Page 8 of The Clifftop Cottage

“Aren’t you coming?” Erica asked, hesitating on the doorstep.

“I have to pick up Maisie soon, and before that, I have a trillion jobs to do before my shift tonight.” She paused. “Dylan left yesterday and apparently I’ve forgotten how bins work without him.”

Leah checked her battered old watch. Erica’s eyes drifted to her own smartwatch in response – sleek, polished, already vibrating with instructions. Stand. Breathe. Move. It had been like that for weeks now, demanding action, no excuses. A version of Leah, in watch form.

Leah’s gaze softened as she added, “You’ve been moping around for days, Erica. Go out. Explore. You need fresh air.”

Erica sighed, and glanced up at the grey sky. Rain threatened – the heavy kind that would ruin her coat in seconds.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Leah, reading her, handed over an umbrella with a faint smile.

The handle – antique silver and shaped like a duck, was cool in her hand. Recognition flickered.

“It was Dad’s,” Leah said softly. “Of all the umbrellas I’ve bought, they all end up in the bin, but that one – ancient as it is – outlasts them all.”

Erica sighed, tucked the umbrella under her arm, and turned onto the cobbled street in search of the sea.

The narrow lanes pressed in with mismatched cottages and the occasional larger house. Whitewashed walls, pebble-dash, brick and stone. Each one slightly different in its own way. Small front gardens sat behind low fences, some with benches pulled close to the door, ready for warmer days.

It was quaint. A long way from her London apartment.

And somehow, just as suffocating.

She wandered down Harbour Street, the houses thinning as the scent of salt and the distant sound of water drew her forward.

Rounding a corner, she spotted a large red postbox, oddly adorned with a giant knitted pumpkin and a black cat perched on top. Beyond it, the pier opened up, revealing yachts bobbing gently on the tide, their masts swaying in the breeze.

The sight was unexpectedly calming. Erica stopped, breathing in deeply as if to dislodge the lump in her throat that had taken up permanent residence.

At the end of the road, a small café spilled out customers. A mother and daughter emerged, the girl clutching a towering cone of orange and green ice cream. Erica watched as the mother smiled knowingly at her child, a mix of indulgence and amusement on her face.

“Got to give them a treat now and again, eh?” the woman said to Erica as they passed.

Erica managed a polite smile, unable to muster a response. She watched them cross the street and disappear down a sandy track, their laughter carried away on the breeze. Without quite knowing why, Erica followed at a distance.

And then there it was – the beach.

The stormy sky met the foamy white horses of waves crashing against the pale golden sand. Each swell surged with power, swallowing the shoreline bit by bit. The salty air filled Erica’s lungs, sharp and bracing, and the tang of seaweed clung to her senses. Large clumps of it – tangled and dark – looked more like driftwood than vegetation, strewn haphazardly across the bay.

This should do the trick, she thought, clutching the umbrella tighter against the wind. Let the sea air push her about, scour her thoughts clean, rid her of the heaviness she couldn’t seem to shake.

What was she going to do? What had she done? Her business was on pause, emails and calls no doubt piling up in her absence.

Where are you, Erica?

Gone off the face of the earth?

This place – Rock Cove – felt like the edge of it.

A dog tore past her, chasing a ball with complete, unbothered joy, sand spraying in every direction.

Erica watched it go.

She kept walking, her boots sinking into the sand.

At the far edge of the beach, a path wound its way up a distant cliff. Erica squinted at it, the wind whipping her hair into her eyes. Perhaps if she climbed to the top, met the wild winds head-on, let the view stretch out endlessly before her – it might help clear her mind.

Fuelled by the breakfast Leah had insisted on, Erica squared her shoulders and set off. She marched past a play park, cafés, hotels, and even a group of outrageous swimmers braving the icy waters of the bay. Life moved around the beach in steady rhythms, people drifting in and out with the tide.