Chapters (33)
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT PAGE
- CONTENTS
- START READING
- PROLOGUE
- CHAPTER ONE MERRIN
- CHAPTER TWO MERRIN
- CHAPTER THREE JARVIS
- CHAPTER FOUR MERRIN
- CHAPTER FIVE JARVIS
- CHAPTER SIX MERRIN
- CHAPTER SEVEN MERRIN
- CHAPTER EIGHT BEN
- CHAPTER NINE MERRIN
- CHAPTER TEN MERRIN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN JARVIS
- CHAPTER TWELVE MERRIN
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN MERRIN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN MIGUEL
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN MERRIN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN MIGUEL
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN MERRIN
- CHAPTER EIGHTEEN MIGUEL
- CHAPTER NINETEEN MERRIN
- CHAPTER TWENTY DIGBY
- CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE MERRIN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO MERRIN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE MERRIN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR JARVIS
- CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE MERRIN
- CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX MERRIN
- EPILOGUE
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Of course, she hated arguing with Ruby at any time, but especially right now, with so many other upsetting and intrusive thoughts jostling for position in her head. She made the decision to apologise to her sister when the opportunity arose, whether justified or not, but still she was pleased at how she had stood up for herself, not only to Ruby, but to Loretta too. It was all about clearing the air and making things as smooth as possible for her mother. Plus, Ruby was pregnant and any added stress could not be good for her or the baby.
Kicking off her shoes, she found a spot on the verge overlooking the church in the centre of the village and squatted down out of sight, resting on gorse and hidden by the trunk of the great oak tree, on which she rested her palm, taking some small measure of comfort from the history of the place in which she had been born and bred. Leaning against the tree, she pulled the scarf into her neck, not that it stopped her shaking – nothing could. Her cold went all the way to her marrow. She didn’t cry. She couldn’t. Today her sadness went way beyond tears. Her bare feet anchored her to the spot and helped clear her muddled head in the way that they did. Her heart hurt as much as her head and she felt a little otherworldly.
‘I can’t believe this is happening, Dad. Can’t believe I won’t see you . . .’ She had learnt over the last few days that a lack of response did not stop her chatting to him.
With a clear view of the neat flint walls surrounding St Michael’s, she watched as people began to arrive early. Mrs Everit from the shop with Mr Everit in tow. Dr Levington, his wife and their two children. Mac and Mrs Mac from the pub, and Mr and Mrs Higgins from the butcher’s, Robin. Everyone was there. And still they kept coming. Faces she recognised from school and other businesses around Port Charles, neighbours near and far, the vet – everyone, that was, except her own family, who she knew were waiting until the last minute before having to step inside the church, delaying the moment they had to say goodbye to the man they so loved.