It had been Jess’s idea to have one at both church and hotel to make sure everyone present had the chance to contribute. She sighed. The poor child was doing all she could to alleviate her guilt over Dan’s death. No amount of reassurance was enough to make her believe that their argument wasn’t a major contributing factor. Rose opened the book at the photo of them all, another of her favourites, bringing with it memories of those happy family holidays when the girls were small. Dan was standing, tall and windblown, by a stone cairn in Scotland. His laughter was directed at Rose, the photographer, while toddler Jess sat on his shoulders, arms around his head, with an eager Anna looking up at him, holding his hand. Rose ran a finger over the picture as she remembered. Then she turned the page. Had she been at the memorial? S? That thought had tormented Rose since her conversation with Eve after the theatre. If she had, would she have signed the book? She looked at the writing on the first page – a warm memory illustrated with a smiley sun from Benny, an old friend from the days when they’d spent six months after Edinburgh crewing together on a luxury yacht in the Caribbean.
