‘Hello.’ Despite the sinking feeling in her stomach, Merrin was not going to look away or blink or cower in front of this woman. Merrin, knowing her husband, old Mr Guthrie Mortimer, had passed away around the same time as Granny Ellen, was wondering how or whether to offer her condolences, when the woman, who looked remarkably together for one who had only a year since been widowed, spoke calmly and steered the conversation.

‘I believe congratulations are in order. Your sister’s getting married, isn’t she?’ Her fingers flexed ever so slightly around her handbag.

‘That’s right.’ Merrin held her ground. Why, Loretta? Why were you so foul? What did I ever do to you? Many was the night she had imagined this meeting and this conversation, picturing how she would stand firm and demand answers from the woman who had so nearly become her mother-in-law. But when it came to it, Merrin realised she wasn’t up for the fight, didn’t want to dredge the murky waters of her misery and wanted nothing more than to be as far away from the woman as possible. Loretta Mortimer was toxic and the less she had to do with her, the better chance she had of coming away unscathed. Merrin looked briefly towards the door, her head jerking involuntarily as she calculated whether she might get to it before she was sick.

‘Lovely.’ Her one-word response, but with an expression that suggested she thought it was anything but.

‘Merrin’s got a smashing job; she’s a manager at a fancy castle hotel just outside of Bristol, in’t that right, Merrin? Heather is very proud, and rightly so. We all are.’

Sweet Mrs Everit was all of a dither, her face puce, as she tried to present Merrin’s life as a success to this woman who everyone in Port Charles knew had played a part in her downfall.

‘That’s right, Mrs Everit.’ She smiled at the woman, who was inadvertently giving the other woman information she would rather wasn’t shared. With her hand on the bread rack, she did her best to steady her legs, which now felt rooted to the spot.

‘How charming. Well, shan’t keep you!’ Mrs Mortimer plucked her wicker shopping basket from the countertop and fixed her smile. ‘I do hope the weather holds for your sister. They say there might be a storm coming in.’