Chapter 8
Gabriel ran from the river, his breath sharp in his chest, his skin stinging and alive. Cold like this stripped everything back – no clutter, no noise, just the burn of being alive.
It was a ritual, this swim, something ingrained in him since he was a boy. No matter the weather, no matter the ice that sometimes skimmed the surface in the dead of winter. He came back here every year, on the same day.
But today, as he pulled the rough towel around his shoulders, he felt it differently. An ache settled in places it hadn’t before, deep in his bones, a lingering reminder that time wasn’t waiting. He was still strong, stronger than most men he knew, but a quiet awareness had begun to creep in.
Shivering, he wrestled with damp jeans and heavy boots, cursing under his breath as numb fingers fumbled at buttons.
The worst part of wild swimming wasn’t the plunge, it was the fight to reclaim warmth afterward.
When he finally yanked a thick jumper over his head, he let himself pause, looking back at the water.
The river curled through the valley, spilling over a ledge into the deep pool below.
Even on a day like this, with frost still clinging to the grass, the water shimmered a soft turquoise, clear enough to see the stones beneath.
Mist wreathed the edges, rising like breath from the earth before vanishing into the morning air.
It had always felt like a place set slightly apart.
A secret, it felt, kept between him and the river.
He dipped his head in a quiet nod, a mark of respect, before disappearing into the wood.
The trees swallowed him in their familiar hush, the morning light slanting low between the trunks.
The air smelled of damp earth and moss, rich and ancient.
Here, tied to the branches, were the ribbons – hundreds of them, fluttering softly in the cold breeze.
Some were tattered, faded to near-translucence, others bold in their silks and velvets.
They clung to the trees like prayers, messages left behind by those who believed in something beyond the tangible.
Wishes, grief, gratitude, the wood held it all.
As a child, he had spent long summers playing here, weaving through the trees while his friends were kept away by parents who muttered about bad luck and old stories.
His own mother had never discouraged him.
Respect the trees, she’d said, and they’ll respect you back.
So he had always offered a quiet thank-you when passing through, touching the bark in acknowledgement, never disturbing what others had left.
Running a hand through his damp hair, he stepped from the shadows into the light.
The sun had risen fully now, spilling over the hills, turning the wood behind him into something golden, something that almost didn’t belong to this world.
Mist curled along the road, and beyond it, his old Land Rover waited, Chep watching patiently from the passenger seat, tail thumping once against the door.
With one last glance at the trees, at the ribbons shifting like ghosts in the morning breeze, Gabriel climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled the door shut. Soon, the tourists would arrive, cameras in hand, eager to capture the magic of the place.
But they’d never really know it, not like he did.
He reached for the keys, then paused.
For a second, he saw her again. Standing too close to the edge, like she didn’t quite feel the ground beneath her.
His jaw tightened.
Then he started the engine, gave Chep a quick pat on the head, and drove off before the quiet was broken.
Before heading home, Gabriel figured a quick detour was in order. He glanced in the rearview mirror, then flicked on his indicator, turning off the main road just before it curved towards Rock Cove.
The road stretched ahead, flanked by open farmland, the landscape vast and familiar.
To his left, a field of geese milled about, their honking carrying across the crisp morning air.
On the right, seagulls wheeled low over freshly turned earth, scavenging for worms and insects stirred up by the plough.
Being so close to the sea, the farm always drew its share of opportunistic birds, much to his brother-in-law’s constant irritation.
Pulling up outside the large farmhouse, Gabriel cut the engine and leaned forward on the steering wheel for a moment, watching.
Across the yard, Kenny was already halfway to the wooden shed, no doubt off to start on repairs before the weather turned again.
October was a month of preparation – securing fences, tending to late harvests, readying the livestock for the harsher weeks ahead.
Seeing the Land Rover, Kenny paused, shielding his eyes against the rising sun before offering a sharp salute.
“Nice day for it, Gabriel.” His voice carried easily across the yard. “You here to see herself?”
“I am indeed. She in the usual spot?”
Kenny huffed a laugh. “Aye. Tread carefully, though. The kids have only just been packed off to school. It’s chaos in there!”
Gabriel grinned. “Thanks for the warning.”
He shut the gate behind him, rolled his shoulders, and headed inside. If Kenny was already escaping to his farm work, that meant she was likely inside, trying to salvage some peace from the morning’s madness.
And Gabriel, as always, was about to disturb it.
“Hello!” he called from the porch, though he knew it was pointless. His sister would never hear him over the chaos.
Letting himself in, he stepped straight into the obstacle course of family life – wellington boots scattered across the floor, jackets in every possible size and colour crammed onto just two hooks, competing for space.
He nudged a stray boot aside, then neatly placed his own in the corner before creeping down the bright hallway.
Despite being an old farmhouse, the house had a way of swallowing light rather than inviting it in.
Narrow corridors and small windows made it feel dim, but it was never gloomy.
It was warm, lived-in. A home in the truest sense.
Even after just a short visit, Gabriel always left feeling full in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
He pushed open the kitchen door, where the radio blared over the hum of the washing machine.
Sorcha was at the big wooden table, hunched scrolling through her phone.
Her hair had mostly escaped its ponytail, and she was still in her pyjamas.
When she looked up and spotted him, she jolted, like a child caught skiving off school.
“Did I scare you?” Gabriel smirked, already reaching for the kettle and filling it.
“Gabe, why don’t you come in through the back door? I didn’t hear you.”
“It’s not right – a person’s meant to come in the front.”
“You and your silly superstitions.”
“They’re not superstitions. Not exactly. Just … what should be done.”
Sorcha sighed but smiled, watching him as he moved around the kitchen. “Where have you been? And why are you wet?”
“I took the plunge in the river.”
“Oh God, is it that time of year again?” She groaned. “I swear you only did it last month! A whole year’s gone by, and what have I got to show for it?”
“Another baby,” Gabriel said.
“Well, yes. And I think four is enough. If it were up to Kenny, we’d have a whole football team.”
“A shinty team, surely. Or is it rugby that has fifteen?”
“Fifteen?! Absolutely not. I draw the line at four, especially when I spend every morning wrestling them into uniforms. Thank god for the school bus – I’d never manage to get them to school by myself.”
She suddenly sat up, tilting her head, listening. Then, with a knowing nod, she disappeared down the hall, returning moments later with a bleary-eyed baby, his cheeks flushed and his tiny fists rubbing at sleep.
“Callum, my wee lad.” Gabriel cooed, setting two cups of tea on the table. “Shall I take him for a bit?”
“God, yes, thank you. My shoulder’s about to give out – he’s getting heavy.”
“That’s because he takes after his uncle. He’ll be a big lad.” Gabriel lifted the baby up, grinning. “We’ll make a fireman out of you yet, eh?”
“Or a farmer,” Sorcha countered. “If his father has anything to do with it, all the boys will be farmers.”
“And what about the girl?” Gabriel asked, bouncing Callum gently. “You can’t be treating them differently – your little lady has fire in her. Maybe she’ll want to join my squad too.”
“You think they’d be putting out the fires, not starting them?” Sorcha snorted, taking a sip of tea while absentmindedly scrolling her phone again.
He rolled his eyes. “What rubbish are you watching now?”
She shrugged.
“Exactly. You waste your time on those things. Watching stupid videos about … what, people cutting into things that aren’t what they look like?”
“It’s my sanity right now,” Sorcha said flatly. “I can’t just be a mum covered in spit-up 24/7.”
“Well, you should come out with me next time,” Gabriel said, leaning back with a smirk. “A dunk in the river would be good for you.”
“Me in that freezing water?” She scoffed.
“Absolutely not. You and your customs. If it’s not superstitions, it’s little strange pagan rituals.
Dad tried to rope me in when I was a teenager, remember?
The last thing an awkward thirteen-year-old girl wants to do is go swimming in ice-cold water with her brother and father! ”
Gabriel chuckled. “Aye, you weren’t exactly enthusiastic about it.
But it’s a wee tradition – it keeps the spirits at bay.
” He half joked, but there was sincerity beneath it.
“It’s just something we’ve always done,” he said.
“A kind of … acknowledgement, I suppose.” He paused, shaking his head.
“I don’t know … but it’s a tradition. Dad did it. His father before him. So I do it too.”
Sorcha rolled her eyes, sipping her tea. “Well, lucky for me, I have a different tradition – staying inside, with a hot drink, waving you off from the safety of the kitchen window.”
“Lazy.”
“Warm.”
Gabriel smirked. “Well, next time, I’ll come here first and drag you out myself.”
“Hey!” She gasped, kicking him under the table.
“I’m getting hassled by my mate Holly to sea swim with her as it is, I don’t need you ganging up on me too.
” She narrowed her eyes at him, though her lips were twitching.
“One more word and I’ll drop the kids off at your door at the crack of dawn for some quality ‘Uncle Time’. I mean it.”
Gabriel winced, though his grin didn’t budge. “Alright, alright. Truce.” He raised his hands in surrender.
“I’d just need to figure out which house you’re actually hiding in these days,” she added, reaching for her mug. “It’s hard to direct a getaway car when you’re always drifting between the cottage and the townhouse.”
Gabriel stood, bouncing Callum gently as the baby started to fuss, dipping his legs – a trick that usually settled him.
“So, where are you?” Sorcha pressed.
“I’m in town. The cottage is empty.”
“Oh, you’re not renting it out? Last girl wasn’t there long.”
“I know – she begged me to let her stay there, said she wanted to live here long-term. Then, the moment summer ended, she all but ran for the hills.” He shook his head. “I should’ve just handed it to an agency and let the holidaymakers at it. Now, it’s just sitting there.”
“Well, you can’t let it sit there, Gabriel. It needs someone in it – keeping the heat on. An empty house falls into ruin quickly.”
“It was a ruin not that long ago.” Gabriel gave her a pointed look. “For years, it was just a windbreak for Dad’s sheep.”
Sorcha sighed. “And after all that money Dad put into fixing it up …”
“I know.” Gabriel grimaced. Callum let out a sharp wail, his face scrunching in protest.
Sorcha reached out her hands. “He’s teething. Probably needs a feed.”
Gabriel averted his eyes as Sorcha settled the baby on her lap and nursed him. “Are you gonna do that right now?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, right now, Gabriel. What, still squeamish after all these years?”
He scoffed. “No, I just … look, I respect your modesty.” He turned to fuss with the teacups.
“How very gallant of you,” she teased. Then, with a knowing look, she added, “So, what are you actually going to do about the cottage? Dad left it to you – you can’t just let it sit there on the side of the cliff, forgotten.”
Gabriel exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Alright, alright. I might have an idea.”
In his mind, he pictured the old stone house, perched on the cliff edge, battered by wind and rain, but standing strong. Empty. Sitting there.
If he could get someone in there, make a bit of profit over the winter, and then maybe he could stop thinking about it altogether.