‘It’s okay, Mummy. I’ve got you.’ She grasped at words, anything that might help her mother heal.

‘Ben,’ Heather murmured, pushing her face once again into the pillow, her call a low moan. ‘Ben!’ As if she might be able to summon him if she tried hard enough.

To see her mother like this added an unimaginable layer of distress to her own grief. Merrin didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to make things better. Her first instinct was to call for her dad – he’d know what to do. And this thought was enough to rip a hole in her heart, as she sank down next to her mother on the pillow and inhaled the scent of the man who was no more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO MERRIN

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MERRIN

It was early morning. Merrin sat on the soft, embroidered cushion that had, for as long as she could recall, lived in the window seat. She took as much comfort from running her fingertips over the abundance of raised, brightly sewn flowers as she always had. It was something soft and pretty to distract her broken heart. With her legs raised and her chin on her knees, she stared out of the window of the cottage. It was raining and the sky was a dark, brooding grey, which suited her just fine.

On a day such as this, it was hard to remember how different the place looked in the sunshine; hard to remember sunshine at all. It was, however, hardest to imagine a life here in Port Charles without her dad. He was always around. Had always been around. Whether he was in the house, sitting in the chair by the fire, leaning on a wall chatting to someone, down by the quayside in his rubber waders getting ready to go out to sea with Robin and Jarvis, or going in or coming out of the pub – singing, if it was the latter. One of the most prominent sounds of her childhood was lying in her little bed with the window cracked open and listening to his whistled song growing louder as he drew nearer home and then his booming voice greeting her mum as he finally came through the door after any time away. And, of course, his legendary snoring that escaped from beneath the bedroom door. He was a short man, but a noisy giant, larger than life with a presence that made him tall.

And now, even if she returned to Port Charles, she knew it would never be the same, because her dad would not be here. Running her hand over her chest, she felt where a deep ache of discomfort grumbled, and pinched her nose to stop her tears – a neat trick she had learnt that enabled her to sit here and hold in the sadness that would, if released, certainly upset her mum.