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My uncle wants me to scatter his ashes. In Thailand.

"At Kanchanaburi, Miss Taylor" said our family solicitor, Mr Hollingsworth. We were sat in his office. A comfortable arm-chair for me, an old, well-worn leather desk chair for him. There was one of those expensive-looking rectangular reading lamps on his leather-covered desk, the ones with the dark green glass shades, and together with the soft, orange wall lights tucked away above the row upon row of leather-bound books, it cast a sombre, low glow over the proceedings.

Mr Hollingsworth wore a smart pin-striped suit, had friendly grey hair and a kind, humble face, but he peered at me earnestly from behind the reading lamp over his silver, half-moon spectacles. And he called me “Miss”.

"It's where they built the railway, Miss Taylor," he informed me in subdued, deferential tones. "The one your uncle worked on. The Death Railway. Burma? The Bridge On The River Kwai?"

I couldn't say anything. I’d heard tales of a fit, strong, healthy Erno but I’d never met that Erno. Uncle Erno was a postman. I never heard anything about what had actually gone on while he was away during the war and the bridge over the River Kwai was a film I'd never seen. I explained this to Mr Hollingworth.

“On,” was all he said, with quiet authority, taking off his silver half-moons.

“I beg your pardon?”

“On,” he repeated pedantically and then, suddenly, he became very self-conscious. “It’s the Bridge On The River Kwai. You said, ‘over’. It’s a minor point,” he explained, replacing his spectacles and trying to wave what he said away as if it hadn’t really been important when clearly it had. He obviously knew more about the subject than me.

“The film was inaccurate too,” he added, talking to himself as much as to me.

Then he blinked, smiled kindly and looked straight at me, the light from the lamp catching his saddened brown eyes. He moved on.

"Your uncle has left provision to fund your trip in his will," he continued, half moons back in place. “Travel information and details are in the letter. He specifically asked that you scatter his ashes in person and he suggests that you get there soon after the monsoon later this year and I believe he's left provision for you to
visit your brother. He's not left a copy of the letter with us but requested that I convey all that I'm relating to you
at this meeting."

So much, so fast, I could hardly take it in.

"Why?" I asked.

"I think I explained, about the railway."

"I don’t mean why Thailand, I mean why me? It’s a lot of money”

"I honestly couldn't say. We witness all kinds of requests at these times. And he didn’t have any family of his own." Our solicitor looked at his desk and began checking through his papers, moving the meeting on again.