He looked up towards the darkened night sky. ‘Not really, maybe twice a month, and I think that’s okay. But that switch thing you were talking about, that resets.’
‘So it’ll keep getting easier?’ she asked with a note of hope that was too much to be putting in the direction of a stranger.
‘Easier?’ He put his hands in his pockets and looked out to sea. ‘Not easier, no; it gets different.’
‘Different?’
‘Yeah, it’s like it hurts just as much, but you’ve lived with it for so long you don’t notice it quite as much, and you still miss him like crazy, but you learn to talk to him in your head and hear his answers too, if you’re smart about it.’
‘I do that already.’
‘Then you are way ahead of the game.’ He nodded in her direction, his expression kind.
She looked over at the Sally-Mae, moored against the harbour wall. ‘My dad was my guy, my person. I knew that, no matter what, he would be there – not always sober, not always with the best advice. Some of his ideas were hare-brained!’ She smiled. ‘But he was my guy.’
‘Well, I think you were very lucky.’
‘Lucky?’
‘Yes, I think so. Some people have terrible fathers and they would give their left nut to be sat here today feeling an overwhelming love and gratitude for a dad who’s gone.’
‘I guess you’re right.’ She looked down and noticed he was barefoot on the cold, wet sand. ‘Where are your shoes?’ She sat up straight, a little aghast.
‘Behind you.’ He pointed. ‘That’s why I was coming over here, to retrieve them.’
‘Oh, I thought . . .’
‘You thought?’
Merrin sounded it out and thought it ridiculous to say, ‘I thought you were coming over to me . . .’ ‘I thought you had shoes on!’
‘Oh, no. It’s my thing. It’s odd, I know, but since I was little I like being barefoot. There’s something about walking on the sand or the grass or dirt and feeling it beneath your feet, it sort of connects you to the planet. I know that sounds a bit—’ He pulled a face.
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘You should try it.’
‘Maybe I will.’ She tucked her hands inside the sleeves of her pashmina; a chill was starting to bite.
‘So are you from Port Charles? I think I may have seen you once or twice before.’ He reached behind her and gathered his trainers and socks, which she hadn’t spotted, into his hands, leaning close enough for her to inhale the scent of him: a clean, lemony scent, fresh with a hint of sea salt.
‘Maybe. And yes, I’m from Port Charles.’
‘Oh, right, and you like it?’ he asked as he balanced, popping on his socks and shoes.
‘I love it. It’s my home. I have a memory lurking behind every pebble and every grain of sand.’
‘I get that. But for me, swap grains of sand for blades of grass. My family is in Herefordshire – farmers. My brother runs the business now, and I like knowing everything is as I left it. And I love going home to see my mum, but when you’re more than a phone call away . . .’ He exhaled. ‘It can be tough.’
‘So where do you live now, if not Herefordshire?’
‘I currently live with Nancy Cardy. Up on the corner of Fore Street and Lamp Hill. Do you know her?’
‘Yes. Yes, I know her.’ She smiled.
‘I’m the head teacher at St Endellion’s School and I’m lodging with her until I find a house.’
‘My dad converted that room; it used to be loft space and he made it into that brilliant room with the view.’
‘Oh! So you’re related to Nancy! Are you Jarvis’s sister? I’ve met him once, seen him around. Don’t think he’s that keen on me.’
She let out a small laugh. ‘No, no, I’m not Jarvis’s sister. But I am his sister-in-law.’
‘Is everyone in Port Charles either related or feuding?’
‘Yes. That’s about the sum of it.’
She looked over her shoulder towards the lights coming from the cottage and felt the worry that her mum might be waiting for her to come and eat supper.
‘I should probably be getting home.’
‘Yes, of course, it was nice talking to you . . . sorry, I don’t know your name?’
‘Merrin. Merrin Kellow.’
‘And I’m Alex, Alex Morgan.’
Merrin jumped up from the damp step, wiped the back of her jeans and slowly climbed the steps up to the path. Alex followed and fell into step beside her and she noted that he was really very tall, and his hair was curly and sat below his ears and brushed the top of his turtleneck collar. Her dad would say it was too long. He had rolled his jeans down and now zipped up his navy hoodie.
‘You’re going to be okay, Merrin.’ He forced his hands into his pockets, as the wind picked up.
‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘I am okay.’
‘When you have a great dad, everything he does and everything he says throughout his life is subtle instruction for times just as these. And so you will be okay because he has made sure of it.’
Looking at him now, she felt the grumble of longing in her stomach, ridiculously wishing that he didn’t have to go. It had been a while since she had felt this . . . this firecracker of anticipation in her gut.
‘So, will I see you again, do you think? What are the chances of us bumping into each other in a huge place like Port Charles?’
Alex looked over her head. ‘I think the chances are very high.’ He smiled. ‘I’m actually thinking I might be here at the same time tomorrow, just on the off chance.’
‘Right.’
‘Right. But today is what’s important right now. Because we’ve met, put a stake in the ground. Our first step.’
‘Yes.’ She stared at him. ‘Our first step. I like that.’
He leant forward and she thought for one glorious, scary, horrifying, heart-stopping moment that he might kiss her, but he didn’t. Instead, he ran his thumb over her cheek and looked into her eyes. He pulled away and she saw the paint on his thumb. She wiped at the blobs of emulsion on her skin, of which she had been unaware. What she was aware of, however, was how his touch had pulsed through her very being, warming a place deep inside her that for the longest time had been cold.