The notarys reception feels stifling, even though a June breeze still drifts outside. Olivia Hart smooths the crease of her skirt, avoiding eye contact with Irene and Molly. The sisters arrive on time, each in her own style: Irene in a sharp blazer, phone glued to her hand; Molly in a light cardigan, her face warm as if shes just dropped by for tea. Olivia notes how they sit differently: Irene at the door, back straight, gaze fixed on the window; Molly nearer the coffee table piled with wellworn magazines.
The town hums with traffic and honking horns, yet inside time seems to move slower. A heavy, taut silence hangs between the sisters; everyone knows why theyre here, but no one dares to start the conversation.
Olivia glances at the notarys door. Behind it lies a piece of their pasta family cottage where they spent every summer together. After their mother passed, the house stood empty for years. All three have grown, married, taken on responsibilities. Now the decision made in this room will decide whether they keep a shared place or let everything finally drift apart.
When the clerk calls them in, Irene rises first and lets out a barely audible sigh. The office is bright; large windows overlook a green park. Neat folders and a long wooden pen sit on the table.
The notary greets each by name, speaking calmly and professionally. She explains the procedure, reminds them that written consent is required, and checks that the documents are ready. She confirms surnames and asks for passports. The process moves quickly, almost like sitting an exam.
Olivia remembers the phrase: The cottage in Sedgefield passes into joint ownership of the three daughters in equal shares. Irene furrows her brow slightly, Molly drops her gaze. No one objects out loud.
After the signatures, the notary outlines their rights: each sister can now deal with her share according to law. Any change needs the consent of all coowners or a court order. A sixmonth window is set for formal inheritance, but in practice everything hinges on their mutual agreement.
Back in the corridor, evening light strips across the dirty glass. Olivia feels weary, as if something important has been left behind while the future looms uncertain.
Outside, Molly breaks the silence first:
Maybe we should go up to the cottage? Have a look?
Irene shrugs:
I can only make it this weekend. After that the kids school holidays end.
Olivia thinks about her looming week of deadlines at the office. Saying no now would feel like conceding defeat too early.
Lets try to go together, she says slowly. We need to understand the scale of whats involved.
Irene leans her head forward:
Id just sell everything outright, she whispers. We wont be able to agree on usage and the taxes?
Molly lights up:
Sell? Thats the only place we have Mums strawberries are still growing there!
And what then? Were not kids any more, Irene snaps. Who will look after it? Who will pay for repairs?
Olivia feels the familiar tension: each pulls in a different direction, each with her own reason. She recalls summer evenings on the veranda, when arguments were only about who washed the dishes or where to hide apricot jam from the birds. Now the stakes are adult: taxes and shares instead of compote and sandbox.
Perhaps, she says at last, if we tidy up and put a little money in, we could let it rent out in the summer? Split the income fairly?
Irene looks at her closely:
What if someone wants to live there themselves?
Molly interjects:
Id come by now and then with my son maybe a week in the summer. I dont need rental money.
The discussion circles: onebyone living, joint tenancy, renting to strangers or neighbours, doing a full renovation versus just patching the roof before season, selling to an outsider or listing the whole property.
Old grievances surface unbidden: who invested what earlier, who cared for Mum, who once repainted the shutters without asking.
The talk grows sharp and brief. No compromise emerges. They agree only to meet at the cottage in two days, each interpreting that as a chance to persuade the others or at least state their position seriously.
The cottage greets them with the smell of damp earth after a night rain and the sharp whirr of a neighbours mower. The house looks almost as it did before: peeling paint on the porch, apple trees shedding leaves under the windows, an old bench by the shed with a cracked leg.
Inside it feels musty even with the windows wide open. Mosquitoes lazily swirl over a thickglass vase that Mum once bought at the local hardware shop. The sisters move silently through the rooms: Irene checks meters and windows, Molly immediately starts sorting a box of books in the bedroom corner, Olivia peers into the kitchen to test the gas hob and fridgeboth work only intermittently.
A dispute erupts almost as soon as the tour ends:
This place is falling apart, Irene says irritably. We need a major rebuild! And that costs money
Molly shakes her head:
If we sell now well get the least The cottage lives as long as we all visit.
Olivia tries to mediate:
We could fix what we can right now, and discuss the rest later, she suggests.
But the compromise proves illusory; each holds firm until nightfall. By evening they barely speak. Molly attempts a dinner from leftover rice and tinned beans, Olivia watches the news on her phonesignal only catches near the kitchen window, Irene flips through work documents beside the kettle.
At eight oclock darkness settles; the porch light fizzes out with a pop. Heavy grey clouds gather over the garden.
A storm rolls in quickly. The first thunderclap sounds as they are about to head to their rooms. Lightning flashes through the windows, rain battering the roof so loudly they have to raise their voices just to be heard inside.
Midway down the hallway a strange sound arisesa splash mixed with a floorboard creak. Water drips thinly along the wall beside the bookcase. Molly is the first to shout:
Theres a leak! Look!
Olivia darts to the shed for a bucket. She fumbles among old jam jars before finally grabbing a plastic pail with a handle and hurries back. The rain intensifies, water spattering faster.
Irene grips a mop, trying to steer the stream away from sockets. Short bursts of light flash, shadows dart across the ceiling. The air fills with ozone, damp wood, and a sharp edge.
Irene spins toward her sisters:
This is a family nest! We cant live here or rent it out like this!
Now no one argues; theyre all busy shoving books off the shelf, moving a chair, laying an old rug across the puddle. Within minutes its clear that if the leak isnt sealed now, half the furniture will need replacing in the morning.
The earlier grievances shrink to trivial matters. The solution appears on its own: find materials for a temporary fix right away.
When the water stops dripping from the ceiling, the house seems to exhalealong with Olivia, Irene, and Molly. A halffilled bucket sits by the bookcase, the rug is soggy at the edges, books are stacked against the wall. The corridor smells of wet timber. Outside the rain eases, occasional drops patter on the windowsill.
Olivia wipes her forehead with her sleeve and looks at her sisters: Irene crouches by an outlet, checking for moisture; Molly sits on the stairs clutching an old towel theyre using as a rag. Silence settles, broken only by the shed door slamming shut in the wind.
We need to fix the roof now, Irene says, weary. Otherwise the next rain will do the same.
Olivia nods:
The shed should have roofing felt and nails I saw a roll on the shelf.
Molly stands:
Ill help. Just bring a torch; its dark in there.
In the shed the air is cool and earthy. Olivia wrestles with an old headlampits batteries are dying, the light flickers across the walls. The felt is heavier than they expected. Molly holds a handful of nails, Irene grabs the hammer his father once used on the garden gate.
Theres no time to waste; the rain could return any minute. The three climb onto the loft through a narrow crawlspace behind the kitchen. The space is hot, dust and old memories hanging in the air.
They work in silence. Olivia holds the felt while Irene hammers it onto the boardsthe hammers thud echoes in the cramped space. Molly passes nails, mumbling counting beats to keep herself occupied.
Through the gaps, night sky peeksclouds drifting over the garden, moon casting pale light on wet apple trees.
Hold it tighter, Irene urges. If we dont secure it, the first gust will pull it loose.
Olivia presses the edge harder. Molly laughs suddenly:
Well, at least weve done something together
The laughter feels warm, the first genuine one all day.
Olivia feels the tension melt inward; her back finally relaxes enough to breathe.
Maybe this is how it should be, she whispers. Fix what breaks, together.
Irene meets her gazeno anger, just fatigue.
It wont work any other way, she replies.
They finish quickly, nailing the last strip of felt and descending. The kitchen is cool; the window stays open after the storm. The sisters gather around the table: someone puts a kettle on the hob, another finds a packet of biscuits in a cupboard.
Olivia brushes hair from her forehead and watches her sisters, now free of irritation.
Well still have to negotiate, she says. This repair is just the beginning.
Molly smiles:
I dont want to lose the cottage. She shrugs lightly. And I dont want us fighting over it.
Irene sighs:
Im scared of being left alone with all the upkeep. She looks at the table. But if we do it together maybe itll work.
A pause settles; outside, leaves rustle with raindrop sounds, a distant dog barks.
Olivia decides:
Lets not put this off. She pulls a sheet of paper and a pen from her bag. Well draw up a calendar: who can come when in summer. Thatll be fair for everyone.
Molly brightens:
I can take the first week of July.
Irene thinks:
August works better for mekids are free then.
Olivia writes the dates, drawing lines between weeks; a grid of possible visits and duties slowly forms.
They squabble over small detailswho will be there for the May bank holiday next year, how to split the cost of a new mower and electricity, what to do with the apples in autumn. Yet theres no anger now, just a shared desire to sort things out.
Night passes quietly; no one wakes from the sound of water or wind. Morning sunlight streams through open windows; the garden glistens with dew on apple leaves and grass along the path to the gate.
Olivia rises before her sisters and steps onto the porch: bare feet feel the cool boards. A neighbours voice drifts over the fence, chattering about weather and the harvest.
The kitchen already smells of coffee; Molly has brewed a pot and laid out a slice of storebought bread on a plate.
Irene appears last, hair tied in a ponytail, eyes a little bleary but calm.
They eat together, sharing bread and chatting about the days plans without rush.
Well need more roofing felt, Irene notes. What we used barely covered the roof.
And we should replace the porch light, Molly adds. I nearly fell in the garden yesterday.
Olivia smiles:
Ill add everything to our repair calendar
The sisters exchange glances; theres no lingering grievance between them.
The cottage feels quieter than usual; through open doors the chatter of neighbours and the clink of dishes drift in. The house seems alive againnot just because the roof no longer leaks, but because all three are present: each with her habits and weaknesses, now working together rather than apart.
Just before they leave, they walk through each room again, closing windows, checking sockets, clearing away leftover building supplies from the loft. On the kitchen table lies the sheet of paper with dates and notes on needed purchases.
Irene places the house keys neatly on the shelf by the door:
Lets touch base next week? Ill confirm the roof work with a builder I know.
Molly nods:
Ill swing by next week to check the strawberries. Ill call you first.
Olivia lingers in the hallway a moment longer, looks at her sisters and says softly:
Thank you for last night and for today.
The sisters share a calm, open lookno sharp shadows of mistrust remain.
When the gate shuts behind them, the garden is dry after the nights downpour; the path shines in the sun. The calendar sheet still bears their names beside upcoming visit datesa small promise that, even after the toughest summer, they will not disappear from each others lives.
