False fire

by Veronica Heley

  He tried to hand her the tote bag, but dropped it. ‘For Uncle Bill. Tell him our insurance will pay for anything he’s lost.’

  ‘He’s just gone out, but he’ll be back soon.’

  He swayed from one foot to the other, and almost fell. When had he last slept? He’d been keeping everything going since the fire, hadn’t he? In hospital with his father … who’d unexpectedly died. Then back to the house with the firemen … seeing to solicitors and funeral arrangers … in and out of a different hospital to look after Daphne … and back to the house again to see what could be salvaged.

  She said, ‘You’d better come in.’ She reinforced the invitation with a hand on his arm and he stumbled inside. She picked up the tote bag, and dumped it on the chest in the hall.

  He said, ‘Uncle Bill was staying the night with us. Shaving things. Night things. They need a good clean.’ He shook his head. ‘Top floor … stairs have gone. First floor, all right if doors were shut.’ He nodded. ‘Inside OK, but stinks of fire. And the foam gets everywhere. And water. In those near the stairs. Father’s room … intact. Crazy, you know?’

  She moved him, still talking, into the kitchen, where Bernice was finishing her sandwich and Mel was clearing the table.

  Steve recognized Bernice, with an effort. ‘Bernice! Where’s Lissy? She all right?’

  ‘Ugh, you pong!’ said Bernice.

  Bea steered him to a stool. ‘Have a seat, Steve. Your uncle Bill has taken Alicia to see her mummy in hospital. When did you last eat?’

  ‘Eat?’ The word didn’t mean anything to him. He licked his lips. Was he dehydrated?

  ‘Or sleep?’ Bea filled a glass with orange juice from the fridge and handed it to him. As he didn’t seem to understand the word ‘sleep’ either, she tried on an order for size. ‘Drink that. Slowly.’

  Obeying orders, he did so. Tried to put the empty glass on the table and missed. Bea caught it as it fell. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘do you want a ham sandwich or some scrambled eggs?’

  He looked at her with a blank expression.

  Bernice said, ‘Tsk!’ She thrust Teddy at him. ‘Hold Teddy, Uncle Steve.’

  He took hold of Teddy and said, in a tone of surprise, ‘It’s a teddy bear!’

  Catching Bea’s eye, Bernice said, ‘Uncle Steve’s too old for Teddy, really, but he’s not doing well, is he? Shall we make him some strong black coffee?’

  Mel objected. ‘If we give him coffee, he won’t sleep.’

  He looked pleased. He’d recognized a word he knew. ‘Sleep. Yes. Soon. Book into a hotel. My bedroom … no good. After … what is it I have to do?’

  Bea whipped egg and poured it into a saucepan. ‘Bernice, get him a spoon, will you, dear? Don’t bother him with a knife and fork. Mel, sweetened tea, don’t you think?’

  ‘After what? Ah,’ he nodded to himself. ‘I remember. After I see Daphne and take her to … Daphne’s very upset. Quite poorly. Doesn’t know yet about … what is it she doesn’t know? I’ve found a nice place for her to stay until …’

  Bea plonked a bowl of scrambled egg in front of him, handed him the spoon and said, ‘Don’t talk. Eat.’

  He looked puzzled. ‘What?’

  Bernice climbed on to the stool next to him, picked up the spoon, collected a mouthful of egg, and said, ‘Open your mouth, please!’

  He blinked, but obeyed, still holding the bear.

  Bernice tipped the egg into his mouth. ‘And in it goes! This little piggy went to market … and open! This little piggy stayed at home! Open wide! This little piggy went, Wee, Wee, Wee … Open! All the way home!’

  Mel put a mug of tea on the table, removed one of his hands from the bear, and put it round the mug. He blinked, took his eye off Bernice as she tried to put the next mouthful into his mouth and missed, getting it to his cheek instead. She called him back to attention, and he dutifully swallowed.

  ‘There!’ said Bernice. ‘Now you can drink up your tea before you have a little nap.’

  He looked at the mug, but didn’t seem to know how to lift it to his lips. Mel put an arm round his shoulders, and lifted the tea to his mouth as if he were a small child. ‘There, there … there’s a good boy.’

  Steve’s blue eyes widened and he turned his head to look at Mel, whose fair skin was no fairer than his and whose hair was only a shade lighter. He looked puzzled. Couldn’t work out who she was.

  Bea reflected that the whole of life must be a puzzle for Steve at the moment. ‘Bed,’ she said. ‘We’ll put him in the guest room, Mel. First floor, where I slept last night. Don’t bother about clean sheets. Everyone’s going to have to sleep in someone else’s sheets tonight.’

  ‘Come along,’ said Bernice, taking him by the hand. ‘Up the stairs to beddy-byes.’

  Mel kept her arm around Steve’s shoulders and urged him on, too. Awkwardly, still holding the bear, he got off the stool and allowed them to lead him back through the hall and to the stairs. And there, he stuck.

  Stairs, thought Bea. His mind is back in the burned-out shell of what used to be his home.

  ‘Come along!’ Bernice was getting impatient. ‘A good night’s sleep and you won’t know yourself!’

  ‘Yes, come along,’ said Mel, with an encouraging smile. ‘You’ll like to shower, and then get into a nice, clean bed. Let me have your clothes and I’ll wash them for you so that they’ll be fresh in the morning.’

  He looked at the stairs, took a deep breath, and allowed himself to be guided up them. Stopped halfway and turned round. ‘I must … No, I have to … Daphne, you know? And, Gideon couldn’t have … could he? That would be murder!’

  Mel’s one idea was to get him to bed. She turned him round again. ‘Up the stairs to Bedfordshire.’

  Bedfordshire! When had she last heard that? Bea clutched at herself. She told herself that she was not going to have hysterics. Certainly not.

  Another two steps and Steve stopped again, fumbling in his trouser pockets, producing … a smartphone, which was vibrating. He couldn’t work out how to answer his phone while holding on to the bear, but at the same time he didn’t want to let go of Teddy.

  Bea solved that by plucking the phone from his hand. ‘Let me. I’ll be your personal assistant while you have a nap. I’ll take messages and have them ready for you to look at when you surface again.’

  ‘It’s Gideon.’ He let the phone go and, guided by Mel, staggered into the guest room. He saw the bed, tripped and fell full-length on to it. Still clutching Teddy.

  And began to breathe deeply.

  Mel threw up her hands. ‘Can we get him into the shower?’

  ‘No,’ said Bernice and Bea together.

  ‘We need a man for that,’ said Bea, thinking … Lord Morton! Didn’t he introduce himself as ‘Morton, William’? Not, as it happens, that I give a damn about titles.

  Mel was easing off Steve’s shoes and socks. ‘My brothers are the same when they overdo things. I’ll strip him and tumble him into bed, shall I? Leave him to sleep it off.’

  Bernice eased the bear out from Steve’s arm, and gave him a cuddle. ‘There, now, Teddy. Did the big man squash you? You’re doing a great job.’

  Bea clutched at her arms again. Who’s been sleeping in my bed? said Daddy Bear. Who’s been sleeping in my bed? said Mummy Bear …

  She told herself to grow up. She told herself to file away Steve’s remark about murder until she had time to deal with it.

  She went downstairs to be quiet while she answered Steve’s phone, which had stopped ringing, and had now started again … at the same time as her own landline began to shrill … and the doorbell.

  She answered Steve’s phone as she opened the door. It was her good friend Leon on the doorstep, looking dapper, expensive and well rested. She gestured him inside while saying to the agitated voice at the other end of Steve’s phone … his brother? … ‘So sorry, Steve is temporarily unable to get to the phone. May I take a message?’

  ‘What … who?’ said Leon, looki
ng at his watch. ‘Aren’t you ready yet?’

  ‘I have to speak to him! It’s an emergency!’ said the voice on the phone.

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ said Bea, hurrying to pick up her landline. ‘I’m taking messages for him while—’

  ‘Put him on, straight away!’

  Bernice threw herself down the stairs and into Leon’s arms. ‘Uncle Leon!’

  Leon picked Bernice up and twirled her around, making her laugh and sending Teddy flying through the air to land up on the floor. ‘How’s my little pickle?’

  Bea picked up the bear and got to her landline, to hear the harsh but very welcome tones of Leon’s elder sister, Sybil. ‘Bea, what’s going on over there! I got the strangest message from my young brother while I was playing bridge, saying you’d taken Bernice in because she’d been expelled from school. There must be a mistake!’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Bea. ‘They’re both here. Sort it out with them.’ Bea held out the phone to Leon. ‘Sybil. For you.’ And to Steve’s phone, ‘Now, who am I speaking to?’

  ‘I’m his brother! Who the devil are you, and what are you doing with my brother’s phone?’ A strident voice, the voice of a pampered poodle who got all the treats and left it to others to take out the garbage.

  Bea envisaged him at the dinner table the previous night; a good-looking blonde, almost as much in love with himself as had been the gigolo Giorgio. It was Josh’s favourite son, Gideon.

  She said, ‘I’m Mrs Abbot. I was at your house with Sir Leon Holland last night. Lord Morton and I rescued your niece and Leon’s from the fire and they are temporarily staying with me. Your brother arrived here a few minutes ago in a state of exhaustion. We’ve put him to bed and I’m in two minds about calling a doctor to have a look at him.’

  ‘What? That’s ridiculous! There’s nothing wrong with Steve. He’s bombproof. I need to speak to him, and you have no right to interfere. Put him on the phone, now!’

  ‘I regret,’ said Bea in her creamiest tone, ‘he’s out for the count. I would guess he hasn’t slept for thirty-six hours. How about you?’

  ‘What? Me? Well, I … Come off it! I was at the hospital till late and … what has that got to do with anything? I need to speak to him, and you have no right to stop me.’

  ‘If you would like to leave a message, I will take it and give it to him later. Or, I can turn this phone off, and whatever you want to say can go to voicemail, to be retrieved when he is able to face the world again. Possibly tomorrow morning? Or even the day after?’

  That was being provocative and she knew it. She was probably going far beyond what was sensible, but Gideon’s manner riled her. She cuddled Teddy and said, ‘Fire away.’ And then thought she oughtn’t to have mentioned the word ‘fire’.

  Heavy breathing. He really was an angry young man, wasn’t he? ‘Tell my brother,’ spitting out the words, ‘that Giorgio refuses to take Daphne down to the spa hotel—’

  ‘Spa hotel?’ echoed Bea. ‘Is that what Steve arranged—?’

  ‘Because he’s got something else on. He says.’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ said Bea. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Are you a half-wit? Don’t you understand what this means?’

  ‘I suppose it means that you expect your brother to rise from his sick-bed and take her down there himself?’

  ‘Are you thick, or something? He’s the only one who—’

  ‘He’s out of it. Unconscious. You’ll have to do it yourself.’

  ‘You have absolutely no concept, no understanding of … how dare you!’

  Bea sighed, switched the phone off, made sure the ringtone had been turned to silent, and hid it in one of the top cupboards in the kitchen, behind the biscuit tin. She did think of putting it in the fridge or the freezer, but that might wipe the SIM card, or whatever it was that made it function. She could put it in the oven, of course. Nice and soundproof. But, no. It wasn’t up to her to destroy Steve’s phone, although she had a shrewd idea that he was at the beck and call of far too many people, and it would do him good to be out of contact for a while.

  Was she going to feel guilty about hiding the phone? Perhaps.

  She confided in Teddy as she placed him on the kitchen table. ‘I’m prepared to be very sorry about it, tomorrow.’

  She could hear Leon chatting away on the phone in the sitting room, interrupted by little cries from Bernice, who also wanted to speak to her Auntie Sybil to tell her what had been happening.

  Mel arrived in the kitchen, carrying an armful of Steve’s clothing. She put the clothes into the washing machine without waiting for instructions.

  Winston the cat arrived, smelling of fish and wanting to be fed. Where had he got the fish? Oh, well; he knew where to find food in all the neighbourhood kitchens, didn’t he? Winston was a survivor, which was more than Bea felt like at that moment.

  Don’t think about Steve saying something had been murder.

  Well, try not to think about it.

  Mel hovered, with her finger on the button for the washing machine. ‘Anything else to go in?’

  ‘Can’t think. Oh, Steve brought a tote bag for William. Maybe there’s something in there? Everything that was in their house last night will need a wash. But I suppose we ought to ask his permission first.’

  ‘Right. I’ll set this lot going, but after that, can you spare me for half an hour while I dash home and get some things for tonight? And, shall I bring something in for supper?’

  ‘Supper? No, we’ll raid the freezer.’ Bea looked at her watch. She couldn’t make sense of the time it was telling her. The front doorbell rang. On her way to answer it, Bea threw a few words back to Mel. ‘Yes, take advantage of the lull before the storm, though why I think there’s going to be a storm, I don’t know. Hold on a mo; you’ll need a front-door key. There’s a spare in the top cupboard in the mug with a hedgehog on it.’

  The front doorbell rang again. Passing the sitting-room door, she saw that Leon was still on the phone, with Bernice on his knee. The two of them were taking turns to fill Sybil in on what had been happening.

  Another stranger was at the door. A man. Tallish and well built, dark – no, black – hair. Narrow eyes. An air of danger. Cornish? Bosnian? Albanian?

  ‘Mrs Abbot? Detective Constable Thurrock. May I have a word?’ He held up his ID for a second, and stepped inside. Whatever his family background, he’d been born and educated in this country.

  A plain-clothes detective? Oh dear. Wanting to pin the fire on the children?

  Mel came through the hall, pulling on her jacket. She looked at the man, and then at Bea. ‘Do you want me to stay, Mrs Abbot?’

  ‘No need,’ said the policeman. ‘I just need a quiet word with Mrs Abbot, that’s all.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Bea, feeling jaded. This would be about the fireworks, of course. Hadn’t Manisa the fire investigator said something about the police always being involved in any case of an accident with fireworks? ‘Do come in, officer.’ Even though he was already inside the hall. She reflected that she was getting to be like Steve, not connecting.

  She hesitated at the door to the sitting room. Leon was still on the phone, talking to his sister. Bernice was listening intently. Talking about another school for Bernice? They both looked up at her, and looked away. She wasn’t needed.

  She led the way to the kitchen, which was reasonably tidy, and indicated that the man – what was his name again? Thurrock? Was that a northern name? Definitely not Cornish. ‘Do have a seat. Now, what can I do for you? It’s about last night, I assume.’

  He sat down and produced a notebook. ‘We understand you were present at a dinner last night, and one of the other guests was a Faye Starman.’

  ‘Was that her surname? Yes, we were both guests.’ She put the kettle on. ‘Could you do with a cuppa?’

  ‘Not on duty, no. Miss Starman alleges that, during the course of the evening, two children belonging to the family set the house on fire and—’

 
‘That’s not right. For a start, only one of the children belonged to the family and—’

  He lifted his hand to stop her. ‘Be that as it may, and it is understood that further proceedings are under way with regard to the involvement of the children in criminal proceedings—’

  ‘The children did not set the place on fire!’

  A heavy sigh. ‘Please, Mrs Abbot. Will you kindly let me continue? Miss Starman alleges that in the confusion following the fire, she found herself alone in the house except for you and the children, and that you assaulted her, causing her to receive hospital attention, which has resulted in the loss of a lucrative modelling assignment—’

  ‘What!’

  ‘And that you stole her pearl necklace.’

  The kettle boiled. Bea switched it off and stared at the man. A hard face over a hard body, not an ounce of fat. She said, ‘I don’t believe it! I pull Faye from a burning building, and she says I assaulted her?’

  ‘She has bruises to prove it.’

  ‘She has a vivid imagination.’

  ‘Are you accusing her of making this up?’

  Bea banged a mug down on the table, put in a tea bag and poured hot water on it, adding milk to taste. She needed a cuppa, even if he didn’t. She sipped the tea, and told herself to keep calm. She said, ‘When the curtain in the dining room went up in flames, Daphne, our hostess for the evening, became distressed. Faye went to her aid. Daphne threw back her arm, which hit Faye. In doing so, she tangled with Faye’s pearls and broke the string. Two of us went searching for the children and found them on the top floor, which was also in flames.

  ‘When we managed to get back down to the hall, we found everyone had gone except for Faye, who had been left behind, searching for her pearls on the floor. We helped her pick them up. The fire became too much of a threat to ignore, so we decided to get out. Faye didn’t want to leave her pearls, but … yes, I admit I grabbed her arm and towed her out of the house. And yes, she was furious with me, wanted to go back to search for them. If she’d gone back in, she’d have died. Some neighbours took us in, and yes … Faye did complain about her bruises but … ought I to have left her there to die?’