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‘You love him, don’t you?’ her father wheezed.

Really, she could hardly believe it. These moments of lucidity might be few and far between, but when they came he could cut himself, he was so sharp. ‘Course I do,’ she said.

‘Not like it was with Nick though, eh?’ His eyes were actually twinkling.

She nudged him, patted his face dry with the towel. ‘No, not like it was with Nick.’

‘You put that man on a pedestal,’ he said.

‘Hardly.’ Rosemary took the bowl into the bathroom and rinsed it out. She returned for the towel. He was still looking at her in that way. She sighed and sat down on the bed. ‘What are you trying to say, Dad?’

He nodded. ‘That you idealised his memory.’ He got the words out with some difficulty. ‘I know that’s what you did. I did it myself with Maya.’

Rosemary wasn’t having that. ‘Nonsense,’ she said sharply.

He closed his eyes. ‘Ah, Rosie,’ he said.

*

While he was sleeping, Rosemary thought about it. He’d written to Maya, hadn’t he, though he’d never sent any of the letters. It was a connection that had helped him somehow.

She sat down at the kitchen table with a sheet of notepaper she’d found in the bureau.

she wrote.

She paused. Shivered, despite the heat of the Aga.

I saw it – marrying him – as a way out of the life I had in Dorset without you. But it wasn’t fair, was it?
She sighed.
And neither was it a way out
.

My father told me earlier, in one of his more lucid moments, that I had romanticised your memory, idealised you. He did that too, with Maya, he said
.

Rosemary thought about this for a moment. She had denied it instinctively; it had seemed like an attack. But it was true.

The truth is that our love was special, and so was his with Maya
. She understood that now.
But it’s over, Nick. It wasn’t over when you died, but it’s over now
.

Rosemary took a deep breath. This wasn’t easy. But then it never was easy to let go.
I tried to pretend that it wasn’t over, but I’m not going to pretend any longer. I loved you but now it’s over and I want you to set me free
.

Rosemary read the letter through. It was what she wanted to say. But, ‘I’m sorry, Nick.’ She fetched a bowl and the box of matches, struck one and held the letter over the flame. It curled, caught alight and she dropped it into the bowl, watched it flare briefly and then turn to ashes.

When Mrs Briggs arrived, Rosemary went out, back to Burton Cliff. It was cold, but she parked at the end of the no-through road and sat on the bench at the top of the grassy cliff, looking down. She wrapped her warm cashmere scarf more closely around her neck. She was wearing her thick coat, cord jeans and walking boots. To one side, she could see the old hotel and the sandstone path leading down to Hive Bay, to
the other, the cliff-top walkway that led through to Freshwater. And the sea stretched calmly out towards the horizon, the tide gently rippling, gleaming grey-green in the limpid autumnal sun. She had come here twenty-six years ago to scatter Nick’s ashes. And this was another sort of goodbye. There was a moment when you had to discharge the past. And move on.

It was time. Rosemary got up from the bench and walked closer to the cliff edge. A young couple were strolling along the path, hand in hand. He paused, pointed out to her the church tower in the distance, in the village, beyond the river. It was a walk Rosemary and Nick had done so often, strolling along the top of the high golden cliff, down to Freshwater where the river emerged from a bank of tiny pebbles that had formed an island before it flowed into the sea. Then over the stile and back along the river bank, past the bridge, along the lane with the allotments and what used to be the Dove Inn. Back through the field and up the hill to the cliff top. If Nick were anywhere watching over her, he was here.

‘No one should be second best,’ her father had said.

This had been their special place. She had never come here with Alec. She had excluded him, just as her father had unintentionally excluded her mother. She supposed it had been their way of trying to keep it special. But … She groped in her bag for the little tin with the elephants on. Elephants were for remembering. And she would never forget.

She opened the lid. ‘Bye, Nick,’ she murmured. ‘See you.’
She tipped the tin. And the ashes of her letter fluttered in the breeze, on to the pathway, on to the sandstone cliff. Some, she hoped, would make it down to the ocean below. Rosemary stared out to sea, almost thought she could glimpse the shimmer of Nick’s smile shifting gently with the tide.

She stood there for a moment, watching, then she groped in her bag for her mobile.

He answered on the third ring. ‘Alec?’

‘Rosemary? How are you?’

‘Not so bad.’ She held the phone closer. ‘I just wanted to speak to you. I wanted to hear your voice.’ Here, she thought. Here in this place.

‘Where are you?’ She thought she heard his voice catch. Had he been thinking of her? Had he been wondering what to do?

‘On top of a cliff.’ She smiled. ‘Surrounded by fields and sheep and seagulls.’

‘Lucky you.’

‘Can you hear the gulls?’ She held the phone up. ‘And the sea?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, I can.’

‘I miss you, Alec,’ she said.

‘I miss you too.’ She heard the emotion in his voice. And she realised how unusual it was for them both to say those kinds of words. Words of love.

‘Are you alright, Rosemary? I mean, your father …’

‘Still the same. And I’m fine.’ At least, she thought, I will be.

‘I have to decide by tomorrow,’ he told her.

She remembered what he’d said. Had she given him any reason to say ‘no’? ‘I can’t come back to Copenhagen, Alec,’ she said. ‘I know this will be hard for you to hear. But I need to stay in Dorset, at least for a while.’

‘For Eva?’ His voice sounded very bleak. Rosemary knew she was hurting him. Sometimes it seemed that was all she had ever done. And yet she’d never wanted to.

‘For Eva and for my father,’ she said. ‘But also for me.’ The words tumbled from her in a rush. ‘When I married you, when I came to Copenhagen, I was running away, Alec. Away from what had happened here and what the place meant to me. But running away from my emotions too. I thought I had to escape. I thought the most important thing in my life was self-preservation.’

‘But it wasn’t?’

‘No, it wasn’t.’ Rosemary took a deep breath. ‘The most important thing in my life was love.’

For a moment he was silent. ‘So you regret marrying me?’ His voice was thin. He sounded an awfully long way away. Rosemary knew she had to be honest with him, but she also had to get it right.

‘Never.’

‘Never?’

‘I still don’t.’

‘And love?’ He sounded sad.

‘I love this place.’ Rosemary opened her arms as if she
could hug it close to her. The sandstone cliffs, the pebbles of Chesil Beach, the cold and grey English Channel. ‘I love my daughter and I love my father. And I love you.’

‘So you’ve decided not to come to Seattle then, Rosemary?’ His words cut through her like a winter wind.

But … Honesty. ‘I’m sorry, Alec,’ she said. ‘But I can’t.’

When she ended the call, Rosemary realised she was crying. Big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t reach for a tissue or wipe them away. She just let them come. She didn’t know if she was crying for Nick or for her father or for Alec. It didn’t matter. She just needed the release. She had to let it go.

Eva was surprised to see her mother waiting for her at Arrivals. She’d emailed and asked her to organise a taxi; she knew the last thing she’d feel like doing after a long flight was travelling by train all the way from Heathrow to Dorset. But there she was, smiling, looking … Different, she thought.

‘Eva.’

‘Hello, Mother.’ They kissed a little awkwardly. Eva was wary. Her mother had been so warm when they’d spoken on the phone. But it had been a while since they’d been face to face.

‘How was your flight?’ Rosemary’s smile was encouraging and seemed genuine enough.

‘Fine. How’s Grandpa?’

‘Not good,’ she said. Her expression changed. ‘I’m afraid to say that he’s deteriorated a lot since you left.’

Eva’s shoulders sagged. Just as she’d thought.

Rosemary patted her arm. ‘Come on then, darling.’ She took Eva’s case and headed towards the exit and the car park. ‘You’ll see him soon. He’ll be so happy you’re back. You will come to the house before you go back to Bristol?’

‘Of course.’ Bristol. Eva wasn’t looking forward to Bristol. ‘Is Grandpa …?’

‘You’ll see for yourself.’ She turned around. ‘But I should warn you, darling. He keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he’s quite lucid …’ She paused, and put her arm on Eva’s. ‘But other times, to be honest, we’re not sure how much he hears, how aware he really is.’ Her eyes filled.

‘Oh, Ma.’ Eva thought of how he’d been not much more than a month ago when she’d told him she was going to Burma. Frail, yes, but definitely still with all his faculties intact.
Slipping in and out of consciousness?
Shouldn’t he be in hospital then? Shouldn’t someone be doing something more for him? She looked helplessly at her mother, who was paying their car parking ticket at the machine.

She tucked the ticket into her bag. ‘The doctor says he’s comfortable.’ And Eva saw her swallow back her tears. ‘He’s doing all he can for him. And he’s in the best place, at home.’

‘Good.’ Then her mother’s arm was around her shoulders. She hadn’t felt that for a long time.

‘We must be strong,’ she whispered. ‘We mustn’t let him see.’

‘Yes.’ Eva nodded. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right.’

‘Come on, darling.’ Her mother’s voice became brisk as she took hold of the case and again led the way towards the lift of the car park. Eva noticed as she followed her that her blonde hair was longer and less neat. That was new too.

‘You said “
we’re
not sure” how much he hears?’ she asked, hurrying to catch up with her. ‘Is Alec over here too?’

Something flickered over her mother’s blue eyes. Her expression changed. ‘I meant Ida Briggs and the doctor. Both of them have been marvellous.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Alec’s not here. Just me.’ She pressed the button and they waited for the lift.

‘And … Ma?’ She had to know.

‘Yes?’

‘Did you tell Grandpa? About Cho Suu Kyi?’ This revelation had become, in its way, the most important part of the journey she’d made. The lift arrived and they both got in.

‘Yes, I told him.’ There was a silence as the lift winged them up to the second level of the short stay car park. The door opened and their eyes met, briefly, before Eva’s mother scanned the level for the car. ‘There it is.’ She hurried over and unlocked it. Presumably it was one she’d hired for her stay here, Eva thought, since her grandfather no longer owned a car.

She followed her over. ‘And what did he say?’

‘Not much,’ Rosemary told her. ‘But he seemed to take it in. Finally.’

Her mother had opened the boot and Eva helped her heave in the case. Telling him couldn’t have been easy for her, Eva thought. But there had been no other way. And it looked as if her worst fears had been realised. Now might have been too late.

But if her mother was upset, then she hid it well as she bundled Eva’s hand luggage in with the case and shut the boot with a decisive clunk.

Eva slipped into the passenger seat. She was glad her mother had come to pick her up. It felt good to sit back and let her take over. But it wasn’t just that of course.

Her mother started up the engine and put the car into gear. She turned to her. ‘You’d better prepare yourself, Eva, darling,’ she said. ‘We think he’s slipping away.’

Slipping away … Her grandfather had always been her rock. She didn’t want him to slip away. Couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.

Rosemary drove out of the airport terminal. It was drab, grey and industrial but they were still on the perimeter of the airport and Eva could see another plane landing, more passengers returning on a long-haul flight back to the UK. Even after just a few weeks away, everything here looked alien and strange. There was no colour, no red earth or vibrant flowers, no market stalls or street sellers. And it was so cold. Her mother had turned up the heating in the car, but Eva still had the shivers. She thought of those last days in Bagan, exploring the temples on the grand plain with an ever increasing sense of loneliness. She didn’t want to think of her last night with Ramon. And she didn’t want to think about her grandfather slipping away.

‘Thank you, Ma,’ she said.

‘For what?’

‘For telling him. For picking me up from the airport. For being here.’

Rosemary turned to her and smiled and Eva noticed her crimson-painted fingernails, her jewellery: gold, expensive,
under-stated. Her jacket was gorgeous too, the softest of brown leather and her sweater was cream cashmere, which she wore with chocolate coloured trousers. Smart, thought Eva. But almost jarring to the senses after the simple white cotton blouses and embroidered
longyis
of Myanmar. After the poverty. They’d led such a different life, hadn’t they, these two half-sisters? If it weren’t for the unmistakeable resemblance between them, it would be hard to believe they were related.

‘That’s OK,’ her mother said. ‘It was my pleasure.’

Eva sneaked another glance at her. ‘It must have been a shock for you too,’ she ventured. ‘Hearing about Cho Suu Kyi, I mean.’

‘It certainly was. All these years thinking I was an only child …’ But her mother didn’t seem to want to say more. She glanced at Eva and then away.

‘So tell me about your trip,’ she said encouragingly as she took the motorway. ‘That’s if you feel like talking. But there’s plenty of time. Rest if you want to rest.’ She smiled.