Chapter Eighteen
William let himself into Cliffside House through the back door just after half past seven on Monday morning. He had changed out of his uniform at the station and pulled on an old jumper, but the crisp coastal chill still clung to him.
The kitchen smelled warm — buttered toast, fresh coffee, and the sharp, clean scent of the lemon spray Jean used on the countertops. Jean stood by the kettle, preparing a fresh pot of tea, while Sam sat at the table with the morning paper.
“Morning, Will,” Sam said, looking up over the rim of his reading glasses. “Quiet night?”
“A small chimney fire over in High Gelt, and an automated alarm at the harbour warehouse,” William said, hanging his car keys on the peg and sliding into the chair opposite his father.
He rubbed his face with both hands, the exhaustion of the shift catching up to him. “Nothing serious. How were the kids?”
Jean set a mug of hot coffee in front of him and kissed the top of his head. “They were good as gold, love. Jake was asleep half an hour after you left, and Ollie spent most of the evening trying to replicate that logic game James Fellows showed him.”
William took a long, grateful sip of the coffee. His mind drifted back to the housewarming — the rare, easy weightlessness he had felt as he and Lydia carried the tray of glasses through together. He glanced toward the window that looked out over the dividing hedge.
“And the girls?” he asked softly. “They seemed a bit quiet when we left.”
Jean’s hand paused on the tea cosy for a fraction of a second. She exchanged a brief, guarded look with Sam before turning back to the counter.
“They were just tired, Will,” she said, her voice careful and even. “It was a big weekend for them. Lots of new faces.”
Sam cleared his throat, shifting the conversation with gentle precision. “Ethan had a brilliant time at church yesterday.”
William looked up. “He did?”
Sam folded his newspaper and leaned forward on his elbows.
“Pastor Mark asked for volunteers for the Brookleigh Bay Carnival. Ethan went straight over to him after the service and offered himself, your mother and me for the decorations and children’s games.
He said he’d ask whether the rest of you wanted to join us. ”
William stared at him. “Ethan did?”
“He did,” Sam said, a proud smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Your mother and I told him we’d be glad to help. We know you’re off shift that weekend, but he was right to check with you first.”
A quiet victory settled in William’s chest. Ethan was fourteen now, and for months the boy had carried himself like an anxious guardian — checking window latches, watching the younger ones with serious, defensive eyes.
To hear that he had stepped forward into the community of his own accord felt like a deep, steadying relief.
“That’s brilliant,” William said, the brightness in his voice unforced. “I’ll talk to him when he comes down. What exactly are we doing?”
“Decorations for the main street, apparently,” Jean said, setting a toast rack on the table. “And Lydia Taylor is coordinating the children’s games near the harbour stalls, so she’ll be leading the team. It sounds like a lovely project, Will.”
William nodded, his thumb tracing the ceramic rim of his mug. Lydia. The thought of working alongside her for a full Saturday in June didn’t bring the usual cautious reservation that had dictated his life for the last seventeen months. It felt natural. Easy.
The heavy thud of teenage footsteps on the stairs broke the stillness. Ethan stepped into the kitchen, his hair flat on one side from sleep but his face alert.
“Morning, Dad,” he said, heading straight for the cupboard for a bowl.
“Morning, Ethan,” William replied, setting down his mug. “Grandad was just telling me about the Carnival. Proud of you for stepping up. Truly.”
Ethan turned, a slight, surprised flush touching his cheeks, but he nodded steadily.
“Thanks, Dad. Christopher said at youth group that the village always needs people to help with setting everything up — especially people who are used to lifting the heavy things. I just thought… well, I thought it would be good for us.”
“It is good for us,” William agreed firmly.
Ollie barrelled into the kitchen next, socks mismatched, hair sticking up like a startled hedgehog. “Grandma, can I have toast with jam? And can we do science first today? And can I take my logic puzzle outside later?”
Jean laughed. “One thing at a time, sweetheart. Toast first. Schoolwork after.”
Jake came in behind him, dragging his red toy car along the floor. He climbed straight into William’s lap without a word, curling against him with a sleepy sigh.
Mia and Sophie came down last — Mia neat and composed, Sophie holding her hand. They both offered small smiles, but William noticed the faint tightness around Mia’s eyes, the way Sophie hovered a little closer than usual. He didn’t ask.
“Morning, girls,” he said gently.
“Morning, Dad,” Mia replied, her voice soft but steady.
Sophie nodded, then climbed onto the chair beside him, her small fingers brushing his sleeve before she folded her hands in her lap. William’s heart squeezed. They were still finding their footing. But they were here. Together. Moving forward, even if only by inches.
He could work with inches.
Jean clapped her hands lightly. “Right, everyone — eat up. We’ll get started in a bit. And no groaning, Ollie.”
“I didn’t groan!” Ollie protested, already reaching for the jam.
The kitchen filled with familiar morning chaos — toast being buttered, cereal poured, Jake making car noises, Mia quietly organising Sophie’s workbook pile. William sat in the middle of it all, letting the noise wash over him.
For the first time in a long while, the day ahead didn’t feel like something to survive.
It felt like something to step into.
And somewhere across the hedge, Lydia Taylor was probably doing the same — reviewing the notes from yesterday’s Carnival meeting, reorganising her lists, tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear the way she always did when she was thinking.
He didn’t know what the next few weeks would bring. But he wasn’t afraid to find out.