To Love and Be Loved(2)
‘No, I’m not joking.’
Wriggling free of his grip, she sat up straight, only then noticing the hurt in his eyes. He stared at her with an intensity that was new and searing in its honesty. She realised in that moment that the vulnerability and exposure she felt at being asked must only be magnified if you were the one doing the asking. She ran her palm over the side of his face. To receive a proposal was the most incredible feeling. Intoxicating and an aphrodisiac like no other. Someone wanted to spend the rest of their life with her – and not just someone, but Digby Mortimer, a boy who had been no more than a passing acquaintance until all but twelve months ago! All doubt faded from her mind like early morning mist, eased by the sun’s warming rays.
Her life had barely begun, but the simple truth was that eligible men were a little thin on the ground in a small place like Port Charles. She had always thought she’d have to leave the village to find a partner, then drag him back to her beloved Cornwall. The thought of living anywhere other than her home was not something she was prepared to consider, even if it did mean she ended up on the shelf next to the old tea kettle, the family Bible and an old black-and-white photograph of a miserable-looking Granny Ellen and Grandpa Arthur on their wedding day.
‘The truth is, Merrin’ – he sat up and reached for her hand – ‘I’m only happy when I’m with you. Happier than I’ve ever been. I can be myself for the first time ever. It’s like I’ve shaken off a skin. I don’t have to impress you like I do my friends, or pretend everything is hunky-dory when it isn’t. And you don’t give a shit about the stuff my mother bangs on about all the time – money, status, the right thing to do, the right place to be seen, the right clothes to wear.’ He closed his eyes with a sigh, as if even the thought of wearing these masks was exhausting. ‘I’m happier sitting here on a patch of grass with this view than at any other time in my life. Whenever we say goodbye, I count down the minutes until I can be next to you again. You make me happy because you love me no matter what.’
‘I do.’ She crossed her legs and sat forward with her elbows on her knees, her hands inside his. ‘I love you no matter what.’
‘So let’s do it! Why not? Let’s get married!’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Please don’t make me say it again.’ He smiled.
‘One more time would be nice.’ She leant forward and kissed his sweet mouth, feeling a jolt of love deep in her gut for this beautiful man.
‘Merrin, will you marry me? Please.’
‘Oh, my God! Yes! Yes I will! I’d love to marry you, Digby!’ Jumping forward, she lay on top of him, kissing him as he ran his palm over her flat stomach towards her bra so they could celebrate in the only way they knew how.
CHAPTER ONE
MERRIN
Merrin stood outside, barefoot on the uneven cobbles, liking the way they fitted inside the high arch of her instep, anchoring her as she curled her toes around them. No matter the environment, she always felt better without shoes and socks, her feet treading the earth, grass, sea, rocks or shoreline; it seemed to connect her and calm her like nothing else. Especially today and at this early-morning hour when she had woken, climbed from her single bed and trod the narrow wooden stairs, feeling as if a thin cushion of air lay between her and the ground, almost as though she were floating. She was excited mostly, but a little overwhelmed, too. Not that she would show it. It was her knack, keeping herself together when things veered off course – in part because her sister, Ruby, never shied away from high emotion and the chance to display it; her outbursts, mostly unwarranted, were a little draining, no matter how predictable. Merrin’s demeanour provided balance.
‘Grampa Arthur has collapsed; he’s not breathing, Merry! I just seen him in the garden! He’s lying on his front on the path!’
‘Look at me, Rubes! Look at me! Go and fetch Dr Levington and then go and find Dad in the pub and I’ll sit with Gramps. It’s all going to be okay.’
Merrin’s heart had felt like it might explode and yet she had smiled, kept calm and taken control. Not bad for a nine-year-old. It hadn’t all been okay, far from it – Gramps had died – but she knew enough to pretend for as long as she needed to. She missed him still, but it had been a salient lesson that when the shit hit the fan, there might not be anyone else around to take the tiller; sometimes the most responsible person around was you.
She felt a familiar unease at the sight of Lizzie Lick plucking shells from the shoreline and stuffing them into the pockets of her smock, and averted her eyes from the woman most thought of as a weirdo. Merrin glanced back at her surreptitiously with no desire to engage, as Lizzie, who danced to her own tune, mumbled to herself, as per usual.
Breathing long and slow, Merrin closed her eyes briefly, feeling instantly better, calmed. This was the perfect spot with the widest view and she could spend hours here, staring at the waves. Her dad once told her they were the heads of white, foaming horses, cantering up to the break and crashing, before making a sharp turn and petering to nothing on their return. It was now impossible for her to see them in any other way. Looking out over the purple bruise of sky where clouds hung low over the ocean, she offered up a silent prayer.
Please don’t rain! Not on my wedding day . . .
The waves roared against the harbour wall in response. The Kellows lived in one of four solid and compact family cottages on the harbourside, although the end two had been sold off a while since as holiday homes. The hands of Kellow men had built them well over two centuries ago, the stones and rocks gathered from the quarry up the coast, each one hefted down to the harbourside. Her dad and the five generations of Kellows before him made their living fishing. And number one Kellow Cottages was where she’d been born and the only place she had lived.