Page 19 of Merrily Ever After
‘Quick,’ he said urgently, without looking at her. ‘Sit down and watchMorse.’
‘No thanks, Dad. Are you hungry? I can make you something.’
‘Just sit down,’ he said irritably. He perched on the edge of his armchair, his eyes not leaving the TV. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Emily did as she was told. On the screen, a woman walked along a narrow street at night, on the phone to a friend. She ended the call and slipped her phone back in her coat pocket. There was a flash of movement in the shadows, followed by a scream.
‘There!’ her dad shouted, pointing at the screen. ‘There he is, he’s been hiding.’
‘It’s OK, Dad. He’s the villain,’ said Emily. ‘There’s always a baddie in these things. Turn it off if it’s bothering you.’
Her dad shook his head. ‘I can’t. I need to know if it’s me.’
Emily stared at him, confused. ‘I don’t understand. If what’s you?’
He jabbed a finger at the television again, his face tense with worry. ‘Is that me doing those terrible things? Am I a bad man?’
‘You’re asking if that tall man with blonde hair inMorseis you?’ She shook her head slowly in disbelief.
‘Is it?’ he repeated.
She dropped her face in her hands and tried to hold it together. She was way out of her depth. What on earth did you say to a man who believed he was somehow starring as a criminal in an episode ofMorse?
A wave of loneliness hit her. If only she had someone to help her deal with this. It wouldn’t be fair to ask her mum,not after they’d been separated for so long, and anyway, her stepdad wouldn’t be happy about it. Talking to Izzy was great, but it was no substitute for having her here. And Gavin … he might not have been much practical help, or in fact a sympathetic ear, but she missed him. The solid presence of him, the hug at the end of the day to make her feel that everything would be OK.
But no, she was in this on her own.
She took a deep breath, got to her feet and put her arms around his shoulders. ‘No, Dad, it isn’t. That’s another man. I’ll show you.’
She pulled him to his feet and took him to the mirror over the fireplace.
‘That’s you.’ She pointed to his reflection. ‘And that’s me standing beside you. You have grey hair and a stubbly beard.’
Her dad put a hand up to his face, feeling along his jaw. ‘Are you sure?’
She nodded. ‘I promise. The man on the TV is an actor. He’s not you.’
Her dad’s face crumpled. ‘Thank God. I thought … I’m no angel, but if I’d killed someone I’d have to turn myself in.’
‘You haven’t done anything wrong,’ she said, trying to lead him back to his armchair. ‘You’re just confused. It’s OK.’
She’d be leaving him soon. The carer would pop in later, but then he’d be on his own again. What would the next incident be? she wondered. And the next? She thought about what the nurse had said about having a plan of action. Maybe the time had come to make that plan after all, rather than leave it until Christmas. It wouldn’t hurt to get organised, do some research. Yes, she thought, pleased to have finally come to a decision: tomorrow she would make an appointment to visit Springwood House.
Chapter Seven
Merry
12 NOVEMBER
It was evening and Merry and Bright, like all the shops around the market square, was closed for the day. I was in the workroom preparing for tomorrow.
The big stainless-steel wax melter I’d imported from America was clean and ready to be switched on in the morning and I was working my way along three long rows of empty glass jars, fixing wicks to the inside with my glue gun. We’d come a long way from the days when I could only melt a litre or two of wax at a time on my little hob at Holly Cottage. Then a batch would make between ten and twenty candles at a time. Now we had the capacity to make two hundred of my small-sized candles in one go. Perfectly melted wax, every time, in just under two hours – it had been a pricey investment, but it had revolutionised Merry and Bright.
This was my favourite time to work. As much as I loved the bustle of customers coming and going during the day and chatting to people about our different products and explaining how they were made, I relished the peace and quiet of an empty space at the end of the working day. Being creative for me was like therapy, while my handswere busy stirring and pouring and sticking labels to the jars, my mind would still, my breathing steady and solutions to problems which had been niggling me all day would ease their way to the surface.
Tonight I was thinking about how best to grow the business. We’d had a good year and now the pressure was on to ensure that next year would be equally as successful. The monthly sales slots onThe Retail Therapy Showhad opened my eyes to the possibilities of selling to other retailers, but how should I go about that, and when? And how could I increase production to keep up with demand? Questions, questions …
From the doorway came the sound of a gentle cough, and I smiled, loving the way Cole announced his presence softly, knowing I’d jump out of my skin if he didn’t. He was leaning on the door frame, watching me, a faraway look in his eyes.
