Page 84 of The Clifftop Cottage

It wasn’t warm.

“I just—” Erica’s voice wavered and she hated that it did. “I needed to talk to you.”

There was the faint sound of dishes being moved. A cupboard shutting.

“It’s a bit late,” Leah said.

“I know.”

Silence again.

“How’s Maisie?” Erica asked, instantly regretting how small it sounded.

“She’s fine.” Another cupboard. A sigh. “She’s not fine,” Leah corrected. “She cried herself to sleep on Halloween. She thought you were coming.”

“I’m sorry.”

Leah’s voice thinned. “You’re always sorry.”

Erica closed her eyes.

“I had things happening,” she began. “The research, and⁠—”

“The research,” Leah repeated, a brittle laugh in it. “Do you know what she said to me?” Leah continued. “She said, ‘Maybe Auntie Erica didn’t want to spend Halloween with me.’”

“That’s not true,” Erica whispered.

“Really? So you forgot?”

“I was overwhelmed,” Erica said. “I’m not coping brilliantly.”

“And I am?” Leah snapped, and then immediately exhaled. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair.” But the edge remained. “I just—” Leah’s voice wobbled, just slightly. “I can’t keep explaining you to her. I can’t keep making excuses.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“You kind of are.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?”

Silence.

“You let us orbit you,” Leah said. “And when you burn out or break up or run away from something, you come back and expect everything to be exactly where you left it.”

Run away.

“I don’t—” Erica stopped. “I don’t run.”

“Mum did,” Leah snapped.

The word hung there between them.

Both of them breathing.

“I’m not her,” Erica said, again. Softer now.

“No,” Leah said tiredly. “You’re not.”