Gemma felt rather than heard the thud of the post hitting her doormat. Still half asleep, she yawned and stretched, enjoying the unexpected space in their double bed. She didn't remember hearing Dave getting up and felt a little guilty, imagining him tied to his desk as she lounged around in bed. She looked at the clock: 9:30, he'd be having coffee about now and she deserved this break.

She hit the floor, just about feet first and stumbled downstairs, bleary-eyed. Ten minutes later, she was in back in bed with the pile of post and a mug of hot, sweet tea. The parcel caught her eye, amongst the bills and the obligatory begging letter from a charity of her choice. A brown jiffy bag, taped up around one end, with her address written on it in unfamiliar writing. She was not expecting a parcel.

Frowning slightly, she picked it up, passing it from hand to hand, gauging its unexpected weight. When she opened it a book fell out, Kafka's 'The Trial'. Bemused, she studied the cover: arty, a vintage edition no doubt. The face peering over the bottom edge of the cover struck her as ominous. Suddenly disturbed, she put the book into a drawer on her bedside cabinet and drifted back into sleep for a while.

It wasn't until the next day, looking for something else, that she picked up the book again. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she opened it and began to read, reliving the arrest and trial of Josef K, a sequence of events that once she knew better than her own history. She sat there all afternoon, turning the pages, tongue tucked between her lips in concentration. Finally she finished, as the sun began to sink, Josef K accepted his death willingly and fell out of the novel. She was just about to put the book down when an envelope fell out of it.

It was then that she noticed the writing on the inside of the back cover.

Gem,

My eyesight is failing and the shame will outlive me also.

All my love,

Kate

Gemma could see indentations on the page where Kate had underlined 'all' and then erased the underlining. She couldn't help but smile at that, characteristically indecisive.  She opened the envelope and found inside a single sheet of thick cream card, bordered in black. It was brief and to the point:

It is with great sorrow that we inform you that Kate passed away this morning, peacefully, with Matt at her side. We will be holding a memorial service on Wednesday, September 5th, in the parish church (directions overleaf) which all are welcome to attend.

The news hit Gemma viciously in the stomach. She had heard through a friend that Kate was unwell, had wondered whether she should get in contact. She had decided not to, not knowing how she would be received after so many years of silence, not trusting herself to behave well. She was surprised that they had found the right address to send the parcel to but then Kate always was good at organising things.

She has left it too late.

Kate never wanted her to go travelling, had shouted and pleaded in equal measure, begging her to stay in England, to stay safe. Gemma knew that danger was not the real issue. Kate was sick with envy and fear in equal measure, thinking that Gemma would go and find new friends and forget all about her, leave her alone with her mother.

Gemma had understood that fear but had understood also that Kate had to break free of her mother by herself. She had wanted desperately to take Kate in her arms, to hold her and wipe the tears from reddened, puffy skin and tell her that everything would be fine. She did not do that. She told Kate that she was sorry, but she had to go, it would not be for long, she would be back before Kate realised she had been gone. All the usual platitudes.

That kindled white-hot anger. Kate had refused to come to the airport to see her off, refused to talk to her on the phone, refused to answer the door, refused even to look at her. Gemma left well alone in the end, trusting that she would calm down, hoping it would not be seen as betrayal. She did come to the airport at the last moment, too late to say goodbye but when Gemma looked back through passport control she saw her, looking terrible but faking a smile.

Gemma has never regretted those three months of travel, despite the consequences. She saw so many places, could not have imagined how different from home other countries were. Out of the slideshow of images from the time, that plays through her thoughts now again, it is South Africa where she always stops. She saw poverty elsewhere of course, saw riches also, in grotesque juxtaposition, but somehow it is Capetown that she remembers most vividly.

Before she caught the plane home, she rode up Table Mountain in a cable car. She sat at the top all afternoon, on the brink, looking out over the city. It looked idyllic from that height, the clear blue of the sea washing at the coast, though in hindsight the constant lapping of the sea reminds her of Lady Macbeth, of the futility of trying to wash away sin with water. The city looked peaceful, curving roads of whitewashed houses and gardens with matching swingsets.

Looking down from above, the barbed wire atop the walls that surround the houses of the rich was invisible. She could not see the black maids waiting in those houses, could not differentiate schools and playing fields, the malls where the white kids still hung out in packs. From that height even the shanty towns looked innocuous enough, like Lego shells lined up neatly on a crowded board. She could not see the men beheading chickens into a bucket in the dust, outside a corrugated shed housing twelve family members. It did not translate, the smells, the poverty, the cheerfulness; all was smudged, indistinct from where she sat.

That trip changed her. How could it not? She returned home full of enthusiasm, believing, as youth does, that she could change the world. She was brought down to earth soon enough, greeted at the airport by Kate's sullen face. She learnt that Kate had made the break in her absence, had moved away from home, was studying for a degree, hoping to change the world herself in some way. She learnt also about jealousy and resentment and how quickly friendship can turn sour.

Kate did not want to hear about her trip, the people she had met, the places she had seen, her plans for the future. In fact, Gemma suspected Kate did not really want to speak to her at all. She was, after all, used to having everything that money could buy her and the realisation that money could not buy her Gemma's friendship was unsettling to her. What she did not realise was that Gemma had given it freely and never had withdrawn it.

They still spoke from time to time, Gemma even went to visit Kate. Things were never the same as they had been, but they both pretended, papering the cracks with laughter.

Gemma met Matt six months after she came home and fell in love, with barely a snap of her fingers. Two heady months later, they went to visit Kate and the jealousy came flooding back. Gemma was totally absorbed in Matt, barely noticed Kate at all. In fact, she barely thought of Kate.
The visit had, she thought, gone well, Kate and Matt had seemed to like each other. This was unusual as Kate normally prickled at any sign of male interest in Gemma. She was pleased at the time that they had been able to go out, all three together, and enjoy each other's company.

Next time she went on her own, without telling anyone, happened to be in the area and thought she would pop in. There was no answer at the door, but it was unlocked so she let herself in. The house seemed quiet and dark downstairs. It was a Sunday morning so she assumed Kate was in bed, she never had been an early riser. Gemma made a cup of tea for them both and went upstairs, thinking they could sit and chat for a while.

Kate's bedroom door was shut so she pushed the handle with her elbow, careful not to spill the tea, and went in. It took a while for her to register the other body in the bed. The familiar smooth curve of his spine, ruffled blond hair, eyes full of sleep. She gasped. 'Matt.' Then, louder, 'Kate!'. It was the slow, cold smile on Kate's face, the look of satisfaction that did it. She threw both cups at the pair of them and ran off.

She never saw Kate again. Kate wrote and phoned and sometimes Gemma answered the phone although she never spoke. Sometimes she opened the letters but she never replied. Sometimes she read them, sometimes she burnt them, sometimes she returned them unopened.

News filtered through to her slowly, she knew when they got engaged, when they were married (Kate wanted her to be a bridesmaid), when their children were born.

She forgave Kate after a while but they still did not talk. Too late to make amends now. She supposed that Matt would be at the funeral, he could hardly not attend. The children too. She did not want to see any of them, but felt she had to say goodbye to Kate. Sighing, she opened her wardrobe, if she was going to attend this funeral she needed to go shopping.