Miguel came closer, his expression alarmed and the red box nowhere in sight.

‘He’s dead, Merry! Oh, my God!’ her sister wailed. ‘He died! My dad died!’

Merrin felt the air leave her lungs and her throat almost close. She didn’t remember ending the call or explaining to Miguel what had happened, but was aware that he had crouched down in front of her and had taken her hands into his own.

‘Don’t worry, Merrin. Don’t worry. You are in shock, love. I’ll drive you home. I’ll drive you to the front door. It’s all going to be okay.’ She remembered offering her sister a similar lie when Gramps had died. ‘We’ll go in my car. Take your time, it’s all going to be okay,’ he repeated. ‘I’m taking you home, my love. I’ll take you home.’ He kissed her forehead as one might a child’s and she sat back in the chair. His words echoed around her, surreal and almost comical in their absurdity. Her dad . . . not her dad! She felt swamped by exhaustion but at the same time wired, on high alert, trying to make sense of what Ruby had told her. It didn’t feel true.

Without waiting for her response, Miguel pulled the small suitcase from the bottom of the wardrobe and she watched in silence as he packed her jeans, trainers, sweatshirt, nightclothes, toiletries and her black dress and shoes – thinking ahead, helping her in her dire time of need, this marvellous man.

‘My dad, he, erm . . .’ She couldn’t say the words.

‘I know, my love, I know. You already told me. Don’t try to speak. Just sit tight and we’ll be on our way in no time. Just sit tight.’ Again he kissed her forehead.

‘You don’t have to do that. You’re working tomorrow, I can get a cab and then get a . . . erm . . . a . . . on the tracks.’ Ridiculously, the word ‘train’ eluded her. On the tail end of his double shift, and in light of their horrendous and emotional evening, Miguel insisted and she felt a wave of gratitude towards him.

‘No, I’ll take you to Port Charles. Of course I will! I’ll always be right here when you need me, Merrin. Always. That’s the deal. It’s what your dad would have wanted: for me to see you safely home.’

She stared at him with her head cocked to one side and felt the embarrassing temptation to giggle because it was at once shocking and funny that he had used the past tense . . . as if . . . as if . . . But it couldn’t be real, it couldn’t . . . not her daddy.