‘I’ve got to go, Mum’s calling me.’ Her sister had brazenly lied, and before Merrin had a chance to talk her way out of the situation, offering platitudes that might heal, Ruby had hung up the phone.

‘Brilliant, Merrin!’ She hid her face in her hands. ‘Just bloody brilliant.’

These careless, ill-considered words, spoken without thought or agenda, were lodged in her mind so firmly that at every encounter with her sister she felt as though she were skirting around them. It felt like Ruby was slipping further and further out of reach. The dynamic of their relationship had uncomfortably shifted and it meant that even now, as Jarvis and Ruby prepared to wed, every conversation was bookended with a little awkwardness and reservation on both their parts. Merrin wished it were different, but was too busy in her new role as Front of House Manager of this five-star venue to allow such thoughts to cloud her mind today. It was, however, just another aspect that made the prospect of returning to Port Charles daunting, to say the least.

The day passed in a flash, as those worked hard often do, and before she knew it, Friday had dawned and she and Miguel were on the road. The car had been packed slowly and with trepidation as she considered the wisdom of returning at all. She paused often, looking at the little rust bucket that was to transport them, and at one point hoped it might break down and make travelling impossible. She even wondered how easy it would be to catch Vanya’s nasty tummy upset, which would mean confinement to bed – anything that might give her a reason to legitimately bow out.

In the run-up to today, she had barely slept, tossing and turning as dreams wrenched her from rest, all with images of her in her wedding dress, the diamanté waistband glittering in the sunlight as she traipsed up the aisle after her sister, much to the amusement of the great and good of Port Charles. She figured the best way to get through it might be with the aid of Dutch courage. An image of a strong glass of gin being put in her hand formed in her head and how very, very happy she had been on her ‘almost’ wedding day . . . well, the first half of it anyway.

Not that she would be mentioning anything Dutch upon her return. It was not long after Granny Ellen’s death that Bella had found herself single and pregnant. Abandoned by Luuk, her handsome Dutchman with whom she had enjoyed a short-lived but all-consuming fling. He was, it turned out, big on promises, but a little short on delivery. Merrin was proud of how her friend was coping as a single mum and couldn’t wait to see her. It had been hard and isolating, offering advice and following her pregnancy remotely.

‘I wish I could be with you . . .’

‘Me too . . .’