done her best to be open minded about them, but when she met Archie she had secretly hoped that he would turn out to be “the one” and indeed this very quickly turned out to be the case. It had soon become clear that he and Josie were mutually besotted and in every way, they seemed so well matched. They were both calm, considerate and level headed. He was an Architect with a career that was just beginning to take off and Josie; well Josie could be whatever she wanted to be. She was gifted in so many ways but had yet to discover what she really wanted to do.
When the engagement was announced and the wedding date set, Mrs Smith was in her element. She took on the planning alongside Josie and together they organised the wedding that her little Josie deserved.
Mrs Smith’s expression had been wistful but now her eyes moistened and tears began to stream down her cheeks. She was choked with sadness; How had she thought that she could live without her dear, dear Josie. Her life was merely mechanical now. Her body carried on living as if it was some soulless robot, but inside, her spirit was dead. She needed her Josie back. Somehow she had to find a way to reunite herself with her little Josie. There was a way, she felt sure, there was a way that they could be together and she could obliterate her torment once and for all.
Mrs Smith swallowed the little tablets one by one, seemingly not in any particular hurry. She then retrieved a half bottle of whisky from her coat pocket and shakily unscrewed the cap before raising the burning fluid to her lips and gulping it down as though it contained within it the power to restore her youth and happiness. For a few moments more, she sat gently rocking on the swing and then she mumbled almost incoherently, 'Josie my beloved, my perfect little Josie, Mummy is coming for you.' A few seconds later all consciousness seeped from her body and she tumbled backwards off the swing and lay silently on her back, eyes staring sightlessly up into the foliage of the tree that had been the focus of so many happy memories for her over the years.
Finally, Ben’s Hammering blows on the front door were answered. He could hear the security bolt being pulled back and then the front door swung open and he staggered wearily to his feet, relief that his ordeal was at an end flooding through his body. He looked straight into the friendly and familiar face of his mother, he had missed her so profoundly and he so needed the comfort that only his mother could bring to him, that he began to sob hysterically and flung himself into her arms. But rather than receiving the warm hug that he so desperately needed, he instead felt an overwhelming sense of panic and disorientation as he passed straight through the place she had just been standing without touching her at all.
His momentum sent him stumbling through into the hall where he lost his balance and fell heavily to the floor. He lay completely still for several seconds, stunned by what had just happened, but then the immediacy of his predicament got him scrambling to his feet in a frenzy. The hallway was enveloped in a thick pall of smoke which had already descended to within a couple of feet of the floor and he could see that he had little time left to get out of the house. The front door was shut and he lunged at it in desperation, alternately kicking at it and tugging at it, until his breath finally gave out and he had to drop back to his knees in search of the small amount of breathable air still left at ground level.
He had no idea what to do next and so he crawled back a few feet along the hall until he found himself at the door to the front room. The door was open and as he peered into the room he could dimly see through the smoke, what appeared to be, a body lying motionless on the floor. He scrambled across the floor on hands and knees and through streaming eyes, he made out the form of young woman laying on her side. Her face seemed unnaturally pale, her eyes were closed and her long dark hair cascaded across the carpet, giving more impression of life than any other part of her.
He shook her and shouted at her but he couldn’t rouse her. He held his face close to her mouth and tried to feel her breath on his cheek but to no avail. He needed to get her out of the house but he hadn’t the strength to move her. The smoke was so thick that he couldn’t see the walls of the room nor could he see the door. He didn’t even know in which direction the door lay anymore. He was sure the girl was merely unconscious and he just had to wake her, it was unthinkable to leave her here to die in this burning house.
He remembered something that he had learnt at school and pinching her nostrils together, he blew firmly into her mouth and then he pressed down onto her chest. He repeated this many times, although he coughed and fought for each breath and in this way at least, she breathed.
He wouldn’t give up now, it was just a matter of time until she regained consciousness, he would just have to keep on going; there were no other choices. Meanwhile the thick and all engulfing smoke lay across them like a deadly blanket. It swirled and it settled, ever denser and ever closer, cloying and suffocating, hungry and hungering to bring to them the intimacy of its final embrace.
Then, in an instant, just as sunlight breaks from behind a cloud, her eyes opened and she smiled up at him. His former panic melted into a blissful calm. She was alive; he had known all along that she had just been sleeping. Her adoring smile dazzled him, left him quite breathless and dazed. He could sense the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and feel the soft pulse of each breath against his face and it was clear to him that in saving her, he had also saved himself.
As she breathed, so each breath pushed gently against the dense smog that hung all about them. He watched mesmerised as, each time she exhaled, the pressure of her breath sent ripples cascading through the smoke, turning it away from them like an ebbing tide. In no time she had created a smoke-free cocoon in which they could safely rest.
It was so exhilarating to be free of danger, at last, he was just too weary to move, but it was no longer necessary to move, for he now knew what he would do. He would help the girl to keep the smoke at bay and in this way, by working together, they would remain safe.
With this thought, he lay his head down contentedly at her side and synchronised his breathing with hers.
Ben's mother was awoken by a stream of sunlight pouring into the bedroom through a gap in the curtains. She slid out of bed, walked across to the window and drew the curtains vigorously aside. The room was instantly awash with blinding golden sunlight and her husband yelped in pain and buried his head beneath the duvet in protest.
'Sorry darling, but just look how beautiful the morning is,' She said. 'I can't wait to start sorting everything out. We're going to be so happy here, I just know it. Stay there and I'll bring you up a cup of tea in a few minutes.'
'Thank you, darling' was the muffled response from deep under the duvet.
Mrs Marigold pulled on her dressing gown and stepped out onto the landing. She poked her head around Jackie's door, but Jackie was still deeply asleep, as evidenced by her heavy and rhythmic breathing and so she quietly withdrew, pushed the door shut and headed downstairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped briefly and pondered whether to check on Ben or make the tea first and look in on Ben later. She decided that her husband could probably do with a few more minutes to come round and so she gently pushed the door open and stepped through into the front room. It was still quite dark, as the sun was at the rear of the house and the curtains were, in any case, substantial. She crept quietly across to the bunk bed and looked down, but all she could see in the half-light was a heap of ruffled bedclothes on the floor and the camp bed on its side. She could not see Ben and her heart skipped several beats as, she dropped to her knees and trying to quell her rapidly rising tide of panic, tugged frantically at the tangled bedclothes, whilst repeatedly calling his name.
Ben lay with his arms about the girl, contentedly watching the smoke as it billowed slowly around them. Somehow it never encroached upon their space and remained as a wall, encircling them. The shifting shapes held him spellbound and he had no sense of urgency. He could no longer sense the house at all, only the smoke; It was almost as if they were floating amongst the clouds like angels. Bre
athing was so much easier now. All they needed to do was wait for help to arrive; It wouldn't be very much longer.
As if from some great distance, Ben could hear voices, or maybe a voice, indistinct at first and then quickly getting louder. Suddenly he burst into wakefulness, panting heavily and looking around in bewilderment. He saw his mother's concerned face looking down at him, but the vividness of his dream stayed with him. He was clammy with sweat and his bed sheets were still tightly knotted around him so that he could scarcely move. His Mother eventually managed to loosen the sheets and pull them away from him and then he flung his arms around her neck and burst into tears.
'Darling,' she said softly to him, 'did you have a nightmare?’
'I don't know,’ he sobbed. 'It seemed completely real to me. The house was burning and full of smoke. I tried to rescue a girl and… there was a dead man hanging in the apple tree...' He stuttered to a halt in a fresh paroxysm of pent up emotion.
'There, there,’ soothed his mother, softly stroking the back of his head, ‘don't worry; It was all just a bad dream; everything will be fine; I'm here now and it's a lovely bright morning
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