Chapter 10
“If there’s anything you haven’t told me, now’s the time,” Sorcha said, hands on hips, a glint in her eye as three kids tore through the kitchen like a whirlwind.
Jumpers flew off in a frenzy, socks skidded across the floor, and baby Callum sat in his high chair, face smeared with potato, watching it all with quiet resignation.
Gabriel winced at the chaos. “What, exactly, would I be keeping from you?”
Sorcha smirked. “They say Leah is a beauty, but she’s married. So I can’t help wondering about that glamorous sister of hers from London.”
Before he could reply, she spun on her heel and bellowed, “I told you to put those clothes in the washing machine, not dance around the kitchen half-naked! Upstairs – now! Dinner’s in half an hour, and you know the rule: no mucky clothes at the dinner table!”
The eldest boy, red-cheeked and defiant, opened his mouth to protest. Sorcha silenced him with a single raised finger. “So help me, Sandy – you should know better. Get the others upstairs before we have World War Three.”
The kids groaned but trudged off, shoulders hunched. Gabriel gave Sandy a wink as he passed, earning a reluctant smirk in return.
“Sis,” Gabriel said, shaking his head, “I don’t know what ridiculous ideas you’re getting in your head, but—”
“No ridiculous ideas at all.” She grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred the pot on the stove.
“I’m just pointing out that we briefly spoke about the cottage, and now, suddenly, you’ve got a Londoner living there.
” She arched a brow. “I hope you put the rent up accordingly. They come up here with their fat wages thinking they can buy and sell anyone.”
“She’s not a Londoner,” Gabriel muttered. “Well … she doesn’t sound like one, anyway. I can’t quite place her accent, it’s a bit of a mix.”
“How exotic,” Sorcha teased. “And you, of all people, suddenly becoming a generous landlord? The man who has never let so much as a goldfish stay in that cottage?”
Gabriel exhaled, already weary. “I had someone there before. She left, remember?”
Sorcha waved a hand dismissively. “Oh yes, and didn’t she practically beg you for it?
I remember she wrote you a letter, approached you with a bottle of whisky.
This girl, though, she didn’t need to do much at all, did she?
What happened? She just walked past you, and you decided she was gorgeous enough to live in the cottage? ”
She giggled, taking a sip of wine as the pot on the stove bubbled.
Gabriel scowled. “What nonsense are you going on about?”
“Admit it, you’ve gone soft.”
“I have not gone soft.” He crossed his arms. “I saw her on the cliff edge. I thought she needed help, and …” He trailed off, realising he had risen to the bait like a complete idiot. Sorcha’s eyes gleamed – hook, line, and sinker.
“What do you mean you found her on the cliff edge?” She straightened, her teasing suddenly edged with concern. “You make it sound like … wait, Gabe. You don’t mean …?” She lowered her voice. “Did she try to jump?”
“No.” He hesitated. “Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” Sorcha’s wine glass hit the counter with a thud. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I got to her before anything happened.”
“Are you kidding me?” Sorcha shrieked, then caught herself, lowering her voice to a sharp whisper. “She was going to throw herself off a cliff, and now she’s living on a cliff? What are you thinking, Gabe?”
“It’s not like that.” He ran a hand over his face. “She’s fine. I think she was just looking at the view and got caught up in things. She almost fell … accidentally, okay?”
Sorcha stared at him, her expression unreadable. “Oh, Gabe.”
“It’s fine. Everything is fine. Don’t worry about it.”
She scoffed. “I always worry, and for good reason. You—” She gestured at him. “You don’t just worry, you try to save everything.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, hush.”
“It’s true! If it’s not rescuing kittens from Farmer Jo’s river, it’s putting up stressed-out damsels in your cliffside cottage.”
“I’m not a little boy.”
Sorcha smirked. “No, but you always will be to me, wee brother.”
Before Gabriel could fire back, little Callum wailed for attention. Sorcha unbuckled him from the highchair and cradled him with practised ease, shushing him softly.
Gabriel watched her for a moment, a familiar warmth settling in his chest. Since their mother had died when he was nineteen, Sorcha had made it her business to mother him whenever possible.
He couldn’t fault her for it, it was in her nature.
Just like, apparently, it was in his to try and fix things.
“I’m not another child of yours, Sorcha. I’m a man.”
“Oh ho, don’t I know it.” She laughed, pressing a kiss to Callum’s chubby cheek. “Especially when I hear you’ve signed up another pretty girl in the cottage.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes, but she wasn’t done.
“And I have enough of my own to worry about.” Her tone softened slightly as she looked back up at him. “All I’m saying – maybe not as delicately as I should – is be careful, brother. That’s all. Be careful.”
He didn’t respond straight away. He watched Sorcha sway gently with Callum in her arms, her voice soft, her eyes still on him in that way that always made him feel about twelve years old.
“I know,” he said at last, more to himself than to her.
He reached for his coat, suddenly restless. He loved his sister – always had – but there were some things he didn’t yet have words for, and he wasn’t ready for her to name them first.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he added, already halfway out the door.
Sorcha smiled after him. “Try not to rescue anyone else tonight, yeah?”
Gabriel snorted, shaking his head as he stepped into the cold. Then he pulled the door shut behind him, the warmth and noise of the house muffled instantly, and stood for a moment in the quiet, wondering when things had stopped being straightforward.
Instead of heading home, Gabriel took the long way, following the old dirt track as it wound along the cliffs. And there it was – the cottage.
A soft glow from the window, a wisp of smoke curling from the chimney. She’d wasted no time settling in.
His fingers drummed against the steering wheel. He could pay her a visit, check that everything was alright. That was reasonable, wasn’t it? But no, showing up unannounced would be … odd. Overbearing. The kind of thing Sorcha would raise an eyebrow at and never let him hear the end of.
He’d already dropped off the bed and a few bits of furniture, things that had been gathering dust in his shed.
Things Annette had picked out once, when she still believed they’d make a home together.
That home had never materialised, and the furniture had just sat there, waiting for something that never quite happened.
His sister’s words nagged at him.
Had he done it again? Fallen into the habit of saving something. Or someone.
When he’d first seen Erica on the cliffs, something in her expression had unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
A sadness, a distance, like she was caught between staying and going.
He had wanted to help, instinctively. And later, when she had needed him – when he could be her knight in shining armour, even just for a moment – it had felt …
good. Was there anything wrong with that?
But it wasn’t just that, was it?
There was something about her he couldn’t quite pin down.
The way she held herself – like she was only half there. Like she might leave at any moment. He liked that.
Gabriel exhaled and turned the truck away from the cottage, heading for home instead.
Maybe he did need to keep his distance. Let her sort out her own problems. Let her breathe without him hovering in the background like some sort of well-meaning ghost.
Hadn’t he learned that lesson with Annette? He had given her space, let her figure things out – and then she had left him anyway.
His grip tightened on the wheel.
When he pulled into his driveway, Chep was already curled in his bed on the porch, lifting his head just enough to acknowledge him before snorting and settling back down.
“Some guard dog you are,” Gabriel muttered, giving him a brief pat before stepping inside.
He shrugged off his jacket and microwaved some leftover stew, easing himself down to the table with a sigh. He had barely lifted his fork when his phone beeped.
An emergency.
The coastguard needed fire services at the harbour – a boat in distress, battered by the incoming tide. Fuel risk. Recovery. All hands.
Gabriel’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood. So much for a quiet night.
He grabbed his jacket, keys already in hand.
Sorcha’s voice echoed faintly in his head. You try to save everything.
Gabriel pushed the door open and stepped into the cold.
Maybe she wasn’t wrong.