A/N: I'm back. Sorry. I broke my laptop.

Sarah x

It always takes the last of the Christmas spirit from the house when the decorations come down, but they can hardly stay up all year round, can they? That would just be preposterous. Though the thought of clambering about in the loft provides a certain level of temptation for her to leave them where they are this year. The idea is repellent to the woman who has never set foot in her own loft in the two and a half years she has lived in this house.

Serena sighs. It's three days after Christmas, and she has to put the decorations back in the attic. For the last three years an agile and nimble Ellie has taken them in and out of the attic. She had taken them out of the loft this year as well, saving Serena from having to scramble into the attic yet again. But Ellie has elected to spend New Year with Edward in London, where he is currently working, and left yesterday before Serena could take the decorations down.

Now she looks balefully between the box and the entrance to the loft, dreading the task ahead. She is the first to admit she isn't the fittest of human beings, and so she can envision herself getting hurt performing this task. It's one box, but one box is more than enough. With a huff, she picks up the box and ambles haplessly up the ladder, pushing the box safely into the attic once she can reach.

It's with a groan that she makes it into the dark room, fumbling for the pull switch for the light Ellie says there is. Carelessly, she nudges the box out of her way; she's relieved that she has completed half her journey without serious injury when she turns to leave. It's better than she expected. But her attention is taken by a small wooden chest, about knee-high to her. She cannot recall ever owning such a chest, never mind putting it up here. She doesn't think Ellie, her mum or Edward ever owned one either, and she doubts they would put it here without telling her first anyway.

She's unsure whether or not to open it, for it is not hers. It would be an invasion of privacy to whomever it belongs. But she is curious. After all, nobody she loves put it there. She's sure of that much. Once she examines it, she finds that there is a latch but no lock. To Serena, it is reasonable to presume that if the box is not locked, its contents were never meant to be private. Completely flawed by many possible scenarios, but she uses it anyway as her rationalisation for undoing the latch.

The wind is howling outside; she's not sure why she only realises it now, but she is painfully aware of its presence and the chill it blows through the attic. It reminds her that winter isn't going anywhere, and, as she looks out the tiny roof window, she notes that the thick clouds are threatening to lay a blanket of snow.

The chest is obviously much heavier and far sturdier than it looks – she is taken by surprise by the weight of the lid as she lifts it open. Inside there is a much smaller chest, a tall pot, a British road atlas, dated 2012, and a thick, padded envelope. It completely puzzles her, why anyone would keep such an odd assortment of objects confined neatly and preciously in the same place; and why, of course, it has been left unlocked.

Guilt niggles at her when she reaches inside, taking someone else's box into her hands. It, too, has no lock. Only a latch. It has been left almost completely accessible, apart from the obvious fact that it is located in the attic.

A shot of nerves runs through her, and she knows she shouldn't really be opening what does not belong to her. With a surgeon's quick skill, she deftly undoes the catch and opens the small wooden box up.

Serena gasps slightly as she reads the address of the topmost envelope: To the opener of this trunk...

Obviously, that means her, for the envelope is still sealed. However, she is not brave enough to open it immediately. She dreads to think of what may be written on the paper inside. What if it says something along the lines of, 'How dare you open this trunk?!'

So she sets it aside and investigates further. Next, she finds the birth certificate of a man, named Lachlan Stewart McGregor, who was born on September 23rd, 1949 at 1.08am in Raigmore Hospital. Serena quickly racks her brain and realises this man was born in Inverness. This birth certificate is a long way from home.

There's a death certificate, too; Lachlan Stewart McGregor died at 11.41pm on February 2nd, 2012 in Holby City General Hospital, from cancer of the brain. He was sixty-two years old.

There are many, many photos. She recognises some of the settings – Edinburgh, Holby, London, Berlin, Sydney – from trips of her own. Others, though, Serena finds she can only generalise an area from the rugged landscape behind the subjects. They were taken during varying eras somewhere in the north of Scotland. That is all she can work out.

One of the more recent photographs was taken in this very house. She recognises the glass doors, even though she does not know the tall, slightly ill-looking man who smiles next to a young woman Serena assumes must be Lachlan's daughter. She sees the resemblance between them in their electric blue eyes, their straight noses, their dimples, and their considerable height. The woman is very pretty – slim with wild, curly brown hair and very pale skin.

Still wary of the letter, Serena moves onto the pot, carefully taking the lid off. "Bloody hell!" she shouts in shock when she realises it is not just a beautiful pot. It's an urn, filled with ashes, presumably those of Lachlan Stewart McGregor.

It takes a moment for her to regain her equilibrium after the slight trauma of finding the ashes of a dead man in her loft. Now, though, she can replace the lid; she picked up the envelope and looked inside. Cash. Lots of it. At least a thousand pounds but probably a lot more.

Documents, photographs, money and ashes...it makes no sense.

With a sigh of frustration, Serena picks up the envelope and opens it her fingers trembling just ever so slightly. It's a letter, as she suspected, dated January 31st, 2012.

To whom it may concern, it reads.

If you have found this, I have died. I have been dying for many months, and I sense I am reaching the end of my life. As such, I have written this letter and provided you with £2500, and asked my beautiful daughter, Catriona, to place them both, along with my ashes and certificates, in a wooden trunk in the attic of this house when I am gone. I assume the next occupier will eventually find it, although I have no idea how long that will take.

I have one wish, as a dying man: that a stranger, someone I have never before laid eyes upon, should scatter my ashes on the beach of Loch Laggan, on Hogmanay morning, and that the person to do it takes with them a companion, preferably someone with whom they have a strained relationship or someone they do not know particularly well – perhaps a work colleague. These to people, after scattering my ashes, are to take the money provided to Edinburgh on Hogmanay and have a fantastic time, and see in the New Year with joy, perspective and companionship.

I have my reasons for my decision. I hope I may be able to bring two people together. I have seen just how short a life can be cut, and it is far too short to struggle against people or fall into the trap of never getting to know someone who could become your best friend or lover. And I want someone to experience the satisfaction of having fulfilled someone's last wish.

I have no doubt you will eventually get lost on your travels, so I have provided a road map to help you along your way. In with the £2500 is also £150 in fuel money to drive up to the Highlands, £100 for a place to stay in the Highlands, and £250 for a place to stay in or around Edinburgh. I hope this will prove to be enough.

If you should choose to fulfil this last wish of mine, I thank you from the very bottom of my heart.

Yours, with love,

Lachlan McGregor

Stunned, Serena falls to sit on the floor. Whatever she had been expecting, this is not it. And yet, she finds herself planning this trip. She finds herself planning when she will have to leave and how fast she must drive and which roads she must use. And, of course, who will go with her. She contemplates taking Guy Self, but decides that's a step too far. She would have to kill him before they even reached the border. The very thought of spending all those hours in a car on unfamiliar roads, in bad weather, with Guy Self forces an involuntary shudder from her.

But why is she even contemplating going? She knows nothing of this man other than that he was a Scot with a beautiful daughter named Catriona, plenty of money and a very peculiar dying wish. He is nothing to her. She's never spoken to him, and she has only ever seen him in these photos. But he did live in this house she now calls her home.

She is somewhat fascinated by the way in which Lachlan's mind must have worked. Rather than be scattered by his daughter, his flesh and blood, he would rather two strangers do it.

She runs through a list of people she knows, and finds the pickings are rather slim.

Edward: never going to happen. Never in a million years is she driving to Scotland with her ex-husband.

Ric: she gets on with him so he does not fit the criteria.

Guy: he wouldn't survive the trip.

Zosia: probably the same problem as her father, and has issues with death from cancer.

Dominic: as fun as he is, he isn't someone she would take this trip with.

Arthur: just no.

Jonny: just no.

Raf: maybe, if he weren't glued to AAU.

Harry: just no.

Mary-Claire: too loud.

Adele: even louder.

Mo: stuck on Darwin.

Fletch: again, never going to happen.

Sacha: too nice. He'll only get on her nerves.

Elliot: ditto.

Jac: that could work, but she will need convincing.

Serena knows that, like herself, Jac has New Year off and probably very little fun to be had. And Serena, does not know the woman particularly well, either, so she fits Lachlan's requirements. But she knows Jac is a cynical being, and will laugh her out of the room at the very suggestion of going to Scotland to scatter a stranger's ashes unless Serena has something to enforce her case with. So, Serena gets to her feet and picks up the urn, carefully taking it down the ladder and placing it on the floor before returning with the other artefacts left to her by Lachlan McGregor.

She stares at the four objects at her feet and, as she resolves to go in to the hospital on her day off, calls herself crazy.

Hope it's a decent start.
Please feel free to tell me your thoughts.
Sarah x