‘Mummy,’ Asha said, ‘that man is very close to the edge. He might fall.’
I looked in the direction of her pointing finger. The man was indeed very close to the edge. His toes were over the edge, and he held the flimsy branch of a moonah tree in his right hand. It wouldn’t save him. If he stepped off the edge, he’d take the tree out by the roots.
‘Girls, I think I saw some ice cream in the freezer,’ Gabe said, understanding before I did. ‘Maybe you and Mummy should go and get some?’
The quiet that came over Gabe made me feel safe and panicked all at once. I took the girls inside and sat them in front of the television （one of the benefits of minimal screen time is that when you do turn it on, no natural or unnatural disaster can tear their attention away） and stole glances at the scene through the kitchen window. Gabe sat way back on the grass, I noticed, at least ten metres away. After a few moments, the man turned around. Gabe’s body language was relaxed, as if he had nowhere to be. Five hours later, Gabe was in the same spot. So was the man, except his back was to the cliff now and he was talking, sometimes passionately, sometimes despondently. Around hour six, he was crying. When it got to hour seven, Gabe stood up and opened his arms. The man walked right into them. Later, Gabe told me the man had got so far into debt with his gambling problem that he couldn’t face his wife and kids.
‘What did you say to him?’ I asked.
‘Not much. Mostly I just listened. When he finished, I told him I was sorry.’
When the police arrived, we’d been reprimanded for not calling earlier. They’d also praised Gabe’s efforts. It was nothing short of miraculous, they said, for a layman with no experience to talk someone down. A couple of the cops even asked Gabe for tips. Now we always call the police immediately, but it’s still Gabe who coaxes them away from the cliff, while I watch anxiously from the kitchen, my stomach plaited, wishing we’d never bought this damn house – just like I’m doing now.
The sun has set in the short time they’ve been out there. It happens quickly at this time of year. Under the lamplight, I can see that the woman has a dark ponytail and is wearing a black knee-length puffer jacket. She throws her arms up, the way Gabe does when his footy team loses.
‘Has Daddy catched the frogs yet?’
Kat and I both startle, look down. Asha is standing at our feet holding, randomly, a fork. Freya stands worriedly beside her.
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Not yet, poppet.’
‘Does he need a fork?’ she says, aggressively stabbing the air with it.
I wonder sometimes if I should be concerned about Asha’s mental health. I remember doing an online survey, Is Your Partner a Sociopath?, and answering the question ‘Have they ever caused harm to animals?’ I felt smug as I reported that Gabe adores animals. （Well, most animals. He has a strange set against llamas – something to do with an incident at the zoo – but he wouldn’t cause harm to them, and that was the point.） As for Asha, I’m choosing to believe that even if she would harm a frog now, she will grow out of it. Surely! According to Mum, ‘All little kids are psychos. It’s a necessary, important phase of growth.’ Except for those who don’t grow out of it, I suppose.
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.