Page 3 of A Letter to the Last House Before the Sea

‘It’s a very special place.’ Rosie smiled. ‘There are buses that go out that way, and I can find you a timetable while you’re settling in.’

After Rosie had gone downstairs, Lettie unpacked her clothes and the toiletries she’d remembered, and placed her half-read book – a weighty history of London – on the bedside table. Then, she opened the window and stuck her head outside.

Had this view greeted Iris every day when she was growing up: a vast, never-still ocean and a huge, arcing sky? It was certainly different from the view she’d had towards the end of her days. Her great-aunt’s London flat was perfectly fine, but overlooking a gasworks was depressing. How she must have yearned for the countryside and the fresh sea breeze – though never enough to return.

Lettie had offered a few times to bring Iris to Devon, so she could retrace her footsteps and relive her younger days. But her great-aunt had always declined and rarely talked about her life here. The Dartmoor photo on her wall – of a magnificent, gushing waterfall – was the only clue that she’d ever lived in Devon at all. She always changed the subject if Lettie asked her about it. The same, too, if she was ever quizzed about the key around her neck.

Iris’s past was a mystery while she was alive and was even more so now she was gone. And it was emotional to imagine her great-aunt here in this house, young and full of life, when her final days on this earth were so different.

Watching someone she loved die had left its mark on Lettie; now she knew that death wasn’t always a gentle fade into darkness. Iris’s final moments were peaceful but the days leading up to them were filled with pain and fear and a succession of medical professionals in her flat.

Lettie had moved in for a few weeks so Iris could spend her final days at home. And she was glad she had – even though the long hanging on, the slow slide towards the inevitable, had been almost too much for both of them to bear.

When Iris did finally slip away, people told Lettie it was for the best because the old woman’s pain and suffering were over. Her great-aunt had gone, and she must feel relieved. But she hadn’t so far. All she felt was deep sadness and flutterings of panic at the thought of never seeing Iris again. She missed her so much it hurt.

The key around her neck felt warm in her fingers as she raised it to her lips and let it rest there. She felt closer to Iris here, in this storm-battered house on top of the world. Lettie lay back on the soft duvet, the sun streaming through the window onto her face, and closed her eyes.