‘Now I have to run.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve left Frank Ferdinand Falkenstok in a rather precarious spot.’
‘Who’s Frank Ferdinand Falkenstok?’ She was curious.
‘My car!’ he yelled over his shoulder. ‘A Fancy Ford Focus – what else was I going to call him?’
She laughed and looked over at Vera Wilma Brown parked on the cobbles outside Kellow Cottages, wondering how the two might get along . . .
EPILOGUE
‘Morning, Merry! Beautiful day for it!’ Robin called from the quayside, where he walked hand in hand with his partner, John, who waved back. John had moved to Port Charles nearly eighteen months ago. According to Jarvis, they’d been in the pub watching football on the big screen when in walked a group of townies. John had made a beeline for Robin and the two had chatted and laughed until closing time, when, at the ringing of the bell for last orders, John had simply taken his hand and out they had walked . . . John had opened up a coffee shop, which was thriving. Folk went for his coffee, the glorious fresh-baked patisserie and his banter, which was loud and welcoming. The first person he had employed, on Merrin’s strong recommendation, was the lady she had become friendly with since her return – Lizzie, who washed the dishes and kept the place as neat as a pin. With her new haircut, a steady routine and no more than human kindness, the woman had blossomed, bringing shame to all those who had not similarly embraced her over the years.
‘It really is, Robin.’ She blew him a kiss. ‘A beautiful day!’
Merrin stood on the broad balcony that sat along the front of her fine chalet home. She ran her hand over the steel ridge of the handrail and down on to the tempered glass below, marvelling at how she was now able to sit out on this solid terrace in all weathers. Modern and open-plan on the inside, yet using local stone and weathered timbers that sat on the original footprint, the Old Boat Shed in its present form looked as if it had always been here. Standing proud and grand on the quayside, its half-timbered walls supported the wide smoked-glass gable end that made it seem as if their sitting room were floating on the sea itself. A beautiful house, sprung from the ashes of her loss.
Turns out her dad had been right when he wrote:
When you’re ready and you’ve done enough adventuring and figuring out, come home, Merrin. Come back to Port Charles, this little place where your spirit lingers even after you have driven off in Vera Wilma Brown. Walk the beach barefoot in all weathers, my little maid, and let yourself be. Be open to what is right in front of your very eyes and let yourself be happy.
It was good advice from the man who loved her and had bestowed upon her the greatest gift.
‘How I miss you, Dad.’ She let the words carry on the wind out over the sea.
Currently, she and Alex were sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the master bedroom, waiting on delivery of their brand-new bed. Heather was doing well, excited to cook for Alex, whose appetite was legendary. It gave her the incentive to start cooking again. And in the process she had regained a little of her spark.
Ruby had admired the finished place, but followed it with a barbed comment. ‘It’s nice enough, Merry, but you can’t beat an old cottage for character, can you?’
It made her chuckle now to think of it. The Kellow cottage was worth more financially, but of course, Ruby was cursed with a demeanour that believed the grass was always a little bit greener on the other side. But how they loved each other, always would. Kellow girls.
‘Silly moo,’ she whispered affectionately, with one eye on her sister’s home from this vantage point.
Luuk and Alex were standing on the slipway, chatting. Alex caught her eye and waved, before laying his hand on his mate’s broad shoulder and jogging away. It was nice for everyone that they were mates. And along with Jarvis, they had been christened the Three Amigos and were pretty much inseparable. It certainly made it easier for her, Ruby and Bella to hang out. Luuk was still proving himself in her eyes, but she had to admit, the devotion he showed to Bella and Glynn was warming – and about time too.
Her bare feet gripped the cold, slate floor. The wind kicked up and whipped her long skirt around her legs as she looked out over the coastal path, towards Reunion Point. It was a place she liked to visit from time to time, taking comfort from the thud of her heart inside her ribcage as she stared out over the untamed, ever-moving sea and behind her, nothing but the slow roll of green fields. She liked to be still there and close her eyes, letting her fingers comb the salty air of this place where her heritage lurked beneath her feet and her own story had taken two twists. A proposal and a goodbye, both of which had shaped her in ways she could never have foreseen.
It might have been six years since she had been abandoned in the vestry, but still the thought of that day could, on occasion, make her wince, causing the breath to stop in her throat and forcing her to swallow the sickening embarrassment that was like a toxic sediment lining her throat and sitting in her gut. And being there on the cliff edge sometimes stirred it up and swirled it in her blood like a fresh disease. And it was for this precise reason that she went there. It was good to remember. It helped her appreciate all she now had and how far she had come. And here she was, back in Port Charles for good. Home. And a happily married woman.
The Reverend Pimm had agreed to their rather unusual demands and had married them in secret – no guests, no flowers, no music, no frock and no disaster. Just a solemn exchange of vows with hands grasped, eyes locked and a shoeless walk on the beach to follow.
Three days it had taken, three days, before Heather noticed the shiny gold band on her daughter’s finger.
‘What in Judas’s name?’ She had grabbed Merrin’s hand and studied the little gold circle.
‘Is this what I think it is?’ she had asked with her hand at her throat.
‘Oh yes, did we not say?’ She beamed. ‘We got married. I am now officially Mrs Alex Morgan!’
‘Oh, Merry! Oh, my Lord!’ Her mum had held her in the longest, warmest hug and they had both cried. She was in no doubt that her mum, like herself, wondered what Ben would have made of the news. Merrin guessed he’d have been happy and would most likely have cracked open a bottle of Bella’s dad’s blackberry wine.
Now, in the cool morning light, she looked down into the water, where the fat wooden stumps of an ancient jetty were still visible when the tide was out. Some larger stones, too, that had once been part of the harbour walls, littered the wet sand, and to her they summed up life in Port Charles: things withered, evolved, collapsed and aged, but if you looked hard enough, you could see they never truly disappeared.
She heard the front door downstairs shut and turned to watch her husband lope up the open-plan stairs, using the thick rope bannister for support before coming into view. The sight of him was still a wonder to her, this man who had sprung from the sea on the day Loretta and she had built a bridge. She smiled and waved.
Alex opened the sliding glass door and came to stand behind her. He slipped his arms around her waist and placed them on the large mound of her stomach.
‘So, what’s going to arrive first, do you reckon?’ He kissed the back of her neck. ‘Our new baby or our new bed?’
‘I don’t know.’ She placed her hands over the back of his palms. ‘And it doesn’t matter too much; what will be will be.’