‘But can you prove it? Do you have a death certificate? Something from the crematorium?’

‘No.’ I shake my head. I have no paperwork. I should have thought this thing through, I tell myself. I should have come prepared.

‘Open it, please.’

I unscrew the lid of the container and he bends to peer inside, careful to avoid touching this object. His body language gives him away. He’s disgusted, and it shows.

He lowers his nose, takes a precautionary sniff, recoils at once.

‘No,’ he says.

‘No, what?’

‘No, you can’t take it on the flight. We need to get it analysed.’ He gestures at the line of waiting passengers. ‘We have a responsibility here. It could be anything.’ One of the passengers, a young woman, nods and whispers something to her partner before gathering up her infant son.

‘Like what?’

‘Like some form of explosive. These things happen. You wouldn’t believe what people get up to.’

‘You think I want to blow the plane up? With me in it?’

‘I’ve no idea, madam. But it’s a risk we can’t take. Like I just said, it could be anything.’

‘But it’s not anything,’ I insist. ‘It’s Pavel.’

‘You say.’

‘I say.’

The supervisor shrugs and checks his watch. He has a trillion people to get through to airside, and his decision is made.

‘You’re serious?’ I ask him. ‘I’m making this special trip to scatter the ashes and I’ve got to leave them here?’

‘Yes. I’m afraid that’s pretty much it. Unless you’ve got some form of proof that they are what you say they are.’ He pauses, trying to soften the bad news. ‘Why don’t you just go anyway? Prague’s a lovely place. Especially this time of year.’

‘But there’ll be no point. I can’t scatter ashes I haven’t got.’

‘I’m afraid that’s your problem, madam. We’ll give you a proper receipt, of course. The process should take a couple of weeks. We can courier the container back to you but I’m afraid there’ll be a charge.’

‘And the test? The analysis?’

‘We may be able to offer you a discount on that. I’ll have to check.’

I’m getting angry now but the passengers behind me are beginning to stir. I’m an actress by profession, and while I’m no stranger to public performance, this particular script is starting to wear thin.

‘I’ve changed my mind.’ I reach for the container. ‘I’ll scatter him somewhere else. Anywhere round here you might recommend?’

My sarcasm is wasted on the supervisor. He makes a dismissive gesture towards the container and turns away. Poor Pavel, I think, screwing his top on again, and then repacking my suitcase.