Time to Move On

by Grace Thompson

  He went upstairs and grabbed towels which he soaked in the bathroom before going back and putting them against the bottom of the kitchen door, which seemed to be the source of the fire. He began to cough and his head felt dizzy. The smoke was beginning to affect him and he knew that time was already running out.

  He went back to the stairs, calling, hoping the place was empty but knowing he had to make sure. The smoke was getting thicker and he lay as close to the floor as he could and almost flat on his stomach he crawled into the bedroom. To his relief the bed was empty, but, remembering those long ago lessons, he felt in the corners and under the bed before crawling back out. He had been warned that people hid in the most unlikely places where they think they’ll be safe. Check everything first time, you might not have a second chance. The words ran through his mind like a mantra. He took precious moments to close the door.

  He was coughing as the smoke penetrated the towel he had wrapped around his mouth and nose and the temptation to get out was strong but thinking of Jessie possibly trapped he went on. He crawled first to the bathroom then went into the living-room. Feeling in the darkness, longing to get up and run back down the stairs to gasp some fresh air, he forced himself to check the room thoroughly, feeling in every chair and every corner until he was quite sure the room was empty.

  It’s your one and only chance, the long ago voices in his head had warned, so search properly. You will probably die if you later have doubts and have to come back in.

  He made his way across the floor convinced Jessie was not there but he persisted, hoping the staircase was still a safe exit. The source of the fire made that doubtful although the wet towels might have held it back for long enough. He heard the explosion of breaking glass as the pressures changed and he had to control his instinct to forget the living-room and get out. He heard the bell of the fire engine approaching and this with the black smoke that was threatening to choke him made everything unreal. He was afraid he was going to lose consciousness if he didn’t get out soon. There was only the living-room to search. It was the most unlikely place at this time of night but he wouldn’t be able to get back in; it had to be done now.

  She was on the couch, head back struggling to breathe the foul air, and he felt the shock of disbelief. He hadn’t expected to find her. Still remembering the rules about search and rescue from a burning building from all those years ago, he tied her wrists together with one of the towels and put her arms around his neck like a yoke. Crawling backwards, dragging her on her back behind him, he made his way back to the stairs.

  He didn’t hear the arrival of the fire brigade or the anxious voices outside. Dreading to hear the roar of flames as the fire broke through the now smouldering kitchen door, which they had to pass, he forced himself on.

  His lungs were painful and he was gasping for air. Each sound that told of the fire’s progress was a warning that their exit could be blocked at any second. He forced himself on, coughing, sweating with both the heat and fear. He tried to whisper reassurances to Jessie but couldn’t manage it. He patted her shoulder each time he paused to find a breath of air, moving more slowly as fatigue weakened him. She seemed much heavier now. His neck hurt with the effort of dragging her – the roar of the fire was deafening and beginning to confuse him. He fought against the desire to stop and let everything go.

  Pausing constantly to bend down and breathe the slightly clearer air near the floor, his progress slower with each second that passed, he made his way down. Welcoming hands met him and a fireman lifted the damp towel he had placed across Jessie’s face and eased her arms from his neck which made him cry out in agony. There were murmurs of congratulations of which he was unaware, as she was carried to a waiting ambulance.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The first flames were visible by the time Jessie was carried into an ambulance. The fire had broken through the kitchen door and leapt across to the café area. The firemen quickly unreeled hoses and set to work. A front window cracked, the sound like a gun shot. All around the area, people had crept out of their beds to come and see what was going on. Police herded them back and Luke stood in the centre of the circle of curious onlookers imagining it was a film scene into which he had wandered by mistake.

  He wanted to get back to Badgers Brook as soon as possible, to tell Seranne what had happened. That scene, where he held her in his arms and reassured her while she clung to him for comfort and love, that was like a film too, but unlike the fire, it was a fantasy.

  As he was helped into an ambulance Luke told the fire chief that he thought the frayed cord on the heater might have been the cause. He was coughing, his neck was painful and stiff, his eyes were stinging and he knew that, even though his first thought was to get back to Seranne and reassure her about her mother, the sensible thing was to get some help first.

  He looked at Jessie, so small, her face pale under the dirt and smoke stains. She smiled at him and in a small voice said, ‘Thank you,’ followed by a bout of coughing.

  He asked questions of the ambulance men who assured him Jessie did not appear to be seriously harmed. ‘Thanks to you and your brave actions. She’s conscious and able to talk a little – both good signs.’

  ‘Can you wait a while before contacting Mrs Curtis’s husband and daughter?’ he asked the policeman writing down the address where they were to be found. ‘I want to tell them myself. Aware that Mrs Curtis is missing, a policeman arriving will frighten them.’

  ‘Sorry, but we have to contact Mr Curtis immediately. Just go in the ambulance and get yourself checked over and leave us to worry about the family.’

  Still coughing and rubbing his swollen eyes, Luke went towards his car. ‘I have to see them,’ he insisted.

  ‘At least wait until we can bathe your eyes.’

  ‘I’ll get something at the chemist,’ he called back as he jumped into his car. ‘I’ll be all right.’

  He couldn’t drive very fast, his eyes were sore and he constantly blinked to clear them. At a newsagent’s that was just opening its doors, he begged a drink of water and the man allowed him to wash the black streaks from his face and bathe his eyes, then he hurried on.

  Unaware of the drama at the tea rooms, Paul was driving around the area with Alun. They both knew it was futile but futile activity was preferable to standing and waiting for others to find her. Babs was at the café in case Jessie rang and Betty waited at the Ship. Seranne stood at the kitchen window waiting for someone to return with news. Kitty made tea.

  It was almost nine o’clock when Luke reached Badgers Brook. He saw Seranne and called to her. ‘It’s all right,’ he said at once. ‘She drove back to the flat in Paul’s car.’

  ‘Why would she do that?’ She stared at him. ‘Luke! What’s happened? Your clothes smell of smoke – and your eyes … you’re hurt!’

  ‘Don’t be alarmed, but your mother’s in hospital.’

  ‘There’s been an accident?’

  ‘Try to stay calm, she’s going to be all right. There was a fire and she’s suffering from smoke inhalation, but she’s safe and not seriously hurt.’

  ‘What fire? Was it the car? Oh Luke! Is she terribly burnt?’

  ‘No, not burnt at all. She’s going to be fine.’

  ‘And you? From the state of you, you were there too.’

  ‘There was a fire at the flat,’ he told her. ‘Your mother was sleeping and I managed to find her and get her out before the fire really took hold.’ She was staring at him as though the words didn’t make sense. He wished his brain could arrange the words more calmly. Why couldn’t he tell her without it sounding like news headlines? Then she ran to him and at least part of his wishful dreaming came true as she clung to him for reassurance.

  ‘She was fully conscious and able to talk and the firemen told me they were positive signs. She’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. She was trembling and he held her more tightly.

  Paul appeared only moments after Luke.
The story had emerged and spread around the searchers.

  Colin was intrigued with the way Luke had remembered the advice given more than ten years before. ‘Who’d have believed it? I remember being given a similar demonstration, but I don’t know that I’d have remembered any of it in circumstances like this. Panic is more common than common sense! Well done, Luke.’

  Luke was tired and could barely keep his painful eyes open and it was Paul who drove Seranne to see her mother, borrowing Alun’s car. Before they left, Luke warned Seranne not to blame Paul until she knew the full story.

  Fear for her mother and the need to blame someone made her forget her promise before they left Cwm Derw. She listed Paul’s failings and accused him of causing the fire by his neglect of the basic safety precautions but her voice faded after a while.

  Paul didn’t protest, white faced and anxious about Jessie, he agreed with everything she said.

  On Bob and Kitty’s insistence, Luke bathed and dressed in clothes borrowed from Bob. While he was doing so, Kitty cycled to the corner of the lane and phoned for a doctor. Still protesting, but relieved to have the assurance from the doctor that all he needed was sleep, Luke went to the small back room which Paul had refused to use and, propped up on pillows, and with Kitty promising to look in regularly, he slept.

  After visiting Jessie, and waiting until she slept, Seranne left Paul there and went to the police station.

  ‘Investigations are underway,’ she was told. ‘But it’s possible the fire was caused by a heater left on in the café, which had a dangerously worn cord. Exposed wires are a common cause of house fires, miss. In a place where the public are allowed, there should have been a regular check.’

  ‘There used to be,’ she muttered grimly, ‘until my mother began to leave everything to Paul Curtis!’

  She didn’t go back to the hospital, knowing that if she did, she would accuse Paul of deliberately causing the fire that almost cost her mother and Luke their lives. Contenting herself with a final phone call, she went to the bus stop and set off on the journey back to Badgers Brook, and Luke.

  Luke woke once or twice and Kitty gave him sips of blackcurrant cordial and spoonfuls of honey to soothe his throat, which was now rather painful. She bathed his eyes and he drifted back to sleep. When he finally awoke and sat up, Seranne was sitting beside the bed. Wordlessly she hugged him.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he soothed, as though she were the one recovering from the fire. ‘Have you seen your mother?’

  ‘She’s going to be all right, but if you hadn’t been there, she wouldn’t have woken up. The nurses told me that. How can I ever thank you?’

  ‘We should thank that instructor who was preparing us to cope with bombing raids,’ he said.

  Jessie was free to leave the hospital a couple of days later but she obviously couldn’t go back to the flat. Investigations were not complete and the kitchen that had been the root of the fire had been seriously ravaged by the flames. The rest of the place suffered smoke damage and the building was uninhabitable. Paul brought her to Badgers Brook but he didn’t stay. ‘I want to be on hand while the place is open, we don’t want burglars on top of everything else, do we?’

  ‘Will you be in trouble for not fixing the heater?’ Seranne asked sharply.

  ‘Why should I be? I had no idea it was in need of attention.’

  ‘I told you and so did Luke!’ Her temper flared and Luke held her back.

  ‘Not now,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t think your mother wants to hear this, do you?’

  ‘I’ll be off, then,’ Paul said, smiling nervously. ‘I have so many things to see to.’

  ‘I’ll come tomorrow and see what I can do to help,’ Luke said. ‘Where will you stay?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’ll find a bed and breakfast somewhere, don’t worry about me.’

  ‘I won’t!’ Seranne couldn’t help saying.

  ‘No accusations until we know the facts,’ Luke warned her when Paul had gone. ‘Think of your mother in all this.’

  ‘He’s a criminal!’

  ‘Or perhaps a weak and foolish man,’ Luke remarked thoughtfully.

  Leaving Babs to run the café with Tony helping when he could, Seranne went to her mother’s ruined flat with Luke the following day. It looked hopeless, the sight brought her to tears.

  ‘I know it’s a mess but you’ll be surprised how quickly it can be restored.’

  ‘But it’s ruined,’ she wailed.

  ‘The damage isn’t as bad as it looks. I’ll find some men to clear it out as soon as the police and firemen give permission. New windows and shelves won’t take long to fix. The insurance will cover the cost, so there won’t be much delay.’

  ‘The smell will linger for ages.’

  ‘I can still smell the smoke on my clothes, even though they’ve been cleaned,’ he agreed. ‘But remember, no one was hurt. Your mother and Paul are safe. The rest is just down to work and imagination.’

  It was a few days later when Jessie began listing all they had lost that she remembered the letter which had arrived for her daughter several weeks before. ‘Paul found it but it was mislaid again and it wasn’t until the day of the fire that I put it in the box with a couple of holiday postcards from friends I thought you’d like to see. It was one of those large, long envelopes so I thought it might be important.’

  ‘Do you remember who sent it? If it was official, the name is usually on the outside.’

  Jessie frowned. ‘I think it was more than one name, you know, like Evans Evans and Watkins.’

  ‘A solicitor, maybe? Although I can’t imagine why a solicitor would write to me.’

  ‘Yes, it was something like Morgan and – Lace? Base? Chase?’

  ‘Not Lacy, Mark Lacy? He’s the solicitor with an office nearby.’

  ‘Lacy? D’you know, I think that was it. Morgan and Lacy. But what’s the point of remembering? The letter would have been lost in the fire.’

  ‘There’s no harm in talking to him. Perhaps I’m the lost cousin of a wealthy duke and my life will be changed by one telephone call,’ Seranne joked.

  There was no phone in Badgers Brook, but the next day she rang from the phone box and explained about the lost letter. Mark Lacy arranged an appointment but he seemed vague about the reason. She wondered whether she would bother. Her mother was more important. Eventually curiosity got the better of her and she went.

  ‘It’s about the will of Mrs Elsie Connors,’ Mark Lacy told her when she had been offered a chair and a cup of tea. ‘I’ve been looking for a Mary Anne Crisp but without success. Then a couple of days ago, Tilly Tucker, who works in the Ship and Compass, called to tell me that she believed the name was incorrect and the young woman had never married and was in fact Miss Mary Anne Jones.’

  ‘Jones. That isn’t an easy name to investigate in Wales,’ she remarked.

  ‘Wasn’t it your mother’s name for a while?’

  ‘Yes. My father was called Jones and when my mother remarried, my stepfather adopted me and I became Seranne Laurence.’

  ‘Seranne, a pretty name, was it your real name or were you christened Sarah Anne?’

  ‘I’m Sarah Anne on my birth certificate but I’ve always used the name Seranne.’

  ‘Such confusion with these divorces and changing of names. It’s been a difficult puzzle to untangle but at last, I believe I’ve done it.’

  ‘Good,’ she replied with a frown. ‘But why did you want to see me? I can’t help. I’ve never heard of this Mary Anne Crisp – or Jones.’

  ‘On the contrary, I’m almost certain I’ll have some interesting news for you very soon. There are just two details on which to check then I’ll be in touch. If you will give me your name and address and where I can reach you by telephone, I’ll say thank you and goodbye.’

  ‘It can’t be about the guest house, though, can it?’ she coaxed. ‘I’ve no connection with Mrs Connors.’

  He made an evasive reply but refu
sed to say anything more. ‘I don’t want to build up your hopes, Miss Laurence.’

  ‘Hopes of what exactly?’ But he wouldn’t be drawn.

  She went outside and stood for a long time wondering about the mysterious Mary Anne Crisp. It couldn’t have been anything to do with that. It had to be something completely different, a gift from someone. She frowned as she tried to think of someone who would leave her a small gift or memento, and failed.

  A customer at her mother’s tea rooms was a possibility, but in that case a solicitor would have been able to contact her without any difficulty. A connection with a father she didn’t even remember was impossible. She knew nothing about him. Her adoptive father must surely have remarried and would now have children of his own and she would have been forgotten. Anyway, he wasn’t a Jones. His surname and her own, was Laurence.

  When her mother asked about the visit she shrugged and said vaguely, ‘I don’t really know. Mr Lacy thought I might be able to help him trace a woman called Mary Anne Crisp but he didn’t really explain how.’

  Jessie frowned. ‘I haven’t heard the name, have you?’

  ‘No, and neither has anyone else it seems.’ Bored with the subject she asked, ‘Have you seen Paul? Or Luke?’

  ‘Luke phoned the post office, Stella Jones passed his message to Betty, who told Bob, and Kitty came to tell me Luke is coming here this evening.’ She was laughing at the convolutions of the delivery. ‘Who needs a telephone? They’ve both been trying to sort out the insurance and arrange for workmen to make a start on the repairs. I imagine Luke is coming with an update. The last time I spoke to Paul he assured me that everything will be underway by the end of this week.’

  Seranne busied herself preparing a meal. Vegetable soup with some bread rolls brought from the café. A few pancakes made with duck eggs and served with sugar and lemon juice, that would suffice. She dashed upstairs to change out of her rather formal suit she had worn for the appointment with the solicitor into something fresh.