Salt Sisters

wanted to cook. It was the pub where Amy and I – and every other local teenager – had ordered our first drinks, getting sloppy drunk on pints of snakebite.
I didn’t recognise the woman behind the bar, but I knew Seahouses people and I knew she would be a talker, so I sent Adam up to order. She was quite taken with the handsome out-of-towner, smiling and flicking her hair. I heard her ask where he was from and what brought him to Northumberland, and when Adam explained quietly that we were here because a family member had sadly died, I saw a flash of understanding on her face. News of Amy’s accident had spread quickly.
I necked two whiskies and took a third up to bed with me. Adam tucked me in, and I cried fresh tears at how lucky I was to have him.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay at your mum’s? I don’t know what happened between you two…’
He folded the duvet down around me, just like my dad used to do. I closed my eyes.
‘You have no idea.’ I barely got the words out before sleep finally came.
That night, I woke countless times. Every time I dozed off, I was yanked cruelly back to the surface. The same nightmare came to me again and again – Amy was there, but I couldn’t see her face clearly; she was right in front of me, but I couldn’t touch her; she was talking to me, but her words were muffled, as if she was underwater. Amy. My Salt Sister, now lost forever.

Chapter Two
A knock at my door woke me. The bed looked like a fight scene: I was face-down on the pillow with the duvet knotted around my legs.
Adam brought me a coffee and a bacon roll before heading out to explore. My appetite hadn’t returned, but the caffeine was much needed. The bags under my eyes were as big as my matching luggage.
My phone pinged. There were messages of sympathy from some of the Hong Kong group, who had heard the bad news from Thierry.
I scrolled back to the last message I’d had from Amy. She’d tried to call me on Friday night, just as I’d been arriving at the bar. I’d already been running late – the traffic had been terrible – so I’d let her call go to voicemail and sent a text:
Sorry! Can’t talk now, I’m out. Everything OK?
She’d replied: No worries. I had a quiet half-hour and just thought I’d try you. Enjoy your night and talk soon?
I’d texted back: Sounds good. Speak tomorrow xo
Nothing out of the ordinary – we were both busy, and the time difference made it difficult to find occasions when it was convenient for both of us to talk.
When I’d first moved to Hong Kong from Zurich, before I’d met the people who would eventually become my friends and while I’d still been settling in at work, Amy and I had had a regular standing call. Every Friday night, I’d phone her when I got back to my quiet little apartment in that new and strange city. I’d tell her about my job – my big promotion at the bank that had been too good an opportunity to turn down, even though it meant moving to the other side of the world – and she would tell me about her day at the hospital and how the kids were doing.
But then I’d made friends and started going out more, and work had become so much busier, and then Amy’s shifts had changed and she’d had to work on Friday afternoons. We’d never set a new time for our regular catch-up and had tried instead to snatch conversations in the small gaps of our equally hectic schedules.
Hong Kong had seemed so superficial at first, impossible to crack – I thought I’d never fit in, never be one of the it-crowd. I’d come so far and still had not quite made it. But then I met Adam, and he introduced me to Chiara, the Italian glamazon, and Mathilde, a kind-hearted Parisian cool-girl, who took me out and introduced me to more people. And one day, when I looked around and saw the life that I’d made for myself so far away, I realised I’d found what I’d been searching for.
But had it pulled me away from Amy?
I caressed her name on the screen. How had we not found the time to talk? What had we both been so busy doing all the time?
Out of habit, or longing, or disbelief, I sent her a message:
Sorry we missed each other. I wish we could talk now xo
The icon stayed grey. Undelivered. Unread. Amy would never see it.
The rest of my messages were in a new group chat:
Mum added you to the group: We love Amy
Mum: Darlings – we are all waking up this morning and remembering our loss. Just understand that this is the saddest you will feel. The pain will never go away but it will not, cannot get worse than this.
Mum: I invite you to a shared simple meditative experience: take the sitting lotus position, hold the memory of Amy in your left hand and place your right hand to your heart centre. Take ten deep, cleansing breaths.
Mum: The embodied soul is eternal in existence, indestructible, and infinite, only the material body is factually perishable (Krishna, Bhagavad Gita).
Mike: Thanks Anne. We will certainly need some deep breathing to get us through this.
Hannah: But meditating won’t bring Mum back
Auntie Sue: Meditation isn’t for everyone! The most important thing is that we are all here for each other. Love Auntie Sue. x
Mum: Actually, studies show that mindfulness and practicing meditation can improve mental well-being after traumatic experiences by two thirds.
Mum: I’ll do an energy cleansing today. There’s so much sadness in the house and some crystals will help.
Auntie Sue: Anne! I told you it’s not for everyone! Love Sue. x
Mike: Maybe it can wait until tomorrow? The police are here.
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