He walked close to the edge, grasping the brown paper bag close to his side. He fell to the back of the group, increasing his chances of inconspicuousness. The group was larger than usual, larger than he had expected, which only helped to salve his fear of being found out. And this sort of action - the one he would soon undertake - was, of course, highly frowned upon.
If a strong wind were to pick up, or if even a slight breeze blew through as he released his mother's ashes, the rest of the tour group would be engulfed by his late mother and, of course, conspiracies of terrorism and white powder would begin to circulate or, even worse, someone would scream 'How dare he?' or, 'How could he?' and sue for reckless endangerment of their entitlement.
But, it was a calm day and Gerry was able to slip to the back of the pack, out of view of the leader, and gently empty his mother's ashes over the edge and into the valley; it was her dying wish. Her ashes fell through the air. A gentle breeze took her out, away from the cliff side, and she dispersed into her dream.