The Last Summer in Porto

Marta returned to the guesthouse to help her aunt pack. The business was closing, and the room at the top contained twenty years of things nobody had wanted to sort.

Rui, an old family friend, arrived with boxes and a practical expression. He was thirty-four and had recently returned from living abroad. Marta was thirty-one and had already booked a return flight.

They began with linen, progressed to photographs and ended the afternoon arguing over a chair her aunt insisted was valuable. It was not. It was simply the chair in which she had read every letter from her husband.

They agreed to leave it until last. Outside, the river shone in the heat, giving their temporary task the dangerous appearance of an ordinary life.