It was a good day for it. The sea glimpsed through bare branches was grey, but towards the lighthouse it shimmered beneath the southerly sun. A long walk to the pier but, yes, it had to be today.
He walked along the prom crab-slow, a dignified figure, like a priest approaching the altar. These last few months exhaustion had been his companion when he woke up, his antagonist as the day wore on, and his tormentor in the evening hours before he collapsed into bed again.
Before him the distant lighthouse was like a stub of drawing chalk in a sandcastle, and the small houses in Mumbles fought for light amid the up-thrusting copses. He knew his end was approaching. Perhaps his feckless son would empty his house afterwards, perhaps the council would. None of it mattered any more. Just Jane. He didn’t want Jane left alone in the house after he’d passed.
‘Hello, George,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘Haven’t seen you out since your wife… you know. You keeping OK?’
A nod to her from her neighbour. His face, as ever, was like a battered leather pouch which rarely opened.
‘Mind how you go, George, won’t you?’
She watched him creep away, wheezing like a leaky bellows
He passed the splash of new food establishments at the lip of the bay. Jane wouldn’t have seen these, he thought. Eventually, panting, he was on the pier, a rickety platform on stilts. Fifty yards away was the lighthouse, a slim white protrusion from a clump of rock. This was as close as he could safely get to his chosen spot.
He took the casket from his coat pocket and approached the railing. The sea below was calm. His hand trembled as he took off the lid. He looked at the charcoal-coloured heap of dust within. Yes, it would be the right thing to sprinkle it here at this peaceful spot. He thought of the saline mingling with carbon, and wondered how long it would be before every atom had dissolved into the ocean of life.
Leaning over the rail as far as he could, he shook the black dust onto the water. The wire tip of the lighthouse, like an attentive eye, appeared to be studying the ritual. As the dust floated through the air, then began to pepper the surface, he fancied he saw Jane atop the tiny waves, waving to him. He stood for an age, like a mariner on a boat, watching the shift of the water. He didn’t want to leave till every speck had been absorbed.
Satisfied, he sat down on a bench on the pier. The wintry sun had risen higher. It must be midday. He felt very tired. He didn’t think he’d be able to raise himself again, let alone walk back to the bus stop at the edge of Mumbles. The sun was warm on his cheeks. He began to fall asleep, thinking it would be good not to wake up.
