Page 56 of The Clifftop Cottage

She regarded Margery over the rim of her mug.

Surprisingly, she felt comfortable in her presence. At ease. Even if she’d had misgivings at first. Margery was kooky, sure – but there was something about her. A warmth. A steadiness. A rare kind of openness that Erica hadn’t really known before.

Which, of course, made her suspicious.

People didn’t give without expecting something in return.

Did they?

Before Erica could decide what she thought about that, the fire gave a sharp crack and then⁠—

BANG.

The front door burst open, sending a rush of wind and rain through the shop along with a tumble of voices, boots, and laughter. Children spilled in first, followed by a woman talking loudly into her phone, her words tumbling over one another as she tried to wrestle off coats at the same time.

The cat took one look at the chaos and vanished, puffed up like an offended feather duster, diving behind a bookcase.

Margery, on the other hand, looked delighted.

“My darlings!” she cried, arms wide as three children collided with her. A tall, all-elbows boy, a smaller whirlwind of a child, and a toddler with a halo of curls who went straight for Margery’s skirts as if she belonged there.

“Sorry, Mam,” said the woman with the frizzy red hair, still half on her phone. She looked worn out and windswept, but when she noticed Erica, her face softened into a bright, friendly smile. “Oh – hello!”

Margery kissed the older boys’ heads, then scooped up the toddler with practised ease. The little girl immediately curled against her, utterly content.

“I always love to see my wee cushie doos,” Margery said, bouncing her gently. “Don’t I?”

She turned to Erica. “These are my grandchildren – and this is my daughter, Agnes.”

Agnes reached out a slim, delicate hand. Erica took it carefully, suddenly aware of how out of place her usual crisp London handshake would feel here. She adjusted mid-grip, softening, trying not to seem stiff or awkward.

“Lovely to meet you,” Erica said, managing a small smile.

“Erica’s living in the cottage on the cliffside,” Margery added.

Agnes’s eyes sharpened with interest. “Oh I love that place,” she said. “We used to play up there all the time, didn’t we, Mam?”

Margery laughed. “Seems half the town did.”

Erica shifted slightly, that familiar sense of being on the outside creeping in. Everyone spoke as though there were a shared story she hadn’t been given the first page of.

“Mum, could I leave the kids here? I’m so sorry it’s last minute⁠—”

“Whatever it is, go,” Margery said brightly. “I’ll be delighted to entertain my wee cushie doos. How about mini pizzas for dinner?”

The children erupted in cheers.

Agnes, already half on her phone again, mouthed thank you and slipped out the door but not before Erica caught the faintest look Margery sent after her. A flicker of worry, soft and fleeting, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“Right then.” Margery clapped her hands. “Let’s get you lot fed. I’ll close up and we’ll batten down the hatches. It’s going to be a wild night.”

Erica glanced at the shop window. Rain lashed against the glass, wind rattling the frame as a passer-by hurried along the pavement, hunched beneath a soaked jacket.

“Oh dear,” Erica murmured.

Margery looked over. “What is it?”

“I walked here,” Erica said. “There’s no way I can⁠—”