Page 97 of The Clifftop Cottage

Thump.

Not a neighbourly tap. Not patient, but urgent.

For a second she couldn’t move. Just stood there in the small sitting room, heart racing, listening to the echo of it through the cottage walls.

“Maisie?” she called instinctively, already moving towards the hallway. But the house was quiet. Only the soft hum of the fridge and the wind pressing faintly against the windows.

Another knock. Harder.

Leah pulled the door open.

Erica stood on the threshold, breathless, one hand braced against the pebbled stone wall as though the earth itself had shifted. Her hair was wind-tangled, cheeks flushed deep pink. Her eyes were bright. Fever-bright.

“Are you okay?” Leah asked at once. Something didn’t feel right.

Erica gave a tight, crooked smile. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I was driving … I just kept driving after … ” She shook her head. “Needed to think.” She pushed a hand through her hair, restless. “Leah …” She stepped forward slightly, like she couldn’t keep still. “I found her. It all makes sense now.”

Leah froze.

Her.

The word slid straight under her ribs.

For one wild second, panic bloomed. Mum? Here? Alive? Dead? What did that mean? Had she come back? Had something happened?

Leah stepped aside anyway. “Come in.”

The muted television flickered from the corner … some late news bulletin … but Leah crossed the room quickly and clicked it off. She couldn’t have any distractions.

“Maisie’s asleep,” she said unnecessarily. “Dylan’s out with the dog.”

Erica nodded, barely listening. She couldn’t keep still, holding in something – excitement, shock, revelation. Leah couldn’t yet tell.

Leah went to the old drinks cabinet by the fireplace. It was squat and dark, the hinges stiff with disuse. Their father’s pride. He’d open it at Christmas with a mock-ceremonial flourish. Leah rarely touched it now. It felt like disturbing sediment.

Tonight, she lifted the lid.

Inside: two dusty whisky bottles, an unopened gin with its wax seal intact, and the crystal decanter of brandy with a ridiculous antler-shaped stopper. “For emergencies,” their father used to say.

Her hands were steady as she poured.

Apparently, this counted.

She handed a glass to Erica. Up close now, she could see the tremor in her sister’s fingers.

“Are you cold?” Leah asked, already reaching for the wool blanket slung over the back of the sofa.

“No, I’m fine.” But she didn’t protest when Leah draped it around her shoulders. Erica clutched it absently.

They sat.

Leah cleared her throat, suddenly unsure which version of this conversation they were having.

“So … she’s been in touch with you too?” she asked carefully, each word placed down like stepping stones across water. “I swear, Eri – I didn’t know she’d write. That letter … it came a while ago. I don’t even know how she found you.” She paused, frowning. “Or did you say you found her?”

Erica blinked slowly.

She swirled the brandy once. Watched it.