by A. L. Bird
‘Harriet!’ she shouts. ‘Come on, did you find anything?’
There’s a faint scrabbling sound, and the door opens. Harriet is standing precariously on two shoe-boxes. When she sees Becky, she jumps off and quickly hugs her tight, then makes to run down the stairs.
Becky grabs her by the shoulder and propels her back into the room. ‘There’s no way out down there. Is there a flat roof or something up here we can climb onto?’
Becky sees Kirsten still sleeping on the bed. She is wearing an eye mask, and she is tightly curled up under the duvet. Little bits of drool are making a thread between her open mouth and the pillow. She’d probably die a quiet peaceful death, knocked out by the smoke fumes before she even woke up.
Becky shuts the door again, takes a blanket off the end of the bed and shoves it up against the gap between the bedroom door and the floor. Then she shakes Kirsten. And shakes her and shakes her.
‘Gwwerr …’ groans Kirsten.
‘Kirsten you have to wake up; the house is on fire!’
‘Five more minutes …’ Kirsten says.
‘There’s a fire, Mummy – get up!’ Harriet shouts. ‘There’s a fire! Please!’ Harriet begins dragging Kirsten out of bed.
Becky sees Kirsten’s eyes open fully, and her body go from the slump of sleep to fully taut.
‘Becky, what?’ Kirsten asks.
Becky nods. ‘There’s a fire. Downstairs. It’s blocking the hallway. How do we get out from here?’
‘OK, you call the fire brigade. We’ve got a fire ladder round here …’ Kirsten’s voice peters out as she clambers into the eaves of the room.
‘We’re trapped in the loft room of a house,’ Becky tells the emergency operator. ‘There’s a massive fire spreading, and we’ve got a five-year-old girl here. You’ve got to get here!’
‘Shit, it’s heavy,’ Kirsten says. ‘Becky, will you help me?’
Together, they heave the ladder out of its casing. ‘I always thought it would be Ian helping me with this,’ she says.
‘Now what do we do with it?’ Becky asks.
‘Open that window, as wide as it will go.’
‘OK, I’m – Kirsten, it won’t open, or at least not far, it’s got an opening restraint on it!’ Becky shouts, then coughs. Under the door, she can see smoke starting to in. ‘Keep down low, Harriet,’ she yells. ‘Cover your mouth.’
Harriet whimpers, but she obeys.
‘Shit, of course!’ Kirsten says. ‘I didn’t want Harriet falling out. OK, there’s a key round here somewhere. Um, um, it’s meant to be on top of that bookcase.’ Becky watches as Kirsten lifts photo frames, runs her hand over books. ‘Shit, where is it?’
‘Maybe it’s fallen down the back?’ Becky asks, moving to pull the bookcase away from the wall.
Kirsten shakes her head. ‘If it has, we won’t be able to get it – the bookcase is still bracketed to the wall, from when Harriet was little. I didn’t want it to fall on her.’
Becky puts her hands to her temple. All these things Kirsten has done to try to protect Harriet are going to kill their daughter! And the two of them.
Becky lies on the floor next to bookcase. ‘I think I can see it,’ she says. ‘Get me a coat hanger or something. I’ll see if I can ease it out.’
She reaches out her hand behind her, waiting to receive an implement. ‘Quickly!’ she says.
She feels a piece of wood in her hand. She turns to look at it. It’s a posh, wood-mounted coat hanger. ‘Not one of those!’ she shouts to Kirsten. ‘One of the wire ones!’
Kirsten shakes her head. ‘We don’t have any of those.’
No, right, of course – Princess Kirsten couldn’t possibly sink to those depths.
Becky stands up. There must be something. The room is hazy now from the smoke. They can’t have long. Harriet is curled up in a ball in a corner.
The curtain tracking! That will be narrow enough.
‘Give me that coat hanger again!’ Becky shouts at Kirsten. Becky snatches it from Kirsten, then puts the hanger behind the curtain track and pulls with all her strength. Nothing. No give at all.
‘We need to smash the window, then!’ Becky yells.
‘With what? You can’t smash it with a coat hanger. It’s double-glazed, sound-proofed, all that stuff.’
‘Have you got a boot, then? Something? Kirsten, come on! We’re going to die up here otherwise. Harriet’s going to die!’
Becky flicks a glance at Harriet. She is curled up in a corner, hand clamped over her face, eyes wide.
‘It’s no good,’ Kirsten whispers. ‘There’s no way out. We’re trapped.’
Becky looks wildly round the room. ‘That’s an en suite, right?’ she says, pointing to another door.
Kirsten nods. ‘Wet room.’
‘Right, in there!’ Becky shouts. ‘Come on, Harriet!’
‘Are you sure there’s no way out downstairs?’ Kirsten demands. ‘Couldn’t we fight through?’
Becky shakes her head. ‘No. And if you open that door now, you risk getting a massive fireball.’
‘I thought that was the other way round, if you opened a door from—’
‘Just get in the wet room!’ Becky yells.
Once inside, Becky shuts the door against the bedroom. She hoses down the door with shower water, grabs some towels from the rack and soaks them. She puts one under the door, and throws one each to Kirsten and Harriet. ‘Put these over your mouths,’ she says.
Then she starts to run the Jacuzzi bath in the corner, at the same time operating her mobile phone.
‘What are you doing?’ Kirsten screams.
‘Just shut up and get Harriet in the bath. Hello, we called for a fire engine. Is it on its way?’
Becky turns the taps off momentarily so she can hear the response. The operator tells her it should be there by now. ‘Well, it’s not!’ she shouts. ‘Find out where it is. Tell them we’re in the loft bathroom, round the back of the house. I’ve tried to make a water barrier but I think we’re running out of—’
She stops speaking as there is a booming, whooshing noise from next door. The heat in the wet room suddenly increases, and there’s a smell of singeing.
‘The fire’s made it through,’ she says into the phone. ‘I think they’ll be too late.’
Chapter 51
KIRSTEN
Kirsten is covered in foil. In front of her, through an open door, she can see flames. So many flames. For one groggy moment, she thinks she’s maybe in an oven. Or in hell. There are more foil people next to her. They don’t seem to be doing much.
Then the vision takes on its real shape.
That’s her house, burning down.
She’s inside some kind of vehicle, with its doors open.
Beside her, Becky.
And that’s her child.
Next to Becky, covered in foil. With an oxygen mask over her mouth.
‘Harriet!’ she shouts, but it comes out as a croak.
‘It’s OK.’ Someone lays a restraining hand on her. ‘The little one’s all right. We’re just giving her some oxygen as a precaution.’
‘She’s my daughter!’ Kirsten declares.
She sees the woman – who must be a paramedic, she supposes – flash a quick, confused glance at Becky.
‘We’re both her mother,’ Becky says.
Kirsten wants to protest, but she doesn’t know on what grounds. She looks at the paramedic, and sees the cogs whirling in her brain, before she nods, accepting. Probably hit on some kind of surrogacy or lesbian relationship. OK, whatever. As long as it doesn’t end in a social services visit.
‘Well, you’ve all had a lucky escape,’ the paramedic says. ‘The fire crew said that whoever had the bright idea of creating a water barrier probably saved your lives. When they managed to get to the top of the house, the bedroom was on fire. The flames hadn’t spread to the bathroom, and the smoke was limited by the towels under the door.’
Kirsten becomes aware of tears
streaming down her face. The paramedic rubs Kirsten’s shoulder again. ‘You’re OK, you’ve just had a real shock, and a bit of smoke inhalation. We’ll get you sorted out, and the fire service will talk to you about next steps when you’re ready,’ she says.
Kirsten shoots a glance at Becky. She’s looking at Harriet.
‘Can you give us a minute?’ Kirsten asks the paramedic. ‘Only if it’s safe.’
The paramedic nods. ‘Of course.’ She steps down out of the vehicle. ‘I’ll just be outside here.’
Kirsten turns to Becky. ‘You saved our lives,’ she says.
Becky shrugs. ‘We had to get out.’
‘No, but you could have left me there. Just concentrated on Harriet.’
Becky turns to face Kirsten fully. ‘We’re all in this together,’ she says. ‘That’s what I was trying to explain this morning. Harriet needs us both. So we need each other.’
Kirsten nods. Thank God Ian hadn’t come to kill Becky – if Becky had been stabbed, she and Harriet might have died in the fire. Although, she supposes she would have been awake, then, trying to get a dead body out of the house. She shivers, and pulls the foil blanket round her shoulders.
Standing up, she walks unsteadily over to Harriet. She strokes her shoulder, not wanting to hug her in case it dislodges the oxygen mask. ‘Are you OK, sweetie?’ she asks.
Harriet nods, and leans against Becky. Kirsten feels a surge of jealousy. She tries to push it down, but it’s like bile. It keeps coming up again. She takes Harriet’s hands, and rubs them. Harriet gets to her feet, and wraps her arms round Kirsten’s middle.
Poor kid. What a horrendous few days she’s had. And now she’s probably lost her home, with all her things in it, too. Maybe Becky’s right. Maybe she needs both of them.
She’s about to say it, but the paramedic returns.
‘Just need to check on our little lady here,’ says the paramedic. She takes the oxygen mask off Harriet, and does some readings on a little machine.
‘You’re doing really well, sweetheart,’ the paramedic says to Harriet. ‘You’ve been so brave.’
‘I don’t want to be brave,’ Harriet whispers, and clings to Kirsten’s legs.
Kirsten bends down, and gives her a proper hug. ‘I know, sweetie, I know. Don’t worry, you’re safe now.’
But she can’t focus completely on Harriet.
The paramedic is satisfied with Harriet. One of the fire crew ducks his head into the ambulance.
‘We’ve brought it under control,’ he says, ‘but there’s a lot of damage.’
Kirsten nods, she hopes bravely, but her lower lip gives her away. ‘I’m just glad we’re all safe,’ she says.
‘Do you have any thoughts about how the fire started?’ asks Becky.
The fireman looks at the ground. ‘It’s not my place to say at this stage, love.’
Becky nods. ‘OK. Thanks.’
He nods back and takes his leave.
Kirsten looks at Becky. She dreads what Becky might say next because she knows it may be true. So instead, Kirsten voices it herself.
‘He couldn’t have, could he?’
Becky nods slowly. ‘Yes, I think he probably could.’
Chapter 52
BECKY
‘Think about it,’ Becky whispers. ‘It makes life so much easier for him, if none of us are around. Burn the evidence, you know?’
They’re sitting in a neighbour’s house – not Yvette’s, her structure hasn’t yet been declared safe – drinking yet another cup of tea. Harriet is sitting between them on the floor, drinking hot chocolate and playing with the neighbour’s dog. Kirsten keeps being called away to talk to fire officials and insurers, but they’re finally snatching five minutes together, unobserved.
‘But Harriet?’ Kirsten asks Becky. ‘How could he even think about doing that to an innocent child?’
Becky looks at Kirsten. ‘He’s not the man you married, right?’
Kirsten shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s always been like this.’
‘What – selfish, reckless, a liar?’ Becky asks. She’s glad Kirsten is putting the focus on Harriet. It stops Becky thinking about herself. After everything he’s put her through, he would want to burn her to death too?
‘You know he threatened my sister with a knife?’ Becky asks Kirsten. It’s a genuine question, and she wants the answer. Just how much did Kirsten know about Ian’s trip up to Bristol? She watches as Kirsten’s eyes widen.
‘No,’ says Kirsten.
‘She narrowly avoided going to A&E. We’d been staying with her, me and Harriet. He could have got us then, too.’
Becky doesn’t take her eyes off Kirsten. Is that a flash of recognition in her eyes?
Kirsten leans forward and strokes Harriet’s hair. ‘And then perhaps he would have come for me,’ Kirsten says.
‘What’s to say he still won’t?’ Becky asks.
Kirsten turns to her. ‘What do you mean?’
Becky gestures around her. ‘It will be in the press, all this. Our lucky escape. He’ll know he hasn’t managed it. Probably try to make another attempt.’
Kirsten blows out her cheeks. ‘You think we should go to the police?’
Becky scrunches her face up. ‘Not necessarily.’
Now Becky feels herself being closely scrutinised.
‘I thought you’d be only too pleased to tell them,’ Kirsten says. ‘After your threats to Dr Clare, and to us.’
Becky frowns. ‘What threats?’
‘Your letters! Telling her you’d go public with everything unless she persuaded me to give up my daughter. I mean, Harriet.’
Becky shakes her head. ‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
And she doesn’t. It would have been quite a good idea, if she’d thought about it – putting pressure on that bitch of a doctor, make her put it on Kirsten.
Kirsten gives a dry laugh. ‘I’m sorry, Becky, but I can’t believe that. They came from your address in Croydon. Who else would …’
She trails off. In unison, they say: ‘Ian.’
There’s a pause. Becky watches the realisation hit home in Kirsten.
‘Devious bastard,’ Kirsten says softly. ‘He wrote those letters, then made a fuss about them, brought them to my attention. Spoilt my trip with Harriet by leaving one out when he knew I’d be spending the day with her and be at my most vulnerable. Trying to jolt me into doing some kind of deal with you, I guess. Stop you going public.’
Becky speaks again. ‘He’s been shit-scared, all along, of losing his job—’
Kirsten interjects. ‘His good name,’ she says.
Becky nods. ‘Right. And of going to prison even. Every last thing he’s done has been in self-interest.’
She sees Kirsten look at her again. ‘But what did you think when I replied to one of your letters, saying I wouldn’t give Harriet back? If you didn’t write them?’
Becky shrugs. ‘I didn’t receive any letters. Maybe Ian intercepted it.’
‘In Watford?’ Kirsten asks.
‘Maybe when he told you he was travelling with work, he was elsewhere? He tried to show me a lot that he was helping, keep me sweet, I guess,’ Becky suggests, her tone as kind as possible. She could so easily say ‘You knew bugger all about your husband and he’s a devious shit.’ But there’d be no point in totally crushing Kirsten, satisfying as it would be. ‘You can add manipulative bastard to his list of titles, if you like.’
‘And here’s me thinking you wanted to ride off into the sunset with him and Harriet.’
Becky shakes her head. ‘No way. Everything I’ve done, it’s been to get close to Harriet. I couldn’t give a shit about Ian. Or rather, I could – a really big shit full of hate. He’s messed up my life.’
Becky feels Kirsten’s hand on hers momentarily. ‘I think I’m probably partly to blame for that,’ Kirsten says, softly.
Yes, of course you are, Becky thinks. And I hate you f
or it.
She shrugs. ‘We’ll move past that,’ she says. ‘Now that we have an agreement about Harriet.’
‘We need to keep her safe – that’s the priority,’ Kirsten says. ‘So what do we do about Ian? Why not go to the police?’
Becky stretches her hands above her head, then leans back to look fondly at Harriet. ‘Think what the fallout would be. The police would want to know why we thought it was Ian, who we all are, in relation to Harriet. The full story will have to come out. And it will be all over the press. Harriet will get wind of it, eventually, whether it’s now or in the future. How would you feel if you knew you were born out of a rape?’
‘Ian didn’t rape you, Becky – you were both drugged, by those hideous girls on the course!’
Becky shrugs. ‘I sure as hell didn’t consent. And do you know what – he shouldn’t have put me in a position where people were able to think the two of us should be together. He’d overstepped a line. The girls weren’t all as hideous as you think.’ She thinks of Caitlin, her promise to help, when she found out that Becky was pregnant. A promise that neither of them had forgotten.
‘But rape – it’s different,’ Kirsten says, apparently trying to salvage some good from her husband. ‘With you, you were both victims. Ian, too.’
‘That time, maybe,’ Becky says.
She sees Kirsten flinch.
‘What do you mean?’ Kirsten asks her.
‘I wasn’t the only one,’ Becky says. ‘He seems to have enjoyed the summer school in another year too.’
‘What, and he slept with another sixth former? After you?’
Becky leans forward, closer to Kirsten. It’s the big news story, the one she’s kept for when she’s needed it.
‘She wasn’t a sixth former,’ Becky says. ‘She was fifteen. So there you have it – statutory rape. Which is why I don’t think we need to go to the police to be safe from Ian. Not about us, anyway.’
Chapter 53
KIRSTEN
So now as well as attempted murderer and arsonist, her husband is a rapist? A sex offender, a paedophile? All that contrition after he’d got Becky pregnant, the late-night confession over what had happened. He slept with an underage girl? And then, even before that – she thinks back to the tenderness of their first years together. The holding her hand, physically and metaphorically, first through the miscarriage – the baby that hadn’t worked out – then through all the IVF. She’d known him since they’d met at university – she was an undergrad, he was a postgrad, completing his teacher training. All that time, this monster was what was lurking beneath?
