‘Going at you how?’ She wasn’t sympathetic, but she was certainly interested. She had always felt his mother might in some way view her as a little inadequate, not quite the type of girl he usually dated. An image of Phoebe came to her mind, the girl who had placed her hand on Merrin’s arm. ‘Sorry, Merry, are we being a little rude?’
‘She kept telling me how this might be the biggest mistake I would ever make, how she thought at first it was a summer fling that would run its course and how she’s had reservations since that first night we told them we wanted to get married.’
‘She never thought I was good enough for you. I knew it. Her niceness is a thin veneer. But I never thought she’d have this much influence.’ She let this hang. To hear confirmation that Mrs Mortimer did not think she was good enough for her son chipped away at the fragile veil of confidence in which Merrin was wrapped. It felt horrible. ‘But so what if your mother doesn’t like me? It wouldn’t be the first marriage where that was the case!’ She hated how much it sounded like she was pleading, shovelling away the hurt, still shamefully trying to find a way in which she might be wed to this boy she so loved.
‘Apparently, she’s tried hard to put her worries to bed because all she wants is for me to be happy.’ He spoke the words her parents, too, held as their mantra. ‘But all her words have fallen on deaf ears, because I didn’t want to hear it, Merrin. I wanted to marry you!’
She heard the emotion in his voice and felt the first sting of the tears she had managed to keep at bay all day. Mainly in response to the tense he had chosen: wanted to marry you . . . Without him saying another word, she knew this was no longer the case. They were words that cut her loose, dissolved their bonds and left her wondering how she was going to go on. Her mouth twisted and her eyes crinkled in an ugly cry that gave no credence to aesthetics – her hurt went far, far deeper than that. It was no real surprise to hear how much his mother disapproved, but no less upsetting for that. She pictured the woman making her try on one wedding dress and then another and another . . . a ridiculous and cruel pantomime while she poured words of doubt into her son’s ear. It was the most horrible thought. And one that was impossible for Merrin to understand: how, how could a woman do that to another?
‘It . . . it hurts,’ she stuttered. ‘I haven’t cried all day because it didn’t feel real, but now . . .’ She felt the warm, constant trickle across her cheeks. ‘You’ve broken my heart, Digby.’ Her voice faltered. ‘You’ve absolutely broken my heart. You’re listening to your mother over me and I guess that’s the point at which we fall apart. You choose her. I get it.’ She let this sink in, her sadness pulling her down and rendering her weak. ‘But in the process, you sold me a dream . . . and now you’ve humiliated me in front of my family, my neighbours, all the people I care about. All my life I’ve tried to live well, live quietly, knowing how reputations can be made or broken in a small place. It was important to me; I am a Kellow and we built Port Charles. This is my home, I’m part of it and it’s part of me and now I’m marked: I have a story, a scandal that will follow me like a bad smell.’ Her voice was now no more than a rasp. ‘This is the day people will talk about. The day I put on a wedding dress and everyone in the village turned out in their finest clothes and you didn’t show.’ Her tears fell and her eyes felt sore, as hysteria reached for her and held her fast. ‘I shan’t shake that off, not ever. I’ll be the new Lizzie Lick.’ Her voice croaked at this truth.
Digby shook his head, as if this very thought was absurd.
‘And I could never have imagined that you would do something like this to me, not ever. I would have thought you’d be the last person to do something like this.’ She swiped at her nose with her fingertips, caring little how she looked or that she had smudged the artfully applied slick of mascara or that her eyes might be bloodshot and her nose running.
It was not the fairy-tale beginning she had been planning and picturing for months. It was in fact their ending. This was happening. It was real. They were done. Her body felt hollowed out, scooped of all substance, and she was no more than a shell of her former self, frail and pulled eggshell thin with disappointment.
‘I can’t believe it.’ She whispered the truth.
‘You are the most amaz—’
‘Shut the fuck up, Digby!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t you dare give me that bullshit about how fantastic I am and how someone will be lucky to have me, or whatever other crap you are about to spout.’
He closed his mouth.
Her breath came in gulps and it was hard to get words out through a throat so narrowed with distress. ‘I don’t know how to get over this, not right now. I honestly can’t see what happens next.’ She bit her lip. ‘So many people hurt, embarrassed, involved’ – she pictured the girls shielding her on the cart – ‘and they’re all waiting to give you a piece of their mind.’
‘I’ve already had a run-in with Ruby.’
She ignored him. ‘I feel so stupid. I thought you were someone different, someone I could open up to. I‘ve told you everything, painted a picture of the life I wanted, and now I wish I hadn’t. I thought I could trust you. I believed you, I thought we were on the same page, but turns out we weren’t even reading the same book.’ A fresh batch of tears gathered and she did nothing to stem them.
He looked at her and again his mouth flapped as he tried to form the words that might make everything a bit better. Had such words existed.
‘I never wanted to hurt you, Merrin. You are fantastic and I don’t deserve you.’
‘Damn right you don’t.’ Her voice was reedy.
‘My mother, she’s . . .’