Charlie watched her go and shook his head. No amount of good manners would get him past St Peter. But he’d made peace with that a long time ago.

Inside he sat on his bed, the pile of letters beside him. He didn’t want to read them, face what was inside. But maybe he was supposed to – his final penance.

It was easy, at first, reading about his beloved Ivy. Easy until he got to the letter he’d been dreading. From the date he knew what was coming and he hoped Nicole was right and that Ivy had treated the story of his arrival, of his past, with delicacy. Not that she owed him that, but he hoped nonetheless.

As he read her next letter his heart began to ache, and as he continued with the next, and the one after that, melancholy swept over him.

He read until the dawning hour of morning broke sunlight over the ocean and into the portal window, sending golden rays into the boatshed.

Carefully, he put all the letters back into the box and stroked the lid as he closed it. He felt close to Ivy once more – a gift he would never have hoped for, but one he cherished.

There was one last task. He knew what he had to do next.

As he shuffled towards the cottage, Charlie’s pulse quickened. Every new beginning means something has to end.

He was okay with that. Not happy, but content. It was how it was meant to be.

Nicole was outside painting one of the verandah supports. Good. He wouldn’t have to knock on the door. He wouldn’t have to go in. He could never go in when Ivy was there. To go in now would be a betrayal.

As he pushed open the gate, Nicole turned around and walked down the verandah steps to meet him and he handed her Ivy’s box.

‘Thank you for sharing these with me.’ He hugged her. Tightly. Quickly. Then he pulled away.

‘If I’d known they’d turn you into a marshmallow, I’d have given them to you long ago.’

‘No need for that,’ he grumbled.

‘Will you come in for a cuppa?’

‘No, thank you,’ he said, and shook his head.

‘At least sit down and tell me more about her.’

‘What’s in there is pretty much her. She was one special lady. Not perfect, but an angel to me. Keep them safe.’ He tapped on the box.

‘I will. Are you sure you don’t want a cuppa?’

‘I’m sure. You can make yourself useful though.’

‘What do you need?’ she asked.

‘Send this. Today. By courier.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She saluted. ‘Any more and I’ll have to start charging you a service fee.’

‘Please.’ He smiled. He owed her so much, but a smile would have to do.

At least for today.

‘I’ll do it at lunch.’