‘You’re not funny, Bella. I don’t love Jarvis. I never loved Jarvis, not even a bit. He was just a mate who I practised kissing with, really. I love Digby, and Mum’s right, we were only playing at it.’ It was the truth. She and Jarvis had embarked on a childish love affair, no more than a juvenile fling that lasted mere months, and they’d certainly got nowhere near the wiggle-and-tuppence stage, but he was her last and only previous significant other, the boy who now worked for her dad and had laughed at her fringe. ‘What I feel for Digby is the real deal. . .’

‘How do you know, Merry?’ Bella’s question was genuine, with no hint of her comedic tone.

Merrin took a breath. ‘It’s hard to put into words, but I just do.’

‘She’s right,’ her gran chimed. ‘It’s a feeling in the pit of your stomach and a confidence that comes with it. It’s so strong you’d ditch your whole family and all you know just for the feel of their arms around you.’

Merrin smiled warmly at her gran, knowing she could not have put it better herself.

‘Was it like that for you and Arthur, Ellen?’ Heather asked softly.

‘No, ’twas not!’ Ellen Kellow spat, and everyone laughed.

Merrin took her time. ‘I know Digby’s the one, and I’ve known it since that first date, that first contact.’

‘That first sexy time?’ Bella yelled, and even Ellen laughed.

Merrin tutted, but the truth was yes, especially then. She closed her eyes briefly, picturing the face of the man who today would become her husband.

CHAPTER THREE JARVIS

CHAPTER THREE

JARVIS

Jarvis Cardy had woken early. No matter the day, week or month, rain or shine, hail, thunder, snow or a summer’s morn, he always woke a little before five a.m. It was the fisherman’s curse and he was unable to adjust his body clock when on land; his mind alert and ready to work at the ungodly hour. He had gripped the side of the bed and taken a second to establish whether he was rolling on a wave or on solid ground, thankful for the soft resistance of his mattress.

Not that he’d slept very well. It had been a fretful night of discomfort, as his body twitched and his thoughts raced. He’d climbed from his single bed and pushed open the double doors that led to the flat iron railing of the Juliet balcony. This room at the top of his mother’s house on the corner of Lamp Hill was his haven. Ben, Robin and he had renovated it some five years ago when his dad had packed a bag and left. Jarvis, then aged sixteen, had been lost, bereft.