To Love and Be Loved(14)
‘Beautiful day.’ He stared at the water, trying to divert his sadness, and inhaled the warm, salt-tinged breeze that filled the space.
‘Yep. He’s already been asked if the Boat Shed’s for sale twice this morning by a couple of blokes with good shoes, empty heads and full wallets.’ Robin shook his head and ran his callused palm over his face. ‘Mind you, the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to go out fishing in the dead of winter.’ He sucked air through his teeth. ‘A big fat wallet of cash from a townie might be a lot more attractive, eh, Ben?’
‘You can’t sell it!’ Jarvis’s heart beat a little too fast at the prospect. His interest was selfish: this loft was his haven, his social life and the place he felt closest to his dad, who used to sit on this very chair and while away the hours with Ben. He ran his fingers over the cracked leather arm of the chair, as if feeling the warmth of his useless dad’s lingering touch.
‘Ignore Robin.’ Ben shook his head at the man. ‘I’d never sell it. It’s a little piece of heaven right here in Port Charles. The memories I have line the walls and fill all the gaps. Courting my missus, mucking about with your dad’ – he nodded at Jarvis – ‘even sitting here on days like this with you two hooligans.’ He grinned. ‘This loft is my place and it ain’t for sale, not now, not never!’
Jarvis took a deep breath and felt his pulse settle. It was one less thing to worry about and small fry compared to the hollowed-out sensation in his gut and the way his heart felt like it had dropped down into his boots. It was in fact quite similar to the way he had felt when his dad left. He was empty and yet full of loss.
He pictured Merrin’s eyes as he had handed her the card. She looked happy, excited, and he was certain it was the first time he had seen her look that way. He picked up the can of beer. No harm in finishing it, he thought, chugging it down, relishing the cold bubbles as they hit his throat.
CHAPTER FOUR
MERRIN
Merrin stood in front of the narrow full-length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and stared at her reflection, unable to believe the transformation from her usual scruffy self into this person she barely recognised. She felt a flutter of joy in her stomach: this was how Digby was going to see her! She couldn’t wait. There had been times when, introduced to the double-barrelled girls from his old school or university who were passing through or here for the weekend, plain old Merrin Mercy Kellow had felt the punch of inadequacy in her gut. How Digby felt about her had never been in doubt, nor did she have the slightest misgiving over her decision to marry him, but she’d be lying if she said the polished Penelopes and vivacious Veritys who had skied with him, sailed with him and played tennis with him didn’t leave her feeling a tiny bit like an outsider. There was one notable supper at his parents’ kitchen table when all, bar Merrin, had been apoplectic with laughter over an incident she had not seen at an event she had not attended.
‘Sorry, Merry, are we being a little rude?’ The girl, Phoebe, had placed her hand on her arm. ‘Don’t worry, it was before your time.’
‘I’m not worried.’ She had sipped her gin. ‘And Phoebe, you’re not being a little rude.’ Her words, offered sharply yet calmly, had given her confidence that she could, when and if required, stand up to these girls of Digby’s inner circle.
The room had fallen silent and Mrs Mortimer had stared at her with an expression that Merrin found hard to fathom; she couldn’t decide if it was admiration that the quiet girl had found her voice, or fury. Not that Merrin had ever mentioned this to Digby, knowing they had a lifetime to catch up on activities and make their own set of memories, and also not wanting him to think she was one of those girls: clingy and insecure, even though she did on occasion let self-doubt infiltrate her thoughts and feel the sharp beginnings of becoming both.
In these moments, it was as if he had a sixth sense. He would come close to her and reassuringly hold her hand, run his fingers over her back or just look her in the eye. The hours they had spent up at Reunion Point, revealing their inner selves, confessing to their fears and sharing their dreams, meant they were in tune and could gauge when what might be an innocuous remark to anyone else was actually cutting the other quite deep. He seemed to know just what she needed and when. She had said as much to Ruby, who had lifted her top lip. ‘Wow, what a catch! He sounds wonderful!’ Her tone had been mocking and Merrin had resolved not to share such insights with her again. It saddened her that she needed to censor what she revealed to her sister, but there was precious little she could do about that. Bella reasoned it was because Ruby craved the stable relationship Merrin boasted of, but this understanding didn’t do much to make her barbs more palatable.
Over the last few weeks, before sleep, she had imagined walking up the aisle on her dad’s arm, picturing the moment her fiancé turned his face towards her and his expression as he first glimpsed her in this wedding dress. The thought of it had been almost as exciting as the reality of this moment. Taking a step closer, she scrutinised the frock. It was beautiful, breathtakingly gorgeous, and it was hers. The slim-waisted, full-skirted affair did indeed fit her like a glove, just as Mrs Mort— Lor— Digby’s mother had said.
They had gone dress shopping in Truro. She and her mum had been towed along as Digby’s mother had either shaken her head or beamed her approval at each fabric suggestion, accessory tried on and every one of the thousands of dresses that had been lowered over her head by willing staff keen for the big sale. It had felt weirdly exciting yet at the same time mildly unpleasant to be trying on a frock that cost more than Vera Wilma Brown.