The Soulmate(3)

I look back through the window. Gabe is standing much closer to the woman than he usually would. Closer to the edge, too. This is against the rules – his own, and the police’s. The cliff is precarious enough for one person. Chunks of it fall into the ocean all the time. And on a night like this, the wind alone could force an unsuspecting person over the edge. Gabe has always been diligent about following the rules, despite his run towards the burning building mentality. I wonder if this is a sign of how it’s going. If so, it’s unlikely to be a good sign.

I glance briefly towards the street to see if the police are near. They won’t have sirens or lights on. Like Gabe, they prefer a more subtle approach, not wanting to surprise or crowd anyone.

‘Mummy,’ Freya says, ‘Asha is looking at me.’

‘Asha, stop looking at your sister,’ I say, my eyes still on the window.

Gabe takes a step towards the woman, which is also against the rules. ‘Don’t advance on them,’ he always says. ‘Persuade them to come towards you, towards safety.’

When Freya screams, I think I might faint. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ I say quietly, as I see the prongs of the fork pressing into Freya’s thigh and Asha’s huge brown unworried eyes. I grab the fork. ‘Asha!’

‘Come on, girls,’ Kat says. ‘I’ll read you a book. Let’s go pick one out.’

I turn back to the window. In the dark it takes me a moment to locate them. When I do, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. The space where the woman had been standing is now vacant. Gabe is alone at the cliff’s edge. His arms are outstretched, palms facing the empty air.





2


PIPPA

NOW



I throw open the sliding doors. It’s bitterly cold, and the wind is wild. I jog across the grass in my ugg boots and let myself out through the gate. Gabe hasn’t moved from the edge, though his hands are now in his pockets.

‘Gabe,’ I say, when I’m close enough for him to hear. ‘Baby, it’s me.’

When he turns, his face is eerily pale. He’s almost certainly in shock. The air feels charged and fragile, like we should whisper.

‘She . . .’ He points over the edge as if he can’t believe it. He rakes his hands through his hair.

‘I know. Come away from there.’

He doesn’t move, so I take his forearm and guide him towards me. It calms me, taking control like this. This is why I’m a helper, not a hero. The world needs helpers for moments like these. And I’m already making a plan. I’ll get him back to the house, get a hot drink into him. Something sugary. I’ll wrap a warm blanket around his shoulders, like they do on TV. I’ll google all the other things you’re supposed to do in this situation.

We start towards the house, but we only make it a couple of steps before Gabe sinks to his knees and vomits on the grass.

I drop to my knees beside him. This is the exact situation I’d worried about. I’d worried, of course, for the poor soul who wanted to end their life, but even more than that I’d worried for Gabe, the poor soul who wanted to save it. The thing about Gabe is that he is a beautiful contradiction, as fragile as he is brave. What makes him a hero is also what compels him to run towards danger, and what threatens to break him.

For over a year, I’d watched with bated breath each time someone appeared on the cliff, wondering if this would be the one that ended badly. But person after person came, and person after person walked away. And as crisis after crisis was averted, Gabe started to change. His eyes became clearer. A new confidence radiated from him – not the false bravado he’d once sported, but a true happiness and comfort in his own skin. It was clear that he had found his calling. I got so caught up in it, I thought he could save everyone. I suspect Gabe had started to think that too, even if he’d never admit it. But now this.

A light mist of rain coats us. Through the window I see the police have arrived. Kat is in the kitchen talking to them and pointing outside at us. Heaven knows what the girls are thinking.

Gabe has stopped vomiting, at least temporarily. He looks up at me.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask.

But my question is lost in the crash of the ocean, and the sound of the sliding doors as the police and paramedics file outside. I recognise them all. Johnno and Aaron; Fiona and Amir. They’re not my friends, exactly, but definitely acquaintances. We’ve drunk countless cups of tea together at the end of evenings like this. I even purchased a packet of English Breakfast tea after Johnno turned up his nose up at my Lady Grey. But on those nights, there was never a body at the bottom of the cliff.

Johnno and Aaron walk directly to the cliff’s edge with torches. They know as well as we do that there is no point, but they go through the motions anyway. No person who’s jumped from The Drop has ever been retrieved alive (I’d read that in the news article, but having seen the cliff I would have known anyway). Still, I suppose they need to be sure.

‘Have you called out?’ Aaron asks.

Gabe and I shake our heads. Gabe is trembling visibly now.

‘Tide’s in. We’ll have to call Water Rescue,’ Johnno says.

‘Hey, Gabe,’ says Fiona, the paramedic, kneeling beside him and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. ‘Why don’t we go inside and get you something warm to drink?’