The Fire House on Honeysuckle Street

by Rachel Dove

  Xander’s face darkened then, and Lucy wanted to cut her own tongue out. ‘The cottage?’ she tried, and he relaxed.

  ‘I like the cottage,’ he agreed, the cloud of anxiety leaving his features. ‘Do you like your cottage, Sam? I know you’re a bit too big for a small house, but it’s nice, isn’t it?’

  Normally, people conversing with Xander in public brought her out in a cold sweat. Xander was whip-smart and didn’t miss a trick, but he also had no tact or filter either. He wore his heart on his sleeve, and said what he thought. Not everyone liked it, and often she felt like a translator, facilitating talk between the person and Xander. Trying to explain to Xander the different sayings and in-jokes he didn’t understand. The day he had put his head and hands to the car window, looking for the raining cats and dogs came into her head. She cried all night that night, once he was asleep and tucked up in bed. With Sam though, she didn’t have to worry.

  ‘It is nice, and I think I’ll probably look for a bigger house at some point.’ He bent in close, beckoning with his finger for Xander to lean in. Once he did, Sam whispered to him. Lucy didn’t catch it, and when she asked, they both tapped the side of their nose at the same time. He’d picked up his ways already. The action was so natural, so in sync that the air changed in the cab of the truck. Looking at Sam, she saw a shocked expression that matched how she felt. This was getting complicated. Xander was getting attached here. Just Xander, Lucy? Are you sure?

  Gary came into view of the window, smiling at them all. His hair, a gelled quiff, looked a little floppy, and there were white and red stains on his apron.

  ‘I heard we have a lasagne-loving little boy here today, so I made one from scratch. You coming?’

  Xander pulled a face, pushing his back into Lucy to get closer to Sam.

  ‘What’s scratch?’ he whispered. ‘It sounds gross.’

  Gary erupted into laughter and headed back to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s just a saying, Xand, it means that he made it all fresh, from the start of a recipe. Proper tomatoes, everything.’

  Xander looked confused. ‘I thought lasagne sauce came from a jar. Mum?’

  Sam didn’t say anything, half getting out and reaching back in to help Xander down. He ran off, heading towards the admittedly heavenly smell. He held out his hand, his eyes studying the seat upholstery intently.

  ‘Go on then, laugh,’ she said with a pout. ‘I know you want to.’

  He held his hand out closer, looking further down. ‘I don’t, honest. Let’s go eat.’ His hand dangled between them and he waggled his fingers.

  ‘Look me in the face and tell me you’re not laughing,’ she dared. He looked into her eyes and burst out laughing. She slapped him on the arm and pushed his hand away, a full-on mini strop.

  ‘I knew it! I can get out myself.’ He stepped back a little, and she scrambled to get out, trying to maintain her modesty under the layers of cotton and tulle of the sunflower dress. He leaned forward and, grabbing her right arm with his left hand and folding her over his shoulder, he lifted her out on his shoulders.

  ‘Ahhh!’ She laughed, trying to be cross, cover up her lady garden area and slap him all at the same time. He did a little whirl, and she screeched and grabbed him tight.

  ‘Sam, don’t drop me!’ she squealed as he danced around the bays with her.

  ‘Drop you,’ he scoffed, tickling her on one of her sides, just because he could. ‘You’re a tiny little woman, I’ve carried far bigger than you!’

  Between fits of laughter, she sang out, ‘Of course you have! You’re like Big Foot!’

  He stopped suddenly, making her body whirl into a position where she was wrapped around his waist. ‘Whatever, Thumbelina.’

  He lifted her then, effortlessly, so she was high above his head, his hands around her waist, holding her steady. ‘Finished stropping about the sauce?’ He stuck his tongue out at her and she growled, seething. He lowered her slowly, till she was level with his face. She wrapped her arms around his neck, still laughing.

  ‘You look beautiful by the way.’ He looked from her face to her neckline, and lower. ‘You took my breath away when I saw you both walking up. I’m so glad you came to see me.’

  She smiled at him, running a finger down his cheek slowly, not knowing why, just wanting to answer her impulse. ‘I’m glad to be here too.’

  He looked at her lips, and she steeled herself. If he kisses me now, I’ll let him. I want him to …

  He looked away, and lowered her down to the floor.

  ‘Xander will be wondering where we are,’ he said, his voice sounding distant, thicker somehow. She followed him, pushing down the wave of shame and rejection as best she could. She was just conjuring up a wild excuse in her head for them to leave, when he stopped at the door and looked back at her.

  ‘I feel this.’ He turned his back to the door, standing mere inches from her. The bays were empty, quiet and she could hear her own breaths coming out hard and shallow. He placed one of his hands over his chest, locking eyes with her. ‘I feel what I think you feel too, but—’

  She put her hand over his. ‘It’s okay, just listen. The girls are trying to set us up, they’re trying to throw us together, I think. The dress, today, their idea. The smoke alarm? When I went to sleep the night before, the smoke alarm was fine and working. I think—’

  ‘Marlene broke it,’ he replied, catching up. ‘So this, all this, was them?’ He looked upset, but she had to do this.

  ‘Not the kiss, no, that was me. But they are manipulating us, putting us together.’

  ‘So, it’s not real?’ It was meant as a question, but it came from him like a deflated statement, a realisation. ‘My feelings can’t be swayed by a bunch of women, Lucy.’ He covered her hand with his other, pinning her fingers between his as he cradled it to his chest. ‘I know it’s wrong, but—’

  ‘I know.’ She stopped him. ‘I know, Sam.’ She wanted to hear him say more, say anything about how he felt about her. She was all too aware of how she felt, her whole body had an electric current racing through it, and she wanted nothing more than to jump in his arms. ‘I feel it too, but it’s not that simple.’

  Iain and home popped into her head, and the electric zipping through her fizzled and sparked out. She felt like there was a weight on her chest, and she coughed and gasped to get rid of it. Sam was still holding her hand, looking down at her with eyes that told her he was desperate too, as desperate and as unhappy as she was. She laughed once, a small little humph, and lowered her forehead to lean against him. In an instant, he was there, wrapped around her body, his warm strong arms holding her tight.

  ‘I wish I’d met you years ago.’ A single tear fell down her cheek.

  He kissed the top of her head. ‘Not as much as I do, Lucy. When I saw you that day on the train, I don’t know, I just knew it meant something.’

  She knew it too. What were the odds that they had lived and worked so close to each other for so long, and on the day they both left for new lives, they met on the platform? They stood forever, clinging together. Just enjoying the moment with each other.

  ‘So,’ Sam said slowly, still holding her tight, ‘what do the women hope to achieve with this then?’

  Lucy laughed out loud, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘Oh Lord, they’re the worst! They’re trying to get us together, but maybe we can use it to our advantage. I wanted to tell you later.’

  She pulled away, and he released her. ‘I think we should use them to find your parents. It’ll mean us being close to the Mayweather Mansion, and with the fundraiser coming up, it’s perfect. I think Agatha was thinking of doing an afternoon ball; we could go and have a root around.’

  Sam looked horrified. ‘You mean, look around the house, or ask questions?’

  Lucy shrugged. ‘One of them, both of them. Whatever it takes.’ She looked up at him and, after battling with her head and her heart, she stroked her palm along his cheek. ‘I want you to find your parents, Sam. I wa
nt them to know you, like I do. To love you lik—’

  His eyes widened, but he said nothing. She could hear him swallow hard.

  ‘Like we all do. Are you in?’

  ‘What about Xander, and Iain?’ He looked conflicted, stricken. ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone, and this isn’t a game, Lucy. I know I shouldn’t have feelings, but I have.’

  He slapped his hand against his chest. ‘I can’t get hurt, Lucy, I just can’t. I don’t do this, I never did. I stay alone, it’s better that way. What if everything goes wrong?’

  ‘It won’t.’ She shook her head vigorously. ‘We’ll be careful. We’ll keep our distance, just concentrate on the plan. We can do this. You’re my friend too, Sam, I don’t want to lose that.’

  Sam smiled, a goofy open smile that she hadn’t seen often, and wanted more of. ‘Friend, eh?’

  She smiled back. ‘Yes, Sam, I care.’

  The door behind them pushed open and they sprang apart.

  ‘Mum? Sam? Gary says lunch is getting cold.’ He had a little bit of sauce on his face, and he was licking at it as he spoke. ‘His lasagne is way better than yours, Mum, but Gary said to not tell you that.’ His little face fell, a blob of sauce flicking off his chin onto his Minecraft t-shirt. ‘Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Dear Cupid, you make a man like this, and give him manners and morals like those. Lucy watched as he stepped forward, knelt down and held up the hankie.

  ‘Wipe your face, bud, I’ll help if you need it. Your mum’s lasagne is awesome, so don’t worry. I’ll eat your share next time.’

  He looked up at her and winked, before turning back to Xander and helping him to clean the last blobs of sauce off his face.

  ‘If I can fight fires and live, your mum’s lasagne won’t kill me off.’

  Xander pulled a face. ‘You hope!’

  They fist-bumped, Xander giggling like a hyena as Sam took their hands and they headed to eat.

  Xander had dropped off to sleep, chatting about fire trucks and protective gear all through his bath and supper, and eventually calming down and falling asleep as Lucy read to him. He was going through the history of the brick at the moment, and they had managed to loan a few relevant books from the local library service. He was fast asleep now, dreaming of construction and heroes chasing fire-breathing dragons. Best place for him, given the events of the last hour.

  Iain had been on the phone, ringing right in the middle of bath time. Lucy had jumped for the phone, thinking it might be Sam, but her husband’s name flashed across the screen instead. She’d kept the bathroom door open, so she could check on Xander, make sure he didn’t wet the complete bathroom. He was a bit of a water baby, especially in the bath, but he wasn’t exactly graceful or careful.

  ‘Hello?’ she said, steeling herself for the conversation.

  ‘Hi,’ he said tersely. She could hear some sports programme or other playing in the background. She could picture him now, just from that snippet of information. He was in the sitting room, a glass tumbler of his favourite spiced rum on the arm of the chair, phone in hand. He was probably sitting with his joggers on, his hand down his pants as he zoned out to the television. Same every Sunday, after golf. He only came home for Sunday dinner, and then that was it for the evening. TV, ball scratching and mild drinking. ‘Can we talk, or will the coppers come knocking at my door?’

  ‘Our door,’ she clarified unnecessarily. ‘I can’t be on long, Xander’s just in the bath. He’s okay by the way, in case you wondered.’

  He snorted. ‘Whatever, Lucy, I’m not the one who ran off to the bloody North, am I? What’s up, flat caps and bloody green fields getting a bit boring, are they?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, hearing the sneer in his voice.

  ‘Well,’ he retorted, and she heard the clink as he picked up the glass, the slurp of him taking a deep swig. ‘I’ve had no mail, no knocks at the door. Which makes me think that you’re going to come back, and be an adult again.’ Smug git. ‘Convenient that your little neighbour lad is a Londoner too, eh? Doesn’t exactly talk like Jon Snow, does he? Travel together, did you?’

  For a moment, she was a little taken aback. One, technically they did travel together. Not that she could or would tell him that. Probably not the best idea to mention that she shared a mattress space with him the other night either. Two, he was jealous? In all the years they had been together, Iain had never reacted to anything like that. Not that she was exactly putting it out there. She never had. She’d always played it safe, until now.

  ‘I came here with Xander, Iain, and you know it. Have you got something you want to discuss, or have you just rung to argue?’ She looked in on Xander, and he was just getting out of the bath. ‘I have to go, Xander needs me.’

  He chuckled, a nasty laugh that made her feel uneasy.

  ‘Well, go on then, Supermum. Just remember, at the end of the summer, he has school, you have a job. You need to come home and be a wife.’

  The line went dead, and Xander came running past her, towel like a cape, naked bits wet through and on show. She threw her phone onto her bed and went off to wrangle him into some dry pyjamas.

  Watching him in bed now, his little chest rising and failing with each precious breath, she could feel the rage rising inside her. When she had finally checked her phone, she’d seen a barrage of texts. It appeared the drunker her husband got, the more angry and less coherent he got in his text messaging. He was full on threatening her by the end – threatening to sue her for full custody, of selling the house and keeping all the money, of telling her boss at the deli she wasn’t coming back. It was all about him, how HE felt, what HE was going through. It was mostly about work, and pride. She knew him well enough to know how he worked. She’d embarrassed him, and she knew that every argument they ever had in the future would all be brought back to this.

  ‘You didn’t put the bins out!’

  ‘You left me!’

  ‘You never help with your son, or the house!’

  ‘You buggered off to Yorkshire!’

  Deciding to leave had felt organised, and planned, but her emotions weren’t. They had been all over the place, and here, now, she was just beginning to process them. Or she was, before Sam. Their lines of friendship grew blurrier and blurrier by the minute. She spent the next few hours ignoring her phone, not answering the incoherent rantings that Iain was sending through sporadically. He had gone out drinking by the sounds of his last voicemail. She could hear fruit machines, people laughing, the clink of glass on glass. She could hear him pulling on a ciggie as he mumbled on, pushing the smoke out of his lungs in between sentences like a toddler blowing out birthday candles. He sounded like a pretentious knob, which, of course, he was when drunk. He had no filter, and his full-on twattery came out.

  The phone seemed to punctuate her evening. She could hear it vibrating on the sink when she was in the shower, sound turned off to avoid waking Xander up. She heard it buzz with texts when she was cleaning up, spritzing the house and sorting out the washing. Even now, when she was sat in fluffy PJs and a dressing gown with a cup of tea, the phone buzzed on. It lit up on the coffee table while she was watching some movie on the television, whiling away the hours till she could go to bed. If she went now, she’d lie there all night. Especially with this. If she turned it off, it would just annoy him more, and she didn’t want him turning up here again tomorrow.

  It buzzed again. The man was just drunk dialling now with his angry fingers. Throwing back the rest of her tea like she was drinking a tequila shot, she lunged forward and hit reply.

  LEAVE ME ALONE.

  She typed it all in caps, with a passive aggressive full stop at the end, just so he got how mad she was. Even in a drunken stupor or a stoner foggy haze, people knew that caps meant business. Desist and stop. Curl up and die. Bugger off and nay darken my door again, cretin.

  It buzzed back straight away, and she was just typing ‘FOR
FU—’ when she realised that Sam’s name was at the top of the text screen. It read:

  Have I done something wrong?

  SHHHIIITT! She’d text Sam, instead of Iain. He’d got her vented anger instead. Scrolling back, she saw his original text read:

  Just got home, hope you are both okay. Sam x

  That kiss again. He was so sweet. She thought of him sat next door, thinking of her. Just as she was of him now.

  She texted him back, ignoring the bleep that came through. Another hate text.

  Sorry, I thought it was Iain. Am okay, Xander fast asleep x

  After a second, she added: You okay? X

  He texted back almost instantly. Am fine. Are you okay? Do you need me?

  Well, that was the million-dollar question. Did she need him, want him, or both?

  She wavered between saying ‘come take me now!’ in capitals and not answering at all. Instead she wrote:

  Not really, but you get some sleep. Goodnight x

  She closed his text window down, and opened Iain’s. She typed out: LEAVE ME ALONE. ALL TEXTS HAVE BEEN SCREENSHOTTED. Hopefully that would punch through his wall of drunken arseholery and stop him from escalating any further. Either that, or he would pass out somewhere and then sleep it off. A nice Monday morning commute after a skinful the night before. He would regret his actions tomorrow, and she knew it. He must be in pain, but she couldn’t bring herself to help him.

  She turned the TV off, and was just heading up the stairs when she heard a faint knocking on the door. Turning back around, she listened for a moment.

  ‘Lucy,’ was all he said. A quiet, breathy word that filtered under the door, running over her and leaving her with goose bumps on her skin. She opened the door, and he was standing there. The glow from the porch light lit him up, the muscles tensed under his forearm skin, visible under his short sleeves. He looked tired, but his lips curled up into a smile as soon as he saw her. They both faced each other, saying nothing. Her phone beeped again in her hand, and she put it down on the kitchen counter. Looking back at Sam, she took him by the hand and pulled him into the cottage. He looked surprised, but he came in readily, kicking the door closed behind him.