace were more than he could cope with, but because it also stopped him or anyone else in Port Charles spotting the fact that he had been crying. Mainly, though, he had to concentrate because he felt as if there had been a shift in the world and he didn’t entirely trust the ground beneath his feet, fearing he might topple or fall into a crevice at any moment.
He had come to realise in recent weeks that it wasn’t only the loss of Merrin that was hard to take, but the fact that the comfortable place he held in the bosom of the Kellow family might also be in jeopardy. And the idea of being usurped by Digby Mortimer was just as unthinkable. Ben Kellow had been like a father to him, especially in recent years, when his own had been absent. He had plucked him from the school life he hated and given him a spot on the Sally-Mae, and when funds allowed, he gave his mother money – not that Jarvis was supposed to know about that. And Heather had welcomed Jarvis to their table for many a roast dinner, and when they were out at sea she packed him lunches and suppers. Doorstep sandwiches made of crusty white bread, stuffed with ham and cheese, pickles and mayonnaise. Slabs of fruit cake thickly spread with butter, a punnet of soft, sweet nectarines and squares of clotted-cream fudge in their own muslin bag – a sweet treat to swallow with a warm drink when the night felt long. It was one thing for Merrin to have Digby as her boyfriend, but for Ben and Heather to have him as a son-in-law? The thought of not being welcome in that little cottage where he had known only love and laughter sent cold bolts of fear through his gut.
He walked along the path and dropped down towards the slipway, turning sharply left into the Old Boat Shed.
‘Anyone home?’ he called out as he pushed the lower door open and stepped inside.
‘Up here, lad!’ Ben called from the loft above.
Jarvis painted on a smile and trod the rickety stairs that ran up the side of the internal brick wall. He looked down at the three boats that lived in the shed and the cart next to them, which gleamed.
‘’Bout bloody time!’ the stockily built Robin called out, laughing as he threw Jarvis a can of beer, which Jarvis caught, just. ‘We’ve missed you, Jarv!’
‘Well, I’m here now.’
He sank down into one of the two battered leather armchairs that took pride of place in the loft. Ben, he noted, was dressed up to the nines; he looked quite comical, but also like someone else entirely. He was sitting up straight with the shiny toe of his lace-up resting on the knee of his pressed slacks. It was rare to see him in anything other than clothing full of holes or with wood glue or patches dotting his jumpers and fleeces. Jarvis thought how odd it was that a shave, a smart shirt and a pair of brogues changed the demeanour of a man. Again he thought of Digby, with his soft hands and his well-spoken drawl, who he had seen in the pub on occasion with his la-di-da mates, his expensive shirts hanging outside of his trousers by design. The cold beer felt good as he hurled it down his neck.