Fire

by Deborah Challinor

  Reluctantly, Max peered out of the window.

  ‘God, she’s on the ledge!’

  A handful of people rushed to the other windows to see, but nearly everyone else stayed where they were, not wanting to watch what they believed would be inevitable.

  Max exclaimed, ‘She’s letting herself down onto the top of the next window. She’s nearly got it!’

  Then the onlookers at the window screamed and reeled back in horror. Max stood there for a while, still looking down, then eventually turned away.

  Daisy started to cry and Terry put his arm around her, looking as though he’d like to weep too.

  ‘Did she fall?’ she blurted through her tears. ‘She fell, didn’t she? We aren’t going to get out, are we?’ A bubble of snot formed at her nostril and Terry wiped it away with his sleeve. ‘We’ll die and I won’t get to wear my wedding dress.’

  ‘Daisy?’ Irene said calmly. ‘Listen to me. We bloody well will get out, you know. There’s probably about two dozen firemen coming up the stairs right now, bashing away with those axes they have. And anyway, we can’t die.’

  ‘Why not?’ Daisy said, huge tears trembling on her eyelashes.

  ‘Because it’ll annoy the crap out of the queen, that’s why. She’ll come driving up the street in that big car of hers on Wednesday looking all over the place for Daisy Farr and Irene Baxter, and if we’re not here she’ll say, “Bugger, what a waste of a bloody trip that was”, and go home again!’

  Daisy giggled, and even Louise smiled.

  ‘And,’ Irene went on, ‘you won’t get to see whether she’s wearing her fairy dress, will you? So we have to be there for that, don’t we?’

  Daisy nodded, and wiped her eyes. ‘Do you really think the firemen are coming right now?’

  ‘Well, if they’re not, they’ll be down there on that street working out how to do it.’

  A little later, when Daisy had gone to get a drink of water from the sink behind the counter, Louise asked Irene, ‘Do you think that?’

  ‘Do I think what?’

  ‘That the firemen are coming?’

  Irene looked at her. ‘How the hell should I know? But what’s the point in letting her wind herself into a tizz? It’ll only make her feel worse. And us.’

  Louise was silent for a moment. Then she said, ‘Irene, I’m sorry about what I said to you this morning. What you do is your business. You’re right, I did judge you, and I’m sorry.’

  Irene only nodded, but Louise could see in her eyes that the apology had been accepted.

  On the other side of the cafeteria, Norm stood up and clapped his hands. ‘I still think we should try the stairs, smoke or not. We could cover our faces with damp cloths and make a run for it.’ There was murmured agreement from some around him. ‘And if the flames…well, if it turns out we really can’t get out that way, we can always come back.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ someone said.

  ‘I don’t think you realize what that smoke’s like,’ Max said anxiously. ‘It’s virtually impossible to breathe when you’re in it.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances.’ Norm glanced around. ‘Is anyone with me?’

  Almost everyone raised their hands, although a small group gathered around Colin Crowley did nothing. But Crowley himself stepped forward.

  ‘You’ll regret it,’ he warned. ‘Stay here, all of you. Think about it. They’ll be here for us soon, they’re bound to be. Please, don’t risk it.’

  Norm waited a few seconds. Then, as though Colin Crowley hadn’t spoken at all, he said, ‘Right, then. If some of you could get busy tearing up some tablecloths and if someone else could fill the sinks, we’ll soak the cloths and tie them around our faces.’

  It took only ten minutes to do as he’d suggested, and soon the majority who had decided to go were crowded into the hallway again, dripping cloths secured over mouths and noses, awaiting their turn to descend into the stairwell.

  Keith had made it down the staff stairs to the second-floor landing. The smoke here was dense, but he couldn’t tell if the fire was in the stairwell yet.

  He pushed open the door into the back of the flooring department, and stepped through. In here the smoke was almost solid, and there was a hell of a noise—crackling and a dull roaring, though he couldn’t see any flames in here, either. And there was a wind, a searing hot wind that lifted his hair and flapped the tails of his suit jacket. How strange. He hadn’t expected there to be wind in the middle of a burning building.

  But it didn’t matter; none of it mattered. Because he was going down to the White Room to get his money. And when he’d done that, when he had it all safely in his pockets, he would break one of the windows and jump. He wouldn’t die—he probably wouldn’t even be hurt. It wasn’t that far up. And, anyway, he was blessed. He was blessed because he had gambled away thousands and thousands of pounds over his adult lifetime and got away with it, he’d stolen from Dunbar & Jones and got away with it, and now he was going to collect his money, and get away with that, too. And when he had, he would go straight down to the railway station, board the next train out of Auckland, and just keep on going to somewhere he could start again. Hell, he might even go to Australia!

  Because, now that he thought about it, his had been a terrible job. People were always peering over his shoulder, or looking at him sideways. He knew it, he’d seen them—Max bloody Jones and all those other twits on the management committee—always watching him and talking about him behind his back and waiting for him to make a mistake. But he’d show them. He’d take his money, put it only on dead certs, then use just enough of his winnings for the next bet, until one day he could afford to throw money away on outsiders, the horses you heard about in your local, the tips that people passed on with a nudge and a wink. Because you had to act on tips like that, didn’t you, or you might miss out on the really big one, and how would you live with yourself if that happened?

  And where the hell was the doorway that opened onto the public stairs? He’d gone through appliances: he knew that, because he’d seen the smooth, ghostly shapes of the new Whiteway automatic washing machines. Was he going in the wrong direction? Was he lost?

  No, he was all right because there was the doorway over there; he could tell because it wasn’t quite so dark. Something beneath his feet made a huge, drawn-out groaning noise, like some gargantuan, ancient creature on the verge of waking up, but he kept going, feeling his way, the sweat pouring down his face and soaking his shirt and his underpants as though he’d accidentally pissed himself.

  When he reached the doorway he stopped for a second, trying to draw a decent breath. Had he shut the door onto the staff stairwell? He couldn’t remember.

  He pulled out his handkerchief and held it over his nose and mouth. Not much further to go now—just down one more flight of stairs and he’d be on the first-floor landing, and then it would just be a matter of feeling his way around to the right and into the White Room.

  God, his lungs were really burning. He coughed, then coughed again, and suddenly he couldn’t stop. Bending over, he vomited, tasting blood and feeling horribly dizzy as stars danced across the insides of his eyelids. And he was so tired now, too. But he was so close, so close to his beautiful money. Saying this out loud to himself over and over, he stepped into the public stairwell and reached out until he felt the wooden banister rail, smooth and very warm beneath his grip.

  There was only a very hazy outline where he presumed the stairwell window was. But he kept on, his leather-soled shoes sliding over the smooth marble of the steps, until he felt the raised strip of metal on each edge. Carefully, but eagerly, he continued his shuffling descent for a few more steps, then he stepped down.

  ‘If I don’t burn to death I’ll bloody drown,’ Louise said, water spluttering from the cloth over her mouth.

  She was trying to make jokes, but what she really wanted to do was lie down and bawl her eyes out—for herself, and for Rob, but most of all for Susan, whom she was beginning to fe
ar she might never see again.

  Allie laughed, then spluttered and coughed into her own cloth. Up ahead she could see Vince standing with his back to them. Typical, she thought—as close to the head of the queue as he could get without looking like a coward. As she watched, she noticed Irene edging her way up through the line until she reached his side.

  He glanced down at her, then away again.

  ‘Vince, I’m frightened.’ Irene was absolutely petrified, though she hadn’t been about to show that to the girls.

  ‘We all are,’ Vince said shortly, still looking straight ahead.

  ‘Will you hold my hand?’ she asked hesitantly.

  ‘No.’ Just the one, short syllable.

  Perhaps he was so frightened himself that he didn’t trust his voice. As Irene lifted her cloth to her face and tied it behind her head, the moisture ran down her cleavage and soaked into her bra. It felt cool, nice.

  Up ahead, the queue started to move as the people at the front began to descend the stairs. Max Jones went first. He hadn’t wanted to, insisting that it was his place to stay behind and see that everyone got out. But someone—some very kind person who could see that Mr Max was as terrified and panic-stricken as everyone else—pointed out that someone had to take the lead to make sure that the way down actually was safe. So he’d moved into the stairwell, then paused and asked if anyone had seen Keith Beaumont. When it was clear that no one had, he’d finally stepped down onto the stairs and been swallowed up by the swirling darkness.

  Progress was slow, with people yelling back that it was pitch-black and much smokier than the first time they’d tried. The messages were passed back and filtered through to the ones still nervously waiting. Hardly anyone spoke.

  When about a third of the group had gone down, a girl still on the upper landing started babbling that she couldn’t do it, that she was terrified of the dark and had asthma and wouldn’t be able to breathe. Then she fainted, landing heavily on the wooden floor.

  Vince darted up the line and crouched down beside her. ‘Move back, give her some air!’ he commanded.

  A few people shuffled back slightly, but not far enough to lose their places.

  The girl moaned and Vince helped her to half sit up, cradling her in his arms and fanning his hand in front of her face.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, did I faint?’

  As Irene watched incredulously, Vince said, ‘Yes, but you’re all right now, I’ve got you.’ He hoisted her to her feet, settled one of her arms over his broad shoulders and slid a hand around her waist. ‘I’ll help you down. If you think you’re going to faint again, tell me and I’ll carry you.’

  The girl nodded gratefully up at him, then lifted her cloth to her face.

  Incensed, Irene ripped off her own cloth and elbowed her way up the queue. ‘What about me!’ she demanded in a hoarse whisper. ‘Why can’t you help me down? Why won’t you even talk to me? Help me, Vince, I’m terrified!’

  ‘We all are, Mrs Baxter,’ Vince said.

  Mrs Baxter? Irene stepped up to him. ‘Vince, it’s me you’re talking to, the woman you said you loved? You’re leaving your wife for me, remember?’

  When Vince finally met her gaze, she saw that there was nothing at all in his eyes. Nothing for her, anyway. And then he blinked and she saw it: a tiny flash of irritated contempt. And that was all.

  She understood then, and what she understood was so enormous, so sharp and painful that it struck at her very core. She stepped back. Vince turned away and started down the stairs, the girl leaning against him.

  The queue moved on, but Irene didn’t.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Allie asked when she came abreast of her.

  Irene turned her head slowly towards her. ‘He looked at me as though I wasn’t there, Allie. He looked at me as though I was dead already.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that, Irene, please.’ Bloody, bloody Vince! What a bastard! Allie linked her arm though Irene’s. ‘Come on, we’ll sort him out when we get down, eh? Don’t worry about it now.’

  But Irene didn’t respond.

  And then it was Terry and Daisy’s turn. They turned and waved, their cloths tied over their faces like a couple of kids playing at bank robbers.

  ‘I’ll put the kettle on when we get down, eh?’ Terry called with a terrible false cheer. Then, holding hands, they went into the darkness.

  As Allie watched them disappear and silently wished them luck, she realized she needed to go to the toilet.

  ‘Mind my place?’ she said to Irene, as though they were queuing up for tickets at the pictures, then felt silly.

  Irene nodded. ‘Be careful.’ At least she was talking again.

  Allie made her way back along the hallway, turned right just before she reached the cafeteria and pushed open the door to the women’s staff toilets. It wasn’t as smoky in here: the windows were all closed so nothing was drifting in from outside. As she washed her hands, she glimpsed herself in the mirror above the handbasin. Her face was pale and her eyes red from the smoke and crying, but she didn’t look like she was going to die.

  Instead of going back down the hallway to join the others, she turned into the cafeteria. Colin Crowley’s group was still in there, sitting around three of the tables, looking as though they were waiting to have their orders taken.

  Allie went to stand by one of the windows overlooking Queen Street. There seemed to be thousands of people down there, to the right and to the left, everywhere but directly in front of Dunbar & Jones. That space was filled with fire trucks and hoses and firemen and policemen, all doing their best to save them. It felt very odd. Here they were stuck up here and trying to get down, and there they all were down there trying to get up. What would happen in between? she wondered almost dreamily. What would change and what would stay the same? Would anything be the same after this?

  She leaned out of the open window and looked down. The air coming up was extremely hot and made her eyes water, and every few seconds the smoke from the floors below completely blocked her view. Below and to her left, their wire frames still attached to the front of the building at first-floor level but the papier mâché all burned away, perched the giant crown flanked by the kiwi and the lion, now both black skeletons. Allie squinted against the heat: something was jammed down behind the kiwi. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it had been burnt to a crisp. Then, with a surge of nausea, she realized what it probably was—the poor girl who had fallen from the window ledge.

  Oh dear, she thought inanely, what would the queen think when she got here on Wednesday? And then she giggled, but it was only the beginnings of a sob. Then there were more sobs but she managed to stop them. Her tears dried quickly, making the skin on her cheeks feel tight.

  She opened her arms, set her hands against the window frame and gazed down again. Was Sonny down there? Could he see her?

  She shouted out his name, twice, but didn’t think he could have heard her.

  ‘Ha-ere mai, everything is ka pai,’ she whispered.

  ‘Allie?’

  It was Irene.

  ‘It’s nearly our turn.’

  Allie nodded. She retied her face cloth and followed Irene back out into the hallway. It had taken a little less than fifteen minutes for everyone before them to go down, and now there were only about a dozen people left. In just five more minutes she should be on her way down.

  But then Irene stopped abruptly and Allie walked straight into her.

  ‘What?’ Allie said, fresh ripples of fear running up her spine. ‘What is it?’

  Miss Willow and Miss Button, waiting at the head of the stairs, were clutching each other tightly and everyone else looked as though they’d just been slapped very hard across the face.

  Simone from gloves stammered, ‘It just went. They got on it and it just went.’

  ‘What went?’ Irene demanded. Her voice went up several octaves. ‘What went?’

  ‘The stairs,’ a man Allie didn’t know said. ‘Four got on them at onc
e, they were rushing, and the whole lot just dropped—disappeared.’

  He sounded bewildered and more than a little disgruntled, as though he’d just been cheated out of something.

  Allie crept over to the stairwell and looked down. He was right—there was nothing left. Everything had gone: the steps, the landing, the handrail, everything. And at the very bottom, far, far down, she could see the flicker of bright, hungry flames.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Can I get through? My daughter’s up there, I need to get through.’ Sid elbowed his way down the middle of the street.

  The crowd parted and let him past, their eyes brimming with sympathy and concern.

  Bill close behind, Sid wedged himself in behind the police barricade, squinting up at the burning building, his heart pounding furiously. Was she up there, his beautiful daughter?

  He tapped the shoulder of a cop standing on the other side of the barricade. ‘’Scuse me, mate, but my daughter works in there. How can I find out if she’s been brought out?’

  The constable, a young, soot-spattered bloke who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else, made a sympathetic face. ‘No one’s been brought out yet, sir. Sorry, but the fire brigade hasn’t been able to find a way in. So far.’

  ‘Has no one got out?’ Sid exclaimed, appalled.

  ‘Oh, yes, quite a few,’ the cop said, pleased to actually be able to impart a bit of good news. ‘They’re all over there.’ He waved a hand. ‘She’s probably there with them. And there’s a list they’re ticking off. You could have a look at that.’

  Sid and Bill made their way over to the large, bedraggled-looking group on the footpath. Some of them were filthy, others simply looked stunned.

  ‘Allie Roberts!’ Sid shouted. ‘Has anyone seen Allison Roberts?’

  A wall of blank faces stared back at him. Then someone spoke up, a woman holding a blood-stained handkerchief to her nose.

  ‘She was on the top floor. She was coming down after us. But I don’t know if…’ she trailed off, clearly lost for words.