Heather nodded, suggesting it was the same for her.
‘I’m going to close my eyes in the chair for a minute or two. I know it’s early, but I’m done.’ Her mum bit her lip and wiped her face with trembling fingers.
‘I shan’t be long,’ she said over her shoulder as she quietly closed the cottage door behind her.
Merrin walked the cobbles and let the cold air of early evening sharpen her thoughts. The moon was full and the sea calm. The sounds of celebration and remembrance and hoots of laughter drifted from the back room of the pub, where Ben’s wake was still in full swing for those who had decided to make a night of it. And for the briefest moment in the foggy confusion of grief, she pictured her dad inside, propping up the bar and laughing at whatever merriment was occurring, before the hard lance of realisation made him fade from the picture. The irony was he would have loved today: the singing, the beer, being the centre of attention . . .
At the edge of the coastal path where the steps veered to the left, she began her descent to the beach, treading them with caution as she looked out over the darkening landscape. About halfway down the steps, she sat, running her hand through the air, and reaching back to feel the sandy soil, trod by those whose bloodline she shared.
Home . . .
She drew breath and spoke aloud. ‘It’s not been my home for a long time now, and yet part of me lives here, always will.’
Her eyes swept over the cove where fragments of her heart and every memory of her beloved dad were lodged in the rocks along the shoreline, the bark of the full and ancient trees that stood proudly on the clifftops, and where his laughter would carry as faint whispers on the summer breeze. She could see him now on the deck of the Sally-Mae with his head thrown back and eyes closed, laughing loudly in abandon.
‘I wish I could have one more day, Dad. Just one more to tell you that I love you, and that I hope Ruby was speaking in grief and frustration, because the thought of letting you down—’ She gulped the sob that built in her chest. ‘I want the life you had, Dad: solid, happy, and even one filled with love.’ She closed her eyes and thought about Miguel. Her thoughts flew to the night of her engagement to Digby and her dad’s words: ‘I wish . . . I wish for you both a long and happy marriage like the one we share. Cos I know that without Heather by my side there’s no point. She’s everythin’. My good mate, my great love and all my happiness.’ Her mum’s eyes had misted as she wiped her face with a tea towel. That was what Merrin had hoped for. But maybe it was unrealistic; maybe making Miguel happy, even though her feelings were a little muted, would be enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
JARVIS
The bar was full of drunks in their darkest finery, black blazers and suit jackets hung on the backs of chairs like the saddest of skins shed for the purpose of drinking and remembering. Black ties sat askew against throats that were hoarse from singing and shouting as they reminisced about the man they loved and had lost. The windows were steamed up and the floor sticky with booze slopped from unsteady hands. One such pair of hands now made their way to the little corner table where Ben had held court on many a night. The oak tabletop still pulsed with the touch of his hand and the legs were scuffed where his steel-toed boot had kicked as his leg jumped in excitement, as the fisherman’s tales grew more elaborate and the jokes more raucous with each sip.
Jarvis felt a bit third party – here but not here; everything had a dream-like quality. When he found himself to be having a good time he’d look around for Ben and his brain would remind him sharply that this was his wake, the news landing like a jab to his gut.
‘Here we go, mate.’ Robin placed the full pint of beer in front of him on the table.
‘Cheers.’ Jarvis took a sip. ‘It don’t seem real.’
‘It don’t.’ Robin stared at him.
There they were, the two survivors of the glorious trio who had sailed the seas, propped up this table and sat for more hours than they cared to recall in the loft of the Old Boat Shed.
‘I’m worried about Ruby. It’s a lot for her to deal with, what with the babby on the way.’
Robin smiled. ‘You have a lot to look forward to, Jarv.’ He sipped his pint. ‘And I remember your face on the day Merrin was supposed to marry that waste of space – what’s his name?’
‘Mortimer.’
‘That’s the one. Good lord, you looked like a ghost of yourself. Ben and I were worried about you.’
‘’S funny, Robin, I remember how I felt.’ He shook his head. ‘Like my heart had been pulled out through my chest and replaced with a rock. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat.’
‘I know what that feels like.’ His friend nodded. ‘You was in a bad way, that’s for sure.’
‘I was.’ Jarvis nodded, recalling that intense level of hurt. ‘Looking back, it all feels a bit daft. I think I’d never really got upset or angry over my dad leaving, and then to have Merrin, my first kind of girlfriend, marry someone else . . . it was all too much. All of my sadness and all of my rejection came out in one big gulp and it was hard. But Merrin, even though she’s a sweet, lovely girl, she was never for me. We were kids when we knocked about together and I think she was one of the only people to be kind and take an interest in me back then, but nothing happened, really. It was a non-event and I overthought it. It felt like the end of the bloody world, which is more than a little embarrassing. My mum said at the time, “Love can be fickle,” and I didn’t know what that meant, but she was right. When I started spending time with Ruby, it’s like I saw her for the first time, despite having known her for years, and that was it: I loved her – properly, properly loved her.’
‘You old softie, Jarv!’
‘No shame in that.’ He sipped his pint. ‘Not that I’m talking to my mother at the moment.’
‘Not talking to Nancy? What’s she done to deserve that?’