The solicitors reception was stuffy, even though a June breeze still lingered outside. I watched Olivia smooth the pleats of her skirt, trying not to meet the eyes of either Irene or Tess. The sisters arrived promptly, each in her own style: Irene in a crisp blazer, phone glued to her hand; Tess in a light cardigan, her face warm as if shed dropped in for a cuppa. I noted the way they chose their seats Irene opposite the door, back straight, staring out the window; Tess nearer the coffee table covered with wellworn magazines.
The town outside roared with traffic, horns blaring in the rushhour jam, yet inside time seemed to crawl. A heavy, taut silence settled between the sisters; everyone knew why they were there, but no one dared break the quiet.
Olivia glanced at the solicitors door. Behind it lay a piece of their shared pasta family cottage where theyd spent every summer together. After their mothers death the house had sat empty for years. All three had grown up, started families, taken on responsibilities. Now the decision made in that small room would decide whether the cottage stayed in the family or was finally let go.
When the secretary beckoned them in, Irene was the first to rise and let out a soft sigh. The office was bright; large windows looked out over a tidy green square. Neat folders lay on the desk beside a long wooden pen.
The solicitor greeted each by name, speaking calmly and efficiently, walking them through the procedure and reminding them of the need for documented consent. The paperwork had been prepared in advance; she confirmed surnames and asked for passports. Everything proceeded formally and quicklyalmost like sitting an exam.
Olivia remembered the solicitors words: The cottage at Willowbrook passes into joint ownership of the three daughters in equal shares. Irene frowned slightly, Tess dropped her gaze. No one voiced an objection out loud.
After the signatures, the solicitor explained the rights: each sister could now deal with her share according to law. Any change would require the agreement of all coowners or a court order. A sixmonth period was set for the inheritance to be formalised, but in practice everything hinged on their mutual consent.
Back in the corridor, evening light striped through the grimy glass. Olivia felt a fatigue settle over her, as if something important had been left behind and the road ahead was unknown.
Outside, Tess broke the silence first:
Maybe we should get together at the cottage? Have a look around
Irene shrugged:
I can only manage the coming weekend. After that the kids holidays end.
Olivia thought about her looming week of deadlines at the office. Saying no now would feel like conceding defeat before the battle even began.
Lets try to go together, she said slowly. We need to get a feel for whats involved.
Irene tilted her head:
Id actually sell it straight away, she murmured. Well never agree on how to use it And the taxes?
Tesss eyes lit up:
Sell? Thats the only place where Mums strawberries still grow!
What then? Irene snapped. Were not children any more. Wholl look after it? Wholl pay for repairs?
Olivia sensed the familiar tension: each pulling in her own direction, each with a reason. She recalled summer evenings on the veranda, when the arguments had been about who would wash the dishes or where to hide the apricot jam for autumn. Now the disputes were adulttaxes and shares instead of jam and sandpits.
Perhaps, she began finally, if we tidy things up and put a little money in, we could let it out in summer and split the earnings fairly?
Irene stared at her:
And if someone wants to live there themselves?
Tess interjected:
I could come now and then with my son maybe a week each summer. I dont need rental income.
The talk went round in circlesalternating ideas of living there in turns, renting to strangers or neighbours, doing a full refurbishment or just patching the roof before the next season, selling to an outsider or putting the whole property on the market.
Old grievances resurfaced without warning: who had invested more before, who had looked after Mum, who had once, without asking, repainted the shutters a new colour.
The conversation grew sharp and short. No compromise emerged. They only agreed to meet again in two days at the cottageeach interpreting that as a chance to persuade the others or at least state their position seriously.
The cottage greeted them with the scent of damp earth after the nights rain and the sharp whirr of neighbours mower. The house looked almost as it always had: peeling paint on the porch, drooping apple trees by the windows, an old bench by the shed with a cracked leg.
Inside it was still clammy despite the windows being flung open. Mosquitoes lazily circled a thickglass vase that Mum had once bought at the local hardware shop. 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, Olivia checked the gas hob and fridgeboth sputtering on and off.
The argument sparked almost as soon as the walkthrough finished:
This place is falling apart, Irene said irritably. We need a full renovation! That costs money
Tess shook her head:
If we sell now well get the least. The cottage lives as long as we keep coming back together!
Olivia tried to mediate:
We could fix what we can right now and discuss the rest later, she suggested.
But the compromise was only an illusion; each held firm until night fell. By evening they barely spoken. Tess tried to make a modest dinner from leftover rice and tins, Olivia watched the news on her phonesignal only caught near the kitchen window, and Irene flipped through work documents beside the kettle.
At eight, darkness deepened; the porch light flickered and went out, a bulb having burnt. Heavy grey clouds rolled over the garden.
A storm rolled in surprisingly fastthunder rolling just as they were about to retreat to their rooms. Lightning flashed through the windows, rain hammered the roof so loudly they had to raise their voices just to be heard inside.
Midway down the hallway a strange sound broke outa splash mixed with the creak of floorboards overhead. Water streamed in a thin ribbon along the wall by the bookcase. Tess was the first to shout:
Its leaking! Look!
Olivia dashed for a bucket in the shed, stumbling over jars of jam before finally finding the plastic container with a handle and hurrying back. The rain intensified, water now dripping faster.
Irene clutched a mop, trying to steer the spray away from sockets. Short bursts of light flickered, shadows danced across the ceiling. The air filled with the smell of ozone, wet wood, and something sharp.
Irene turned sharply to her sisters:
This is a family nest! We cant live here nor rent it out in this state!
No one argued any more; all were busy pulling books off the shelf, moving a chair, laying an old rug across the puddle. Within minutes it became clear that if they didnt seal the leak now, by morning half the furniture would need replacing.
In that light the earlier grievances shrank to trivialities. The solution presented itself: find material for a quick fix right then.
When the water stopped dripping from the ceiling, the house seemed to exhalealong with Olivia, 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 smelling of wet timber. Outside the rain eased; occasional droplets drummed on the windowsill.
Olivia wiped her forehead with her sleeve and looked at the sisters: Irene crouched by an outlet, checking it for moisture; Tess sat on the stairs clutching an old towel theyd grabbed instead of a rag. The only sound was a shed door slamming in the wind.
We need to repair the roof now, Irene said wearily. Otherwise the next storm will do it again.
Olivia nodded:
There should be roofing felt and nails in the shed I saw a roll on a shelf.
Tess stood up.
Ill help, she said. Just fetch a torchit’s dark in there.
The shed was cool and smelled of earth. Olivia struggled to get an old headlamp working; the batteries were weak and the light jumped across the walls. The felt was heavier than theyd expected. Tess held the nails, Irene grabbed a hammerthe same one their father once used on the garden gate.
Time was short; the rain could return at any moment. The three of them climbed to the loft through a narrow crawlspace behind the kitchen. It was hot, dust and the smell of bygone years hanging in the air.
They worked in silence. Olivia held the felt while Irene hammered it onto the rafterseach thud echoing in the cramped space. Tess passed the nails, muttering something about counting blows to keep herself occupied.
Through the gaps the night sky could be seen; clouds drifted over the garden, the moon casting a pale glow on the slick apple trees.
Hold it tighter, Irene urged. If we dont secure it well the first gust will rip it off.
Olivia pressed the edge of the felt harder.
Tess suddenly laughed:
Well, at least weve done something together
The laugh was warm, unexpectedthe first genuine one of the day.
Olivia felt the tension melt away, her back finally relaxing now that she could breathe a little.
Maybe this is how it should be, she said quietly. Fixing what breaks together.
Irene looked at her, not angry but weary.
It wont work any other way
They finished quickly, fastening the last piece of felt and descending.
The kitchen was cool; the window remained open after the storm. The sisters gathered around the table: someone put the kettle on, another fetched a packet of biscuits.
Olivia brushed stray hair from her forehead and observed the sistersnow without the edge of irritation.
Well still have to negotiate, she said. This repair is only the beginning.
Tess smiled:
I dont want to lose the cottage, she said, shrugging. 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 it together maybe itll work.
A pause settled; outside the garden leaves rustled with drops, a distant dog barked.
Olivia decided:
Lets not put it off any longer. She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from her bag. Well draw up a calendarwho can come each summer. Thatll be fair for everyone.
Tess brightened:
I can take the first week of July.
Irene thought:
August works better for memy kids are free then.
Olivia wrote the dates, drawing lines between weeks; slowly a grid of possible visits and duties appeared on the page.
They argued over small detailswho will come for the May bank holiday next year, how to split the cost of the mower and electricity, what to do with the apple harvest in autumn. Yet now there was no bitterness, only a desire to sort things out and not lose each other.
The night passed peacefully; no one woke from the sound of water or wind. Morning sunlight streamed through the 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 cold boards were firm under bare feet. A neighbours voice drifted over the fence, chatting about the weather and the crops.
In the kitchen the smell of coffee filled the air; Tess had brewed a pot and laid out a slice of storebought bread.
Irene appeared last, hair tied back, eyes a little bleary but calm.
They ate together, sharing bread and discussing the days plans without rush.
Well need more roofing felt, Irene noted. What we used barely covered everything.
And a new bulb for the porch, Tess added. I nearly slipped yesterday in the garden.
Olivia smiled:
Ill add it to our maintenance calendar
The sisters exchanged a glance; any lingering resentment seemed to have dissolved.
The cottage stood quieter than usual; through the open doors came the chatter of neighbours and the clatter of dishes. The house felt alive againnot just because the roof no longer leaked, but because all three of them were there: each with her quirks and strengths, now working as a unit.
Before leaving they walked through each room once more, closing windows, checking sockets, stowing away leftover building supplies in the loft. On the kitchen table lay the sheet with dates and notes about needed purchases.
Irene placed the keys neatly on the shelf by the door:
So well touch base next week? Ill get a quote for the roof from a builder I know
Tess nodded:
Ill pop over next week to check on the strawberries. Ill call you first.
Olivia lingered in the hallway a moment longer, looked at her sisters and said softly:
Thank you for last night and for today.
The sisters exchanged another quiet look, eyes calm and open, free of the old prickly shadows of distrust.
When the gate shut behind them, the garden was dry after the nights downpour; the path glistened in the sun. The calendar sheet still bore their names beside the dates of future visitsa small promise that they wouldnt vanish from each others lives, even after the toughest summer.
