by Connie Monk
She set out her papers and, determined not to be thrown off course by his accusations, picked up her pen. He must have upset her more than she was prepared to admit, though, for she couldn’t concentrate and went to open the window. Someone must have a bonfire – she could smell it and there was a hint of smoke in the air. Gazing down the long strip of well-manicured garden she thought back on what poor, confused Harold had said and, honest to the core, she admitted to herself that his comments had hit home. ‘Frightened you’d end a dried-up old maid’ … ‘glad to get it from any man who’ll give it to you.’ No, that wasn’t true – he was a wicked old man. All her thoughts had been focused on Leo; he was the man – the only man – she had wanted. Of course nothing had changed, she told herself. And yet she knew the truth was that nothing was as it had been before Ali was lost to them; then, they had thought just of the moment, caring for nothing more. Now, she knew she could see clearly. Another Road to Damascus moment, perhaps? And was it the same for Leo? Oh yes, Leo had changed even if he hadn’t yet faced the truth.
The smell of smoke was getting stronger. It brought her thoughts back from their wanderings. Pushing the window wide open she leant out, stunned by the horror of what she saw. Instinct was her guide as first she grabbed her handbag and then climbed over the sill into the garden. Then reason came to the fore and she ran to the front of the house, groping in her handbag as she went. The telephone was in the sitting room, that’s where she must go to send for help.
The fire was on the first floor, the smoke emanating from her bedroom. She remembered him telling her she would burn in hell. How could he have done this to the place where he and Violet had been so happy together? He was wrong; never had she tried to take anything that had been her aunt’s. All this time while he had been coming to the house with Bella and Ali, had he been hating her and planning how he would get rid of her?
‘Operator,’ she said as she picked up the receiver, ‘give me nine-nine-nine.’
‘Which service do you want, police, fire or ambulance?’ came the businesslike reply.
‘Fire. Please be quick.’
Then Miss Harding, the ever practical, came to the fore and took the situation in hand. Thankful that the fire was in the upper storey and so far the ground floor was safe, she went back to her workroom and unlocked the door, then into her large briefcase crammed all the papers relating to outstanding work. Next came the bureau for papers that were more personal. Surprising herself, she added all of Violet’s snapshots to the pile. It was as she closed the bureau that she became aware of a dull, roaring sound. The smell of smoke was strong and when she went out into the hall she could hardly see up the stairs for it. Fear was her first fierce but brief reaction; common sense told her that she was only yards from the front door and freedom. Without warning the realization of what was happening gripped her. Until that moment she had had thoughts of nothing except what had to be saved from destruction. Only then did it hit her what the fire meant to her. This was her home, the very first home she had actually possessed … it was a place filled with memories of Leo and her … it had been a house filled with happiness … even if the firemen were in time to contain the fire to the first floor nothing could ever be the same. Everything before she came here had faded into the mists of time; everything relevant to her life had been here. Leo, Bella and Ali, the transformation of the garden and her real and growing affection for Hamish and his sister, even the movement of the lace curtains opposite: all these had given meaning to her life. And there was something else, something that had given purpose to her days and pride in her success: her steadily growing business, one where she was subservient to no man.
Harold didn’t go straight home when he left her. He started up the track until he reached the gate to the field behind The Retreat. It was padlocked, but climbing a five-bar gate proved no problem in his present elated state. Once in the field where through the summer peas had been grown, he half ran and half stumbled over the newly turned earth. This was the place for the best view, he decided. Chuckling excitedly, he rubbed his hands and beat a tattoo with his feet. Then instinct made him realize he would be seen from all directions standing in the middle of the field, so he hurried to the far side, took a surprisingly agile leap across a narrow point in the ditch and sheltered behind a tree at the edge of the wood. ‘Look at it burning, that’ll teach her. Coming here and living in Violet’s house, even wearing her clothes, driving around in her car. And, yes, looking like my Vi used to look. Well, if Vi can’t have that house, then neither can anyone else. I did it! Locked her in, too. Don’t like that, burning flesh. No, don’t like that. I ought to have left it so that she could get out, just as long as she goes away. And that’s what she’ll do. She shouldn’t be there, trying to take Violet’s place. I’m glad to see it burn; now no one can live there. Little Bella, she’s a good girl. But that one, looking like my precious one, and what is she but a harlot? I could see what she wanted; like a bitch on heat she was, ready to lie on her back for anyone. Well, I hope Leo had a good time with her. I bet a pound to a penny he could see as plain as I could what was up with her. Prim and proper as ever I saw, but hungry for a chance to sample the fleshpots. Gave it to her good and proper, did you, m’lad?’ Then, just as his thoughts were racing forward with no conscious effort from him, he changed course at the sight of flames appearing from the roof of the burning house. ‘Look at that! That’ll do it, Vi. We don’t want her there in our house. Remember it, Vi? Remember every hour of it. It was ours, just ours.’
For all his wild ramblings, now that he was satisfied with his work he wanted to get right away from The Retreat. He wasn’t in a fit enough state to know exactly why he shouldn’t be found near the house, but the wood presented a safe haven. He’d pick his way through the overgrown brambles, ferns and fallen branches in an attempt to reach the more familiar part. So, not turning back to look again at the fire’s progress, he stumbled on. Although in the open the light wasn’t fading yet, in the wood it was getting dark already. Believing he was heading in the right direction, he moved on. Time lost its meaning, dusk deepened.
‘Dad! Dad!’ Was he dreaming or could it be Leo calling him? ‘Can you hear me, Dad?’
Filling his lungs, he shouted, ‘Here! Over here.’
‘Just stand still. Stay where you are. I’m coming.’
It was only then that Harold realized just how frightened he was. As long as he walked he’d believed he was making his way home, whereas in truth he was going ever further into the wood. Now he had to stand still, that’s what Leo had told him. But if he just stood here quietly with no light to guide the boy, how could they hope to meet? Visions of night-time amongst these eerie trees frightened him. And what was that? Something was falling on the leaves, then on the ground where it could get through. Rain. He’d be here all night if he had to stand still. A few minutes ago his mind had been filled with his success in creating the fire; now all that was forgotten, wiped clean. All he knew was fear. With his arms around an old, long-neglected beech tree he started to cry, thankful to hear the sound of his own sobbing.
‘Raining,’ he wailed. ‘All alone. Just want to die, oh, God, why don’t you let me die?’ Whether that was a brief flash of clarity or whether it was no more than the fear of the moment no one would ever know, for he alone heard the hysterical outburst. Minutes that seemed like hours went by until he could stand no more. ‘I’m going to walk!’ he yelled. ‘Getting wet. Where the devil are you?’
By that time Leo was near enough to hear his voice if not his words. ‘I’m nearly with you. Don’t move, Dad. Only a few more minutes.’
And so it turned out. Five minutes later, holding Harold firmly by the arm, Leo steered him in what he guessed to be the direction of the field that divided Ridgeway from The Retreat. It was after eight o’clock and Bella would have had their usual light supper ready for ages. This was certainly not the way he had planned to spend the evening. Now, as they came nearer to the edge of the wood, h
e frowned, sniffing the air.
‘Smells like smoke. Can you smell smoke, Dad?’
Harold didn’t answer. His muddled mind was unsure what his reply ought to be. He was aware that Leo was walking faster, having no regard for thorns on the bushes or tree roots that threatened to trip them.
‘Christ!’ Through a momentary gap between the trees Leo saw the lights of the fire engine. ‘Christ!’ This time is was hardly more than a whisper.
Harold began to whimper. What was going to happen? Would Leo know about how he had set light to the bedspread and the curtains?
‘This way.’ Holding tightly to his father’s arm, Leo pulled him to the left as they came out of the wood and made towards the stile into the lane. ‘We’ll take her home with us. There can be no going back into that inferno – not tonight or ever from the look of those flames.’
‘Come on, come on, let’s go and see.’ Harold sounded unnaturally excited, but that didn’t make any particular impression on Leo. ‘That’s our house, Vi’s and mine. She had to be got rid of. Don’t you see, boy, she spoilt everything. Remember how it used to be. Who does she think she is, coming there, trying to be like Vi?’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. Come on, we’ve got to find Louisa.’
Ten
The previous day, when Bella had been walking home with her shopping, she had met elderly Edith Cunningham, whose husband kept the fish and chip shop at the end of High Street. From her first days in Lexleigh she had known that Edith was her friend, even though some of the other village folk had whispered amongst themselves that no nice girl would have been so eager to show off her growing bulge, especially with a wedding ring only recently on her finger. Out of respect for Alice Carter they had only said these things to each other. But Mrs Cunningham had been excited for her and had even knitted a white matinee coat in readiness for the baby’s arrival.
When they met by chance that morning, having talked with genuine sadness about Ali’s death, Edith Cunningham had said, ‘There’s going to be talk in the village, wicked talk—’
‘How could there be? It was an accident.’ Bella had found herself defending Harold.
‘No my dear, never about dear little Alicia.’ She looked around as if she thought someone might be listening even though the street was empty. ‘It’s our little Sheila, my grand-daughter. Well, not so little now, she’s sixteen and done with schooling. People say it’s the goings-on at the youth night in the village hall, but to my mind it never did anyone any harm to have a dance, young or old. Trouble is she’s told her mother, my Emmie, that she’s two months gone. She’ll be a mother before she’s seventeen and the lad is only a year older. They haven’t told me who he is, only that he’s not in the village any longer.’
‘Perhaps that’s a good thing, Mrs Cunningham. If he still lived here perhaps they would have wanted to get married, and they’d be far too young. Now the baby will belong just to the family. And whether they’re planned or slip-ups they bring so much love.’
‘That’s just what I told my Emmie. But Sheila is little more than a child herself, hasn’t had the chance of earning a penny yet, and as if that’s not trouble enough, Jack, her dad, lost his job last week. He used to work at Ryders, in town, doing the deliveries, but from out of the blue he fell in a fit – epilepsy, they called it. Never had one before and Emmie blames Sheila for it, says he’s worried out of his mind and it’s enough to give anyone a fit. Any road, they stopped him from driving so bang went his job. Of course, me and Cliff will help the girl – she’s the only grandchild we’ve got.’
For Bella it had been a moment she knew would stay with her, for with no warning she had known exactly what she must do. More than that, it was a moment when Ali had seemed so close she could almost feel the weight of her in her arms. And Ali had been laughing; Ali had been putting the words in her mouth and telling her that this was the way never to lose her.
‘I’ve always kept everything of Ali’s, right from her first vests and her terry towelling nappies to her two-year-old sizes – and her toys, and pram and baby crib. Everything.’
‘Very wise of you, child. I know it’s hard to imagine now, but you’ll have other children and be glad. To see her little things on the tiny body of a brother or sister might ease the hurt.’
‘No. I know what I have to do, what I want to do. There won’t be any more children and I would like to give everything to Sheila. She wouldn’t mind – I mean, she wouldn’t look on it as a bad omen or anything silly? It’s what Ali would want, what Ali does want.’
And so it was that on that early evening when the fire at The Retreat started, after Bella had laid the table for a cold meat and salad supper she went up to Ali’s room to continue sorting the clothes that she had started earlier. She had made up her mind she would do it while the nearness of Ali was fresh in her mind.
It was getting dark, and she would be late arriving at Louisa’s. She had expected Leo to have found his father and brought him home ages ago, for his wanderings usually took him either towards The Retreat or to the edge of the farm by the wood. But Leo must have looked in the usual places and then had to go into the village or even right into the wood. If she had known they would be so long she would have offered to search too, but it was too late now to do anything about it. So, holding close to so many memories as she folded each small garment and added it to the piles in the cot, she pushed the thought of Leo’s fruitless search from her mind and concentrated on Ali. It was as she switched on the light and crossed to the window to draw the curtains that she saw the smoke billowing high in the air. Had Louisa gone home and lit a bonfire, then let it get out of hand? With a concerned frown she drew a chair to the window and climbed on to it; from her new vantage point she ought to be able to see exactly where the smoke was coming from. It may not have been from The Retreat at all, but from one of the cottages opposite.
‘Oh, no! It can’t be.’ There was no reason behind her exclamation, for clearly she could see the thick smoke blotting out her vision of the roof of the house. Her one thought was to get to the scene of the fire, to make sure Louisa was safely outside and to bring her home to the farm. The affair between Leo and her didn’t even enter Bella’s head. She simply wanted to help her friend. Taking a shortcut through the field where the recently turned ground was uneven, she climbed the stile to the road where by that time the original small group had swelled to become a crowd. lt was seldom Lexleigh saw such excitement.
There was no sign of Louisa but she caught a brief glimpse of Leo ushering Harold on to the track and back home.
‘Is Louisa safe?’ she blurted out as soon as she came within earshot of the gathered spectators.
‘Yes. She looked right as rain. She’d got her car out and put it up the lane out of the way for safe keeping and was outside here waiting for the firemen,’ one of the village women Leo referred to as the Lexleigh Ladies replied.
‘Where is she now?’
This time it was the opposite neighbour with a reputation for missing nothing who replied, ‘That gardener chap came – not five minutes after the engine arrived he was here. How he heard the good Lord knows, but he was in a right bother. I was just telling your husband, they stood along there talking, then she got into her car and off they went, Miss Harding first and him following in his van. Not a word of explanation to anyone. He’ll take her home with him for the night, I wouldn’t wonder. He comes sniffing around here often enough.’
‘Nothing wrong with Hamish McLaren,’ one of the others was quick to his defence. ‘A nicer young fellow you wouldn’t find.’
‘Maybe she thinks so too,’ the neighbour who had so much trouble with her net curtains replied, ‘or maybe she doesn’t. I only know what I happen to see.’
‘Well, she can’t spend the night here,’ Bella said, her authoritative tone surprising her and, no doubt, the rest of the group too. ‘I came to tell her there’s always a place for her at the farm. But it seems I’m too late.’ Then, changing the subj
ect, ‘Do you know what happened, how it started?’
‘From what we can gather it’s mostly the upstairs and the roof space. They’ll be here a long time getting it out and damped down. She’d not been home many minutes – well, you know she hadn’t. I heard the car and happened to look out as she turned it on to the track, so I saw you’d been having the afternoon together. A funny thing, though, and this is just between ourselves (her glance took in the rest of her cronies). When she came running out and rushed up the road, I suppose to dial for the engine, she was carrying one of those smart cases they keep papers and things in just as if she’d had it waiting handy for when she had to get out.’
Ignoring the innuendo, Bella said to the group at large, ‘If she isn’t here I’ll go home and give the others their supper. I would have expected her to come to us. Anyway, if you just happen to see her come back – although I don’t see that Hamish would let her come back to this, but if he does, will you tell her that we are expecting her at the farm and there is a bed waiting for her.’
‘I reckon she knows that without having to be told by us.’ This was spoken by one of the group with a guffaw that left no one in any doubt of what she was suggesting. Choosing to ignore the remark, Bella made for the track and home.
Sheer chance had brought Hamish through the village, taking a shortcut home from where he had been working. It had taken him no more than a few seconds to take in the situation and know he would offer to take Louisa home with him. Well, before he reached the scene of the fire he recognized her car parked, so he left his van next to it and walked the distance to where she was standing, a little apart from the group.