A shiny Range Rover pulled up and out popped Loretta. Merrin held her breath and peered at the woman, paying close attention to her and the very red lipstick on her thin lips. And something occurred to her: while she would never be fond of the woman and most likely would never forgive her, gone was the intense hatred she had felt towards her, and more importantly, gone was much of her fear. It was a wonderful realisation that she could bump into her in the street or even the shop without anger and dread in her stomach. In fact, there was no one in the whole town she felt the need to avoid, not any more. She was a Kellow and it was here in Port Charles, a place she had missed so much and where everyone had now turned out to show love for her dad, that she would always belong.

She looked up at the sky and noticed how very still the clouds were, as if not a whiff of breeze dared stir the solemnity of the moment. There were no birds flying overhead; even the resident gulls were silent. And the ocean appeared to have lost its roar. Life was on hold and to Merrin this made sense, as for her, too, time had almost stood still. A quick glance at the church clock told her it was ten minutes past eleven; time to go. She wiped the bottom of her feet and slipped her shoes back on before making her way to the path and walking down the hill, just as her mum, Jarvis and Ruby came alongside the slipway and into view. Their arms were linked, like a depressed cabaret act, all in textures of black and staring down the street with heads that looked heavy as they waited for the hearse, which they would, as agreed, walk behind. Merrin rushed over and stood behind Ruby, before reaching forward and holding her sister close to her in a tight hug.

‘I love you, Ruby Mae,’ she whispered. ‘My big sister.’

Ruby turned her head and smiled through her sore, swollen eyes.

Merrin kissed her cheek and walked to the end of the chain, linking an arm with her mother, who squeezed it against her waist with love.

The car moved slowly into view. It was long, black, shiny and imposing, quite out of place in their little village. It pulled over a little way down the lane and out climbed a man in a black frock coat and a black hat. He nodded ceremoniously at them and moved to the middle of the road, where he walked with solemnity, and the car followed.

The family held each other tight as the vehicle passed them and there in the back lay a pale-wood coffin with shiny handles and a large fish made of flowers lying on the top, perfect for their man of the sea, a son of Cornwall.