Night Fires

by D H Sidebottom

  Night Fires

  Copyright © 2016 D H Sidebottom

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual places, incidents and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 D H Sidebottom. Please do not copy, alter or redistribute this book.

  Please secure author’s permission before sharing any extracts of this book.

  Editor: Kyra Lennon

  Cover Designer: DH Sidebottom

  Formatting: Champagne Formats

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Out Now

  Coming Soon

  THE VICAR DIDN’T make any sense. His mouth moved but foreign words filled my ears, my brain unable to decode the poetic way he spoke. All I heard was the creak of the wood when my brother’s coffin landed on top of my parents’ with a soft thud. A faint puff of air left me and I pulled my black wool coat tighter around me as I shivered against the cold wind that blew through the cemetery. Wet mud replaced the grass, disguising the only thing of colour around me; nothing but grey and more grey enveloped me. Faint sobs from the other mourners filtered in but I couldn’t join them; the walls that had built around me refused to allow my own despair to be vocalised. Loneliness was all that surrounded me. Loneliness and numbness. And the eternal scent of smoke – and death.

  The vicar’s eyes were fixed on me as if awaiting some sort of acknowledgment. Not understanding or caring, I nodded vaguely to him, hoping that was enough. It seemed to be, and he nodded to the men standing beside the six foot square of hollow earth and they slowly lowered the small coffin. The final coffin. My eyes watched but my heart refused to. All I could think about was how they all managed to fit into such a small hole.

  I turned to look to the side when a man came to stand beside me. I lifted a questioning brow to him but he shook his head slowly, sadly, and returned his gaze to my family descending below the ground. Taking my hand, he leaned towards me. “I promise, Alice, before I go I will give you a smile once again.”

  I didn’t answer him. For one, I couldn’t take my eyes away from the hole that contained my dead family, and for two, I didn’t hold the same confidence.

  Without waiting for the service to finish, I dropped Frank’s hand and walked towards the final resting place of the only people I loved, and blew them a kiss.

  “Look after them, Billy. I love you all. Forever.”

  Ten months later

  I SMILED AND waved at Mr Frey as I pulled up on the gravel driveway. The first thing I noticed and couldn’t take my eyes off was his huge eyebrows; the white ferrets appeared to have a life of their own as they danced across his forehead with each of his facial expressions. I politely lowered my gaze and made myself look into his eyes as I climbed from my car. He waved enthusiastically. I wasn’t surprised by his eagerness. After all, I was handing him a cheque for £180,000 – hopefully.

  “What a beautiful morning to greet you to Mousehole, Miss Bird.”

  As if his fervour was contagious, I grinned at him. The breeze blew and lifted my hair, my copper curls flicking around my face and, for a moment, blinding me.

  “You’ll find it’s rather windy up here, Miss Bird.” He laughed.

  “Please, call me Alice. And yes, I’ve already gathered.” I chuckled as I pulled my hair from the inside of my mouth.

  “Let’s get inside.” He opened the black iron gate, the creak it gave making me wince as he waved me ahead.

  The brambles along the edge of the path to the house were overgrown, the nettles causing havoc to my sensitive skin as they bit and blistered me on my fight through.

  “I think it might be wise to hire a gardener, Alice.”

  “Ya think?” I mumbled under my breath as hedge after hedge hampered my way up the steep stone steps, each of them jutting branches and thorns on my journey up to a house I had yet to view. Just as I was debating turning around and telling him to forget it, the house came into view and I stopped in my tracks.

  She took my breath away. Her steep white walls were covered in ivy, small pink buds laced through the deep green. Each lattice window was enclosed by wooden shutters and underlined with small window boxes, dead plants escaping over the edge of each one. The front door was flanked by two stone columns and latticework walls, more foliage decorating the intricately-patterned fencing.

  “Quite something, isn’t she?” Mr Frey said behind me, pulling me from my astonishment.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Skipping ahead of me as I remained immobile on the top step, Mr Frey urged me to enter the house when he unlocked the door and walked in ahead. On stepping through, a huge room opened up, high ceilings and original wooden floors delighting my heart. My hands shook as I traced my fingers along the walls, my soul needing to touch and feel.

  “All the furniture is included,” Mr Frey said as he pulled a dustsheet from one of the couches and the air filled with whatever had settled on it in the last eight months the house had been empty.

  Nodding absentmindedly, I walked to the curtains and pulled them apart, more dust sprinkling across the room. Sunlight streamed in, and for a moment, my heart stilled in my chest.

  “Oh my,” I breathed as I opened the French doors and stepped on to the veranda.

  The ocean spread out beneath me, the small span of sand it rolled up to enclosed by rocks and dunes. “The beach is included in the sale,” Mr Frey added when he came to stand beside me and looked out over the English Channel. “There are some steps in the rear garden that lead you down.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded, smiling wider. “I’ll let you look around the rest of the place on your own. I’ll be waiting out front when you’re ready.”

  “Thank you but I’ll take it.”

  “You don’t want to look around?”

  Shaking my head I sighed contentedly. “No, she’s perfect.”

  He blinked at me and sucked his lips behind his teeth as if something was bothering him.

  “Is there something I should know about her?”

  “Oh no,” he answered quickly. “There’s nothing wrong with the house, well, apart from a few minor things that are in need of repair. It’s just that this place is pretty secluded, and forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but I take it you’re moving in alone. No boyfriend or family?” He wasn’t being rude and I appreciated his concern.

  “Secluded is what I’m looking for, Mr Frey.”

  Holding out his hands he smiled again. “Then she’s perfect for you.”

  Nodding slowly as I walked back inside to complete the necessary paperwork, I grinned to myself, my eyes roaming every inch of the yellowing walls and mysteries hidden by huge sheets. “Yes. I think we’re perfect for each other.”

  Blindly reaching into my bag when I couldn’t take my eyes off the house, I felt for the cheque and hande
d it to Mr Frey. In exchange, he smiled and handed me the keys. “I hope she answers all your dreams, Miss Bird.”

  Sighing sadly, my soul screaming with the need to grieve and my heart pining for what I had lost, I curled my fingers around the key. “I hope so too, Mr Frey. Only time will tell.”

  “Time heals all manner of things, Alice,” he whispered kindly, as if sensing my sorrow. “And your new home may just be the start of that process.” Nodding politely as he turned to leave, he paused at the door and turned back. “I would wish you good luck but I have a feeling you won’t need it.”

  “We all need luck, Mr Frey.”

  Chuckling, he nodded again. “We do, but we find in time that some need it more than others.”

  I smiled, weighing up his words but not quite feeling his conviction as I watched him leave and softly pull the door closed behind him.

  I dropped onto the couch Mr Frey had uncovered and plucked out my journal.

  Well, Billy, I bought it. I am now the proud new owner of Kingfisher House. She’s quite something. You would adore her. She’s full of character and she even has the original window shutters. The house is perched right on top of a cliff and overlooks my own little cove. Get that, huh!

  There’s lots of work to be done and I have a feeling I’ll be spending the rest of Mum and Dad’s fortune on paint and filler, but for the first time in the eight months since you left me, I have smiled. I wasn’t sure I would ever smile again, but she drew it from me effortlessly.

  Well, I’m going to be busy so I’ll leave you to rest for now.

  Kiss everyone for me and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  Love you, kid.

  Placing the small blue book on the table I’d discovered under another sheet, I got to work.

  Over the next few weeks I restored the house to its original condition. The beauty that greeted me when I stripped her back and lovingly brought her back to life repaid my efforts tenfold. As if sensing my loneliness, Kingfisher House became not only my convalescent home, but also gave me something to love again. And as one we comforted each other in the long solitary nights, our abandoned souls finding solace in each other. We had both been alone, but for the first time since my family’s death, the isolation was welcomed. I now accepted the ache inside me, welcomed it even, because it was the thing that drove me to keep going. It was the only thing my heart could feel, the pain and the grief the very things that made it beat.

  That was until the hottest night of the summer. The night I first opened my bedroom window. The night I first saw him.

  THE HEATWAVE CAME with a vengeance that year, the day’s heat suffocating and the night temperature unbearable and exhausting. I was one of the lucky ones, the breeze from the sea supplying me with a constant stream of air throughout the house during the day, but at night, when everything settled down and the wind dropped, the house exposed an ability to maintain heat like nowhere I’d ever known.

  The first night of August saw the worst yet. I was growing frustrated as I turned over in bed once again, desperate to find a cool spot on the already damp cotton sheet I had bought especially when I saw the ‘Keep cool’ label it boasted.

  Giving in, I climbed out of bed and pushed open the window, sighing appreciatively when the faintest of drafts provided a welcome relief. I closed my eyes and smiled as I crawled back into bed and spread my naked body into a starfish position as the breeze filtered through and finally delivered a more bearable climate. The cooler air stuck to the perspiration covering my body, the sensation causing me to moan indulgently as I lay back and valued the sea’s ability to soothe me once again.

  My body sank peacefully into the mattress as it gave in to the much needed sleep.

  I sniffed. Then I sniffed again. And once more just to check.

  Shooting up, my gaze flicked from one corner of the room to another as my heart threatened to go into arrest. I flicked on the light and stared around the room. The smell of smoke was strong, my room filled with a faint smokescreen.

  “Shit!” I cried as tears surfaced and my body started to tremble, my skin prickling with terror. I bounded out of bed and pulled on my robe, my eyes hunting for any signs of fire in the bedroom. Tearing onto the landing, I frowned when the smell died down, cleaner air hitting my sense of smell and sight the farther I ran down the stairs.

  Hyperventilating, and thoroughly checking every cupboard and corner three times, I shrugged and ventured back upstairs when I found absolutely nothing. As soon as I walked back in my bedroom the smell and the smoke hit me again.

  “What the hell?”

  Looking around, I noticed a thin trail of smoke spilling in through the window, the faint thread clinging to my throat and starting to choke me. Knowing there was just my private little cove below, I frowned harder and peered out through the open window.

  A small fire sat right on the edge of the tide, about a foot or so back, its vivid orange flames roaring high and bright. Its flicker mesmerised me for a brief moment, the dance of the flame mocking and laughing. A movement caused my gaze to shift and I peered closer. Someone sat, knees drawn up, their face towards the sea as they gazed out into the darkness.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  From what I could make out, the broad shoulders and closely cropped hair suggested it was a man.

  “HEY!”

  He remained still, looking out to sea. I’d shouted loud enough for him to hear but he appeared ignorant as he completely disregarded me.

  Growling under my breath, I pulled on my jeans and a tee and raced down the stairs. Pulling on my shoes, I grabbed the bucket I kept by the front door and burst out of the house.

  “Bloody things!” I hissed when the brambles along the path to the house caught my legs, and as if they were fingers, they grabbed at me and hindered my hasty need to put out the fire.

  Fighting my way through, I stumbled down the rickety steps only lit by the moonlight and stepped onto the sand. I was lucky to have such a pretty little beach to myself, the tide only ever venturing halfway up and providing me with my own little barbecue area for night times.

  “Hey!” I shouted again as I scooped the bucket into the soft sand and collected a hefty load then tramped closer.

  I got close before my heart started to go crazy, my fingers sweating and the bucket slipping from my grasp. The flames tormented me, their height and roar making it difficult to breathe. For the longest moment I couldn’t move, my legs heavy and my brain freezing as I stared and shook my head.

  “Please,” I whispered, my pleas unheard as the guy sat still and stared out at the ocean as if I wasn’t there.

  The sound of the sea lapping was tranquil, the silence of the night peaceful, but neither did anything to calm the storm in my chest and my head. Snapping out of my living nightmare, I pulled in a breath and picked the bucket back up. Edging closer, I threw the contents over the fire, the breeze catching the sand and blowing it back across the beach.

  “What the…?” The guy spluttered when a film of sand coated him.

  The fire still danced to some silent song as I tried again, and this time scooped water into my bucket. I threw it from a safe distance and it covered the fire, making it smoke heavily. It also sprayed the trespasser.

  He stood up and I gawped when he seemed to uncurl himself into a giant. He was huge, his height almost doubling my 5ft 3. His head shook from side to side as he spluttered and wiped at his face with his hands. “What the hell are you doing?” he bellowed when he finally looked at me.

  The lack of fire now provided little light and I could barely make out his features. I was just mesmerised by his height. Blinking when my mind snapped back to the situation, I narrowed my eyes. “This is my beach.”

  He was silent for a moment and I squinted to try and get a better look at him when he turned his head and looked up at the house. “You bought Kingfisher House?”

  “Yes, I did,” I replied sternly. “And I don’t appreciate you using my beach as a personal spac
e to light fires. I’d like you to leave before I call the police.”

  He was silent as he looked back to sea.

  I frowned and turned to see what had his attention, however nothing but blackness greeted me. Turning back to him, I straightened my shoulders and attempted to be firm and resolute. “I’m asking you politely. Please leave.”

  If his fists didn’t clench and unclench I’d have thought he was dead, but without another word, he turned, ran up the steps, and disappeared.

  I watched him go in bewilderment. “Weirdo,” I said to myself as I took another lump of sand and threw it on the fire just to make sure it was out.

  Then I went back to bed.

  “MRS DAY.” JOSIE who ran the local ‘shop of all trades’ gritted her teeth and blew out a breath. “It is the sugar free variety.”

  Mrs Day, the eldest resident in Mousehole, in fact probably in the whole of Cornwall, shook her head and prodded the tin of beans in her hand. “I can’t have sugar, Josie. Gives me terrible wind.”

  Josie pursed her lips, trying to hang on to her amusement as she glanced at me standing in the queue waiting to be served. “I think it might actually be the beans that do that, not the sugar.”

  Mrs Day huffed before slamming a pound on the counter and turning around. Spotting me, she glared. “I was hoping now you’d moved in that the fires would stop, but you obviously don’t have enough backbone to make him stop either!” I frowned. “Blows right through my house, it does. And on the beach of all places!”

  I swallowed when I realised what she was talking about. “I’m sorry.”

  Why I took the blame for him was beyond me but something deep inside told me I would be able to handle Mrs Day’s wrath more than he would.

  She huffed at me then hobbled past, her cane catching my ankle as she ambled away.

  “Ignore her.” Josie rolled her eyes. “Bark’s worse than her bite.”

  I smiled, rubbing at my bruised ankle. I liked Josie. She and her husband Carlos (a twenty-something hunk she’d found on a website) had made me welcome in the small, close-knit community.