Chapter 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.
Erica fought the urge to roll her eyes. She didn’t need the judgement. It wasn’t as though she’d got plastered last night; three glasses of wine was hardly excessive. And really, how was anyone supposed to sleep soundly in a place where prehistoric seagulls squawked the night away?
Leah glanced at her watch again, panic flickering across her features. “I need you to take Maisie to school. She’s downstairs eating cereal. She’ll be ready in five minutes.”
“School? Of course,” Erica said brightly, though her mind was already scrambling. What school? Where was it? How far was it? Surely Leah wasn’t expecting her to just know these things?
But Leah was already halfway down the stairs, calling something back about Maisie’s lunch being in her bag and reminding her not to forget Maisie’s jacket.
Erica hovered in the doorway, trying to catch her breath, but Leah had no time for hesitation. By the time Erica stepped out onto the landing, Leah was already bustling out the front door, mug of tea in one hand and her phone balanced precariously in the other.
Erica watched through the window as Leah climbed into her little car and disappeared down the narrow, cobbled street.
And just like that, Erica was alone. Alone with her niece, in an unfamiliar village, and the vague sense that today was not going to go as smoothly as Leah seemed to assume.
She took a deep breath, willing down the lump in her throat that had lodged there ever since the first inkling of Steven’s infidelity.
That moment when doubt crept in, accompanied by its shadowy friends – humiliation and anger.
Then came the unexpected hospital stay, the culmination of stress she hadn’t even known she was carrying.
Erica could feel those memories rising now, threatening to overtake her, but she shook her head. Not today.
Before she could let the tide of grief and regret swallow her whole, a small figure appeared in the doorway, dragging her back to the present.
Maisie stood there with her thumbs hooked under the straps of an enormous backpack, her little frame swaying back and forth on her heels.
Her tight curls were pulled into firm pigtails atop her head, the same curls Erica had spent years taming into sleek obedience.
In her grey pinafore, black tights and cardigan, Maisie looked so poised and innocent that the weight of responsibility settled on Erica’s shoulders, pressing down and scattering the lingering fog of her own pain.
“Are you okay, Auntie Eri?” Maisie’s wide eyes gazed up at her, full of curiosity and concern.
Erica forced a smile, her voice taking on an overly chipper tone. “Absolutely. Just dandy.”
Maisie didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push.
“Now,” Erica continued, clapping her hands together, “do you have a coat to put on? Then we can hop in my car and get you to school.”
Maisie frowned, tilting her head in that disarmingly grown-up way children sometimes do. “We don’t need to do that. Mummy takes me on foot.” Her eyes drifted down to Erica’s bare legs, her brows knitting together. “You might need to wear a bit more than that, though.”
Erica glanced down, realising she was still in her vest. “Of course. I’ll be ready in a jiffy. You go wait by the door.”
Maisie nodded solemnly and trotted off, leaving Erica to scramble into something vaguely presentable.
She tugged on socks, white jeans, and a cream sweater, then shoved a toothbrush into her mouth while wrestling her hair into a low ponytail.
Her usual standards of immaculate grooming felt like a distant memory as she stumbled through her sister’s unfamiliar house.
She was disorganised. Off-kilter. Like someone had taken her life, shaken it vigorously, and put everything back in the wrong drawers.
Ever since she’d sold off her London flat, her carefully curated furniture and decor picked over by strangers at an estate sale, Erica had been adrift.
Her business, her so-called friends, even her purpose – all gone in a matter of months.
Now she was literally living out of a suitcase, shuffling through a wardrobe reduced to its barest essentials.
Erica grabbed her bag and forced a smile as she joined Maisie by the door. Her niece stood with her arms crossed, looking every bit the picture of youthful patience – something Erica didn’t remember being part of the job description for eight-year-olds.
“You ready, Auntie Eri?” Maisie chirped.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Erica turned to lock the door, but Maisie waved her off.
“Mummy never locks it,” Maisie said with a small shrug.
Erica hesitated, her London instincts screaming in protest and mentally drafting a crime report. But this wasn’t the city, and the quiet charm of the little fishing town seemed to defy the idea of locks and bolts.
“Alright, lead the way,” Erica said, stepping outside and pulling the door closed behind them.