Excerpt from The Sea Gate by Jane Johnson, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I am so gobsmacked I can't find any words. I just look at my twin in disbelief. To give him some credit, he looks abashed. 'Sorry, Becks. Life goes on, eh?'

I swallow, and nod. Getting to my feet, I add the pile of official correspondence to the cardboard box.

'Can I give you a lift to the station?' James asks.

I shake my head. 'I'll hang on here for a bit.'

Evie leans forward to give me an air kiss and I can smell her perfume – something musky and expensive, tainted by the lingering trace of rubber gloves. 'I left your mother's jewellery box on the bed,' she says, nodding back towards the bedroom. 'It's all cheap costume stuff but you may want to keep something out of sentimental value. Oh and,' she hands the box to James then reaches into her handbag and gives me the roll of red stickers. 'You may want to put these on the paintings you don't want the clearance chaps to take.' She pulls away. 'And you know, dear, you shouldn't smoke…' A meaningful pause.

I stare hotly at the sticky labels, then at James.

'Take care of yourself, sis,' he says, then shoulders his way out of the narrow door, and just like that they are gone. I can almost feel the apartment sigh in relief, its violations at an end.

I go into Mum's room. It shows little trace of Evie's depredations, but when I open the wardrobe doors, there is nothing left inside but the smell of camphor and a couple of dozen empty hangers. The jewellery box lies on the floral duvet covering the bed where Mum has not lain for two months. There is nothing left of her, nothing left but absence itself. Disconsolately, I open the box and gaze at the meagre contents: strands of coloured beads, a coral necklace with a broken clasp, an old cameo brooch, some rings. I remember Mum wearing this one: a dress ring with a long green stone set in silver. When I pick it up I am suddenly assailed by her perfume. Je Reviens by Worth. I will return. Except she won't, not ever. I remember her wearing this ring so clearly, holding her hand out to admire it. 'Who cares if it's not valuable?' she said. 'It could have come out of a cracker and I'd still love it. You should never wear jewellery you don't love.'

Oh, Mum. I put it away: a keepsake.

Going to her bedroom window, I press my hand against the pane, my breath making a bloom on the glass, just in time to see James's Lexus disappear at the junction. My splayed fingers look like a plea for help and the little winking stone in my 'engagement' ring seems to mock me.

I call Eddie's number one more time, and one more time I get his voicemail. 'Hi there, it's me, Becks,' I tell the message recorder. 'Look, it's a bit complicated, and I'll explain properly when we speak, but I'm going to Cornwall for a few days. It's a family thing. It'll give you time to finish the final preparations for the show.' I pause. 'Eddie? I wish you'd been able to come with me.' I tap the red phone icon and stare at the screen. I wish I hadn't said the last bit. It sounds whiny, needy; weak.

Am I making a foolish, even dangerous, mistake? Or is this the chance to do something for someone worse off than me? Though perhaps she isn't worse off than me. After all, this cousin, this Olivia Kitto, is ancient and I've barely lived at all.

No self-pity, you're stronger than you think, darling.

Sometimes it's as if Mum's voice is right there inside my head.

You know, my engagement ring really is hideous. I've never even liked it, let alone loved it. I lick my finger, tug and twist, and force it over swollen, reddening flesh until at last it comes off. It lies in my palm, two curlicues of cheap nine-carat gold joined by a single zircon. Thirty quid, from a cheap jewellery chain that no longer exists, bought because… I can't even remember exactly why. The only way Eddie and I could book a hotel room? An empty gesture? A joke? Certainly, it wasn't meant to be a proper engagement ring, binding two hearts together for all time, though I so wanted it to be, so there it has been all this time, a small and tawdry lie.

Excerpted from The Sea Gate by Steven Johnson. Copyright © 2021 by Steven Johnson. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.