The Healing of Broken Souls

Epilogue

I cursed as I slipped and fell for the fourth time on the loose scree slope. The climb was tougher than I'd expected, but I was determined to get to the top. At last, I made it over the edge of the ridge and collapsed in a heap on a clump of esparto grass. I'm getting too old for this kind of thing I admitted to myself as I caught my breath. 

I rolled over and sat up. The high rises of Valencia city were visible in the far distance, silhouetted against the turquoise backdrop of the Mediterranean. Much closer, I could just make out my watermill. The neon red Toyota pick-up truck that Helen insisted on calling a 'ute' was still parked outside. I checked the time on my phone. If she didn't leave soon she'd be late for her meeting.

I staggered to my feet and walked along the edge of the escarpment to where the sheer rock face dropped vertically to the scrubland below. Judging I was getting close to the crag where the Bonelli's were nesting, I stopped, wriggled out of my rucksack, and sat on a rock. I didn't want to scare them away. A glance through my binoculars told me that Helen had now left. She was viewing a new commercial unit in the port that morning.

 My father had been quietly cremated the previous week with no fuss, just as he'd requested, but I'd had to wait until yesterday before his ashes were ready to collect. In the week since his funeral, Helen and I had accomplished a lot. Two brand new dive boats were on order and we'd designed some glossy brochures for her expanding business. I'd already drafted the first few chapters of The Healing of Broken Souls and Helen seemed satisfied to read it as I wrote it. 

The morning after the funeral I'd flown to England and back on the same day to sign the probate papers and arrange the transfer of funds. While I was there, I'd asked Rebecca to donate my father's house to the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds. I was sure my father would have approved. Then I'd bought the 4x4 pick-up truck so that Helen could get to work and she'd moved in with me. I hadn't had much sleep the past few nights.

I reached into my rucksack and pulled out the polythene bag of ashes I'd been given at the crematorium. It seemed undignified to end up in a jiffy bag and I stared at it, wondering how much of its contents actually belonged to my father, and thinking about something he'd said the day before he died.

When we'd enjoyed that last meal in the restaurant he'd said 'I'd like to go back to see the Bonelli's one more time before I go'. I'd assumed he meant before he flew back to England, but now I wasn't so sure. I thought perhaps he'd had a premonition. Maybe his desperate wish for our reconciliation was the only thing keeping him going and, once his wish was granted, he was ready to give up the struggle to live.

Standing as close to the precipice as I dared, I tore open the bag and shook his ashes into the breeze.