‘He’s gone!’ Ruby gasped.
Again Merrin’s tears broke their banks, as her heart felt like it might dissolve. The sight of her sister and the fact her dad was not running outside with arms wide to welcome her home told her that it was true.
Making their way inside, she rushed up the stairs of the cottage and knocked gently, before walking into her parents’ room. The sight was something she knew she would never forget.
Heather Kellow had got old, just like that and almost overnight. She had lost her shine, her sparkle, her plump face, her laughter and her joy; replaced by a dull, slender imitation of the woman, but one with a vacant expression, sallow cheeks and eyes that wordlessly spoke of pure sorrow. She barely shifted in the bed, but with great effort, raised her head a little from the pillow and said her daughter’s name, her voice, barely audible, one of sadness and gravel.
‘Merrin . . .’
‘Oh Mum! Mummy!’ Merrin climbed on to the rickety brass bed next to her mother and wrapped her arms around her. It was as if her spirit had fled and she now gripped the shell of Ben’s wife. There was no welcome smile, no offer of tea or baked goods, no interest in anything other than lying very still and hoping the minutes might pass, or that they might all wake in a time where either they hurt a little less or they smiled, realising that the whole horrible thing had been no more than the very worst kind of dream.
‘He’s gone,’ she mouthed, as tears sprang from her bloodshot eyes and ran down her face. ‘He’s gone . . .’ This followed by a sound, a whimper that was animal-like and wounded.
‘It’s okay, Mummy. I’ve got you.’ She grasped at words, anything that might help her mother heal.
‘Ben,’ Heather murmured, pushing her face once again into the pillow, her call a low moan. ‘Ben!’ As if she might be able to summon him if she tried hard enough.
To see her mother like this added an unimaginable layer of distress to her own grief. Merrin didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to make things better. Her first instinct was to call for her dad – he’d know what to do. And this thought was enough to rip a hole in her heart, as she sank down next to her mother on the pillow and inhaled the scent of the man who was no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MERRIN
It was early morning. Merrin sat on the soft, embroidered cushion that had, for as long as she could recall, lived in the window seat. She took as much comfort from running her fingertips over the abundance of raised, brightly sewn flowers as she always had. It was something soft and pretty to distract her broken heart. With her legs raised and her chin on her knees, she stared out of the window of the cottage. It was raining and the sky was a dark, brooding grey, which suited her just fine.
On a day such as this, it was hard to remember how different the place looked in the sunshine; hard to remember sunshine at all. It was, however, hardest to imagine a life here in Port Charles without her dad. He was always around. Had always been around. Whether he was in the house, sitting in the chair by the fire, leaning on a wall chatting to someone, down by the quayside in his rubber waders getting ready to go out to sea with Robin and Jarvis, or going in or coming out of the pub – singing, if it was the latter. One of the most prominent sounds of her childhood was lying in her little bed with the window cracked open and listening to his whistled song growing louder as he drew nearer home and then his booming voice greeting her mum as he finally came through the door after any time away. And, of course, his legendary snoring that escaped from beneath the bedroom door. He was a short man, but a noisy giant, larger than life with a presence that made him tall.
And now, even if she returned to Port Charles, she knew it would never be the same, because her dad would not be here. Running her hand over her chest, she felt where a deep ache of discomfort grumbled, and pinched her nose to stop her tears – a neat trick she had learnt that enabled her to sit here and hold in the sadness that would, if released, certainly upset her mum.
She had been home for three days and in all that time her mum had barely left the bedroom. Three days that could have been an hour or a month. The clock was relegated to those with a regular routine; those whose entire lives had not been fractured by an all-consuming loss that distorted time.
Miguel had called often, offering in his sweet way to do whatever might help take away her pain, but she knew there was nothing to be done. Pain like this had to be lived, endured and, if you were lucky, you might, in time, come out the other side. This she knew more than most.
Ruby arrived and proceeded to fill the kettle. The sight of her sister’s beautifully rounded bump was enough to solicit the smallest of smiles; it was a good, good thing in this, the worst of times.
‘She still asleep?’ Ruby took the chair opposite the sofa.
‘Still in bed, but I don’t think she’s sleeping. She just lies there.’
Ruby nodded. ‘I don’t blame her. I wish I could just go to bed, but this little one has other ideas.’ She ran her hand over her stomach. ‘And Jarvis is in a bad way too, so I’m keeping an eye on him. We’re taking it in turns to fall apart – it’s like there’s some grief rota. And when one of us sinks the other goes into responsible adult mode until the buzzer goes and we switch. I feel like I’ve either been sleeping or crying for days.’
‘You have.’
‘Yep.’ Ruby let the next bout of tears trickle down her face and rubbed at her eyes. ‘I’m exhausted.’
Merrin nodded her understanding; they all were.
‘Tell me again, was Jarvis with him at the end?’ She wanted to know the details.
Ruby picked at a loose thread on the hem of her sweatshirt. ‘Yes. They’d only been in for an hour or so, everything on the boat was packed away and Jarv was washing the deck down, and he heard a . . . a thud, and when he looked up towards the rear deck, Dad was . . . he was lying on the nets. Jarvis thought he was mucking about, but then when he didn’t move, he called him and ran over, he could see something wasn’t right.’ Ruby stopped to catch her breath. ‘Robin was on the quayside and Jarv yelled to him and Robin called the ambulance. They got here as soon as they could and while they were waiting, Mac and Mr Everit, who are on the lifeboats, both came running down. I think they’d been in the pub, and they’re both trained, obviously. They did CPR but it . . .’ Her sob was loud and raw. ‘It was too late, Merrin! He’d already died.’
She felt hot tears fall down her face where her skin was already sore from crying. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘I can’t believe it; none of us can!’
‘Do you think it will ever feel true?’ She didn’t expect a response and Ruby’s answer floored her.
‘I think one day it will and I dread that day more than this one, because at the moment while my brain is catching up, at some level I think it might all be a mistake and there is the smallest chance he might walk through the door, but once I know it’s true, then that door is closed forever, and that scares me, Merry. That really, really scares me.’
‘What are we going to do, Rubes?’
A voice came from the doorway as their friend parked the pram at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Same as we always do, girls, we are going to hold each other close and get through it together.’