The waiting room of the solicitors office was stuffy, even though a fresh June breeze lingered outside. Olivia Harper brushed the pleats of her skirt, trying not to meet the eyes of her sisters, Irene Blake and Tabitha Clarke. The three arrived on time, each in her own style: Irene in a crisp blazer, phone glued to her hand; Tabitha in a light cardigan, her face warm as if shed just dropped by for tea. Olivia noted how they chose their seats: Irene perched opposite the door, back straight, staring out the window; Tabitha settled near the coffee table piled with wellworn magazines.
Outside the town of Whitby hummed with traffic and honking horns, but inside time seemed to crawl. A thick, tense silence hung between the sisterseveryone knew why they were there, yet none dared to break the ice.
Olivia glanced at the solicitors door. Behind it lay a slice of their pasta family cottage in the village of Alderley, where every summer theyd spent holidays together. After their mother passed, the house had stood empty for years. All three had grown up, started families, and taken on responsibilities. The decision made in that small room would decide whether the cottage stayed in the family or fell apart for good.
When the clerk beckoned them in, Irene rose first and let out a barely audible sigh. Sunlight flooded the office through large windows that looked onto a tidy village green. Neat folders and a long wooden pen sat on the desk.
The solicitor greeted each sister by name, speaking calmly and efficiently. She explained the procedure, reminded them that written consent was required, and checked that their passports were on hand. The paperwork had been prepared in advance; she confirmed the surnames and moved through the formalities as quickly as a driving test.
Olivia remembered the solicitors words: The cottage at Alderley passes into joint ownership of the three daughters, in equal shares. Irene furrowed her brow slightly; Tabitha dropped her gaze. No one objected aloud.
After the signatures, the solicitor outlined their rights: each sister could now deal with her share under the law, but any change would need the consent of all coowners or a court order. A sixmonth period was set for the inheritance to become official, though in practice everything hinged on the sisters own agreement.
Back in the corridor, the evening light streamed in thin strips through the grimy glass. Olivia felt a wave of fatigue, as if something important had been left behind and the future stretched out unknown ahead.
Tabitha was the first to break the silence as they stepped outside.
Shall we head to the cottage? Have a look? she suggested.
Irene shrugged. I can only make it this weekend. The kids holidays end after that.
Olivia thought of the hectic week awaiting her at the office. Saying no now would feel like surrendering before the battle even began.
Lets try to go together, she said slowly. We need to get a feel for what were dealing with.
Irene tilted her head. Honestly, Id just sell it outright, she murmured. We cant agree on how to use it and the taxes?
Tabithas eyes lit up. Sell? Thats the only place where Mums strawberries are still growing!
Exactly, Irene snapped. Were not kids any more. Wholl look after it? Wholl pay for the repairs?
Olivia sensed the familiar tugofwar between them: each pulling in her own direction, each with a valid point. She recalled carefree evenings on the porch, when arguments were only about whod wash the dishes or where to hide apricot jam from the autumn moths. Now the disputes were about taxes and shares instead of jam and sandpits.
Maybe, she finally said, if we tidy things up and put a little money in, we could rent it out in summer? Split the income fairly?
Irene looked at her closely. What if one of us wants to live there?
Tabitha interjected. Id pop over with my son for a week in summer. I dont need any rent money.
The conversation spun round in circlesalternating between living there themselves, renting to strangers or neighbours, doing a full renovation or just patching the roof for the season, selling a share or the whole lot. Old grievances resurfaced uninvited: whod put in money first, whod cared for Mum in her last days, whod once painted the shutters a new colour without asking.
The talk grew sharp and brief. No compromise emerged, only an agreement to meet again in two days at the cottageto each see it as a chance to persuade the others or at least to state their position clearly.
The cottage greeted them with the smell of damp earth after a night rain and the harsh whine of a neighbours mower. The house looked almost as it had before: peeling paint on the porch, apple trees drooping near the windows, a cracked bench by the shed.
Inside, even with the windows flung open, the rooms felt muggy. Mosquitoes lazily buzzed over a thick glass vase that Mum had once bought at the local ironmongery. The sisters moved silently through the rooms: Irene checked the meters and windows, Tabitha immediately began unpacking a box of books in the bedroom corner, Olivia peeked at the gas hob and fridgeboth sputtering on and off.
The argument ignited almost as soon as the tour ended.
This place is falling apart, Irene said irritably. We need a full renovation! That costs money
Tabitha shook her head. If we sell now well get the least. The cottage lives as long as we visit together!
Olivia tried to mediate. We could fix what we can right now, and sort the rest later, she offered. Step by step.
But the truce was fragile; each sister dug in for the rest of the day. By evening they barely spoke. Tabitha was trying to make a dinner from the few tins and rice left, Olivia was scrolling the news on her phonesignal only near the kitchen window, and Irene was leafing through work documents beside the kettle.
By eight oclock darkness fell, the porch lamp sputtered out with a loud click, and heavy grey clouds gathered over the garden.
A sudden thunderstorm rolled in faster than anyone expectedthe first clap of thunder booming as they were already slipping into their rooms. Lightning stitched the sky, rain hammered the roof so loudly they had to speak louder even inside.
Midcorridor a strange sound rosewater splashing mixed with the creak of floorboards. A thin stream ran down the wall beside the bookcase. Tabitha shrieked first.
Theres a leak! Look!
Olivia dashed for a bucket in the shed, thwarted at first by a mountain of old jam jars. She finally unearthed a plastic pail with a handle and rushed back, rain now pouring faster.
Irene grabbed a mop, trying to keep the water away from the sockets. Short flashes of lightning lit the rooms, shadows dancing on the ceiling. The air filled with the sharp scent of ozone and damp timber.
Irene spun toward her sisters. This is our family nest! We cant live or rent like this!
Now no one argued; everyone scrambled to stack books, move a chair, lay an old rug across the puddle. Within minutes it was clear: if the leak wasnt sealed now, half the furniture would need replacing in the morning.
The previous complaints shrank to trivialities. The solution presented itself: find some tarpaulin and nails and patch it up right away.
When the ceiling finally stopped dripping, the house seemed to exhale, as did Olivia, Irene, and Tabitha. A bucket sat halffilled with murky water by the bookcase, the rug was soggy at the edges, books lay stacked against the wall, and the corridor smelled of wet wood. Outside, the rain eased, a few drops pattering on the windowsill.
Olivia wiped her forehead with her sleeve and looked at her sisters: Irene crouched by an outlet, checking for water; Tabitha perched on the stairs, clutching an old towel used as a rag. Silence settled, broken only by the shed door slamming shut in the wind.
We need to sort the roof now, Irene said, weary. Otherwise well be doing this again after the next rain.
Olivia nodded. There should be roofing felt and nails in the shedI saw a roll on the shelf.
Tabitha stood. Ill help, but bring a lanternit’s dark in there.
The shed was cool and smelled of earth. Olivia struggled to find the old headlamp; its batteries were low and the light flickered over the walls. The felt was heavier than they expected. Tabitha held the nails, Irene lifted the hammerthe same one their father once used to fix the garden gate.
There was no time to waste; the rain could return at any moment. The three of them hauled up the narrow loft above the kitchen. It was stale, dustladen, and full of the ghosts of past summers.
They worked in silence. Olivia held the felt while Irene hammered it onto the boards, each bang echoing in the cramped space. Tabitha passed the nails, muttering numbers to herself, perhaps counting strokes to keep fatigue at bay.
Through the gaps, the night sky peekedclouds drifting over the garden, the moon casting a pale glow on the wet apple trees.
Hold it tighter, Irene called. If we dont secure it, the first gust will rip it off.
Olivia pressed the edge harder. Tabitha suddenly laughed.
Well, at least weve done something together, she said, the smile warm and unexpected.
The laugh rang out, oddly comfortingthe first genuine one all day.
Olivia felt the tension melt away, her back finally loosening as she allowed herself a brief sigh of relief.
Maybe this is how it should be, she whispered. Fixing what breaks, together.
Irene met her gazeno anger, just fatigue.
It wont work any other way, she replied.
They finished quickly, securing the last strip of felt and climbing down.
The kitchen was cool; the kitchen window remained ajar after the storm. The sisters gathered at the table: someone turned on the kettle, another found a packet of biscuits in the cupboard.
Olivia brushed hair from her forehead and regarded her sisters, now free of irritation.
Well still have to keep negotiating, she said. This repair is only the beginning.
Tabitha smiled. I dont want to lose the cottage, she admitted, shrugging slightly. And I dont want to keep fighting over it.
Irene exhaled. Im scared of being left alone with all this, she admitted, looking at the table. But maybe, if we do everything together it could work.
A brief pause settled over them; outside, leaves rustled with the sound of distant rain, a neighbours dog barked faintly.
Olivia decided. Lets not put this off any longer. She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from her bag. Well draw up a calendarwho can come when during the summer. Thatll be fair for everyone.
Tabitha perked up. I can take the first week of July.
Irene thought. August works best for memy kids are free then.
Olivia scribbled the dates, drawing lines between weeks; a neat grid of possible visits and duties blossomed on the page.
They debated minor detailswho would visit during the May holidays next year, how to split the cost of the mower and electricity, what to do with the apple harvest in autumn. But now there was no bitterness, only a genuine desire to sort things out and not lose each other.
The night passed peacefully; no one woke from the sound of dripping water or wind. In the morning the sun filtered through open windows, the garden glittered with dew on the apple leaves and the grass along the path to the gate.
Olivia rose before her sisters and stepped onto the porch; the cool boards greeted her bare feet. A neighbours voice drifted over the fence, chatting about the weather and the crop.
The kitchen already smelled of coffee; Tabitha had brewed a pot and laid out a packet of storebought bread.
Irene arrived last, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, eyes a touch bleary but calm.
They ate together, sharing bread and discussing plans without rush or irritation.
Well need more roofing felt, Irene remarked. What we used barely covered the gaps.
And a new porch light, Tabitha added. I almost fell over the steps yesterday.
Olivia smiled. Ill add everything to our maintenance calendar.
The sisters exchanged a look; any lingering grudges seemed to have evaporated.
The cottage stood quieter than usual; through the open doors came the murmur of neighbours and the clink of dishes. The house felt alive againnot just because the roof no longer leaked, but because all three were there, each with quirks and strengths, finally not apart.
Before leaving, they walked through each room one last time, closing windows, checking sockets, stowing the spare timber on the loft. On the kitchen table lay the sheet of paper, dates pencilled in, notes about needed purchases.
Irene placed the house key on the shelf by the door. Lets touch base next week? Ill check with my builder about the roof.
Tabitha nodded. Ill swing by the following week for the strawberries. Ill give you a ring first.
Olivia lingered a moment in the hallway, glanced at her sisters, and said quietly, Thank you for last night and today.
The sisters exchanged another calm, open lookno longer shadowed by old doubts.
As the gate shut behind them, the garden was dry after the nights downpour; the path glistened in the sunlight. The calendar sheet still bore their names beside the dates of future visitsa small promise that they wouldnt disappear from each others lives, even after the toughest summer.
