‘Digby?’ The woman looked at her quizzically, as if confused.
‘Yes! And I did become the person everyone talked about.’ Heat rose in her flushed cheeks.
‘For a while,’ Digby’s mother whispered. ‘Only for a while. Imagine it for a lifetime.’
‘Is that you, Loretta?’ Heather called softly from the top of the stairs. ‘Come up.’
Merrin felt flustered by her mother’s invitation, knowing her dad would have thrown the woman out, just as he had the uniform she had presented to his wife. It was another reminder that he was gone and his absence left them a little exposed, vulnerable even. She heard the creak of floorboards overhead as her mother made her way back to the bed. Loretta turned slowly, and quietly trod the stairs.
Falling back into the chair, weakened by the exchange, Merrin felt her heart clatter in her chest.
‘Did that just happen?’ she whispered to her friend, who placed the vase of flowers in the middle of the table.
‘She’s in your house!’ Bella looked up as if she, too, could not quite believe the turn of events.
Merrin again thought about the uniform debacle. Where does she think she lives? Buckingham bloody Palace? She grew up in a caravan at the back of the bog! I won’t ’ave it!’
She wondered what her lovely dad would make of the fact that old Loretta from Mellor Waters was in his bedroom. The thought of him was enough to signal a fresh bout of tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MERRIN
Merrin sat up straight at the table and stared out to sea. It was what her dad would have described as a ‘golden day’. Cold, but with a blue sky and that magical bright-after-the-rain feeling that was as fresh as it was hopeful.
‘Gallop home, little ones,’ she whispered.
‘Who you talking to?’
Her mum, sitting to her right, pulled her from her thoughts, but her gaze stayed resolutely on the water. ‘The little horses.’
‘Little horses,’ Heather whispered under her breath. ‘He had lots of daft little sayings, didn’t he?’
Merrin nodded and pushed the plate with the remainder of her toast across the table.
‘Not that hungry, love?’
She shook her head. Her eyes were drawn to Loretta’s flowers, which sat in pride of place in the middle of the table.
‘Did Loretta tell you we had words?’ Merrin felt shy raising it, knowing it was not the main topic, today of all days.
‘No, but I heard a bit of it floating up through the floorboards. She was proper cut up, sat on my bed and was quite teary. Not that I was in any state to comfort her.’
Merrin patted her mum’s arm. ‘It felt good to say things I’ve wanted to for a while, but I never wanted to upset her.’
‘Wasn’t only your words, love. She’s mournful – often got that way when I was cleaning for her over the years. Everyone has a story, Merrin.’
‘I guess so.’ She wondered what Loretta’s story was.
‘Do you mind if I go out for a little walk before the service, Mum? I know Ruby and Jarvis are coming through in a bit and we’ll all go to the church together like we’ve planned, but I need a bit of fresh air. I’ll wait right here until they arrive. You won’t be on your own.’
‘Avoiding your sister?’ Heather asked wearily.
‘Maybe, but mostly I don’t want to make a show of myself in front of everyone and I know if I can take a minute to order my thoughts, I can walk in and do Dad proud.’ Her voice caught.
‘Your dad was proud, always. So very proud of both of you.’
Merrin reached across and took her mum’s hand inside her own. ‘Would you like me to do your hair?’ She avoided looking at the back of Heather’s head, which needed a decent brush through it.
‘My hair?’ Her mum stared at her as if her words were in a foreign tongue.
‘Just so you look nice for the funeral? I could pop the curling tongs on?’
Heather let her head fall forward and reached for the toilet tissue in front of her. ‘I only ever bothered about looking nice for Ben, only ever cared what he thought. I can’t be bothered with anything, Merrin, not anything. Not if he isn’t here! What’s the point?’ Her sob was loud and unrestrained.
‘You won’t always feel that way, Mum. I promise.’ She hoped this was the truth, as much for her mum’s sake as her own. Heather made her arms into a cradle and placed her head on them, again lost to the wearying pull of grief and ignoring her daughter’s words of comfort.
Merrin had for the longest time doubted the validity of true love, knowing it could change and be fleeting, proving there was nothing ‘true’ about it. But to see her mother so broken, so adrift without her Ben by her side . . . it was proof that a deep, true love existed, and to lose it was like losing part of yourself. Her heart ached for her mother, but at the same time swelled with joy that she and Ben had been lucky enough to know such a thing.
The service was at eleven thirty in the morning and by the time Merrin made it up the hill in the black dress and shoes that Miguel had so kindly and thoughtfully packed for her, a borrowed scarf and her coat, the blue sky had taken on a grey bruise. It was the colour only the Cornish coast knew: a special dull, mink grey that filled the big sky, conveying not only the damp chill in the air, but also the misery.