She clears her throat. “If you don’t want to open them, I’m happy to.”

“Amanda,” Kate scolds.

“What? I’m just saying. It’s a shame for them all to go to waste. People wanted Ava to have these things, whatever they are.”

I realize she’s right. I have to stop thinking about myself sometimes, and think about the intention behind the actions of others.

“How about we all open some?” I suggest. “Make an afternoon of it.”

So we do just that. We sit in a circle around the presents and we open them. Kate methodically insists on recording each present and who it is from, if there is a name. Some are anonymous gifts. There are things for the wedding. Some brand-new, some secondhand, and some handmade, like a delicate lacy veil, clearly antique and lovingly looked after.

“It’s exquisite,” Mum gasps as she opens it. She lifts up the card and reads aloud.

Dear Ava,

My name is Lois Pearl, and this was my wedding veil sixty-five years ago when I married my husband, Jack. It was handmade by my mother and grandmother, and I can still remember how proud I felt wearing it, and how like a princess it made me feel. Jack passed away forty years ago. He never really recovered from injuries he sustained in the Second World War. We had a fine marriage while it lasted, a happy one. Together we raised six children and I am now a proud grandmother to nineteen, and great-grandmother to four. Life hasn’t always been easy, and I’ve done my fair share of complaining over the years. But when I read your story I was reminded how lucky I am, and how grateful I should be. I want to thank you for that, and I want you to have my veil. It shouldn’t sit in a box in a cupboard in the dark, the way it has. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to wear it, I know it’s not exactly modern! Either way, when you’re finished please gift it on.

All my love, Lois

“Oh, isn’t that just beautiful.” Mum sniffs through her tears.

“It smells like mothballs,” Amanda says.

We drink wine—even me, although I’m not supposed to.

“You told me to keep up my fluids,” I say to Mum when she protests.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, but go on, then. I suppose a small one won’t hurt.”

There are books. Fiction ones, self-help books about spirituality and mindfulness, and even a couple of Bibles. Like the flowers, the intention behind them is good. But they are another reminder. I won’t have time to read them. Not all. I know that I probably won’t even read one, if I’m being honest. While I have been an avid reader all my life, now that time is at a premium I’d rather spend it making my own memories than reading about the memories and moments of others.

I am also gifted an assortment of knick-knacks. The kind you can buy in any good stationery shop. The ones that are designed to spur you on to greater things, or at the very least to remind you to embrace the day with a smile. Fridge magnets, coffee cups, cushions. Candles that smell like tropical islands. Aprons with inspirational quotes.