by S Block
David and Jenny made their way across the village green, hand in hand. The moon seemed unusually bright tonight, giving the village a silvery cast. It was getting colder, and they both had jackets on, a sign that autumn had arrived. The tower of St Mark’s loomed in front of them, bathed in light.
‘You know, my house is the other way,’ Jenny said, giving his hand a squeeze.
David kissed the top of her head. ‘It’s such a lovely night, I thought we ’d have a stroll first. And I wanted you to myself a bit longer, if that’s all right. ’
Another squeeze. ‘All right by me. ’
They walked as far as the churchyard, everything lit up, the inscriptions on one or two of the headstones almost clear enough to read.
‘We ’d never have managed these last few weeks without you,’ David said, turning to face Jenny. ‘You’re amazing. ’
‘I know,’ she said, smiling.
‘And not in the least bit big-headed about it . . . ’
She laughed. ‘You can’t be annoyed if I’m agreeing with you. ’
He looked serious all of a sudden. ‘You ’d say, wouldn’t you, if you were getting fed up? I wouldn’t blame you. I know it’s not much fun working in a butcher’s. ’
He knew very well that she could be doing something more interesting with her time – going out with one of the pilots from Tabley Wood, for instance. He wasn’t naïve enough to think she didn’t get offers.
‘Do you think I’d show up at your place night after night if I didn’t want to?’ Jenny said. ‘Trust me, no one makes me do anything I don’t want to do. I thought you knew me well enough by now to know that. ’
‘When you put it like that . . . ’
‘And I like being around your mum and dad. They’re nice people. ’
‘They love you. ’
She looked at him intently. ‘And what about you? Do you love me?’
David blinked. In his wildest dreams he would not have expected a girl like Jenny to be interested in him, a girl so sure of herself, so perfect in every way. Not when he was . . . what? Damaged. Imperfect. She knew what he ’d been through, the ship going down, that the injuries he was left with were severe enough for him to be sent home. She understood he could no longer do his job, not the way he had in the past, which was why they had to rely on her help in the shop. He had avoided going into detail when it came to the nature of his injuries, saying something vague about his back not being what it was. She didn’t – couldn’t – fully appreciate what the war had done to him, that it had left him feeling scarred and ugly. He knew he should have told her sooner, but every time he thought about it he ended up losing his nerve. He liked her too much to risk losing her – loved her too much. All the same, he should have told her; after all, what she had seen at Tabley Wood had opened her eyes.
She was watching him closely now, waiting for an answer. What if he admitted how he felt about her only for her to say she didn’t feel the same?
‘You know what I think about you,’ he said.
She looked up at him, her expression solemn. ‘Say it. ’
His heart was pounding. Now was not the time to be half-hearted. ‘I love you, Jenny Marshall. ’
She put her arms round his neck. ‘That’s all right, then. ’
*
He was almost home when he bumped into Alison and John, strolling along the deserted main street with Elsa.
‘You’re out late,’ David said, surprised to see them.
‘This one likes a walk last thing,’ John said, nodding at Elsa, ‘and it’s such a nice night we thought we ’d take our time. ’
‘Any luck finding work?’ David asked.
‘Not so far, but I keep looking,’ John said, with an attempt at a smile. ‘Let me know if you find you need an extra pair of hands. ’
David nodded. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t offer you anything. ’
‘That’s all right. I know things are tight for everyone. ’
‘How’s the new shop coming along?’ Alison asked.
‘We’re nearly there,’ David said, ‘although it’s taken a bit more work than we thought it would. Plastering, new floorboards . . . you name it. ’ He rolled his eyes.
‘It’ll be worth it,’ Alison told him.
David looked across at the building, its windows still covered in whitewash. The striped awning he had argued was worth every bit of the not inconsiderable expense was now in the process of being made and due to be with them in another week or so, along with a set of blinds. It was important to get the front of the building smartened up, he felt – if only to stop the likes of Mrs Cameron continually referring to it as an eyesore.
‘Any idea when you’re opening up?’ John asked.
‘Soon. ’ That was, provided everything went to plan, which so far it hadn’t. Only yesterday, when the builders knocked through from the new premises and opened up the storeroom so that it could be accessed from either side of the building, Old Mr Jenkins had told them that the wiring was all going to have to be ripped out and replaced. It was a death trap, he said, bound to be dangerous. It was lucky it hadn’t gone up before now. Privately, David still had moments when he wondered if he ’d been right about expanding the business, especially now that his father’s health was no longer as robust as it had been. It meant having to step up, which was what he ’d wanted. Now, though, he wondered if he was trying to do too much too soon.
‘We’ve got a date in mind,’ David said, ‘but there’s just one or two things to get finished first. ’
*
As soon as David stepped inside the house, he knew something was wrong. There was a bitter taste on his tongue, something acrid in the air that made his eyes smart. For a moment he stood stock-still, rooted to the spot, his heart thundering.
Then he reached for the light switch and flicked it on. Nothing. Sweat prickled the back of his neck. There was enough light from the moon for him to pick out familiar shapes in the kitchen. Everything was as it was before he ’d taken Jenny home: the table they’d sat at earlier, eating, making plans, his mother’s best crockery arranged on the shelves of the dresser, his father’s chair at the side of the hearth, a copy of The Modern Grocer propped open on one of the arms. Draped over the back of the settee was the blanket his mother had crocheted years earlier.
And there was something else, something he might not be able to see but that was familiar all the same.
Burning, coming from somewhere.
The moment he opened the door into the hallway he found his way barred by a dense, choking mass. Putting up his hands to shield himself, he pushed on through the wall of thick smoke. It stung his eyes and tore at the back of his throat.
Just like on the ship.
There was not enough air, not enough light. He couldn’t work out where the fire was. At the back of the building somewhere.
His mind spun.
The wiring, of course. It must be something to do with the wiring.
David edged forward, feeling a sob rise in the back of his raw throat.
Keep going.
He dropped to his knees and crawled along the narrow passage, eyes shut, feeling his way, getting a mouthful of foul-tasting filth and soot. His hand found the banister at the foot of the staircase and he called out to his parents. They would be asleep upstairs, unaware of what was happening.
‘Ma! Pa!’ His voice was a hoarse, rasping sound.
Fighting for breath, he pulled himself up the stairs and onto the smoke-filled landing. His parents were in the room at the back, their door slightly ajar. David burst in and ran to the bed, grabbing his father, shaking him. ‘You’ve got to get out!’ he yelled. ‘Now, Pa!’
*
Alison and John had got as far as the village hall when they heard the shouts. They ran back as David, doubled over, coughing and gasping for breath, stumbled into the street, pulling Miriam with him. Vivian was in her arms, her face press
ed against her mother’s body. Alison caught hold of Miriam and steered her away from the building, where smoke was now escaping through the open door.
‘Oh my God!’ Alison cried, frantic.
‘My dad. ’ David heaved in great gulps of air. ‘Where’s my dad? He was following us. ’
‘You can’t go back in there,’ John told him. ‘Wait here, I’ll get help. ’
‘No time!’
David plunged back into the building, pushing along the smoke-filled corridor, faster this time, sure of what he needed to do. When he reached the stairs, he saw that the smoke had taken charge. It was all there was to breathe. He pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose and mouth. No time. He held his breath and raced back up the stairs, two at a time, losing his footing and banging his knee hard on the top step.
Bryn was in the bedroom, next to the open window. ‘I lost you, son,’ he said. ‘I can’t breathe, can’t see where I’m going. ’
For a fleeting moment David was tempted to shut the bedroom door and stay put, trust that someone else would arrive in time to save them. They wouldn’t, though. If you wanted to be saved, you had to do it yourself. He knew all about that.
‘Hang onto me, Pa,’ he instructed, struggling to get the words out, feeling as if there were razor blades in his throat.
‘I don’t think I can. ’ Bryn took a step back. ‘I’ll never make it. ’
David caught hold of him, pulling him onto the landing. ‘Put a hand on the banister and count the steps going down. There’s twelve. Keep hold of me. A minute, and we’ll be out of here. ’
He ’d said the same as the ship was going down, not realising that some of those he did his best to save had already perished and couldn’t hear him.
No time.
*
Alison settled a dazed Miriam on a bench at the edge of the village green, where she soothed Vivian. Then she ran with Elsa to the pub for help, hammering on the door until Trevor Dawson appeared, scowling, hair on end, his wife, in curlers and a threadbare dressing gown, peering over his shoulder. ‘Fire!’ Alison hurled the word like a missile, her voice rattling with fear. ‘FIRE! Next door!’ She was waving her arms, pointing at the butcher’s, screaming at them to get help.
Mrs Dawson reached for the telephone as Alison hurried off down the lane to Erica Campbell’s house. Minutes later, Dr Myra Rosen was pulling a coat over her night things and grabbing her medical bag, chasing after Alison, Erica a few paces behind.
*
The ship came back to him, the moment he knew he had to get out.
No time.
Sink or swim.
After all that he ’d been through, he would not lose his family. He hauled Bryn behind him down the stairs, his father tripping on the bottom step, almost coming free from his son’s grip.
But David held on tighter still, using every bit of strength he had to yank Bryn to his feet and plough on through the passage.
Seconds now.
He pushed his father from the house, Bryn managing a few steps on his own before toppling over. David sank to the ground, rolling onto his back.
He felt a cool cloth on his brow, a voice telling him he was safe.
*
John was nowhere to be seen. Alison ran up and down the road outside the shop, calling to him. She should never have left him. Surely, he hadn’t gone into the building. He wouldn’t. Would he? No. He knew better than to attempt anything foolish. She carried on, running, calling his name until she was hoarse.
Erica caught hold of her. ‘He’ll have gone to raise the alarm. ’
Alison shook her head. ‘What if he went in after David?’
*
When John saw David plunge back into the smoke-filled building, he almost chased after him, even though he knew it would be folly to do so. David knew the layout of the building. He knew where he was going, and might, just might, have a chance of getting out before being overcome. The odds were not good, but he just might manage it. John, on the other hand, would have been lost within seconds.
Instead he raced to the back of the building, where he clambered over the wall and into the yard. The window next to the door on the empty shop had blown out. Inside, flames leapt into the air.
He looked about him, seeing the tap on the wall. There had to be a hose, something to wash down the yard.
He flung open the door of an outhouse and found what he needed, attached the hose with trembling fingers to the tap and aimed a jet of water into the burning building.
He was still there, numb with the effort, when the fire brigade arrived.
Chapter 26
F
RANCES HAD BEEN UP late reading, determined to finish the final few pages of Rebecca, when she heard the commotion. She went out into the street to investigate and saw the fire crew training hoses on the empty grocer’s and the Brindsleys being helped into an ambulance by Dr Rosen and Erica. The door to the pub was open, and the Dawsons stood outside in their night things. On a bench nearby were Alison and John, looking utterly exhausted, their little dog at their feet. When they told her what had happened, Frances insisted on taking them home with her and giving them strong tea and brandy.
The three of them had sat in the kitchen talking until it started to get light. Alison paled as she described seeing David stagger from the house with Miriam and Vivian, and the look of desperation on his face when he realised that Bryn had somehow been left behind.
‘We didn’t want David going back inside,’ she said, ‘not the state he was in – but he wouldn’t listen. He was gone before we could stop him. ’
He had done the same on the ship as it sank, Frances thought. Gone back time and again, at great personal cost, it turned out, to bring others to safety. How hard it must have been, having already been caught in a fire, knowing all that it entailed, to face another one.
‘I thought I could go with him and help,’ John said, ‘but I knew I wouldn’t stand a chance. I just had to leave him to it. I was more use trying to put the fire out at the back of the shop. ’
Alison shook her head. ‘I couldn’t see you. I thought you’d gone inside. ’
He put a hand on hers. Frances pretended not to notice.
‘That boy showed real courage,’ John said. ‘I only wish I could have done more. ’
‘You did as much as you could,’ Alison insisted. ‘If you’d gone in, you might never have come out. Pitch-black, choking on smoke, in a house you don’t know. What chance would you have had?’
‘Alison’s right,’ Frances said. ‘Showing courage doesn’t mean being reckless with your life or taking unnecessary risks. You could very easily have ended up trapped, and then others might have had to go looking for you . . . putting more lives at risk. That wouldn’t be brave – it would be foolish. You made absolutely the right decision, in my view, and I’ve no doubt David will say the same. ’
John still had hold of Alison’s hand, Frances saw.
‘It seems to me that by your actions tonight, the two of you helped save lives,’ Frances went on. ‘Not everyone would have had the presence of mind to get the doctor there as quickly as you did, Alison. And John, were it not for you, the flames could easily have spread, putting the fire crew in greater peril. ’ She gazed at them. ‘You both pitched in and showed great courage. If it hadn’t been for the two of you, things would have been much worse, I’m sure. I have every hope the entire village will be grateful to both of you for your efforts. ’
*
David woke, and for a moment wasn’t sure where he was. Against his skin was cool, crisp cotton. At home, the sheets smelled of lavender – but these had a different scent, something he couldn’t quite make out. He took a deep breath and felt a stinging in his nostrils. Opening his eyes, he stared up at an expanse of ceiling and a light suspended on a chain. The flimsy remains of a spider’s web wafted from the glass lampshade.
‘David, thank God. ’
He turned his h
ead to one side and saw Jenny peering at him, anxious, eyes swollen from crying.
She took his hand. ‘You’re all right,’ she said, relief in her voice. ‘They’ve said you’ll be fine. ’ Tears ran down her face.
David reached over and brushed at them. ‘The others . . . ’ His throat hurt.
She nodded. ‘Everyone’s safe, thanks to you. ’
‘Don’t cry. ’
Her face crumpled. ‘You could have been killed,’ she said.
He closed his eyes for a moment and squeezed the tips of her fingers, the awful choking smoke of the night before coming back to him. He remembered the look of terror in his mother’s eyes when he said there was a fire and they had to get out. Right away. He remembered her lifting Vivian from her cot, his father obediently going with him only to stall on the landing at the sight of the smoke. A silent killer ready to swallow them.
David felt suddenly suffocated by the starched hospital sheet, tucked too tightly around him, as if he couldn’t get enough air. He tugged at it and flung it back, easing himself up, panic squeezing his insides.
It wasn’t as bad as the last time, he told himself, when he ’d been out of it for days and come back to a spasm of agonising pain, half his body swathed in bandages. There had been no Jenny at his bedside then, no one he loved to take care of him. His family hadn’t even known where he was, or if he was alive.