‘Do you like the boy?’ Robin asked the question Jarvis would not have dared to.
Ben ran his hand over his newly shaved chin. ‘Like is a strong word.’ The boys laughed. ‘I thought it’d be a flash in the pan when it first started, but look at us all.’ He ran the flat of his palm over his lapel. ‘One year on, and they’ve hardly been apart. I’ve got to know the boy this last year, and I have to say he’s always polite, compliments the wife’s cooking and brings me a decent bottle of red now and then, so I can’t grumble. Plus, I trust Merry’s judgement; she’s got her head screwed on and she’s been raised right and so I’m willing to welcome him into my family with open arms if he makes her happy.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’ Jarvis blinked.
This time his words needed no such consideration. ‘Then I’ll throttle the little bastard! Or take him for a ride on Sally-Mae in a pair of concrete boots.’
They all chortled.
‘I’m joking, of course. He seems like a nice enough lad. You seen our Merry today, Jarv?’
Jarvis shifted in the chair. ‘I dropped a card in. She was getting ready. All the girls were there.’
‘Why do you think I’m here?’ Ben chuckled. ‘I’m hiding out.’
‘There’s worse places.’ He took in the view.
As he often did on a day like this, Ben had opened the wide wooden hatch, which was effectively one whole side of the room, and lowered it on its chains. It was as if the loft was in the sky itself, as sunshine and warmth touched it and dust particles danced in the rays of light. It was at moments like this that Jarvis found it even harder to fathom his father’s actions. The man had given up a place on Ben’s boat, a seat at his mother’s dinner table and a view like this on idling days. What was it his mum had said? ‘Love can be fickle . . .’ And in some ways he understood, knowing he would have done anything, gone anywhere and given up everything to have Merrin feel about him as he did her.
‘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.