She grew aware of light, spilling under and above the door, and the sounds of the hospice, filling the emptiness like water. The room in which they stood had grown so dark that the details lost definition; even the shape of Queenie was dimming. She thought of those waves again, and how a life was not complete without meeting its closure. She would stand at Harold’s side as long as he wanted. When he moved, she followed.

Mass was already under way as they closed the door on Queenie. They paused, uncertain whether to give their thanks or slip away. It was Harold who asked to stop a moment. The nuns’ voices rose, woven in song, and for one splendid, fleeting moment the beauty of it crammed her with something that felt like joy. If we can’t be open, Maureen thought, if we can’t accept what we don’t know, there really is no hope.

“I’m ready to go now,” said Harold.

♦

They walked along the seafront in the dark. The families had packed up their picnics and their chairs; only a few dog walkers were left, and some joggers in fluorescent jackets. They talked about small things: the last of the peonies, the day David started school, the weather forecast. Small things. The moon shone high, and cast a trembling copy of itself over the deep water. Far out, a ship travelled the horizon, its lights twinkling, and yet so slow its passage was not visible. It was full of life and activity that was nothing to do with Harold and Maureen.

“So many stories. So many people we don’t know,” she said.

Harold watched too, but his mind was full of other things. He couldn’t say how he knew it, or whether the knowledge made him happy or sad, but he was sure that Queenie would remain with him, and David too. There would be Napier, and Joan, and Harold’s father with those aunts; but there would be no more fighting them, and no more anguish for the past. They were part of the air he walked through, just as all the travellers he had met were part of it. He saw that people would make the decisions they wished to make, and some of them would hurt both themselves and those who loved them, and some would pass unnoticed, while others would bring joy. He did not know what would follow from Berwick-upon-Tweed, and he was ready for that.