The waiting room of the notarys office in the little town of Bramley was stuffy, even though a fresh June breeze drifted outside. I ran my hand over the pleats of my sister Olivias skirt, trying not to meet the eyes of either Irene or Tess. The three sisters arrived on time, each in her own way: Irene in a sharp blazer, phone glued to her hand; Tess in a light sweater, her face warm as if shed just dropped in for a cup of tea. I noted how they chose their seats Irene perched by the door, back straight, staring out the window; Tess settled nearer the coffee table littered with dogeared magazines.
Outside, Bramley was noisy, cars honking in the rush hour, but inside time seemed to slow. The silence between the sisters was thick and taut; we all knew why we were there, but none of us dared to break it.
Olivia glanced at the notarys door. Behind it lay a piece of our past the family cottage up in the village of Oakshire, where wed spent every summer together. After Mums death the house had stood empty for years. Wed all grown up, started families, taken on our own responsibilities. Now the decision made in that little room would decide whether the cottage remained our shared haven or would finally be split apart.
When the clerk invited us in, Irene was the first to rise and let out a soft sigh. The office was bright; large windows looked out onto a leafy square. Neat folders and a long wooden pen lay on the desk.
The notary greeted each of us by name, speaking calmly and efficiently, outlining the procedure and reminding us of the need for written consent. The papers had been prepared in advance; she confirmed our surnames and asked for passports. Everything proceeded formally and quickly almost like an exam.
Olivia remembered the line that stuck with her: The cottage in Oakshire passes into joint ownership of the three daughters in equal shares. Irenes brow furrowed slightly, Tess lowered her eyes. No one objected aloud.
After the signatures, the notary explained our rights: each sister could now deal with her share according to the law. Any change would require consent from all coowners or a court order. A sixmonth period was set for the official inheritance, but in practice everything hinged on our mutual agreement.
Back in the corridor, evening light streamed in thin strips through the grimy glass. I felt a fatigue settle over me, as if something important had been left behind and the road ahead was uncertain.
Tess broke the silence first as we stepped outside:
Maybe we should go up to the cottage? Have a look.
Irene shrugged:
I can only make it this weekend. After that the kids holidays end.
I thought about the week ahead, packed with deadlines at the office. Saying no now would mean admitting defeat before the battle even began.
Lets try to go together, I said slowly. We need to understand what were dealing with.
Irene lowered her head:
Id actually sell it straight away, she whispered. Well never agree on how to use it And what about the council tax?
Tesss eyes lit up:
Sell? Thats the only place we have left! Mums strawberries are still growing there!
And what then? Were not children any more, Irene cut in. Who will look after it? Who will pay for repairs?
I felt the familiar tension between them: each pulling in her own direction, each with a reason. I recalled summer evenings on the porch, when our arguments were only about whod wash the dishes or where to hide the apricot jam from the squirrels. Now the disputes were about taxes and shares instead of compote and sandboxes.
Maybe, I suggested finally, if we tidy things up and each chip in a bit we could let it out as a holiday let. Split the earnings fairly?
Irene looked at me sharply:
And what if someone wants to live there themselves?
Tess interjected:
I could come for a week each summer with my son. I dont need any rent.
The conversation circled round and round: taking turns living there, renting to strangers or neighbours, doing a full renovation or just patching the roof before the next season, selling a half to a relative or putting the whole place on the market.
Old grievances bubbled up without warning who had poured money into it before, who had tended Mums garden, who had once, without asking, painted the shutters a new colour.
The talk grew sharp and brief. No compromise emerged. We only agreed to meet at the cottage in two days each interpreting that as a chance to persuade the others or at least to stake a serious claim.
The cottage greeted us with the smell of damp earth after a night rain and the sharp whine of a neighbours mower. The house looked much as it always had: peeling paint on the porch, apple trees shedding their bark near the windows, an old bench by the shed with a crack in its leg.
Inside it was still stuffy despite the open windows. Mosquitoes lazily circled a thickglass vase that Mum had once bought from the local hardware store. The sisters moved through the rooms in silence: Irene inspected the meters and windows, Tess immediately began sorting a stack of books in the bedroom corner, and I checked the gas hob and fridge both sputtering on and off.
The argument sparked almost as soon as the walkthrough ended:
Its falling apart, Irene complained irritably. We need a full renovation! Thatll cost a fortune.
Tess shook her head:
If we sell now well get the least. The cottage lives as long as we come together.
I tried to mediate:
We could fix what we can right now, I offered. Deal with the rest later in detail
But the compromise was illusory; each of us dug in for the whole day. By evening we barely spoke. Tess tried to make a dinner from leftover rice and canned veg, I stared at the news on my phone the signal only held near the kitchen window while Irene flipped through work documents beside the kettle.
At eight oclock night the lights went out; the bulb over the front step blew. Heavy grey clouds gathered over the garden.
A sudden thunderstorm rolled in fast the first clap of thunder sounded just as we were about to head to our rooms. Lightning flashed through the windows, rain hammered the roof so loudly we had to shout to be heard inside.
Then a strange sound rose from the hallway a splashing mixed with the creak of floorboards above. A thin stream of water traced down the wall beside the bookcase. Tess was the first to shout:
Its leaking! Look!
I dashed for a bucket in the shed, first having to dig it out from under old jam jars. Finding the plastic container with a handle, I hauled it back inside as the rain intensified and the drip quickened.
Irene grabbed a mop, steering the water away from sockets. Short bursts of light flickered, shadows danced across the ceiling, the air filled with the sharp scent of ozone and wet timber.
Irene turned sharply to us:
This is our family nest! We cant live here or rent it out in this state!
No one argued any longer; we were all busy shoving books off the shelf, moving a chair, laying an old rug across the puddle. Within minutes it was clear that if we didnt stop the leak now, wed have to replace half the furniture in the morning.
The old grievances seemed trivial against the immediate problem. The solution presented itself: find some material for a temporary fix right then.
When the water finally ceased, the house seemed to exhale together with me, Irene, and Tess. A bucket sat by the bookcase, halffilled with murky water. The rug was damp at the edges, books piled against the wall, the corridor smelled of wet wood. Outside the rain tapered off, occasional drops pattering on the sill.
I wiped my forehead with my sleeve and looked at my sisters: Irene crouched by an outlet, checking that water hadnt reached it; Tess sat on the stairs clutching an old towel theyd used as a rag. It was quiet, save for the shed door slamming in the wind.
We need to sort the roof now, Irene said, weary. Otherwise the next downpour will do the same.
I nodded:
There should be roofing felt and nails in the shed I saw a roll on the shelf.
Tess stood up.
Ill help, she said. Bring a torch its dark in there.
The shed was cool and smelled of earth. I fumbled for an old headlamp; the batteries were weak, the light flickered over the walls. The felt was heavier than we expected. Tess held nails in her palm, Irene took a hammer the very one Dad used to fix the garden gate.
Time was short; the rain could return at any moment. We climbed onto the loft through the narrow crawl space behind the kitchen. It was hot and smelled of dust and years gone by.
We worked in silence. I held the felt while Irene hammered it onto the boards the hammers clang echoing in the cramped space. Tess passed the nails, muttering to herself, counting each strike.
Through the cracks we could see the night sky; clouds drifted over the garden, the moon casting a pale glow over the wet apple trees.
Hold it tighter, Irene urged. If we dont secure it, the first gust will rip it off.
I pressed the edge of the sheet harder.
Tess suddenly laughed:
Well, at least weve done something together
The laugh sounded warm for the first time that day.
I felt the tension melt away, my back easing as I finally could relax a little.
Maybe this is how it should be, I said quietly. Fix what breaks, together.
Irene looked at me, her eyes not angry but tired.
It wont work any other way
We finished quickly, securing the last strip of felt and climbing back down.
The kitchen was cool; the window left ajar after the storm. The sisters gathered at the table: someone set the kettle on the hob, someone found a packet of biscuits in the cupboard.
I brushed hair from my forehead and surveyed my sisters now without irritation or resentment.
Well still have to keep negotiating, I said. This repair is just the start.
Tess smiled:
I dont want to lose the cottage, she said, shrugging slightly. And I dont want us fighting over it.
Irene sighed:
Im scared of being left alone with all the upkeep, she admitted, looking at the table. But if we do everything together maybe itll work.
A pause settled in; outside the leaves rustled with the sound of dripping water, a distant dog barked.
Lets not put it off any longer, I said, pulling a sheet of paper and a pen from my bag. Well draw up a calendar who can come when during the summer. Thatll be fair for everyone.
Tess perked up:
I can take the first week of July.
Irene thought:
August works better for me the kids are free then.
I wrote the dates, drawing lines between weeks; slowly a grid of possible visits and duties emerged.
We debated small points who will come for the May bank holiday next year, how to split the cost of the mower and electricity, what to do with the apples in autumn. But now there was no bitterness, only a desire to sort things out and not lose each other.
The night passed quietly; no one woke from the sound of water or wind. In the morning the sun streamed through the open windows; the garden glittered with dew on the apple leaves and the grass along the path to the gate.
I rose before my sisters and stepped onto the porch, feeling the cool boards under bare feet. A neighbours voice drifted over the fence, chatting about the weather and the harvest.
In the kitchen the smell of coffee filled the air; Tess had brewed a pot and laid out a slice of storebought bread.
Irene entered last, hair tied in a low ponytail, eyes a little drowsy but calm.
We ate together, sharing bread and talking about the days plans without rush or irritation.
Well need more roofing felt, Irene noted. What we used was just enough.
And a new bulb for the porch light, Tess added. I almost fell in the garden yesterday.
I smiled:
Ill note everything in our repair calendar
The sisters exchanged looks; there were no lingering grievances between us.
The cottage felt quieter than usual; through the open doors we could hear neighbours chatter and the clink of dishes in the kitchen. The house seemed alive again not just because the roof no longer leaked, but because the three of us were there, each with her quirks, now working as a unit.
Before we left we walked through the rooms once more: closing windows, checking sockets, clearing the leftover building supplies from the loft. On the kitchen table lay the sheet of paper marked with dates and a list of items to buy.
Irene placed the house keys carefully on the shelf by the door:
Lets touch base next week? Ill check with my builder about the roof.
Tess nodded:
Ill swing by the following week to look at the strawberries. Ill give you a ring.
I lingered in the hallway a moment longer, looked at my sisters and said quietly:
Thank you for last night and for today.
They exchanged another calm, open glance their eyes free of the old sharp shadows of mistrust.
When the gate shut behind us the garden was dry after the nights rain; the path glittered in the sun. The calendar sheet still bore our names next to the dates of future visits a small promise that we would not drift apart, even through the toughest summer.
