Silva stepped back from the mantelpiece and sat down heavily in an armchair. She’d never received this postcard. It was correctly addressed to Silva’s boat at the boatyard, but there was no stamp. The card had never been posted. Had her mother meant to send the card and forgotten? All of a sudden Silva felt a wave of regret. If the card had been posted, if Silva had received it, things might have been different. She might have phoned her mother and perhaps the call could have changed events in some small way. A tiny ripple moving forward in time, disrupting the flow of atoms and altering history. The butterfly effect, but in this case not causing a storm but preventing it. Silva dropped the card into her lap. The cold shock at seeing the message had gone and now she found herself crying again, unable to reconcile the present with the past, reality with what might have been.

After a while she stood and went back to the kitchen. The rice was done and she drained it and served the curry. Poured herself some wine. She sat at the kitchen table, the postcard in front of her. She sobbed but as she read again she found herself unable to stifle a laugh. Nothing was right. For a start the card was post-dated. The eighteenth of August was several weeks off and yet her mother must have written it before she left for Tunisia months ago. Then the actual message on the postcard was all wrong. Remember the beach we used to go to here? West something or other, wasn’t it? West something referred to West Wittering, a beach Silva had been to with her father, but certainly not with her mother. Her father had taught her to sail on the waters of Chichester Harbour and they’d beached their dinghy at West Wittering on occasion. Her mother had hated sailing and hadn’t cared much for the sea. The message made no sense. Hidden secrets to be passed on… She turned the card over. The picture was of Chichester Harbour from the air and showed the vast expanse of water with all the little inlets. On a rising tide you could explore the creeks and, indeed, that was just what she’d done with her father.

Was that what her mother meant? That there was some kind of secret buried like pirate gold deep in a mudbank up a lonely creek? She turned the card back over and read the final line.

I so enjoyed the many times we visited. I definitely Hope you did too. Love always and forever, Mum.