I nurse the Pinot Grigio in my right hand and frown at the solemn looking man approaching my sister and brother-in-law in the entryway of the pub.

"Once again," he says to them with hooded eyes. "I'm so terribly sorry. Sarah was a wonderful teaching assistant and pupil - all the students loved her."

My sister's lower lip wobbles but she nods gratefully at Mr Wade - the headteacher of the school Sarah both attended and worked at. He hugs them both before making his way over to the somewhat beige looking spread on the buffet table and I take a swig from my glass.

I don't agree with any of it.

Sixteen days ago Sarah boarded a flight to see me. To spend three weeks of her Summer in my company. And fifteen days ago she vanished.

They all did - all four-hundred and ninety of them onboard.

"Don't you want to come and speak to everyone?" My sister appears at my elbow; bags under her eyes like purple bruises and grey streaks considerably more visible in her hair. "They've all got such lovely things to say about her."

My nostrils flare. "No, Helen, I do not."

I hear her sigh. "Please, Jules. Don't be like this - not today."

"We shouldn't even be here today." I tell her, tapping my fingernails against my wine glass.

Ten days into the search, Malaysian Airlines had found nothing. No black box, no debris, no...bodies. Nothing. And yet they announced that all four-hundred and ninety of the passengers and crew present on that flight were presumed dead.

"Jules - please." My sister's tone is warning and possibly a little louder than she had evidently intended. Steve - her husband and my brother-in-law - looks up and frowns.

"No, Helen, you know how I feel about this. I am not going to stand here today and pretend that the last four hours were even remotely necessary." I slurp my wine again and feel my cheeks heat.

Sarah was presumed dead. There was no evidence - no body. And with no body, there was no coffin. No coffin meant that we couldn't even bury her today. We just had to hold a 'service' and apparently feel comfort in knowing that a memorial plaque or stone would be placed for us to come and visit.

But it wasn't good enough. Not for me.

My sister is sobbing now, quite obviously so and I do feel bad. She's lost her only child after all. But I can't stop myself from thinking that they gave up on her too soon. Sarah is stronger than this - strong enough that I know she's out there somewhere.

"I didn't meant to upset you, Nell." I use her childhood nickname in the hopes that it might calm her down. Out the corner of my eye, I see Steve excusing himself from a conversation and making his way over. I grimace. It doesn't help that I'm riddled with guilt over Sarah being on that flight in the first place. She'd always said her parents would never approve.

"What's going on?" He asks when he reaches us. He looks just as tired as Helen and older than I remember.

"My fault, I'm sorry." I say quickly and realise my knuckles have almost turned white from my grip on my glass. "Want me to take over?" I gesture to the people hovering awkwardly where Steve has left them. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he does so before shaking his head.

"Come on, Helen." He links his fingers with hers and guides her away from me. She doesn't look even remotely like she wants to be sociable with anyone...much like myself. But at least I can take comfort in knowing that in twenty-fours I will be aboard a flight back to Kuala Lumpur.

As I turn away from the entrance and the guilt-stricken duo of my sister and Steve, my eyes land on the framed photograph of my niece resting on a side table near the bar. It was taken at her graduation two years ago; eyes bright and twinkling with the excitement of new opportunities. I'd been there on the day; my arms linked with my sister's as I'd passed her tissue after tissue and I refused to believe now that all that potential was truly gone.

A single tear falls down my cheek and I down the rest of my wine.

I'm not giving up on you, Sarah.