It was most likely the former; Merrin was so very ordinary whereas Digby was . . . he was incredible. A quick shove on the back of her head made her lower her chin to her chest as her mother pinned the top section of her hair into a knot then took up the curling tongs. It was one of the acts that had always bound Heather and her daughters close: ever since they were kids, Merrin and Ruby had sat on the stone wall facing the sea with a towel around their shoulders, while their mum slowly and painstakingly trimmed the ends of their long locks and, on one disastrous occasion, attempted a fringe that made everyone on the school bus laugh and point at them. Merrin had cried while Ruby had punched the chief instigator, Jarvis Cardy, square in the mouth.

Most days, Merrin wore her long, thick hair in a loose braid that twisted to one side at the nape of her neck and sat over her shoulder. But not today. It had been decided that on her wedding day, she would have curls. Digby adored her hair. He loved to run his fingers through it and to have it spread over his broad chest when she lay in his arms, looking up at the big Cornish sky where stars punctuated the inky night. In those moments, Merrin had never known such happiness.

Her mother drew her from her thoughts. ‘I can believe someone wants to marry you, ’course I can, but you are so young, nineteen . . . just a babby really.’

Here we go again . . .

‘You were eighteen when you married Dad. And only a year older than I am now when you had Ruby! And Gran was married to Grandpa Arthur at twenty-two and had Dad soon after.’

‘I know all that. It’s just that . . . things were different. I suppose . . .’ Her mum faltered and the scent of singed hair filled the room.

‘I can smell burning!’ She tugged her hair from her mother’s grip and whipped around to face her.

‘It’s only a little bit! You’ve got lots of hair. I’ll tuck the burnt bit in, no one will see. Don’t worry about it.’ Her mum spat on her hair as if any potential flame could be extinguished with such a paltry gob. It did little to erase the stench or restore Merrin’s faith in her mum’s hairdressing ability.