It was a day full of tragedy. We’d returned to the ship and turned on the TV to find out about the horrors that had taken place, carried out in a way now becoming all too familiar.

I called you from the ship after making special arrangements – everyone on-board was probably doing the same. It was good to hear your voice and I felt better telling you I was OK. Did I know somewhere deep down that this was the last time I would ever speak to you? Did you think the same? You were putting a brave face on how ill you were, with that trademark stubbornness, before we went away. But you’d made sure you had all your affairs in order. I felt instantly guilty that I’d been granted a last chance to talk to you because something so awful had happened that day. I said I’d see you when I got back and indeed I did, in a way.

The email I sent you, with us on Sardinia a few days later, was sent from the café where, just moments later, I’d be told the news about you. I hope you had chance to read the others I sent, and I’m sorry I didn’t send you a postcard.

Our brief exchange of words, across waters on which you had once sailed, were perhaps the most fitting.

By Simon Lee

From: United Kingdom

Website: http://sbrothertonediting.com

Twitter: sbediting