Catching an all-too familiar scent as she entered the tiny cramped room, she gave a bittersweet smile. Elizabeth Arden White Door, Anna’s signature fragrance, the perfume her mother had worn for as long as she could remember. It was because of this familiarity that she felt herself relax. If anything, her mum existed still in this space more than anywhere else, and it was with that comforting thought in mind that Penny sat down at the desk and stared out of the window towards the sea.

‘I hope you don’t mind me organising your things,’ she said to the air around her. ‘I would never want to invade your privacy. And if there is anything that you don’t want me to touch – just let me know, give me a sign.’

Penny breathed deeply and felt herself listening intensely to the ether, as if truly expecting Anna to communicate with her from the Great Beyond. But all she heard was silence.

‘OK. I’m going to take that as you giving me your permission, Mum,’ she smiled.

She looked around her and wondered where to begin. It’s not as if there was a huge mess or a jumble of stuff to sort through – Elle had very easily located the business accounts and Anna had always been very organised and orderly when it came to administrative matters.

Sitting down at the desk, Penny placed both of her hands on the solid wood surface in front of her – she had so many vivid memories of her mother spending time at this desk at various times when she and Elle were growing up. Anna used to good- naturedly hunt them out of the door when she was ‘doing the books’. Rubbing her fingertips on the surface, Penny pondered where to begin.

Seeing the desk drawers as the obvious first choice, Penny opened the top drawer to find pens, pencils, a stapler, tape, rubber bands, paper clips – typical office stuff. Closing that drawer and making her way through the rest, she was met with carefully labelled folders related to supplier invoices and utility bills. Penny couldn’t help but smile. ‘Oh, why wasn’t I blessed with more of your organisational skills?’ she whispered, taking out the files and placing them in a cardboard box she’d brought along with her for temporary storage purposes. Most of the drawers contained similar hotel or household related bits and pieces, but in the bottom drawer Penny found something different. She ran a hand over the spines of what she recognised as Harte family photo albums, reflecting on her own mess of photos taken over the years – in assorted boxes at her house or even worse, trapped digitally on her phone.