‘Doesn’t feel much like a gift.’ Merrin sniffed, aware of the juvenile tone to her response.

‘Not right now, but when you process it all later, you might think so: no long-drawn-out illness, no galling treatment, no pain or violent accident, nothing like that.’

‘It all feels . . .’ She looked up through the little window and out over the treetops, which rustled in the breeze.

‘I know, my love. I’ve got to go. I promised I’d call your sister. I’ll call you again later.’

‘Okay, Mum.’ Ridiculously, she wished to keep talking to Heather – wished she could click her heels and be with her family – well, she half-wished that; the other half still felt queasy at the prospect of being anywhere near home.

‘And, Merry, listen to me, I’d rather you didn’t come rattling down the motorway and then back again, all tired. I’ll only worry, and there’s nothing to be done here. Not much will happen for a few days, and then it’s going to be a very small funeral. Only us. No pomp or ceremony, in and out fast as we can. The least fuss. It’s what she wanted. She made that clear often enough.’ Her mum’s voice broke. ‘She’d say the same thing: don’t you worry, little Merry, just do what you gotta do. And never forget, we love you so much. I know that you are here in heart, always. We’re so proud of you.’

‘I’m going to miss her.’ She sniffed. ‘But the thought of coming back . . .’

‘I understand that, my love, I do. I told you already, no need to come. You’re doing so well, Merrin, just keep your head up and keep feeling better. I need you to do that for me.’

‘I will, Mum.’

Merrin held the phone long after the call had ended, feeling very far away. The thought of going home made her knees weak.

‘You are a coward, Merrin,’ she whispered under her breath, knowing that she would heed her mum’s words and not go back to Port Charles. With this knowledge came nothing but the sweet, sweet relief that she was not going to have to face the demons that lurked around every corner, but this was followed immediately by the smack of guilt in her face.

‘Good morning, Merrin!’ Lionel said with his usual jollity. ‘I’m looking for Vanya?’

‘I haven’t seen her yet, sorry, Lionel. But I’ll go see if I can find her, if you like?’ She looked up.

‘Not at all. I can do that. Oh dear, are you upset? Have I interrupted you?’ His face coloured and he wrung his hands, as though he might in some way be responsible for her distress. She wiped her tears and found a level of professionalism that would keep her sadness at bay, for now.