Fire

by Deborah Challinor

  Allie reached out to pull Irene inside, but then a strange, shocking thing happened.

  Irene’s mouth stretched wide open and she gargled, ‘Tell Martin I really did love him.’

  There was nothing for the shortest of seconds, then her hair burst into flames and a moment later her shoulders ignited, and suddenly she was a black silhouette inside an incandescent ball of fire. Then the fireball doubled over, and collapsed almost gracefully onto the warping floorboards. The smell was revolting.

  Louise slammed the door shut and started screaming. She went on and on and on until Allie clapped her hands over her ears and started screaming herself, just to keep Louise’s shrieks out.

  Then Louise’s screams tapered off and she took a deep breath, hoicked and spat out bloody saliva; it landed on one of the ladders and sizzled there.

  Allie took her hands away from her ears, realizing only then that she was sobbing hoarsely. Then, as an image of Irene ablaze broke into her mind again, she gave one last shriek herself, and stopped. Her heart was thudding and she knew she was about to faint, so she sat down on the floor.

  Louise stared at her, her face deathly white and her eyes still impossibly wide with horror. But she spoke lucidly. ‘Get up. We can’t give up now. Not after that.’

  Allie nodded. Slowly, she got to her feet again.

  ‘Start cutting lengths of material,’ Louise ordered, some of her self-control returned now. ‘We’ll open the ladders and tie them together, then knot the material around the rungs at one end and the legs of the cutting table. It weighs a ton, it shouldn’t move.’

  Allie set to, tearing strips of the woollen fabric to make ropes, and when the ladders were cool enough to touch, they opened them out and tied them together, effectively making one ladder that was about twenty feet long. It would take them down about one-and-a-half storeys, leaving a gap of another storey to the verandah roof, still a very long way to drop.

  They made the next set of ropes about ten feet long once they were tied to the ladder and the table, hoping that would reduce the drop by a few more feet. They could have made them longer but were frightened that if the ropes were too long, the wind would start the ladder swinging and they would be thrown off.

  Then, as they manoeuvred the ladder over to the window, they realized that it wasn’t going to fit between the wall and the cutting table, so they had to lift it over the table and into place. The workroom stank now—of chemicals as the paint on the walls started to blister and the varnish on the floorboards heated up. There was another smell, too. It started them coughing again and made their eyes sting and stream.

  They poked the end of the ladder through the window, then pushed it out as far as they could and let gravity take over. It plummeted ten feet, then bounced back up a few feet as the ropes stopped playing out, and settled against the side of the building. They couldn’t be sure, but were heartened when they thought they heard the crowd below cheering and yelling encouragement.

  Allie breathed a huge sigh of relief. She had been terrified that the ropes would untie or simply tear, but they hadn’t. Not yet.

  Looking down, she saw that the firemen were positioning a mattress, or something similar, alongside the verandah, just beneath where they would probably land if they jumped. Or fell. It looked the size of a postage stamp, but even the thought of it being there was reassuring.

  Just then a figure darted out from the crowd, leapt the police barrier, and raced over to the mattress, waving its arms madly. Allie smiled. She knew who it was, even from up here, and understood that everything would be all right now, no matter what happened. She drew in a deep breath and turned to Louise.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Are you?’

  Allie nodded. ‘You go first.’

  ‘No, you go.’

  ‘No, Lou. You’ve got Susan. It should be you.’

  Tears welled up in Louise’s eyes. ‘Well, don’t wait until I get off, don’t leave it too late.’

  ‘I won’t,’ Allie promised.

  They hugged quickly, then Louise tucked her skirt firmly under the elastic of her knickers, took off her shoes and stockings, and climbed up onto the window ledge. She turned her back on the crowd below, then slid her legs out over the ledge and down until she found the ropes. She twined her feet around them, let go of the ledge with one hand and grasped the rope just below it. Then she took her other hand off the ledge and began to slide down the ropes, letting herself descend jerkily as she opened and closed her hands. She didn’t dare look down, but, after what seemed to be at least an hour but was probably only a minute, she felt the warm metal of the ladder beneath her feet. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and ease her aching arm muscles, then continued on down. It was easier on the ladder, although it was swaying alarming, and she started to pray over and over that the ropes wouldn’t break.

  From the window, Allie could only see the top of Louise’s head as she descended, and occasionally the flash of her pale calves as she extended her legs to feel for the next rung. On the ground, the firemen turned their hoses onto the windows Louise would pass, trying to dampen down any flames that might leap out for her. There were also two firemen on the verandah roof now, stationed on either side of where Louise was likely to land when she dropped the last dozen or so feet. Allie wondered if they were hoping to catch her: if they didn’t, or at least slow her fall, she could easily crash through the corrugated iron and tear herself to pieces.

  There was an almighty bang behind Allie, and for a terrifying second she thought it might be Irene, her hair aflame and her beautiful face melting, not dead yet and come to beg her for help. But it was the door to the dressmaking room exploding inwards in a great gust of flame and smoke, and she knew that if she didn’t go now, she never would.

  She tore off her own shoes and stockings, hoisted her skirt and scrambled up onto the ledge. She hooked her legs around the ropes, frightened almost witless, but knowing that unless she did this she would never see Sonny or her family again.

  Her eyes squeezed shut in terrified concentration, she allowed the ropes to slip slowly but steadily between her hands and feet until she reached the top rung of the ladder. Untangling her feet, she let her weight drop onto it, then screamed as she suddenly felt everything—the ropes, the ladder and herself—plummet. Her eyes flew open and she saw the plastered façade of the building blur past, then part of a window, before everything jolted to a halt and the ladder swung wildly before it righted itself again. But she knew what had happened—under her and Louise’s combined weight, the cutting table must have been dragged across the floor until it hit the wall beneath the window, its momentum suddenly stopped. Then came another sharp little jolt and she risked a downwards glance just in time to see Louise roll off the edge of the verandah roof and over the side.

  Taking several deep breaths to calm herself and slow her thumping heart, she counted to five, then began to feel her way down the ladder. Another quick look down told her that every face in the crowd was tilted up towards her, following her progress. She could make out Sonny fairly clearly now, waiting at the edge of the mattress on the ground with his arms stretched up as though he could catch her if she fell.

  She kept going, whispering ‘Good girl’ out loud with every new rung she reached. Above her, flames were flickering at the window of the workroom, and she knew it would be a matter of only seconds before the ropes burned through.

  Then she was on the bottom rung, gazing down at the huge, dizzying gap between the point where she hung suspended and the roof of the verandah. And suddenly she lost her nerve, physically felt it draining from her. She shut her eyes again and started to pray, straining to remember the words of Irene’s prayer.

  And then, through the roaring and crackling of the fire above her and the groans and shifting of the crowd below, she heard Sonny shout, ‘Let go, Allie, I’ll catch you!’

  It was ridiculous of course—if she landed on him she’d kill him. But somehow his words made her
feel better, and suddenly she knew that she could do it.

  She turned herself around so that she was facing outwards, slipped her feet off the bottom rung of the ladder and let go.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wednesday, 30 December 1953

  She felt his smooth, warm hand slip into hers and squeezed it gratefully. She had been dreading this day, and now it was here.

  ‘All right?’ he whispered into her ear.

  She nodded and bit her lip, struggling to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill out of her from the moment she’d woken up that morning. It was the day of the civic funeral for the forty-nine people who had died in the fire.

  ‘I’m going to miss them so much.’

  He tightened his grip on her hand and murmured, ‘I know.’

  She saw Louise in the crowd then, Rob pushing her in a wheelchair across the smooth, newly clipped grass of Waikumete Cemetery, and hurried to meet them.

  Bending down to kiss Louise’s cheek, she said, ‘How’s the leg?’

  Louise tapped the plaster cast that reached from her toes all the way up to mid-thigh, the top half concealed beneath the skirt of her black dress. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘Not too sore, but it’s itching like hell in this heat.’ She brushed away a tear that had escaped and was trickling down her cheek. ‘Oh, Allie, will we ever forget this? Will we ever put it behind us?’

  Allie swallowed, the lump in her throat like a hot coal now, and found that she couldn’t reply. Sonny slid a hand around her waist and she leaned into the comfort and strength of his body.

  Louise pointed and said angrily, ‘You know, I look at that and I wonder if God really bloody well does exist.’

  Allie gazed at the neat arc of coffins laid out on the bright green grass next to the open graves and nodded.

  The service had been held in town that morning, and the funeral cortège—forty-nine black, wreath-bedecked hearses followed by hundreds of private cars—had taken several hours to arrive at the cemetery. But they were all there now, and soon the final rites would begin.

  Ted Horrocks appeared in front of them, his hat in his hand and his wife Natalie hovering close behind him. His face was still red from the fire and he was weeping but trying to pretend that he wasn’t.

  ‘Steady, girls, we’re nearly there,’ he said, as though he were addressing a company of young soldiers about to go over the top for the first time.

  Allie hugged him, producing from him an exclamation of surprise, pleasure and grief. She had been delighted to hear that he’d survived the fire—it would have been so unfair if he’d died, after all those years of cheerfulness and loyalty he’d given Dunbar & Jones.

  Ted plonked his hat back on, and reached for his wife’s hand. ‘This might not be the best of times to mention it, but have you seen him?’

  ‘Who?’ Louise said.

  Ted nodded behind him. Allie and Louise turned and looked, their eyes narrowing as they spotted Vince Reynolds, standing beside his wife and looking suitably sombre and grief-stricken.

  ‘Bastard!’ Louise swore. Rob settled a calming hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off.

  ‘Right.’ Allie set off across the lawn in Vince’s direction.

  Sonny exchanged glances with Rob, and they both shrugged, unwilling to interfere in something they both quietly agreed needed to be done.

  Vince clearly hadn’t seen her coming, because when Allie parked herself in front of him he started in surprise.

  Whipping off his smart black homburg, he began, ‘Miss, er, Roberts, isn’t it? I am so sorry about your friend Mrs Baxter. She was—’

  But he was cut horribly short because Allie lifted her hand and slapped him across his face as hard as she could. There was a shocked gasp from the people standing nearby.

  ‘She was a fool for having anything to do with you, Vince Reynolds,’ Allie said loudly. ‘Because you took everything you wanted from her, didn’t you? But when she needed something, even just a word of comfort, you just walked away. You didn’t care and you treated her as though she was already dead.’ Allie was crying hard now, her words coming out with such anger that spittle was flying. She wiped her mouth. ‘And Irene knew that, you…you cheat! You thief! Irene died knowing that!’

  She watched with some satisfaction as Vince’s Adam’s apple bobbed nervously up and down above his black silk tie and his face turned a deep red. She spun around, stumbling only slightly as her heel dug into the cemetery lawn, and stalked off.

  Maxwell Jones stepped up to the lectern and cleared his throat. He spent a second or two shuffling the pages of the eulogy he had prepared, though those near him could see that he was struggling to contain his emotions.

  ‘We have all lost friends, family and work colleagues,’ he finally began. ‘They were taken from us only eight days ago, but we already know that we will miss them for ever. However, we must take comfort from the certainty that God…that God…’ He trailed off, and stared down at his papers.

  The crowd waited respectfully for him to recover his composure, but it seemed that he couldn’t. Almost a minute passed, and finally he put his hands over his face and let out a single, strangled sob. He was led away then, and someone else took over.

  But Allie barely noticed. She was too busy blinking back fresh tears as she surveyed the line of gleaming coffins. Irene was in one of them, of course, and poor little Daisy, along with her unborn child. Terry’s coffin lay next to hers, and Allie hoped that they would be together, wherever they were going. And, in a way, it had been right that they had been together when the stairs had collapsed beneath them. Miss Willow and Miss Button were there too, and so was Daisy’s friend Nyla from the millinery department, and Bev from cosmetics, and Simone from gloves, and Walter the lift boy. There were people she had known in the other coffins, too—workmates and friends, people whose families would never see them again. And at the end of the line were three coffins that seemed the saddest of all, containing what everyone assumed were the remains of poor Jock McLean, and Mr Beaumont, and the girl from the cash office whose body had never been found.

  A lone fantail swooped low over the coffins, as though looking for something, then darted off again.

  Allie shuddered as she thought yet again about how close she had come to death. When she’d dropped from the ladder, she’d fallen until she had hit the verandah roof, exactly between the two waiting firemen, then bounced and skidded madly down the hot iron surface. One of the firemen had managed to grab her arm as she’d sailed past, which had deflected her trajectory out over the street and somersaulted her instead onto the mattress below. She had landed on her side and dislocated her left shoulder and badly bruised her leg, but otherwise had been miraculously unharmed. It had all become a bit hazy after that. She remembered Sonny looking down at her with tears running down his face, and then her father there crying too. Then she’d gone in an ambulance, after which a doctor did something horrendously painful to her arm at the hospital, and then she’d gone to sleep. The next morning had been worse, though, waking up to the horror of finding out who had survived and who hadn’t. In one way it had been the worst day of her life, because so many people she cared about had been lost, but in another it had been the best, because she was one of the survivors. She was alive, and so was Sonny.

  After the graveside service had finished and the minister had sent the dead on their journey, mourners were given the chance to say their final farewells.

  When Allie came to Irene’s coffin, she laid a red rose above the brass plate that had been inscribed with her friend’s full name, Irene Esmerelda Baxter. She whispered ‘Thank you’, and left it at that, because, deep in her heart, she suspected that, whatever Irene had been looking for, she had finally found it. She gave Martin a quick, fierce hug and moved on.

  At Daisy’s coffin, she knelt down and this time placed a white rose on the lid. She glanced around self-consciously, then decided she didn’t care who heard what she had to say.

  �
��I saw the queen, Daisy, I went to see her after I got out of hospital because I knew you’d want to know what she looked like. And she really was just like a fairy princess in her long shimmering dress and that fabulous purple velvet cloak you were talking about. And, Daisy, she had the most wonderful jewels at her throat and on her fingers, and a crown that sparkled like the stars.’

  Epilogue

  When Allie realized that she was in fact pregnant and told Sonny that they should have been more careful on the beach at Mission Bay after all, he smiled, said it was worth it and asked her to marry him. Awhi wasn’t happy about it, and neither was Colleen, but Allie and Sonny were adamant so the wedding went ahead. Sid said it nearly bankrupted him, but no one listened because it was obvious that he was more than chuffed with his new son-in-law.

  Allie’s baby, a beautiful little girl, was born on 16 August 1954, five months after she and Sonny were married.

  The first time Sonny saw his daughter, he cried.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ he said, smiling as the baby’s tiny hand closed over his finger. ‘What shall we call her?’

  Allie gazed down at her daughter’s perfect face, the determined tilt of her little nose and her shock of silky black hair.

  ‘I think,’ she said after a moment, ‘we’ll call her Irene.’

  THE END

  Acknowledgements

  This story was inspired by the fire at Ballantynes department store in Christchurch, which occurred in 1947 and resulted in the loss of forty-one lives. The events in this novel are not intended to reflect or relate what actually happened at Ballantynes, and neither are any of the characters in this novel based on real people, except for those who already appear in the history books. To add another dimension to my story, I have taken a little bit of licence by moving the advent of the ‘milkbar cowboys’ and ‘teddy boys’ forward to the end of 1953, when actually their rise in Auckland didn’t really begin until the year after that.