Chapter 3
Darkness folded over Erica, broken only by the dim light of dawn and the sharp cries of seagulls outside her window. The sounds blurred together, dragging her deeper into exhaustion. She couldn’t pull herself from bed – not for dinner, barely even to move.
In her dreams, she was back on her wedding day, standing beside Steven. His warm hand clasped hers, his promise of eternal love whispered against her ear.
She’d built a life, hadn’t she? Piece by piece, until it looked like everything.
A sharp shaft of light hit her face. Erica turned on the pillow, squinting.
In the haze of her half-lidded vision, a figure stood there – small, still, hair falling in soft waves. Slightly crooked, as though caught mid-movement.
Her mother.
“Mum?” Erica croaked, her throat dry.
The figure didn’t move. The light shifted instead, brightening, sharpening.
Erica squeezed her eyes shut and rolled away, burying her face in the pillow, as if she could slip back into the dream.
“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead!”
Leah’s sing-song voice cut through it. The mattress dipped as she sat down, her cool hand brushing Erica’s forehead.
The touch was soothing – almost enough to make Erica believe, for a second, that it was her.
“I thought you were her,” Erica whispered.
Leah’s hand stilled. “Oh, Erica.” She squeezed her shoulder gently. “Don’t wait for her.”
“I’m not,” Erica said, sharper than she meant. She opened her eyes. “Don’t you think about her?”
Leah hesitated, then nodded. “Of course. But I don’t expect anything from her anymore. And neither should you.”
The words sat between them.
After a moment, Leah gave a small shrug. “You’ve got me, though. That has to count for something.”
Erica nodded, though the hollow feeling in her chest remained.
Leah clapped her hands together, shattering the moment. “Right! Enough wallowing. What you need is a hearty breakfast and a sightseeing tour. I bet you don’t even know half of what Rock Cove has to offer, do you?”
Erica groaned again, rolling onto her back. “I know you love it here, and that’s enough for me.”
Leah gave a mock gasp. “How dare you! Rock Cove is full of surprises. Dad’s family came from here, you know?”
Erica frowned. “But that’s not why you moved here.”
“Well, no,” Leah admitted, grinning. “Dylan’s rig is close enough to make it the perfect spot for us to start a family. And I knew here.” She squeezed Erica’s shoulder. “But honestly, it’s a lovely place. You’ll see.”
“It’s not London, though,” Erica muttered.
Leah tilted her head, considering. “No, it’s not. London’s amazing. But it’s also chaotic, overwhelming, and exhausting – especially when you’re raising a family. Rock Cove? It’s peaceful. Safe. And” – she gave Erica’s shoulder a playful nudge – “exactly what you need right now.”
Erica didn’t respond, staring up at the ceiling instead.
Leah sighed, rising from the bed with a swirl of purpose. Her blue uniform was crisp, but her damp hair hung loose, as if she’d rushed through her morning routine. “London will always be there. But right now, you’re here. And if you give it a chance, you might just find it’s what you need.”
Before Erica could retort, Leah flashed her a teasing smile.
“It’s hardly life or death, Eri. Now, pick yourself up and come down and eat something.
If you don’t, I’ll personally drag Maisie out from school to jump on your bed.
” She tapped the door with a light rap, the sound cheery and determined, before disappearing down the hall.
The room fell silent, save for the faint cry of seagulls and the hum of wind against the windowpane.
Erica lay there, staring after Leah’s retreating energy.
It’s hardly life or death.
The words echoed in her head, hollow and mocking. Leah didn’t know the half of it. She didn’t know how death clung to Erica like a shadow – how it had shaped her fears, her choices, and now this hollow version of herself that barely resembled who she used to be.
Erica turned onto her side, pulling the duvet tight around her shoulders. She closed her eyes against the light and the world outside.
But it was there, beneath the covers, that her mind betrayed her most. The memories she couldn’t outrun crept in: her mother walking away without looking back, and Steven’s broken promises.
Leah was wrong. Underneath it all, it had always felt like life or death.
Even when no one else could see it.
After a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast, Leah ushered Erica out the door and remained at the threshold, arms crossed, resolute.
“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.
Yet the further she walked, the more her surroundings thinned. The chatter and hum of the beach gave way to the rhythmic roar of waves and the whistle of the wind. By the time she reached the path at the bottom of the hill, she felt a tiny kernel of calm stirring within her.
Her boots crunched against the gravel as she climbed higher, her breath coming faster as the incline steepened. The wind, untamed and bracing, grew stronger with every step. She unbuttoned her coat, warmth creeping up her chest despite the chill.
At last, she reached a flat stretch near the cliff’s edge.
A bench sat a little way back from the drop, painted a once-bright blue, now chipped and worn to grey in places. Someone had carved initials into one of the slats.
Erica slowed as she passed it, one hand brushing the backrest, but she didn’t stop.
She kept going.
Closer to the edge.
The mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks hidden by low clouds, strong and eternal.
For a moment, she let herself trust in that. The constancy of those mountains. The endless rhythm of the waves below. The tightness in her throat eased, and before she realised it, tears began to fall.
She hadn’t thought she had anything left, but the tears came anyway – quiet at first, then harder, pulled from somewhere deeper than she could reach.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if she could hold it in, but it made no difference.
The wind whipped around her, cold against her skin, her hair catching across her face, but she didn’t move away.
Then, faintly: “Excuse me, are you alright?”
The words took a moment to reach her.
Erica turned, as if surfacing from deep water, and saw a man approaching along the path. A dog moved ahead of him, a black-and-white sheepdog, stopping a short distance away as if drawing an invisible line.
The man lifted one hand, palm out. Not a greeting but a caution.
“Could you step back from the edge, please?” he said. His voice was steady, carrying easily over the wind.
Confused, Erica blinked at him. He wore a cap pulled low and a dark coat braced against the weather. She followed his gaze to her feet and felt a jolt. She was closer to the cliff edge than she’d realised, close enough that loose gravel shifted under her boot.
“I’m fine,” she said, brushing her cheeks, suddenly aware of how exposed she must look.
He didn’t move. “I’m glad to hear it. Still, better not to stand there.”
There was no accusation in his tone. Just fact.
Erica hesitated, then stepped back deliberately. “I was just looking at the view.”
His shoulders eased, just slightly. “Aye. It’s a good one.”
A pause stretched between them, filled by the wind and the distant crash of the sea below.
He nodded once, as if satisfied. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve … seen people misjudge that edge before.”
Something in his voice made her stomach tighten.
“I wasn’t planning on—” she began, then stopped. “Anyway. I appreciate it.”
“Good.”
A pause. The dog circled back to his side, sitting neatly.
“I’m Gabriel,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “I live nearby.”
“Erica.”
“You’re not from around here,” he said, not unkindly.
“Is it that obvious?”
One corner of his mouth twitched. “You’re standing where locals don’t.”
She huffed despite herself and glanced back at the edge, then at him.
“Good to know I’m making a strong first impression.”
Gabriel adjusted his coat, already stepping back.
“Take care, Erica. And keep a bit of distance from the edge – the ground’s not as steady as it looks.”
The dog rose immediately, falling into step beside him without instruction.
He gave a small nod, then turned and headed back along the path, unhurried but certain, the dog glancing back once before following.
Erica watched them go, long after he’d disappeared down the path.
Her chest was still tight, though she wasn’t sure why.