by L. V. Hay
Denny looked up at me, his face stricken. He nodded hurriedly. Conscious of the fire gaining even more hold downstairs and marooning us on the second storey, I gave Denny a quick hug, sending up a silent prayer that we would get out alive … And if we both couldn’t, that my little boy would.
‘Let’s go,’ I said.
Forty-five
Sebastian left his car in the high street, parked at an angle. He was out of the car and running for the side alley to the Magdalene houses before the engine had stilled. He was not sure what he expected to find at the maisonette. On the way over, he’d imagined the worst-case scenario would be Maxwell, stalking through it with a knife.
The reality was far worse. The maisonette was on fire. The door to the side alley was consumed, driving him back. Even though he wanted to push through the flames, some kind of animal instinct wouldn’t allow him to advance.
As he staggered backwards, he fell over something. He groped for it in the dim light, grabbing hold of a plastic handle and a hose as liquid fell on his jeans and hoody. He recognised the smell and feel immediately. A petrol canister. The realisation hit him. Maxwell had poured gas through the letterbox.
Suddenly a dark figure burst from the shadows. Tall, dressed in black, hood up, a scarf over his face. He struck out at Sebastian in his hurry to leave the alleyway.
‘Maxwell!’ Sebastian cried after the figure, and grabbed at his arm, but the tussle was short-lived. He was pushed against the brickwork, hard. Winded, the breath left Sebastian’s lungs, replaced only with dark smoke cloying his throat. A combination of the increasing heat and his injuries from the earlier fight sent Sebastian into a paroxysm of coughing. The figure vanished into the night before he could stop him.
Sebastian scrabbled up, abandoning the can. He staggered as fast as he could back the way he’d come and around the outside of the building, so he could enter the small car park at the rear. He stood up straight and gulped down clean air. As he did so, he found he could see the large kitchen window from here and to his relief, saw Lily and Denny, very much alive, standing there and waving their arms.
Sebastian grasped his wife’s logic immediately: from the kitchen window they could probably jump into the car park. A broken ankle would be the least of their problems. But why hadn’t they gone out Denny’s window? Guilt hit him: because he was the only one with the new window-lock keys and they were in his damned pocket!
‘Fire!’ Sebastian tried to holler, but coughed again. He ran over to the ice-cream parlour back door, where there was an intercom for the flat above. He jabbed at all the buttons. ‘Fire! Fire!’
Looking back up at the kitchen window, he could see Lily trying in desperation to open it. It wouldn’t budge. Sebastian looked on in horror: he had installed the locks to keep Maxwell out; now Lily and Denny would die before his eyes because of them. For a single, frozen moment he stared at Lily through the glass. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t save them.
Up at the window, he saw Lily pulling the rubber hose from the sink tap and wielding it like a club, throwing it against the glass. It bounced off, the window intact. At least she was still thinking straight.
‘The corners!’ Sebastian yelled and gestured. ‘Not the middle, the corners!’
Lily must have understood him, or perhaps she’d thought of it too, because she threw the fat, metal end of the hose at the top corner of the window next. After five or six tries, the glass finally spidered, but it didn’t break. Lily had the look of a cornered animal, a mama bear who would not let her child die. Eyes wide and teeth bared she ducked out of sight momentarily, picking something up. Then, with a wordless cry she hefted something at the window. A chunk of wood sailed straight through; it was the wooden knife block. It took the rest of the glass with it, showering down into the courtyard below. Sebastian had to duck and cover as shards of glass and the knife block fell onto the concrete.
Finally, now, people came running. A man and a woman and the gangly figure of a teenager rushed across the courtyard in their dressing gowns from the back door of the ice-cream parlour. Sebastian saw the woman make the sign of the cross and grab her mobile from her pocket.
The two men ran back inside. They reappeared with a large, thick blanket, enlisting the help of two other men who’d appeared in the courtyard. Having made the call, the woman took her place holding the blanket, as lights came on in the flats opposite. More people spilled out into the courtyard, now.
‘Hurry!’ someone shouted.
Sebastian took a corner of the blanket too now, looking up to see Lily seizing Denny by the elbows and pulling him up onto the counter with her. And before he could flinch or grab hold of her, she thrust him out the window. Denny dropped in the centre of the blanket and let out a sharp scream. The woman from the ice-cream parlour picked him up and pulled him to her.
Lily jumped next. She landed heavily, towards the edge of the blanket. Everyone on that side, including Sebastian, went down like dominoes. As Sebastian fell, he felt the back of his head crack against the ground. Stunned, he scrambled to his feet, blood roaring in his ears like the crackling of flames. But he seemed to feel no pain. All he could think was, Thank God. Thank God!
‘Anyone else?’ shouted ice-cream man.
‘No.’ Lily shook her head as she tended to a crying Denny. She ran her hands over him, checking for injuries. The little boy kept coughing, holding his arm. ‘The downstairs flat is empty.’
Sebastian moved in, bending over to hug Lily and Denny. For a moment she seemed about to let him, but then she jerked away, untangling herself, pulling Denny to her. Her face was taut with horror.
‘You … you smell of … of petrol!’
Everything seemed hyperreal to Sebastian, like he was watching himself in a movie.
He looked around him, aware now of the flashing of blue lights, the crunch of firemen’s boots on the ground. He could hear Denny was just sniffing now, his head cradled in Lily’s lap, both of them wrapped in crinkling foil blankets. Paramedics were checking people’s grazes for glass. The fire engine was parked around the corner, its thick hose running down the narrow alleyway to the courtyard. The fire, which had seemed so serious and life threatening one moment, was extinquished just as quickly.
That’s when Sebastian saw him, further down the alley.
Maxwell.
Lily’s ex leaned against a wall, casual as ever, wearing that creased linen shirt over designer jeans. When he saw Sebastian spot him, he turned on his heel and ran back down the alleyway, out towards the high street.
Sebastian did not shout after him. He simply burst across the tarmac. Someone called his name, but he didn’t turn in that direction. Only Maxwell was in his sights. He felt the urge to kill him, strangle the life from him, all over again.
But as Sebastian made it onto the high street, his breath was ragged in his throat. The back of his head throbbed now. Something was happening to his vision. The orange glare of the street lamps seemed to loom over him. A small queue of people, waiting for kebabs, turned to stare at him, their faces pale blurs.
Sebastian tried to focus as car headlights and buses thundered past, deafening. His chest, constricted by shock, the fight with Maxwell earlier, would not allow enough oxygen to his brain. The world spun as the blow to the back of his head seemed finally to have an effect. He gasped for air like a drowning man, then collapsed on the pavement, face down.
Everything went black.
PART THREE
September
‘A thing is not necessarily true because a man dies for it.’
—Oscar Wilde
Forty-six
Sebastian woke with a pounding headache. As his surroundings shimmered into focus, he was able to discern where he was: the pale linoleum, the antiseptic smell, the crisp, clinical sheets. He was next to a window; it was daylight outside. There was a curtain around the bed; he could hear the hum of voices nearby, the hacking coughs and wracking sobs of other patients. It was a hospital, pr
esumably the General. Not the Cromwell.
Sebastian turned his bruised hand over: there was a cannula in it, secured with tape. There was a tube in his tender nose; it stung but he left it there. He attempted to move and sit up, but sharp pain shot through his body, focusing on the back of his head. He stayed where he was. His tongue felt like sandpaper, too big for his mouth. He swallowed, but his throat was dry; it felt like he was gulping down razor blades. He blinked, then he was gone again, sliding back into oblivion.
When Sebastian came to once more, it was afternoon. He could hear the television playing the end credits of some lunchtime soap opera. This time, Lily was sitting next to his bed. Her face was no longer covered in soot and her hair was wet. She wore flip-flops, cut-off shorts and a T-shirt he didn’t recognise, emblazoned with the slogan BITCH, in incongruous sequins.
Seeing that he was waking up, Lily proffered him a tight-lipped smile. He tried to return it, though it probably ended up looking more of a pained grimace.
‘Hey,’ Sebastian croaked. ‘Where’s Denny?’
He held his hand out to her, but Lily crossed her arms, her hands under her armpits, as if cold.
‘Upstairs, in the children’s ward. Just for observation. He’s okay. We both are.’ She sighed, rueful. ‘Well, Denny landed badly. I broke his arm.’
‘You saved his life!’
Sebastian recalled his panic outside the flat. How he’d just stood by, gawking first at the burning door and stairwell, then up at the kitchen window that wouldn’t shift. He hadn’t done anything. He’d shouted and gestured, but he should have tried to break in. He should have tried to save Lily and Denny – his family. But he’d been useless, just like he’d been when his mother had told him what Maxwell had done to her. Suddenly he wondered if anyone had thought to call Fran, or whether she was staying away on purpose. He couldn’t blame her if she was.
‘He’s loving his cast,’ Lily said, a little too brightly. Sebastian could see tears shining in her eyes as she gazed down at him. Her brow furrowed. ‘What the hell were you thinking, running off like that?’
For a moment, Sebastian had no idea what his wife was talking about. But then his mind, so full of dark smoke and crackling flames, cleared. Sebastian was back in the courtyard. He’d turned and seen Maxwell, waiting up in the side alley. There could only be one reason Lily’s ex was there.
‘Maxwell started the fire.’
Lily scowled. Her manner was stiff, almost like she was a stranger. ‘He wasn’t even there, Sebastian.’
‘He was. I saw him…’
Sebastian faltered as her eyes rose skywards, as if she was counting to ten. Why was it so hard to believe? They both knew how ruthless Maxwell was. He was a monster. Resentment coursed through Sebastian’s veins that she should not believe him.
‘You can’t have.’ Lily’s voice was flat.
‘I did!’ Sebastian’s pitch was too high. He knew he sounded juvenile, like Denny trying to evade the blame for some childish transgression. But he couldn’t help himself. He had to make her see, make her realise the depths Maxwell would sink to. This was more serious than they could have ever imagined. He wasn’t prepared just to attack Sebastian’s mother, he would kill Lily and Denny if he couldn’t have them.
‘You have to get away – far from here.’ Sebastian sat up and swore as pain hit him in the back of the head, spreading down his neck. ‘Maxwell won’t be satisfied until he’s split us up for good. He’ll kill us all if he has to. Last night proved that. He’s gone mad.’
Lily shook her head. ‘It’s not like that.’
Sebastian tried another tack. ‘I know it seems like he wouldn’t hurt Denny, but you have to listen to me. Trust me, Lily…’
‘How can I?’
Sebastian blinked, taking in Lily’s demeanour with new insight. He regarded her, hurt rending him mute. She was not just wary of him, or the whole situation. Her gaze had a hard edge, her lips pursed.
She was suspicious … of him.
‘Don’t pretend you don’t know, Sebastian.’
‘Don’t know what?’ Sebastian couldn’t think what she meant – what she was getting at; what was making her so harsh with him.
Lily gave a bitter little chuckle and a shake of the head, as if she resented him making her spell it out. Then she leaned closer to him, her face a picture of contempt.
‘You can’t have seen him at the fire, Sebastian, because Maxwell is dead.’
Forty-seven
I’d snuck out to see Sebastian while Denny was asleep. I was anxious to get back to him; I didn’t want him waking in a strange hospital all alone. I ached all over from fatigue and stress. The doctors had checked me over too and apart from some smoke inhalation I was fine, they said. But I wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. The fire and the murder of my ex in the same night were going to keep me awake for weeks to come. Had Maxwell set the fire, then Sebastian killed him? But the police said Maxwell had died around midnight…
And Sebastian’s clothes had smelled of petrol.
So, if Maxwell hadn’t tried to kill us, what did that mean? Could Sebastian have tried to murder me and Denny in our beds? But why? Pain lodged in my throat, my heartbeat quickened with panic. He hadn’t been himself lately, after all the stress with Maxwell and the stalking, and then with Fran. But why would he take it out on us? What the hell had happened to the gentle, dependable Sebastian I’d known?
As I returned to the children’s ward from my visit to Sebastian, still prickling with rage, I rounded the corner, past a gigantic Disney mural, and through an internal window decorated with stickers saw Denny still fast asleep. Someone was standing beside his bed, head bowed, a large present in hand.
‘Triss, you need to go.’ I appeared next to her in the ward, grabbing her by the elbow. I steered her towards the door.
‘Just let me leave him the present…?’ Triss’s voice cracked.
I folded my arms. ‘We don’t want anything from you.’
A mother opposite looked up from where she sat trying to distract a toddler who had a nasty burn from scalding water. The little girl was whinging, worrying at the bandages around her leg. Triss seemed to realise we were causing a scene and allowed me to escort her into the hallway.
She lowered her voice as a curious nurse passed by. ‘I said I’m sorry, okay? There’s a limit to how many times I can apologise.’
I’d flown out of Maxwell’s place without waiting to hear any explanations or justifications from my oldest friend. If either of them had called after me, I hadn’t heard. By the time I’d stopped walking I was on the common, at Webb’s Folly. I’d wandered across the lush green, thinking about the last time Triss and I had been there. With a pang, I had recalled how insistent Triss was that we go to the common that day – the day Fran had collapsed. Had it all been a scheme? Had she called Maxwell when we’d found Fran? Had it been Triss’s idea to pretend my mother-in-law had cancer?
Please, no.
‘What now, then?’ I asked.
Triss threw her hands up in the air. ‘How about the truth?’
I sighed. I’d not even given her a chance to speak when she’d appeared at my door that night. There was still a part of me that wanted to give my oldest friend the benefit of the doubt. Another part of me was curious to know just how up to her neck in this she was; why she had crossed over to Maxwell’s side from mine. Triss and I went way back. What could he have offered her? Or did he have some kind of hold over her? Could he have been blackmailing her into helping him somehow? I wouldn’t have put it past him.
‘I swear, it isn’t what you think it is…’ Triss sat down on one of the corridor benches, her expression earnest. She grimaced at my incredulous face. ‘Well, obviously the sex is. That’s exactly what you think it is. I’m weak. Pathetic. I hate myself. Okay…?’
I absorbed her diatribe against herself. ‘A blind date, you said.’
‘Yes, Lily, I swear. When I told you I was meeting a guy off that app, I m
eant it. I really was. But I got stood up. And Maxwell was there and he bought me a drink and said I looked beautiful and … Oh God!’
Triss dissolved into a fit of ugly crying, her shoulders heaving. Even so, a tiny bud of hope opened inside me. One thing about being best friends since childhood was not only did you know each other’s failings, but you tended to be able to detect when they were lying. Men had always been Triss’s weakness. Her bad decisions involving the opposite gender were legendary. Maxwell wouldn’t even be the worst of them.
I’d always sensed that Triss had been attracted to Maxwell. That was unsurprising – he was good-looking. And, frankly, she was welcome to him. My concerns were not about my best mate taking my sloppy seconds, or even her going out with Denny’s father. It was more the thought that Triss could have been involved in Maxwell’s campaign to destroy my marriage. Could Maxwell have been using Triss to make me jealous? Could she just be a victim in this Machiavellian plot, too?
I sat down next to her. ‘So yesterday was the first day you had sex with Maxwell?’
Triss nodded hastily. She pulled a piece of tissue from her jacket sleeve and dabbed at her freckly nose.
‘So, you haven’t been coming round here, spying on us, reporting back to Maxwell?’
Triss’s eyes widened. ‘What? Of course not. I wouldn’t—’
I held up a finger, like I did in my classroom when I wanted the kids to stop talking and let me speak. ‘When Denny got lost at the fête, did you send him out to Maxwell? Is that why you had a go at Kelly, to divert attention from yourself?’
‘No! I love Denny, I was really worried.’ Triss shook her head, vehemently. ‘I don’t even have Maxwell’s number. Look, it was just a weird coincidence, that’s all. I never set out to hurt you…’