Page 88 of The Clifftop Cottage

“I’m tired,” Erica admitted.

“Of course you are.”

Margery rose carefully from her chair. “You’ve been bracing yourself for weeks.”

In the hallway sat an old telephone on a narrow table beside a small dish of keys.

“Shall I ring your sister?” Margery asked, not turning around.

“No.” The word came too quickly. “She’s angry with me.”

“What for?”

“I let her down.”

Margery absorbed that without commentary.

Rosa appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a cloth. “¿Todo bien, mi amor?” she asked softly, her hand brushing across Margery’s shoulder as she passed.

Margery reached up and squeezed her fingers briefly without looking. “Sí,” she said. “We’re just at a crossroads.”

Rosa’s warm gaze rested on Erica, but was unreadable. “Then you sit,” she said. “You eat. Tomorrow you decide.”

It wasn’t advice. It was instruction. One that Erica accepted, for now.

The clock ticked steadily on the wall.

Margery turned back to Erica. “There’s a spare room made up. Sheets are clean. You’ll stay.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

Margery snorted softly. “You’re not heavy enough.”

Despite herself, Erica’s mouth quirked upward.

“Rosa’s making lentils,” Margery added. “With far too much garlic. You’ll sleep like the dead, or scare the vampires away!”

Rosa smiled from the doorway. “Like the blessed,” she corrected lightly.

Lucky trotted over to her at once, tail high.

“Come, pequeño,” Rosa murmured, scooping him up with easy familiarity. “You help me.”

The scent of garlic and olive oil drifted through the room, warm and steady.

Erica stayed where she was, listening to the ordinary sounds of another life unfolding around her – cupboard doors, water in the sink, Rosa’s voice drifting in and out of a tune, Margery’s steady tread across the hall, setting the table for dinner.

Just an evening carrying on.

Her shoulders, which she hadn’t realised were up near her ears, eased by a fraction. The tightness in her jaw loosened. And Erica allowed things to just settle.

The noise inside her didn’t disappear. But it softened.

Like someone had turned the volume down a single click.

Not gone.

Just … less.