For eighteen years they had lived a quiet, ordinary life, in a quiet ordinary street in Manchester. Gina’s mother was Italian and her father was Irish.  She took her dark looks from her mother.  Her Father only lasted five years after his wife passed away.  On his death-bed, she promised her father she would visit Ireland, and spread his ashes near the bridge in the town where he was born.

Gina packed her case with great care.  She preferred dark colours, but had a few blouses and cardigans to ring the changes.  Rainwear and good walking shoes would be useful.  When she closed her hall door, there was no one to ask to keep an eye on the house.  At work in the supermarket, only one girl knew she was going to Ireland, and why.  To the others, she was just taking a week’s holiday.

Her dark shoulder-length hair was windswept when she came out of Castlebar station.  The taxi driver thanked her for the tip, leaving her and her case on the path outside Forest Hotel.  It was dead quiet inside.  She hit the bell on the reception desk, looking around as she waited for someone to appear.  The busy floral carpet and old furniture were well worn.   When the proprietor, Mrs. Brown, made an appearance, her smile  took the edge off the creepy feeling Gina was experiencing.  She was shown to her room.   The pale carpet and blue bed cover gave it an unexpected brightness.  As she took her leave, Mrs. Brown said “breakfast is between 8 and 10 am.  If there’s anything you need, just let me know”.  With that, she was left on her own.

Gina fell on the bed exhausted.  It had been a long day.  After a shower next morning, she felt awake and fresh.  “I’ll have to find out where the bridge is” Gina thought.  “I’ll ask Mrs. Brown at breakfast”.  “You’re not related to the O’Connell’s who live just over the bridge, are you?” Mrs. Brown said, surprised. Gina’s face lit up.  “Yes, they’re my father’s people”.  Mrs. Brown looked at her with a strange expression.  “Your father, was his name James?”  “Well, Patrick James.  Everyone called him Patrick” replied Gina.

Mrs. Brown said she would make a fresh pot of tea and disappeared into the kitchen.  Gina couldn’t wait to hear all about her father’s people.  Mrs. Brown returned, this time, with her husband, who had a wizen face and a slight stoop.   He extended his hand to Gina, and she was struck by how cold it was.  It gave her a shiver.  “The James Patrick we knew crashed his car into that bridge. A freak accident in bad weather.  His car was pulled out of the river, but the remains were never found.  It must be some other O’Connell you’re looking for, dear” the old man said.  “Who is the family who live near the bridge then?” asked Gina. “She’s on her own now, his widow”, said Mr. Brown.  “She had four children.  They’re all scattered now.  It was a long time ago”.  They could see the confused look on Gina’s face, and left her alone.

Gina sat at the back of the local church.  It stood on a hill overlooking the fields and woodlands that stretched out for miles.  The hills and valleys were breathtaking.  Her mind returned to the present.  She had been stunned listening to the Browns.  “How did we not know?” she thought.  “Did my mother know, and kept it to herself?”  She was tortured with all the questions running around her head.  “What do I do now?”, she thought.  “Do I find this woman and tell her?  No I can’t do that, she wouldn’t believe me.  She’d say I was mad.  Maybe I’ll just scatter the ashes over the bridge and go home.  I loved him!  How could he have deceived us?  What was his reason for leaving?”

Gina suddenly felt very tired. She had to cross the bridge on her way back to the hotel.  It had rained all night. The current was strong.  White waves shot up and rushed past where she was standing.  As she stared, she could feel herself being drawn into the water.  A car passed and sprayed her.  She was now cold and wet.   She opened her bag and took out the box that held her father’s ashes.  Gina let the next wave engulf the box and take it on its journey down the river, and out to sea.  In her mind, it was symbolic.  The way it was meant to be.