This is so surprising. I can’t think what to say. I never told anyone I was planning to come today. I’d simply taken the ferry to La Canette this morning and walked down on an empty country lane to the cottage. I talked to no one and have barely been on the island half an hour. Lawyer What’s-His-Name must be clairvoyant.
“Well, if there is anything you need, please feel free to call me.” He hands me the envelope.
“Yes…er…thank you,” is the best I can manage.
Several minutes after the man’s gone, I’m still standing in the middle of the room holding the envelope in my hand. On the front, a label has been fixed with some logo: “To be delivered to Mr. Brandon Hazelwood only after his arrival on La Canette.”
Exhaling a long breath, I go to the sofa, perch on the arm, and finally flip the envelope to tear off the seal. Inside is a smaller envelope, this one addressed in my brother’s handwriting.
One word.
Brand.
Suddenly, the place is no longer empty or impersonal. I can almost hear Liam’s voice – calm, light, amused, affectionate.Brand.
The realisation that I’ll never hear him again hits me like a knife-stab, it takes my breath away. But I don’t do pain. I don’t do tears either. It’s not who I am.
Instead, I slip a finger under the flap and gently peel the envelope open.
Inside is a letter, two pages, handwritten in blue ink.
If you’re reading this, then you have decided to grant my wish and come to live in the cottage. Thank you. Now I can tell you the rest.
I’m writing this in my hospital bed and the doctor tells me the end will be very soon. I’m not sad, not at all. I’m at peace. I’ve had a good life, and I’ve even had a short passionate love affair with someone this summer, so I have some idea why you like women so much. Jacqui knew about my cancer, and we both knew we only had a few weeks. We made it count.
But this letter is about something else. We all come to this life for a reason, and I think I’ve found mine.
I’m serious, I’ve been thinking about it a very long time, and this is my final wish list. Some are things I wanted to complete but never had the time, and some are things I wanted for you. I know you’ll hate this, but please do it for me.
Ten wishes. You can do them in any order you like. But please do them over time, don’t go thinking you can just rush through the lot in a fortnight.
I have to smile. Liam had always laughed at my need to get things done fast.
ONE – I didn’t have time to furnish my cottage, Blue Catch. Please make it beautiful anyway you like. Make it a home. Don’t hire a bunch of decorators. Do as much as possible yourself. Afterwards, you might want to sell it, and I can’t stop you, obviously, but please live here for a year at least.
TWO – Change jobs...
Ding dong.
The doorbell makes me look up.What now?
It’s followed by a determined knock on the door itself. I put the letter down and go to open.
“Hello,” says a huge basket of fruit and vegetables. “I’m Cook.”
“Hi?” I reply as a cardboard box waddles into view behind the basket.
“And I’m Mrs B, housekeeper from the hall,” the box says. “You’d better let us in.”
I step aside and watch nonplussed as they shuffle in. Both are carried by short women, one slim, middle-aged with salt and pepper hair.
The other, younger, plump with freckles all over her face. “I’m Cook. We only just heard you were here and managed to put a few things together.”
They heard? I’ve been here half an hour.
The two women hurry to the kitchen, and I follow. I barely catch a vague impression of a country kitchen with wooden counters and a lot of cupboards before the dak haired woman starts emptying sponges and tea towels out of the box. “We gave the place a through clean after the funeral, but that was six weeks ago. We expected you before now.” She fills a bucket with water and starts mopping the counters.
The other woman – Cook? – is cleaning a large oven with four doors. “Mrs B?” she calls over her shoulder. “We’ll need fresh wood to start the Aga, this here is all damp.” Then she glances back at me. “We brought an electric kettle. Would you like a cup of tea?” She opens a cupboard and takes out three mugs.
