‘Loretta?’ Heather asked, her eyes crinkled in confusion.
‘Loretta, pah. No!’ her gran yelled. ‘Not Loretta, his mother, Guthrie’s mother, Eunice. A meddler, that’s what she was. A rotten stinking meddler!’
Ruby locked eyes with Merrin, who shook her head almost imperceptibly to let her sister know that she didn’t have the faintest idea what her gran was wittering on about either.
‘Tell me you’re not having your hair like that?’ the old lady commented tartly as she sat down in the wing-backed chair her daughter-in-law had only recently vacated.
‘It’s not finished.’ Merrin touched her fingers to her curls.
‘Well, I can see that!’ Her gran, as usual, didn’t pull any punches. ‘Ruby, go make your gran a cup of tea!’
Ruby idled to the stove to once again set the kettle on the hot plate.
‘I’ve just passed Jarvis on the path with a face like a smacked arse. Reckon he regrets not popping the question himself.’
‘Don’t be daft, they were only little ’uns when they were courting, playing at it more than anything,’ her mum cut in.
‘Exactly! Jarvis has no interest in Merrin, he’s far too smart for that,’ Ruby fired with her usual lack of charm.
‘I know all that, Rubes, but someone should tell it to Jarvis’s face; it looked close to tears.’
‘Jarvis is a good lad. Reckon you’ve broke his little heart!’ Bella joined in. ‘It’s not too late, Merry. Until that ring is on your finger you can still change your mind!’
‘You’re not funny, Bella. I don’t love Jarvis. I never loved Jarvis, not even a bit. He was just a mate who I practised kissing with, really. I love Digby, and Mum’s right, we were only playing at it.’ It was the truth. She and Jarvis had embarked on a childish love affair, no more than a juvenile fling that lasted mere months, and they’d certainly got nowhere near the wiggle-and-tuppence stage, but he was her last and only previous significant other, the boy who now worked for her dad and had laughed at her fringe. ‘What I feel for Digby is the real deal. . .’
‘How do you know, Merry?’ Bella’s question was genuine, with no hint of her comedic tone.
Merrin took a breath. ‘It’s hard to put into words, but I just do.’
‘She’s right,’ her gran chimed. ‘It’s a feeling in the pit of your stomach and a confidence that comes with it. It’s so strong you’d ditch your whole family and all you know just for the feel of their arms around you.’
Merrin smiled warmly at her gran, knowing she could not have put it better herself.
‘Was it like that for you and Arthur, Ellen?’ Heather asked softly.
‘No, ’twas not!’ Ellen Kellow spat, and everyone laughed.
Merrin took her time. ‘I know Digby’s the one, and I’ve known it since that first date, that first contact.’
‘That first sexy time?’ Bella yelled, and even Ellen laughed.
Merrin tutted, but the truth was yes, especially then. She closed her eyes briefly, picturing the face of the man who today would become her husband.
CHAPTER THREE
JARVIS
Jarvis Cardy had woken early. No matter the day, week or month, rain or shine, hail, thunder, snow or a summer’s morn, he always woke a little before five a.m. It was the fisherman’s curse and he was unable to adjust his body clock when on land; his mind alert and ready to work at the ungodly hour. He had gripped the side of the bed and taken a second to establish whether he was rolling on a wave or on solid ground, thankful for the soft resistance of his mattress.
Not that he’d slept very well. It had been a fretful night of discomfort, as his body twitched and his thoughts raced. He’d climbed from his single bed and pushed open the double doors that led to the flat iron railing of the Juliet balcony. This room at the top of his mother’s house on the corner of Lamp Hill was his haven. Ben, Robin and he had renovated it some five years ago when his dad had packed a bag and left. Jarvis, then aged sixteen, had been lost, bereft.
Now, with that particular sadness behind him, he could see that smashing up through the plaster board and turning the attic space into his own private floor had not only been good for him, giving him physical separation from the rest of the house, but it was also vital for his mental health. And not to mention the perfect distraction, as thoughts of his absent dad were buried under the hauling of lumber, the sawing of wood, the hammering of nails, the laying of the floor and the painting of walls. His anger was taken out on joists, lumps of metal and vigorously mixed buckets of plaster. When he’d woken after that first night in his new room and stood at this window, looking out through the gap between the church spire of St Michael’s and the tall houses of Fore Street, he could see the cove, the sea and the bend of Kellow Cottages, where Merrin lived. He felt then pretty much as he did now, relieved that no matter what turmoil might come along and rob him of decent sleep, the world outside his window was unchanged.
‘Tea, love.’ His mum spoke as she knocked and entered his room, the creak of the floor overhead the indicator that her son was awake.
‘Thanks.’ He took the mug into his palms, grateful.
‘How you feeling?’ She studied his face in the way that irritated him, made him feel like a child.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look fine.’ Nancy let her eyes crinkle empathetically. ‘You look sad, and that’s okay. When your heart hurts, it’s okay to say so. You don’t have to be the big man all the time.’