Chapter 2

Hello Molls.

I have started writing this letter so many times but keep crossing things out. It's harder than you think trying to write these words. In some ways it would have been much easier to say these words to your face, you know how I can talk for England me. (Don't think I don't know that you're sat there rolling those lovely green eyes at the heavens young lady.) See, I've lost my train of thought already and it's only the first paragraph.

Firstly, don't think of this as a letter from beyond the grave or any of that morbid bollocks. Just think of it as another very long distance phone call like we used to have when you were out in Afghan. You'd ask me something and i'd never answer you because I couldn't hear what you'd said over the noise of bloody war and that. Think of it like that, only with a much longer pause between what is said and when it is heard. Even now as I write this, I'm sat on the balcony overlooking the garden. The window is thrown open letting in the sea breeze as I watch the sun chasing its way below the headland over Harlyn Bay. The garden is looking lovely this time of year. I think Mr Bishop has finally found his inner Alan Titchmarsh. They'll have a hard job getting him back behind the bar at the Well Parc now. You know he's dying to get his hands on those roses in the churchyard. Somebody better put a stop to the poor bugger and quick!

I know you're probably still upset with me that I didn't tell you how bad things had got with my illness. When I told you about the diagnosis of cancer I deliberately kept the details vague. I didn't want you to worry when you were half a world away. What I had neglected to mention, was that it got diagnosed late- you know how I hate being poked and prodded- and it was aggressive. A few months ago they told me there was little else to be done. If I'd told you the truth you'd have been on the first plane home and I didn't want that for you. You have your own life to live my love and you need to start living it; you more than anybody can appreciate that every day is precious. Don't get me wrong I haven't given up. To say I was angry and frightened, at myself more than anything, was an understatement but you have to pick your battles Molls. This fight was a fight I knew I couldn't win. I'd much prefer to enjoy my time with you without you fearing that this goodbye would be our last. You carry around the ghosts of one soul-destroying goodbye- I didn't want to burden you with another. We both know I was going to bugger off eventually, but I'll admit another ten years with you would have been nice. At least I could go safe in the knowledge that you were settled and happy. I've been a prize prannet Molls and I'm woman enough to admit it.

Anyway, enough of that. Down to business. Unless Aldridgeson has made a complete cockup of my instructions you should be aware of my name change and the plan I've laid out for you. All will become clear in time but please Molls try not to jump ahead of yourself during the next ten days. I know how you like to skip the boring bits and go right to the end but just sit back and enjoy this little trip- think of it as a holiday. In fact, see it as the trip we never got the chance to take together. There were things I wish I had told you, mistakes I'd made that I wish I could correct but it seems time has been conspiring against me. With that in mind, I've concocted a little plan to allow me to tell you the things I wanted you to know and see the things I'd always wanted to see. In fact, it was you who gave me the idea. You and those piss taking tossers you met when you went out to Afghan the first time. You wrote once about how one night you all sat around the fire back at the compound and spent the night whispering your fears about what was to come, the wishes and dreams that would never be fulfilled should you not make it home. For some reason, that letter always stuck with me. It reminded me that life is short. You don't have the time to worry about what ifs, maybes, what we should or shouldn't do. So if it helps, think of this trip as you fulfilling my own personal bucket list Molls. Do the things I never got to do, see the places I'd dreamed of visiting and scatter a little of me in every place as you go along. That way, it'll be as though I'm there with you.

Now, I must insist that you take the next ten days off of work. Being freelance should make it slightly easier and I know for a fact that you are probably feeling restless and ready to jump onto the next plane to go and capture images of another war torn country. Please Molls, hold off for just a little bit longer. I know you're probably pissed about the conditions and I'm truly sorry for that, but it was the only way I could think to make sure you didn't cut corners. I want to set your heart on fire and help rekindle the creative ardour you seem to have lost. You spend your days photographing death, destruction and decay that I fear you've forgotten to open your eyes to the beauty around you. I ought to mention that you won't be travelling alone, that would be dreadful. To that end, I've asked a good friend of mine- Charles- to go with you. He's an army Captain and completely dependable so give him a chance. He comes across as a bit stern and stand offish at first but underneath the tough exterior he's got a heart of gold. If I'm honest, I've been worried about him for quite some time- I fear he's running himself to the brink of exhaustion. The poor sod never stops and needs a holiday more than you Molls, so don't fob him off. I know you think being alone is better, but just this once go with it. That's all I ask.

Be excited! I wish I'd set off on an adventure at 28.

Well, our time seems to have run out. Autumn is truly setting in now. That's why I wanted you to wait and scatter me in the spring, what with it being a time for new lives to begin an' all that. Maybe if I'm lucky I can be part of something new and extraordinary, one last time.

Go, be brilliant my love,

Nan x.

I read through the letter one more time, tracing the letters over Nan's signature as a lone tear blots the ink on the page. There was no mistaking Nan's spidery scrawl. The office is silence as I nurse a now lukewarm cup of tea that Mr Alrdrigeson had made me. Before I'd read it I had visons of me storming out in a huff before finding another solicitor to help me contest the will. But, having read Nan's words I couldn't bring myself to do it. "So Miss Dawes, what are you going to do?" I sighed softly. Although I desperately wanted to inherit the house, the inheritance had never been about the money. Malie Point- taken from the Hawaiian word for tranquil or calm- had been the only true home I had ever had. It was my sanctuary; my safe harbour as I weathered the bleak storms that had come to encompass my life. Then there was the matter of Nan's ashes. She knew full well I wouldn't be able to refuse, the cheeky mare! With a sigh I met the eyes of the solicitor sat in front of me, choosing to ignore the flicker of amusement dancing in the depths of his wise gaze.

"Give me your instructions Mr Aldrigeson; it looks like I'm off on an adventure after all."