The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street

by Rachel Dove

  ‘Guilty as charged. I’m sorry, I am not normally nosy. I honestly just did come out here for coffee. You on holiday then?’

  She already knew that he had heard her phone call. That this was more than just a holiday. She took the bait though, smiling a fraction of a second at his attempt to smooth things over.

  ‘Yes. My Auntie Marlene lives here, she’s always at me to come. She asked me to stay with her, but Xander likes his own space, and her house is a lot to take in.’

  Sam nodded. ‘Autism, right?’ He said it easily, as he would any other word. He had seen his fair share of kids with different needs over the years, picked things up. On the job, too.

  He felt her scrutinise him, as though she was weighing him up and finding him lacking.

  ‘Yes, he has autism. It’s not been diagnosed long, but I knew.’

  Sam nodded, putting his coffee cup down on the table across the deck. Moving a little closer to her.

  ‘Mothers always know. He got a good school system set up?’

  Her face pinched, and the flush disappeared. He regretted asking, if it took that away from him.

  ‘Kind of. Not really.’ She shrugged. ‘They put things in place, things work for a while. Till someone says something, or there’s an event.’ She looked down at her polish, her face lighting up as she saw the haphazard blobs of polish on her nails. She loved the bones of the boy, Sam didn’t need to ask a question to know that. ‘July was hard, you know. I just needed to get away.’ He waited for her to elaborate, but she was looking at him now. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I’ve been around a lot of kids, on the job. My mum is a foster parent too, so I picked a few things up.’

  ‘I’m sure you did, but living with it is a little different.’ He wanted to counter that he had lived with it, many times over, but what would the point be? He wasn’t a parent, so he didn’t know what it was like to be raising a child, that much was true. Any further explanation would only bring questions back to him, and he didn’t want to talk about it. So they both stood there a while, looking at the other, wanting to ask, to probe, to enquire, but not wishing to divulge anything themselves.

  ‘Well, I’d better be off to work. You and Xander have a good day, okay?’

  At that minute Xander shouted for her from inside, and she automatically took a step closer to the cottage. Her face was pinched, her shoulders up above her ears with the tension of the stress.

  ‘Hey, listen,’ Sam said softly. ‘It’s your holiday. Enjoy it.’

  She said nothing, just waved her fingers at him and headed inside.

  ‘You have a good day at work.’ Her foot was on the step, when she turned and looked at him, biting her lip. ‘Be safe.’

  Sam nodded. No one but his mother had ever cared about him like that. Here she was, worrying for his wellbeing. He stood there, looking at the space where she had just been standing, and felt the bloom of warmth in his chest. It felt nice, having someone take the time to think about him. He thought of his mother and, going indoors, he opened one of the kitchen drawers and pulled out the letter that she had given to him at the train station. He took a seat at the small kitchen table, stretched his long legs out in front of him and, smiling at the looped handwriting he knew so well, opened the cream envelope. There were two sheets of paper inside, folded in half, and when he opened the sheaf, a photograph fell out, face down. He could make out his mother’s faded writing on the back of it. He picked it up and read the inscription. It read:

  Baby Sam, with his rescuers. November 1987, Euston Road Fire Station.

  None of the description was anything new to him, the details were imprinted in his brain. His mother had told him all about his rescue, the firemen who had cared for him, and the social worker who had called Sondra that icy late November night, telling her a baby had need of a home. Turning over the photo, he saw the original of the photo that hung on the living room wall of Sondra’s home. It was three firemen standing together, a tiny bundle of red cloth wrapped in the middle man’s arms, all three of them smiling at the camera. In the background, on a table in the fire station, is a box. The box he had arrived in, marked ‘Burgess Teas of Harrogate’. He’d been found just outside, after the half-frozen wails of a baby had gotten the inhabitants running outside, looking for the noise. That year, a new TV show had started, with the hero being a Welsh fireman called Sam. The men, all grappling to warm the baby up, feed him and wait for social services, hated to keep talking to him without him having a name, so one of them, a dad of a telly mad toddler, nicknamed him Sam. When Sondra took him in later that night, after the hospital gave him the all clear, she didn’t have the heart to change it.

  ‘Son,’ she always said when telling him the tale of the day he found his family, ‘I took one look at those beautiful big eyes of yours, and I knew, your name was meant to be Samuel. It was meant to be, just as much as you were meant to be found that night, right when I was looking for a sign to keep on fostering, to keep on trying to make a difference.’

  Looking at the photo now, looking at the box, he once again found himself wondering at the differences between his two matriarchs. He had been found in that box, dressed in a thin Babygro, a spare terry towelling nappy tucked in with him, newspaper wrapping him up. He didn’t even have a blanket to remember her by. The box had been searched for clues, but nothing of any value was found. A piece of cardboard and a bundle of paper. Not much to herald his entrance in the world, the Babygro was it. Second-hand at that. Sondra had offered him the piece of cloth many times, but Sam found he couldn’t bear to look at it. It’s tragic origins prevented him from wanting to be anywhere near it, but he knew that Sondra would keep it forever. He pushed the photo into the middle of the table, and looked at the letter.

  It read:

  Dear Sam,

  I always knew the time would come when you would leave my arms and go out into the world. I’ve seen it so many times, and applauded when it happened even as I swallowed down my sadness. For you though, my dear sweet boy, it’s always been different. My arms wept when I first held you that cold night. I remember seeing you, in the social worker’s arms, as she walked up my front path that night so many years ago. I was a little beaten up myself, a little tired of the constantly sad stories that came etched on the faces of the children that came through my doors. I was due to finish that very next day. I was all set on stopping, on being on my own for a little while, to try to heal.

  Helping others is the key to happiness, Samuel, and you gave me that key when you came into my life. The minute I held you, I knew you were home, but I also knew that I should make the most of every day after, because one day, this event would happen. You asked me once, where you came from, and I told you Westfield, but I didn’t tell you everything. They traced the serial number on the box you were left in back to a Westfield batch of deliveries, sure, but that wasn’t what made me so sure. After the police left, and the social workers had left you to my charge, I looked again at the box, and tucked into the flap, was the letter I attach. I followed the wishes, darling Sam, and I hope you can forgive me for that. I knew that your fearlessness would one day lead you to this, and I hope you find what you have been looking for.

  Love, Mumma

  He teared up as he saw her signing off with such a familiar moniker. He had called her Mumma from an early age, and it had stuck till well into his teens, if only in the privacy of their home by then. He swallowed to try to get rid of the sense of dread he felt, the lump of foreboding feeling like a dry piece of bread in the back of his throat. He looked at the last letter, and began to read.

  Chapter 7

  Given that she had started the morning with an argument with Iain, a half-naked encounter with her temporary neighbour and a morning of explaining to Xander, Lucy found herself feeling strangely upbeat. She had tried to explain that deliveries, even with Amazon Prime and the joys of modern technology, might take a day or two to arrive in Westfield. He had made the rest of his Lego up, and was n
ow wanting to do more. Simply taking photos of his builds for posterity, and dismantling them to make other things wasn’t an option. He didn’t want them to be taken apart, not till he was ready. He wanted the whole set together, and wasn’t about to ruin his models when they were incomplete.

  ‘But can’t we call them, see when it will come?’ he whined as they left the cottage and headed out. They had been summoned again by Marlene, and her friends, but this time, they were headed to the big house. The Mayweather Estate was in the heart of Westfield, and it was a beauty to behold. She had seen it many times as a girl, but today she was to be a guest. Agatha Mayweather as was, now Mrs Taylor, matriarch and unofficial Queen Mother of Westfield, no less. One of the Craft Club cronies.

  Xander was wearing his best clothes, which of course were soft and elasticated, and hated intensely by the wearer.

  ‘Mummm!’ he complained as they walked through the village. ‘Do I have to wear a tie? It’s a sign of toxic masculinity you know! You are oppressing me!’

  Lucy giggled accidentally, not being able to keep her reactions in check for this one. She never dumbed things down for Xander, in fact quite the opposite. His vocabulary had most seasoned adults reaching for the dictionary.

  ‘Xander, where did you read that?’ She looked down at him, but he glared back, pouting.

  ‘Google,’ he said. ‘It’s right though. You always say that women shouldn’t have to wear spiky shoes for men, but you made me wear this!’ He brushed his hand across his chest, flicking the tie up in disgust. He did look cute though, smart grey slacks, a white shirt and a pastel blue tie, all pristine, ironed and shoehorned onto him that morning. She had given him plenty of notice, and warnings, but the holiday had been somewhat of an upheaval for him, and it was starting to show. The tie was seemingly the last straw.

  ‘I’ve told you before about Googling things, be careful.’ He rolled his eyes at her, having heard it so many times before. ‘We have been invited as guests today, so it’s nice to dress up. Be polite. We only have to stay for a few hours, and then we can go.’

  ‘Hours?’ echoed Xander with a loud woe-is-me wail. ‘Not hours! There isn’t enough conversation in the world to last that long! Nooo, Mum! We have to be home for the deliverieeesssss!’ His voice was close to breaking, and she felt the beginnings of her earlier anxiety starting once more. She was wearing her best summer dress, a soft pastel blue peppered with violet flowers, and her favourite soft leather pumps in a matching blue. She felt like she was auditioning to be a villager, and she didn’t like the sensation of being assessed. She had lived like that for months back home, having to justify her life to people: her parenting skills, her child, her marriage, her pregnancy. She’d come here to get away, to reassess her life from a distance, and to give Xander a taste of a different life. A taste of her childhood. She hadn’t expected to be running the gauntlet of the Westfield elite. Finally walking up the driveway, she stopped at the fountain and bent down into a squat to look her son in the face.

  ‘Xander, it’s nice to visit people, and everyone here is nice, and they just want to meet you, that’s all.’ His little pinched face made her pause. ‘I’m nervous too, but if we hold hands, we can face it together, okay? What is it we say?’

  ‘Everything is A-okay!’ he said loudly. ‘Let’s go, Mum.’ His face screwed up in determination, a look that always made her heart melt. It meant he was focusing, getting ready to meet the challenge head-on. He squeezed her hand in his, and they walked up the drive together. They were almost at the front door when it opened, and a smartly dressed woman stepped out, heading straight for them.

  ‘Well,’ she said primly, a broad easy smile on her face, ‘you must be Marlene’s niece. You look so much like her! Welcome to our home.’ She gestured behind her with little consequence, as though she was standing in front of a little shack instead of the Mayweather Mansion. ‘Come in!’ She very elegantly leaned forward and placed her manicured hands on her knees.

  ‘Good morning, Xander, thank you for bringing your mother to come and see us, I appreciate it. Do you like dogs?’

  Xander, preening with the praise and deference she was showing him, nodded slowly.

  ‘Well, I have two big dogs, and I’ve put them in the grounds outside for a run about. I can show you them if you like. They are rather big though, and they get very excited, so I’ll leave them outside for a little while. We can eat in peace then too.’

  Moving forward a little closer, and looking at Lucy as though to check she wasn’t listening, she whispered something to Xander. His eyes went wide, and he nodded vigorously.

  ‘Shall we go in?’ She raised herself to her full height, smoothed down her skirt and, in the same movement, ushered them all into the house before they could even think to object.

  ‘Lucy!’ Marlene exclaimed, her voice echoing in the huge hallway they found themselves in. Off to one side, in a room off the hallway there was a large sitting area, with comfy seating arranged around a large fireplace. At the other side, at the back of another expansive room, a table was set out with place settings, fancy crockery and cutlery, candlesticks and centrepieces in the middle. It looked beautiful, and very clean and organised. Lucy loved the look, and was almost glad to be there.

  Marlene stood and trotted over to them both, enveloping Xander into a huge hug despite his weak protests. Dot and Grace sat like a couple of bookends at either side of the fireplace.

  ‘They’re here!’ she trilled merrily. ‘We have a lovely lunch planned, Agatha has gone all out!’

  Grace, knitting something rather large and navy blue, snorted loudly.

  ‘Well, the caterers she hired have done a little bit to help, I’m sure.’ Dot scowled at her, but she ignored her friend, focusing on the visitors instead. ‘Xander darling, how are you?’ she asked kindly. ‘Want to see what I’m making?’

  Xander, intrigued by anything creative, nodded slowly and headed over.

  ‘So,’ Marlene said softly, taking Lucy’s bag off her shoulder and dashing off to put it on a coatstand in the hallway, ‘how are things at the cottage? Are you settling in?’

  Lucy looked at Xander, being made a fuss of by the three ladies, and felt herself relax.

  ‘It’s good thanks, apart from the fact that Xander is waiting for an emergency Lego delivery and my neighbour is a big nosy drink of water.’

  ‘Neighbour? Delivery? We do get parcels here, you know. It’s not like we live in the Stone Age. Grace is always ordering bits from eBay for her hobbies. And as for the cottage, Cassie runs the holiday cottages, if you have a problem, we can call her.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I’m really going to dob in the local fireman. The village will love me for that!’

  Marlene puffed out her cheeks. ‘Sam? You have a problem with Sam? Oh come on, he can’t be that bad. He was lovely at the station.’

  ‘Sure, lovely. I know what you guys all think of him, but you don’t have to live next to him. Honestly, I am just trying my very best to avoid him at this point.’

  There was a knock at the door, and Marlene ushered her further into the room, seating her on the large couch. Xander was sitting on a footstool next to Grace, focusing on a little row of stitches he had on a pair of smaller knitting needles. Grace was engrossed in teaching him, and Xander was doing his trademark cute move of sticking his tongue out when he was concentrating. Agatha breezed past, and Dot stood up to start pouring the tea.

  ‘One lump or two?’ she asked Lucy, and she was about to answer when the door opened, and a behemoth walked in. Agatha looked like a tiny little colourful bird as she fluttered around its mass, and she heard the women all make appreciative noises at the sight.

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ Sam crooned, his voice soft and deep. ‘Hello, Xander, you here looking after everyone?’

  Xander beamed at him, lifting up his needles to show off his handiwork. Grace went over to him, giving him a hug and making him stand up straight. She held her work-in-progress up against his chest and
whooped triumphantly.

  ‘Excellent, it fits.’ She reached up on her tiptoes and chucked him on the chin. ‘Nice jumper for you, on the way.’ She winked at Lucy and headed back to her knitting masterclass. Sam looked a little taken aback, but muttered his thanks in their direction before turning his gaze to Lucy.

  ‘Hello again. I hope you had a good morning?’

  Lucy frowned at him, but murmured something vague about walking in the village and cucumber sandwiches. Agatha, standing a little between them and the door, was watching the pair of them with an odd expression on her face.

  ‘Sounds good,’ he replied easily, looking her up and down slowly with his eyes. ‘You look beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying so. Reminds me of lavender, your dress.’

  Lucy opened her mouth to say, Thanks, it’s just something from the back of my wardrobe, but it erupted from her mouth as a little squeak. If he noticed, he didn’t comment. The lavender comment was still smacking her in the face. He noticed. Every. Little. Thing.

  ‘So, why are you here?’ Better, Lucy. Use your words. Nosy neighbour alert, get it together.

  ‘I … er …’

  For the first time, she took him in properly. He was dressed in his firefighting uniform – a black fitted t-shirt and matching trousers, topped with a belt and huge black boots. The man was so tall, so big that even in this hallway, she felt his presence. It was disconcerting, especially when Agatha, an average-sized person, was at the side of him. She looked like a Funko plastic toy compared to his huge GI Joe looks. Lucy felt the urge to laugh bubbling up inside her, but she squashed it down.

  ‘He’s here to help me. I have some trees on the property that I thought might be becoming a bit of a hazard, so I called the station, and Chief Briggs was very obliging.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you call a tree surgeon for that, not a fireman?’

  Agatha cleared her throat politely, turning to Sam and placing a hand on his arm. He smiled down at her, with no sign of irritation.