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A strangled sob escaped and Edie muttered under her breath, ‘Sorry, this isn’t helping, Christine . . .’ She tried to make light of her own upset by saying, ‘Trust me to make a song and dance of this.’
‘It’s okay, Edie,’ her sister said quietly. ‘Thanks for coming. I am so glad you are here.’ She pointed at the cup of water and Edie stood up to help her sip through the straw. Christine let her head melt back into the pillows. ‘Losing you is my biggest regret in life, and now you are here . . .’
The sisters sat in a companionable silence for a while, just holding hands. Christine drifted in and out of sleep and Edie observed her chest slowly rise and fall.
‘Tell me about Arran,’ Christine whispered. ‘Is it as magical as it was when we were kids?’
‘Yes, yes. It is. I have been very lucky. I live in a beautiful cottage overlooking the Holy Isle.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘Well, it’s a whitewashed house called Coorie Cottage with a huge garden and a hedge all the way around it, which is brown just now but in the summer is a patchwork of shades of green. There’s an apple tree, laden with fruit in September, and I make chutneys and crumbles and whatever else I can.’
‘Just like Mum,’ said Christine.
Edie squeezed her hand. ‘Yes.’
‘Are you happy?’
‘I am. I’ve got a spaniel called Molly and lots of friends. A young woman, Amelia, is staying with me just now. She’s come from London and she’s staying in the garden.’
‘In the garden?’ Her eyes widened in surprise.
Edie laughed. ‘I bought a shepherd’s hut for the glampers to stay in during the summer.’
‘Glampers?’
‘Yes, those folks who quite like the idea of camping but don’t like tents. But they also don’t want to stay in a hotel.’
Shaking her head, Christine giggled, which made her wheeze. Edie helplessly watched her sister, who was clearly in a lot of pain.
‘You always were a bit of an entrepreneur, Edie . . . Has it got a name, this shepherd’s hut?’
‘Coorie Cabin.’
Another wheezy laugh. ‘Lovely,’ she whispered and smiled, closing her eyes again.
Just then the nurse came over and put a hand on Edie’s shoulder. ‘I think she’s getting tired,’ she said quietly in her ear.
Edie looked desperately at the clock, knowing that their time together was drawing to a close. Christine needed her rest, and she should go. But there was one more thing she needed to do before she left. ‘Just five minutes?’ she asked the nurse.
‘Yes, but no more.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, gratefully. ‘Christine, I need to go soon.’
Christine’s eyes closed and she nodded her head slowly.
‘But I wrote you a letter . . . would you like me to read it to you?’
Christine’s eyes fluttered open and she whispered, ‘Yes.’
Edie got it out of her bag, unfurled the paper and took a big breath before she started to read.
Dear Christine,
I am sitting looking out over the sea. The winter sun is setting on the horizon and casts an orange glow into the living room of my house. I love all the seasons here for different reasons. In winter, the days are cold and bright but the cottage is cosy and I love sitting beside the log burner with a cup of tea and a good book. You always loved reading too and more often than not I would finish a novel and wonder if you would like it or if you had read it. Sorry, I digress.
Spring is all about new life and starting over. The sight of snowdrops and crocuses gives me hope, and the bursts of yellow daffodils remind me that warmer days are coming. They seem to appear in every nook and cranny. They even appear at the beach where the grass meets the sand.
