Page 30 of The Clifftop Cottage

Leah shrugged. “It’s an old house on a cliff, not a museum. And I’m not the local historian. That was always you. Remember Dad’s family tree?”

“Which was basically a list of names.”

“And you were meant to finish it.”

Erica smiled faintly. “I was busy trying not to be broke.”

Leah softened. “You could always start again. Might be good to have something to focus on.”

“I’m not retired,” Erica said lightly, though her gaze drifted back to the empty tin. Her father hadn’t had that luxury either.

Ten years, she realised suddenly. Ten years of chasing work, image, approval. What had she missed in all that time?

Leah stretched. “Right. Come on, Maisie Moo. Daddy’s cooking. You joining us, Eri?”

Erica hesitated, eyes lingering on the small hidden space now closed again. The cottage felt quietly attentive, like it was settling around her.

“You go enjoy your family dinner,” she said at last. “I think I’ll stay here. Maybe have a bath. Get to know the place.”

Leah smiled. “You do that.”

She paused, then dug something from her coat pocket and plopped it into Erica’s hand – a bundled knot of dried herbs tied with twine.

Erica blinked. “What … is this?”

Leah eyed it as if it might sprout legs. “A moving-in gift. From Margery. The herbalist.”

“Right … thoughtful.” Erica turned it over. “Who’s Margery?”

“She’s the local witch!” Maisie announced brightly, bouncing again.

Erica winced.

“She is not a witch,” Leah said.

“She has a massive cat in her window and sells wands!”

“That does not make her a witch.”

“I met her,” Erica said slowly. “She seemed … nice.” Unsettlingly perceptive, but nice. She lifted the bundle. “And what exactly am I meant to do with this?”

“It’s sage,” Leah said. “Margery said you should burn it.”

Maisie nodded solemnly. “It gets rid of evil spirits.”

Erica and Leah exchanged a look. Neither of them had been raised to take spiritual advice from small children or eccentric herbalists.

“Well,” Erica said lightly, “good to know.” She smiled at Maisie, then shot Leah a silent Really? when her niece turned away.

Leah only shrugged, ushering Maisie towards the door. “Call if you need anything.”

And then they were gone.

Erica stood there for a moment, then let out a breath. “Evil spirits,” she muttered. “Sure.”

The cottage fell quiet. Settling after the rush of people.

She poured herself a glass of wine, found a forgotten slice of cake in the fridge, and leaned against the counter, balancing the plate on one hip. Chocolate and red wine – her idea of a balanced dinner. The old version of her, the one who measured everything in macros, mood boards and public image, would have had something sharp to say about that.