‘I should have come home when you scattered Dad’s ashes,’ Del said to her mother one morning over breakfast. She’d always felt guilty about that. She should have helped perform that final service for her father. But instead she’d left town straight after the funeral. ‘I wish I’d been there.’
‘You still can be,’ said Darby, helping herself to homemade blackberry jam.
Del tipped her head to the side, puzzled. ‘But you—’
‘Your father’s ashes are in the bedroom on a shelf by the window – so he can see the garden.’ She topped up her tea from the pot, then paused to look at Del. Her lips pressed together in a sad smile. ‘It didn’t seem right to have a send-off without you.’
‘I don’t understand. Whose ashes are under the tree by the memorial plaque?’
‘Rocky’s.’
‘Dad’s kelpie?’
‘Allan loved
