Page 4 of The Clifftop Cottage

“It was well done.”

Erica let out a small laugh, shaking her head as she sat down.

Dylan poured her a glass of wine without asking.

She took it gratefully and drained half in one go. “Better,” she said.

“That bad?” he asked lightly.

She gave a small shrug. “Long day.”

“That earns at least two glasses,” he said, topping it up.

Leah raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

As Erica reached for the garlic bread, the warmth of the room, the noise of conversation, the simple normality of it all began to settle around her.

2

With a groggy grunt, Erica rolled over in an unfamiliar bed, shielding her eyes from the streak of light slicing across her face. The sound of some ungodly racket outside – part strangled animal, part car alarm – made her wince. She groped for the windowsill to steady herself, her bare foot catching the edge of an armchair weighed down by yesterday’s crumpled clothes.

“Ah, for—” she hissed through clenched teeth as pain shot through her toe, the rest of her curses halting midway when she remembered where she was. Her sister’s house. The spare room. Little ears were potentially listening just a wall away.

As the high-pitched squawking continued outside, Erica rubbed her throbbing toe and squinted at the window. The sound was relentless, and curiosity, or irritation finally got the better of her. She shuffled towards the window, only to discover it was stuck fast.

“Come on,” she muttered, tugging futilely at the frame. After a few attempts, she noticed the latch securing the shutters. With an exasperated sigh, she unfastened it and gave the window another shove. It flew open with a clatter, the chilly morning air rushing in to meet her.

And there they were.

Two seagulls perched on the low rooftop of the cottage directly across the narrow street, their shrill cries echoing between the tightly packed houses. One was white, sleek and small, while the other was larger, its feathers mottled with grey. Both fixed their yellow eyes on her, unblinking, as if they’d been waiting for her all along.

Erica froze, unnerved by their scrutiny. “Shoo!” she said, waving a hand in their direction.

The gulls didn’t budge. The smaller one let out another screech, its head cocked at a sharp angle as though mocking her. Erica waved more forcefully, flapping her arms for emphasis, but the birds remained unbothered, their cold, prehistoric gaze fixed on her.

Her heart gave a small flutter. For the briefest of moments, she could see it – their dinosaur lineage. If they were even a little bit bigger, she might’ve screamed.

“Go on!” she said again, louder this time.

The smaller gull suddenly took flight, its wings slicing through the air with a whoosh. Erica flinched, her pulse spiking as she yanked the window shut with more force than necessary. The glass rattled, and she stood there for a moment, chest rising and falling, as the larger gull let out one final, victorious cry.

Leaning against the cold pane, Erica exhaled and took in her surroundings. The narrow street below was like something out of a postcard – charming and weatherworn, with rows of colourful cottages standing shoulder to shoulder. Chimneys chugged smoke, washing hung out optimistically on a cold grey morning, and a grey cat meandered, tiptoeing across a neighbour’s garden gate.

It was picturesque, idyllic even, but it made her uneasy in a way she couldn’t quite name. She was out of her depth here. No buzzing city streets, no coffee shop within arm’s reach, no double-glazed windows to keep the wildlife and people out.

Erica sighed, running a hand through her tangled hair.

Leah marched in, already dressed in her pale blue uniform, her sensible shoes silent on the wooden floorboards.

Her dark hair was scraped into a severe ponytail, so tight it made Erica wince just looking at it. Leah’s hair had always been an afterthought – overworked, heat-damaged, and perpetually secured with elastic bobbles that snapped more strands than they held. Leah possessed that infuriating kind of natural beauty Erica could only achieve with hours of self-care. No serums, no make-up tutorials, just radiant skin and an effortless grace that shone even through exhaustion.

And Leah did look exhausted. Erica could see it in the slouch of her shoulders, the faint purple smudges under her eyes. The weariness made her sister’s voice sharper than it needed to be when she finally spoke.

“I have to leave early. Staff shortages at the hospital. Half a dozen women in labour, and no backup midwife.” Leah exhaled as she checked her watch.

Erica pushed through the grogginess that clung to her from last night’s indulgence in too much wine. Straightening up, she attempted to look capable. “Sure. What can I do?” she asked, rifling through the pile of clothes she’d dumped on the armchair, trying to locate her grey trousers. She was still in a long vest, her legs bare and goose-pimpled in the cool morning air. “Does Dylan need help with Maisie?” she ventured.

Leah let out a short laugh, sharp and edged with something Erica couldn’t quite place. “Dylan’s already gone. His ship leaves port at midday. Remember we told you this yesterday?” She shot Erica a quick, pointed look, the faintest frown crossing her face.