She did not want a funeral of any description, there is really only me here that knew her, it was where we came on holiday every year when we were young. But this is where she wanted to die, and more importantly it is where she wanted to be scattered, in the sea, where we played in the waves as children, shouting and splashing, and learning to swim with black tyre inner tubes around our waists. I agreed to her wishes. There will be a cremation very quickly, on Tuesday.

Tess gasps; this means either tomorrow or next week.

After that she asked that I let her drift away in the waves. Just me and her in the sea together for one final time. You were a good friend to her and I know she would want me to let you know.

There is one last thing, and I am writing it here but I do not want to speak of it, unless you are of a similar mind.

I was not free until now, to say these things, and I will not give voice to them with breath unless your answer is positive, so please do not tell me that you would like to discuss it.

This is a yes or no.

Hazel was widowed, as you know, and she was the only family I had left here. My wife has been gone for nearly twenty years, and our children are spread across the continents. David is in New Zealand and Hannah and her family are in Uruguay.

I would like to spend my last years with you, Georgia. But if you are not interested then all you need to do is stay silent. I will not mention it again.

Hannah has bought me a ticket to Montevideo and I leave in a week’s time. I can delay the trip, but if your answer is no, simply do not reply, and I will go and spend the winter in the Southern Hemisphere in the sun, with my grandchildren. I would never want to embarrass you.

I am sorry I could not come to France with you, but I hope it went well and was a comfort.

Yours ever,

Stan

Tess folds the sheet of paper back up. This is not her letter to read.

And yet.

Something niggles at the edge of her mind. She unfolds it and reads it a second time. There it is, staring her in the face.

My sister is gone now

Stan was not Hazel’s husband; he was her brother.

There is no date anywhere on the page. Cursing herself under her breath, she rushes down the garden, back into the house and puts the letter down on the table. That’ll teach me not to make assumptions, she thinks. Not about people, and not about grey envelopes. She examines the postmark but it’s smudged and unclear and no help at all.