‘Why?’ She giggled, erasing the image of Digby proposing on the grass that had leapt into her mind. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, not tonight.
‘I just want to be friendly. Plus, I always wanted a rabbit, but I grew up in a flat on a main road and so it wasn’t ideal. I thought I could rectify the fact by befriending the rabbits that run around here.’
‘That’s not going to happen. We have wild rabbits around the cottage at home and they’re cute, but pests.’ She laughed again. ‘And trust me, it’s a compliment I find you funny. I don’t laugh half as much as I used to.’
‘God, that’s sad, why don’t you?’ He walked forward and she looked up at him, no longer worried about how the evening would begin and whether they might struggle to find common ground, as just like that and with no more than a few shared words, they had started. And it felt easy.
‘I don’t know.’ She did know, of course, but figured it was better not to launch into the most depressing of stories before they had even left the hotel grounds. ‘I guess I used to be the kind of person who thought that anything was possible and then one summer I realised that some things are not possible, and that sometimes life doesn’t turn out how you think it will and there’s not a lot you can do about it.’
‘You sound wise, like Yoda.’
Again she felt her face break into a smile. ‘Thank you. I think.’
The White Swan was their pub of choice and, in a cosy nook, Merrin drank three large glasses of wine, finding it easier to relax with each sip that passed her lips.
‘It’s nice, isn’t it?’ She beamed.
‘What is?’ He seemed to be concentrating and she knew then that her words might be a tad slurred.
‘Being out!’ She laughed, throwing her arms wide. ‘Being out of our rooms and away from work!’ The sensation reminded her of carefree nights on the beach with Bella, Ruby and Jarvis, and of running down the slipway with her shoes in her hands as the sun came up . . . glorious freedom in the most beautiful setting. How she missed it, but being out with Miguel in a pub felt like a small step on the road back to normality. Actually, no, it felt like a big step, and with it came a sense of pride that she had taken the step at all.
‘You make it sound like a prison.’
‘A prison I choose and where I read William Spakespeare! That’s close enough!’ She giggled. ‘Me! Reading William Shh . . . akespeare. I used to think I couldn’t do that; I used to think I couldn’t do lots of things, but I can, Miguel. I can.’
‘I think you can do anything you put your mind to. I also think we’d better get you home.’ Miguel downed the remainder of his pint and helped her from her chair.
‘Sorry, I’m a little out of practice; feel a bit tipsy.’ She smiled and followed him out into the cooler night air, which hit her face and made her realise just how tipsy she was. ‘You’re my first friend here, Miguel.’
‘I’m honoured.’ He gave a mock bow. ‘People talk about you a little bit; they wonder why you keep yourself to yourself so much. I mean, you are young, how old are you, thirty-four? Forty?’ He laughed and she slapped his arm.
‘Charming!’ It was a moment that defused the hurt she felt that people talked about her here too. The very thing she had been trying to escape – the thought was sobering. ‘What do they say?’ Her voice was quiet, as if she didn’t really want to know the answer.
‘Nothing bad, nothing nasty; you’re well liked. Everyone says you’re sweet, friendly, hardworking, reliable, it’s all good, Merrin, but that you seem a bit . . .’
‘A bit what?’ she pushed, as a lump grew in her throat.
‘As you said earlier – sad, I guess.’
She nodded. Her head spun from too much booze and she hoped she wasn’t going to be sick.
‘There’s a lady where I live, where I used to live, where I’m from in Cornwall.’ She was gabbling a little. ‘She’s called Lizzie Lick.’
‘Is that a common surname? Mr and Mrs Lick!’ he called out, as if announcing them. His humour was like a balm; it lifted the moment.
‘No. It’s cruel, really. That’s the name everyone has given her; I don’t know why. I used to hide from her when I was a little girl; she has long, unbrushed hair and wide eyes.’
The two paused in Castle Street and Merrin rested on the porch of Epworth House, leaning on the oak beams as if she lived there. ‘I remember seeing her coming towards me on the beach one winter morning. She was staring. I had my wellingtons on and we were collecting shells. I ran to my mum and gripped her hand and she bent down and whispered to me, “You don’t need to be afraid of Liz, she’s just sad. She won’t hurt you. She’s never hurt anyone.” I wanted to know why she was sad and my mum told me that it was because the person she loved most in the whole wide world died and it was like Lizzie had fallen to the floor and couldn’t get up again.’ She looked up at Miguel, who didn’t have a quip, but stared at her, as if taking in her words. ‘I asked if it was her mummy that died? Because I loved my mum most in the whole wide world and I couldn’t begin to imagine the loss of her.’ She gripped the post as her legs swayed a little. ‘But she told me it was her daughter she’d lost. It was the first time I understood that you didn’t have to be a grown-up to die. I’ve never forgotten it.’
‘No wonder Lizzie Lick is sad and doesn’t brush her hair.’ Miguel took her hand and prised her from the post, tucking her arm into the crook of his for the walk home. It felt nice to have human contact. She’d missed it.
‘I understand now I’m older that what you see isn’t her, it’s not Lizzie, it’s the shadow of her. And I know because that’s been me for the last year or so. People are talking about me too, like they do her.’