‘Reception? Yes!’ Her enthusiasm and relief were evident. When Merrin had worked as a cleaner or behind the bar at the Port Charles Hotel, she had itched to have a go at working on reception, wanting to do things differently, better. Having pored through enough glossy magazines, usually left behind by residents, she knew that it was the small touches that could make a difference to a place: bowls of sweets on the countertop; fresh, not fake, flowers on tables; and never, ever letting a stinky old dog like Ernie, who lived at the Port Charles, wander the restaurant floor, shedding his coat and farting while people were trying to enjoy their morning coffee . . . ‘I would really like that. It’s something I’ve thought about before.’

‘Well, that’s marvellous news. So all that remains is for HR to switch your department codes for payroll and to get you trained on the computer system, which, to be honest, Merrin’ – he spoke from the side of his mouth – ‘if I can master it, then anyone can.’ He stood to indicate the meeting was over.

‘Thank you, Lionel, for the opportunity. I hope I don’t let you down.’

‘I have no doubt you’ll do a sterling job.’ He clapped.

‘I’ll do my best.’

She left the room walking a little straighter than she had in a while. It was wins like this that helped dilute the thick, gloopy feeling of inadequacy in her veins. It wasn’t only that Digby didn’t love her and that their whole relationship had probably been some kind of elaborate game to him, but also that her judgement had been so off. It was, even now, a surprise that he had done such a thing, been capable of doing such a thing.

During the day when she was busy, her time filled and her thoughts occupied, it was easy not to dwell on it. However, when she kicked off her shoes at the end of her shift and climbed between the freshly laundered sheets of her bed, settling down in a room that was not where she longed to be, her mind would conjure images of looking over the gap towards her sister with the sound of stays knocking on the masts in the breeze . . . that was when loneliness bit and she gave in to tears. No matter that in her head she could tell herself she was better off, it seemed that her broken heart had not quite got the message. Not yet.