I could go on, but what’s the point? Merrin is still sweet and holds understandable anger, but little malice; she still has so much about her that drew me to her. Our time, our opportunity has of course passed and we both, I am sure, have happy and productive lives, but seeing her has made me ask certain questions: what if? What if I had gone ahead in spite of your dire ultimatum? What if I had packed a bag, married her and moved in with Ben and Heather Kellow? What if I’d chosen to follow my heart and not my head? What if I had chosen her? What then?

All hypothetical, of course, as we will never know, but I want you to know that you did me a great disservice, and her too, and that is a great shame, which I will have to carry always. I hate coming back to Port Charles and rarely do, not only because of the understandable disdain in which the locals hold me, but also because it reminds me of that, the saddest episode I have ever had – it really was – when I was hurting more than I knew was possible and I hurt the girl I loved; because be in no doubt, I loved her. I loved her.

Digby x

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE MERRIN

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

MERRIN

It was the end of a long and exhausting day. With a muddled head and wanting to avoid the corridors and guests, or more specifically, certain guests, Merrin decided to walk the long way to their quarters. She trod the woodland path where damp leaves gathered and the stone flagstones grew a little slippery when rained on. To walk among nature helped still the torrent of intrusive thoughts.

‘Merrin! I’ve not heard that name before, it’s lovely!’

‘I-it’s n-not that common, but I have . . . I have . . . I did hear it before. Once. It reminded me of the sea.’

The branches of the oak and horse chestnut trees formed a canopy that in autumn, with an array of burnished leaves in shades of red through to the palest yellow, was something to behold. It was one of her favourite things: to take her time, idling along and looking up through the branches as the sun peeked through where it could and the leaves moved in the wind to sing to her a rustling sonata. Tonight, she stood at the end of the path and slipped off her shoes and, holding them in her fingers, she placed first one foot and then the other on the cold, damp path, feeling the stresses and worries of the day travel down her legs and disappear through the soles of her feet, worming their way into this little patch of garden behind the castle wall.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and was delighted to see it was Bella’s number.

‘You’re up late.’ It was nearly midnight.