Miguel came closer, his expression alarmed and the red box nowhere in sight.
‘He’s dead, Merry! Oh, my God!’ her sister wailed. ‘He died! My dad died!’
Merrin felt the air leave her lungs and her throat almost close. She didn’t remember ending the call or explaining to Miguel what had happened, but was aware that he had crouched down in front of her and had taken her hands into his own.
‘Don’t worry, Merrin. Don’t worry. You are in shock, love. I’ll drive you home. I’ll drive you to the front door. It’s all going to be okay.’ She remembered offering her sister a similar lie when Gramps had died. ‘We’ll go in my car. Take your time, it’s all going to be okay,’ he repeated. ‘I’m taking you home, my love. I’ll take you home.’ He kissed her forehead as one might a child’s and she sat back in the chair. His words echoed around her, surreal and almost comical in their absurdity. Her dad . . . not her dad! She felt swamped by exhaustion but at the same time wired, on high alert, trying to make sense of what Ruby had told her. It didn’t feel true.
Without waiting for her response, Miguel pulled the small suitcase from the bottom of the wardrobe and she watched in silence as he packed her jeans, trainers, sweatshirt, nightclothes, toiletries and her black dress and shoes – thinking ahead, helping her in her dire time of need, this marvellous man.
‘My dad, he, erm . . .’ She couldn’t say the words.
‘I know, my love, I know. You already told me. Don’t try to speak. Just sit tight and we’ll be on our way in no time. Just sit tight.’ Again he kissed her forehead.
‘You don’t have to do that. You’re working tomorrow, I can get a cab and then get a . . . erm . . . a . . . on the tracks.’ Ridiculously, the word ‘train’ eluded her. On the tail end of his double shift, and in light of their horrendous and emotional evening, Miguel insisted and she felt a wave of gratitude towards him.
‘No, I’ll take you to Port Charles. Of course I will! I’ll always be right here when you need me, Merrin. Always. That’s the deal. It’s what your dad would have wanted: for me to see you safely home.’
She stared at him with her head cocked to one side and felt the embarrassing temptation to giggle because it was at once shocking and funny that he had used the past tense . . . as if . . . as if . . . But it couldn’t be real, it couldn’t . . . not her daddy.
‘You’re in shock.’ He grabbed the duvet from the bed, scattering petals as he did so and blowing out the rest of the candles. ‘I’m right here. And I’ll get you home safely. You can sleep in the car on the way down.’
His kindness left her tearful.
‘Thank you, Miguel.’ She reached out and gripped his forearm.
He nodded and placed his hand over hers. ‘I love you. I wish I could make all the hurt go away.’
And if her brain hadn’t been full of the loss of her dad and the way Ruby had sounded on the phone – utterly, utterly broken – she would have explained that there was so much hurt inside her she was worried that if you removed it all there might be nothing left. Energy and coherence were for her in short supply. Her body and mind were numb, as if suspended and waiting, waiting to get back to Port Charles, where her heart resided. She shook violently, as if freezing cold.
Guided now by his hand on the small of her back, and wrapped in the double duvet that did little to stop her shaking, he steered her towards the car park.
‘Good evening, sir.’
She turned to look at the person Miguel addressed and saw Digby leaning on a car, smoking. Her stomach bunched and it felt unreal; she had temporarily forgotten that he was here.
‘Good evening,’ he replied to Miguel.
She locked eyes with him.
‘All okay?’ He put the cigarette on the floor and crushed it with the heel of his brogue, staring at her wrapped up in the car park at this ungodly hour.
‘I’m . . . I’m going home,’ she managed, wanting to tell Digby, who knew her dad and who was part of her life, her history.
‘Has something happened?’ He stepped out of the shadows.
‘My dad . . . my dad died.’ She felt her gut fold with the punch of her words as realisation dawned that this is what had happened. Her dad had died . . .
‘Oh God, no! Not Ben! Oh, your poor mum. Is Ruby with her? Is there anything I can do?’
Miguel seemed to stagger back a step or two as if sideswiped.
‘What the fuck is going on here?’
Merrin stared at him and then looked back at Digby, as her tears trickled down her cheeks.
‘This is . . . this is the guy, the one who . . . who, you know, from home. I told you once about having something perfect and that it got broken – well, this is him, the person who broke it.’ She cried now, great, breath-stealing sobs that left her spent.
‘Get out of my fucking way!’ Miguel spat, and she watched as Digby stumbled back into the shadows.
Neither of them spoke until they reached the motorway. Merrin was too busy trying to make sense of Ruby’s terrible news. The surreal addition of Digby into the equation was just another strange thing for her to deal with on this momentous night.
‘Digby.’ He kept his voice low, respectful and yet still with an urgency to understand what was going on. ‘The rich kid from Port Charles . . .’
‘Yes.’ She managed to scramble the word from a throat full of grit.
‘Why is he in our hotel? Did you know he was here?’ He gripped the steering wheel.
Merrin wanted him to be quiet to let her think, to try to understand what had happened to her dad, but was also vaguely aware that she was in his car and he was going out of his way to help her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
‘Did you arrange for him to be here on Valentine’s?’ he asked quietly, as if he couldn’t quite bear to hear the answer.