by Tara Ford
“Oh Grant, I think they have come to talk to you,” said Evelyn, delighted like a spider that had just caught two flies. Rubbing her hands together in anticipation, she moved closer to the car to listen to the conversation.
At the same time Emma appeared from behind the gate, surprised to see the police car parked right outside the house. Stepping through the gateway, she hesitantly sneaked down the drive and stood behind Evelyn.
“Good lord. You made me jump Emma,” shouted Evelyn, as the two officers got out of their car.
“Yes, please do, come on through,” said Grant, extending a hand towards the gate.
PCs Gallimore and Oakes nodded an acknowledgement at Evelyn and Emma as they passed by and entered the side garden. Seeking eye contact with Grant, Emma sidestepped in front of him as he tried to limp past.
“What now, Dad?” she asked nervously.
“Come on, don’t panic!” Grant put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. “We’ll have to catch you later Eve, sorry.” Sorry, my arse! he mouthed as they left Evelyn standing by the police car looking puzzled and disappointed that she wouldn’t be required to sit in on this latest award-winning gossip story.
“Shall we sit here or would you prefer to go inside?” Grant pointed to the ‘morning’ table and chairs, as Alex called them.
The side of the house was the first place to catch sight of the full rays of the sun, early in the morning. Alex loved to sit there with a cup of tea in the summer and ponder the day ahead. The flash of an image shot through Grant’s mind as he thought about her and what a beautiful day it was again. She would be sitting there right now, if only she could.
“Yes, here’s fine, thank you,” replied PC Oakes, who was looking decidedly tired as she pulled out a chair and sat down. Joined by PC Gallimore and Grant, PC Oakes continued. “If you’re happy to make a statement Mr Frey, then we can go ahead.”
“Of course,” he replied, looking up at Emma and grinning. “They’ve caught the bike thieves, Em.”
“Oh good!” Emma smiled, relieved once again that the police hadn’t come back to get her and lock her away in a dungeon. “Shall I make a cup of tea?”
“Would you like tea?” Grant asked the two guests. PC Gallimore smiled and shook his head.
“No thank you,” laughed PC Oakes. “I would have thought the events of this morning would have put you off tea for life.”
Grant recalled the pre-dawn fiasco and smiled too. “It would take more than three burnt toes for me to stop drinking tea.” He smirked. “Although I have to make it in a saucepan at the moment, as dear Emma here boiled the kettle dry this morning.”
Scowling at him, Emma poked Grant in the back.
“Just one tea then, Em. Thank you.”
Emma flounced off and then hopscotched round to the back of the house, looking somewhat annoyed again.
Removing a folder from her briefcase, PC Oakes placed it on the table. “The two men you say you saw last night are suspected of being part of an organised gang of eight bike thieves. We have recovered three stolen bikes this morning but none of these fitted the description of your son’s bike unfortunately. If you could give us a statem—”
“Dad, Dad – argh!” screamed Emma at the top of her voice. “DAAADDD!” Tearing round from the back garden, Emma hurled herself at the table, almost knocking it over.
Grant jumped up and stood to attention.
“Dad, the house is on fire!” spluttered Emma, jumping up and down in a frenzied state.
“Bloody hell!” he yelled, launching himself awkwardly towards the rear, followed by both police officers. Turning the corner of the house, Grant hopped and hobbled past the kitchen window and turned abruptly as he caught sight of the bright flickering flames in the kitchen.
“Mr Frey, have you got a fire extinguisher? Please don’t go in there.” shouted PC Gallimore, as he too turned the corner and stopped dead at the kitchen window.
“No I haven’t!” shouted Grant, reaching the patio doors. “Call the fire brigade!” he hollered to PC Oakes as she stared in through the window and could not believe her eyes.
“Toast!” shouted Grant as the policewoman radioed through to the emergency services.
“Aaron!” screamed Emma and burst into tears.
“Holy shit. My son is upstairs!” cried Grant, leaping through the patio door. “Aaron!” he yelled as loud as he could.
Upstairs, Aaron had woken to the sound of Emma screaming in the garden. Annoyed at her lack of consideration when people were trying to sleep, he dragged himself out of bed to investigate the commotion. Opening the bedroom door, he breathed the smoky air as he wondered why on earth his dad would be lighting up the barbeque at this time of the morning. It was at that moment that Aaron heard his dad screaming his name. He then knew something was seriously wrong and he would not be getting a hot dog for breakfast, as first thought.
Stepping into the dining room, Grant could see that the fire was contained within the kitchen area and more specifically, to the place where the toaster once lived. Flames licked the units above and flickered across the work surface, aided by what used to be a pile of tea towels and a kitchen roll holder. It appeared that the fire had been burning for some time, probably since Grant had put his toast in, which he then left to help Emma set up the car-cleaning kit. He’d forgotten all about his rumbling tummy once the evil spider, Evelyn had pounced – oh no, this was entirely his fault.
“Mr Frey, step out from there and let the firemen deal with this when they get here. Have you got a ladder? We can access the first floor from that window.” PC Gallimore spoke authoritatively.
“Aaron!” screamed Grant again, as he paced his way into the smoky dining room, disregarding the policeman’s warning.
Confirming the address on her walkie-talkie for the fire brigade, PC Oakes comforted Emma with an arm around her shoulder.
“Dad,” Emma hollered, watching him disappear into the house. Distraught that her mum wasn’t here, Emma knew this wouldn’t have happened if she’d been at home. Everything was going wrong because her mum was in hospital. Emma sobbed into PC Oakes’ armpit.
“Quick, get out!” called Grant from the dining room as he saw Aaron trotting down the stairs, frowning and sniffing the air. “There’s a fire in the kitchen, come on!” Grabbing Aaron by the arm, he pulled him past the dining table and out through the patio doors.
“What the hell has happened?” asked Aaron as he gazed disbelievingly at the police officers.
Standing by the kitchen window, Grant watched helplessly as the large flames ate into the cupboards directly above the toaster.
PC Gallimore exited the garden and walked out to the drive to flag down the pending fire engine.
Turning her temporary loyalties from PC Oakes to Aaron, Emma hugged her big brother tightly as they stood on the lawn watching their dad peering through the window despondently.
“Is everything all right officer? I’m a family friend,” said Evelyn as she hobbled back across the road to Grant’s driveway.
“We have a situation that will be under control in just a matter of minutes, Madam,” replied PC Gallimore, eyeing the top of the road.
“Ooh! What is happening?” she asked as she began to spin her latest web.
“There is a fire in the house. The boys will be here in a few minutes.”
“A fire? Oh my goodness, is it serious?”
“Serious enough,” he said, trying to move away from her spinnerets.
“Where in the house is the fire?”
“In the kitchen Madam.”
“Can I help at all? Where are Grant and the children?”
“They are all safe. Please don’t worry yourself. We have the situation under control. There’s nothing you can do to help.” PC Gallimore was getting agitated by the old lady, who seemed to be just sticking her nose in where it was not wanted.
“I’m going to make a phone call. I live just there.” Pointing to the house o
pposite, Evelyn eyed the policeman suspiciously. “Tell Grant he can come over to my house with the children if he needs to. What a terrible situation for them, poor little mites. My name is Evelyn Archer, should you need to know.”
“Thank you Evelyn, I will pass on the message.”
The two new acquaintances looked to the top of the road as a fire engine hastily made its way through the parked roadside vehicles.
Hobbling as fast as her rickety legs would carry her, Evelyn left the drive and scuttled up the road to the house next door but one. Curious neighbours had noticed the police car parked outside Grant’s house and now a fire engine was pulling up alongside the panda car too.
Gazing through the window into the kitchen in a daydream state, Grant watched the flames rising and growing in ferocity, as one of the cupboard doors caught alight in the intense heat. Patchy, dense, grey smoke filled the kitchen space like a heavy evening fog. Dazed and numb, he knew there was nothing he or anyone else could do to quell the flames until the firemen arrived. This weekend was turning into his worst nightmare and his backbone – Alex – had no idea about any of it.
Moments later, two burly firemen trudged around the corner of the house, carrying equipment.
“Where is your electrical cupboard?” asked the younger uniformed man.
“Err, it’s under the stairs – through the living room.” Grant couldn’t think straight as he realised how serious the whole affair was becoming. The taller of the two firemen escorted Grant and the others around to the front of the house.
PC Oakes rejoined her colleague in the driveway where a small crowd of spectators had gathered.
Evelyn held court and provided a running commentary as the firemen went about their important and brave work. Her earlier quest to go home and make a phone call had been quashed in favour of an audience with the residents of Pinewood Avenue. The faint smell of acrid smoke drifted on the light breeze and peppered nostrils as it made its way through the onlookers.
“Are you all right Grant?” called Tina from next door as she peered over the tops of the gathered crowd. “Can I get you anything?”
Grant shook his head. He seemed to have lost his voice. The surreal situation became a blur of babbled noise and staring eyes as he slumped himself down in a corner of the driveway.
Already the dictating black widow (appropriately named, given her long black hair which was tied up in a bun, and a dead husband – whom she probably had wrapped up in a cocoon and hanging from the rafters in her loft) had trapped two flies by twisting her spindly arms around their backs. Looking stressed and uncomfortable, Emma and Aaron stood speechless on the pavement in Evelyn’s embrace.
Within an hour of the initial discovery of a roaring fire in Alex’s cupcake kitchen, Grant surveyed the carnage in horror.
The fireman in charge concluded that a tea towel covering the toaster had indeed caused it to ignite. Before their departure, the fire officer gave Grant a lecture and some good advice on safeguarding his home from fire risks in the future.
“The extent of the damage could have been minimal if you’d replaced the batteries in your alarms, Mr Frey. I recommend you purchase a small fire extinguisher and fire blanket for the kitchen too. I trust Sir, that the shock and the fire damage have made you realise the importance of fire safety in your home.”
Nodding his head, Grant felt like a naughty little boy being told off by a parent. PC Oakes overheard the one-sided conversation and gently nodded her head too, in agreement with the fireman, as she looked despondently at her earlier patient.
Coming to terms with the fact that his house insurance would not cover him for the extensive damage, Grant slumped against the kitchen archway. A melted plastic blob and surviving metal parts bore the evidence of what had once been a four-slot toaster. The twisted rod of charred wood still stood upright on its base, but there was no sign of the cupcake-patterned paper towel roll that once lived there. Blackened hinges desperately clung to the remains of two wooden cupboard doors that were hanging from the wall units. Charcoal-coloured soot dusted every available surface, extending to the dining table in the adjoining room. A sodden, black mess of barely recognisable kitchen cupboards, worktop and appliances remained in the area around the source of the fire like gravestones in a cemetery.
With his sunken heart in the very bottom of his slipper, Grant returned to the garden to join Emma and Aaron, who had just escaped from the spider’s web.
“Evelyn has gone home, she said she needs to make a phone call,” Aaron huffed. “She’s probably going to phone Grandma.”
“Without a doubt!” Grant groaned, reaching to put his arm around Emma’s shoulder. The very notion of Dot finding out about the fire sent shivers through his body.
“Grandma will go mental,” sighed Emma, snuggling further under her dad’s arm. Distraught and tearful, she desperately wanted her mum to put everything back straight and return the household to normal. Dad was just Dad and although he was good at a lot of things, he was no good at being the organiser of the family and household. She had come to this conclusion after just the last six hours.
“Well, she’s the last person I want to see today!” stated Grant, peeling himself away from Emma and reaching into his pocket for a ‘fresh air stick’.
“Can we go in and have a look?” asked Aaron, knowing his dad would be sitting in the garden for a while, pondering over a long smoke.
“Yeah, sure you can. Don’t touch anything, it’s filthy in there.” Grant breathed out a wispy grey trail of cigarette smoke.
Following behind like a shadow, Emma grabbed hold of the bottom of Aaron’s dressing gown and they both entered the house like a pair of performing elephants walking trunk to tail.
Both PC Gallimore and Oakes had decided to leave the Frey household during the commotion and asked Grant to call in at the station as soon as he was able to do so, to make a statement.
“We are well over our shift times, Mr Frey, and we’ve got homes to go to,” smiled PC Oakes as they were leaving.
Grant’s mouth took another downward turn as he watched his two new friends climb into their car and drive away. Strangely, he felt safer with them around and more able to cope with the crazy situation he had come to find himself in on this glorious Sunday morning. Joining the other spectators held in the sticky fibres of silk thread on Pinewood Avenue, Grant watched the police officers drive away.
Luckily the police officer’s colleagues from the station had caught two men last night who, it was later discovered, were part of an organised gang of eight bike thieves. Unfortunately, the police hadn’t had any success in recovering Joe’s bike, but had managed to seize three others that had been stolen at the same time. Joe was going to be more upset than he was earlier.
Before he became entwined in the pavement web, Grant had managed to escape the hoard of flies unnoticed and return to his sanctuary, the home of Alex’s gnomes. Wandering onto the lawn, he studied the comical little men (and a couple of women) and wished he could morph into their perfect world of landscaped garden, tranquillity and sunshine. Boy, am I going to be in the shit, he realised as the image of Alex’s horrified expression materialised before his eyes. Shaking off the disturbing portrait, Grant entered the house and carefully stepped through to the carnage of the kitchen.
“Grant, are you there?” a shrill voice pierced through the open front door. Bolting upright in his chair, Grant heard the dreaded call from the garden where he had been sat pondering over what to do. “Grant! Where are you?” It came again, as he rolled his eyes, stubbed another cigarette out and levered himself from the chair.
“Dot... Charlie, you’ve heard then?” mumbled Grant as his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the dining room.
Fading into the background, Aaron mouthed a hello and disappeared to his room quicker than a hounded rabbit running to its burrow.
“Bloody hell Grant! How on earth did it happen?” asked Dot pulling her white cardigan off and hanging it over the chair back.
“Be careful, I wouldn’t put it there Dot. There’s soot everywhere,” muttered Grant. Pulling the cotton-mix garment off the high-backed dining chair he carried it through to the living room and threw it on the sofa. “It’s not too bad through here,” he called back, hoping they might return to the living room.
Charlie and Dot stood by the arch, gawping at the charred remains of one half of the kitchen.
“Oh no, what a mess,” sighed Dot as she looked to Charlie, who was scanning the damage and muttering something under his breath.
“Can you claim on the insurance, son?” asked Charlie, as Grant returned to the dining room feeling hopeless.
“No, it was our fault that the fire started,” Grant replied morosely.
Proceeding to explain the chain of events that had led to the fire, Grant pulled a dining chair out and plopped down on the seat wearily.
Joining him at the table, Charlie listened intently. He was a great listener and usually came up with the best solutions to life’s problems.
Admiring him deeply, Grant felt that he was in safe hands now this clever old man was on the scene. He would know what to do.
Spending most of his life being a listener and thinker rather than a talker (which fitted well with his wife), Charlie had enjoyed a very successful career in pioneering projects and engineering. Some people thought he was a mad professor as he invented many weird and wonderful creations throughout his lifetime. Several patents later and Charlie had created an innovative product that was still used worldwide now.
“Let’s try and get this mess cleaned up then,” prompted Dot as she heard footsteps upstairs.
After the constant tears and a troubled, sleepless night, Emma had gone to her smoke-scented room for a lie down. Unable to sleep, she heard Grandma arrive and lay on her bed for a further 20 minutes before deciding to go downstairs and meet the ‘wrath of Granny’. Luckily things were settled and calm in the dining room where Charlie and Dot were seated when she got there.