‘I’ve just had a bit of sad news.’ She raised the phone. ‘My mum called to say my gran has passed away.’ She bit down to stop her bottom lip from trembling as the words sunk in.

Lionel stepped forward and put his podgy hand on her arm. ‘Merrin, I am so very sorry to hear that. Rotten news, entirely rotten. A certainty, and yet always a shock. Of course, take all the time you need. We’ll manage.’

His kindness only served to encourage her tears. ‘I think I’m better off working, to be honest. Keep my mind busy.’ This had served her well in the past: head down, ploughing on . . .

‘I understand that, a diversion.’

‘Yes.’ She gave a watery smile. ‘A diversion.’

Although Merrin remained distracted, with a dull echo of sadness belying her fixed smile, the day passed quickly, as they often did, with the hours blurring into each other, punctuated only by snatched coffee breaks and a foodless lunch hour spent crying quietly in her room at the loss of her beloved Granny Ellen. Heather texted to say that an initial call had been made to Mr Newcombe, the funeral director, and plans were afoot for a small, intimate send-off, as per her gran’s explicit instructions.

Walking the grounds now at dusk, she gathered her thoughts and breathed deeply in an attempt to quell the disconcerting rise of unease that swelled inside her. Her mother’s understanding of just how hard it was for her to return to Port Charles simultaneously eased her worry and fired arrows of remorse through her heart. The fact that she had missed the opportunity to see her Granny Ellen one last time filled her with a deep, unshakeable regret, which weighed heavily. It was yet another sorrow she lay at the Mortimers’ door. Screwing her eyes shut, she pictured Loretta in her finery and felt the ache of distress in her gut. The Mortimers were the reason she lived away, they were the reason she hadn’t got to sit and drink tea with her gran in what was to be her final year.

Her sister’s phone number flashed up on her screen.

‘Hey, Rubes.’ Knowing she was in good company, her sadness came to the surface and Merrin welcomed the chance to talk about it. She sank down on to the carpet of soft grass beneath the low, broad boughs of the spreading cedar tree at the back of the garden and leant heavily against its trunk, taking comfort from it.

‘Really? Is this a joke?’

Her sister’s opener sent a spike of nervous adrenaline that lanced any boil of fatigue. Merrin was now wide awake, with her heart beating quickly.

‘Why are you saying that?’ She wondered if Ruby was intentionally addressing her, or whether her sister had misdialled.

‘Mum’s just told me you’re not coming back for Gran’s funeral! What the hell?’