Home Truths

by Louise Forster

  In a matter of seconds, a burly fireman, his weather-beaten face grinning with expectant heroism, clambered up the rattling ladder.

  ‘I can sling ya over me shoulder, no worries,’ he said, arms reaching for her.

  Someone shouted from below, ‘You did that in record time, Bruce. Only five seconds!’

  Bruce looked down and gave the shouter the thumbs up. He turned back to the open window and Jennifer, patting his broad shoulder.

  ‘Okay, luv. C’mon.’

  Horrified, Jennifer stepped back, hands out, palms up. ‘Hold on just a minute! I’m quite capable of going down the stairs by myself.’

  Disappointment flashed across his features. ‘It’s a ladder, luv. I can still help ya.’ His hopeful expression returned. ‘Don’t look down, just climb out the window backwards. I’m right behind ya.’

  ‘Not the ladder — the stairs!’ Jennifer tried to explain. A flash went off from somewhere below. She glanced in the direction it had come from and saw a tall, thin man with a comb-over and an enormous camera pressed to his face. It seemed the local paper’s newsman-slash-photographer had arrived. He stood apart from the crowd to get an unobstructed view with his telephoto, wide-angle lens.

  ‘C’mon darl, let him carry ya down,’ the photojournalist yelled up. ‘Treat it like a fire drill. Great practice for Bruce.’

  ‘There is no fire. The toaster blew up, that’s all!’ Jennifer yelled back.

  ‘Are you sure?’ the fireman on the ladder asked with a friendly but awkward grin, a grin that didn’t reach his gentle brown eyes. Damn, he was disappointed, could she live with that? ‘Ya face is all black, luv, and I can smell burning wires.’

  ‘Face? Black?’ Jennifer rubbed at her cheeks, smearing the soot she’d put there with the oven mitts.

  ‘Can’t be too careful with these old buildings, they’re heritage listed, ya know. That means old,’ he added, peering past her into the kitchen. ‘I’ve heard you’re Bob Feldman’s niece, is that right?’

  Jennifer nodded.

  ‘Great to have you here, Jennifer. Bruce Stiles,’ the fireman said. She took his extended hand, thinking this was the weirdest introduction she’d ever had. ‘This is a great old building, isn’t it? It’s one of the best examples of Edwardian architecture in the area. I s’pose ya know it used to be a pharmacy,’ Bruce informed her, elbows resting on the sill, chin in hands. ‘You’re not a pharmacist, are ya?’

  ‘No. Is that a problem?’

  ‘Nah, just curious.’

  ‘Bruce!’ a fellow fireman called up. ‘Stop flapping ya gums. Do we have a fire or not?’

  ‘Nah, false alarm!’ Bruce called down. He turned back to Jennifer. ‘You should get yourself a small fire extinguisher and smoke alarms,’ he told her earnestly.

  ‘I won’t be here that long, but I promise to keep it in mind for the future.’

  ‘Aw, c’mon darl,’ the journo yelled encouragingly. ‘Let Bruce carry ya down, at least their trip here will be worth their while. It’s ya duty to the community!’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ Jennifer shouted angrily. She pointed her finger at the journalist just as a flash went off. ‘Damn!’ she muttered, guilt-ridden as well as embarrassed.

  ‘Pay no mind, Jennifer luv,’ Bruce advised. ‘He’s just spoil’n for a bit of fun.’

  From the hopeful look on Bruce’s face, Jennifer could see that he would love this opportunity to put his fireman’s skills into practice. She scanned the scene below. Neighbours had started to arrive. People were hanging over fences and out of upper-storey windows for a better look. She’d better do something quick before the whole town showed up.

  The sea of faces below looked up with eager anticipation. They were Bob’s friends and neighbours. How could she let them and her uncle down?

  ‘Oh hell, Bruce, I’m community minded enough to give it a go.’

  Bruce’s face beamed. ‘Yeah?’

  Jennifer nodded. ‘Don’t drop me — it’s a long way down to the flagstones,’ she said, peering over the sill and checking out the ladder. The graphic mental picture of Bruce rattling up the ladder mushroomed. Shit! There’d be extra weight going down. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this.

  ‘Just relax,’ Bruce told her. ‘Let yourself flop over me shoulder.’

  Jennifer pulled back. Eyes wide, she stared into his face. ‘Flop! Oh sure, Bruce.’ She covered her sarcastic tone with a smile. ‘I’m an expert at flopping out of second-storey windows!’

  Bruce chuckled and corrected, ‘First storey.’ Pointing down, he said, ‘Ground.’ Tapping the windowsill, he said, ‘First.’

  ‘Bruce, it’s a very high first storey!’

  ‘Sure it is, luv. But don’t you worry; you’re in safe hands.’

  ‘Oh?’ Jennifer leant forward, grabbing hold of Bruce’s broad shoulder. ‘That makes me feel a whole lot better.’ Shouts and applause erupted from below. A surge of butterflies exploded in her stomach as suddenly the distant ground below swayed before her eyes. ‘How often,’ her voice strained with the pressure of his shoulder digging into her stomach, ‘have you done this?’

  ‘First time for me. How about you?’ Bruce answered, revelling in the moment.

  A strangled cry came out of Jennifer’s mouth at that bit of frightening news. ‘They sent up a first timer,’ her voice squeezed out, ‘not a veteran!?’

  *

  Sirens continued to blare on the outskirts of town. Carrying a box of switches and circuit breakers from the hardware store, Calum stopped to listen. The klaxon sounded urgent, different to the times when they were on a drill. His blood went cold and goose bumps broke out on his arms. The blaring came closer as he threw the rest of his equipment in the back of his ute.

  He looked down the street and saw Tumble Creek’s fire engine pass through the intersection. Calum jumped in his work ute, and followed the sirens. He caught up with them on the roundabout and followed them until it parked out the back of Bob’s old chemist shop.

  ‘Shit — the wiring!’ Apprehension filled him and every muscle in his body tensed. Calum knew the fire chief wouldn’t let him get near the place right now, but he had to get in and see what was going on. Gravel flying, he left them to do what they do best and drove around to the front of the building.

  ‘Don’t be locked, don’t be locked,’ he muttered to himself, nearing the papered windows and door.

  He slammed on the brake outside the shop, jackknifed out and mounted the couple of steps. He grabbed the shop’s front doorknob, twisting it, relieved that it flew open. He stumbled inside, and flung the door closed behind him, the glass rattling in the frame. His eyes searched as he strode through to the back of the empty shop. He sniffed the air for the familiar pungent smell of burning electrics, but there was nothing. He scouted around in the shop’s kitchen and storage room. Still nothing.

  ‘Fuck!’ he yelled, voice echoing through the shop. He went to the stairs; a draft filtered down and he caught that telltale smell that he guessed was coming from the upstairs kitchen.

  Calum took the stairs two at a time, then hurried along the carpet to the kitchen door and came to an abrupt stop. The tension in his body eased and he relaxed. He folded his arms and leant against the doorjamb, smiling, as he watched Jennifer’s arse disappear through the window. Not wanting to risk her precarious state, he waited until she was safely out.

  He moved to the window and looked out. ‘G’day, Bruce, you lucky bastard, you’ve finally got a live one?’

  A strangled cry came out of Jennifer, and in a flash, her hand whisked around to cover her lovely arse.

  Calum chuckled.

  The ladder bounced and Bruce clutched at her thighs. ‘Keep still,’ he told Jennifer, ‘pretend you’re unconscious.’

  *

  ‘Calum McGregor?’ Jennifer yelled.

  ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Go away!’

  Bruce stopped moving down the ladder, looked up and called out, ‘G’day, Cal.
You might wanna look at the socket above the bench over there.’ She felt him wiggle his head sideways, probably pointing in the direction Calum should look. Jennifer was thinking, he’s an electrician; he’s hardly going to miss a blackened hole in the wall.

  ‘Yeah,’ Calum answered, then called out to Jennifer. ‘Jen, don’t use any plugs.’

  Firemen below yelled, ‘Mornin’, Cal!’

  ‘G’day. Be back later,’ Calum told them.

  Jennifer tried to twist around, and asked, ‘Is he gone?’

  ‘Er…yep…relax!’ Bruce said, sounding a little confused.

  ‘Pretend I’m unconscious? Seriously?’ she squeezed out through a constricted diaphragm.

  But that wasn’t her only problem. Mindful of the fluffy, pink stiletto slip-ons, she scrunched up her toes, clinging to them, fearing that if they were flung loose they’d hit Bruce on the head. Not a good idea, at this point, at least not until they hit solid ground.

  And what was everyone laughing at? She’d like to see one of them try this and think it funny.

  As he resumed their descent, Bruce’s firm grip tightened around her thighs.

  The Veronica shift crept up. Jennifer’s desperate attempts to yank her top down past her bum proved futile. Her immediate thoughts were, how much of an eyeful did Calum get? She’d never be able to look him in the face again. And Christ, which undies was she wearing? And thank God, her mother couldn’t see her now.

  Jennifer’s world rocked. Her head bobbed, and blood rushed to her face as she clutched at Bruce’s protective jacket with its bright yellow reflector strips. She squealed as the ladder bounced with their combined weight. What if it broke! That frightened her more than anything. Mouth open, eyes agog, face crimson, she had to be the perfect picture of sheer terror. Thinking it must be easier if you couldn’t see what might befall you, she screwed her eyes shut and prayed for it all to be over.

  ‘Stop right there, Bruce, and give me a wave!’ the journalist called up.

  ‘Bruce, if you value your life,’ Jennifer wheezed, ‘don’t you dare let go of me or the ladder to wave at that idiot.’

  Bruce stopped his descent. ‘I wouldn’t do that, luv.’ He used the arm wrapped around her thighs to hook through the ladder. With his free hand, he waved and smiled at the photojournalist.

  Jennifer thumped him on the shoulder. ‘Bruce! My eyes feel like they’re about to pop and my head’s about to explode!’

  ‘Oops, sorry, luv.’ He continued down. It took forever before the swaying stopped.

  Applause erupted around her. With a sigh of relief, Jennifer felt solid ground under her feet. Feeling light-headed, her legs buckled. In a wink, half a dozen firemen lunged forward wanting to be the one who came to her aid.

  ‘You all right, luv?’ Bruce asked.

  ‘Sure…think the blood stopped flowing to my legs.’

  ‘Everyone,’ Bruce called out, ‘I’d like ya to meet Bob’s niece, Miss Jennifer Dove.’

  ‘Miss Dove,’ the photojournalist called out. ‘You’ve been a terrific sport. Could we have a photo of you in Bruce’s arms and the rest of the fire crew in the background?’

  ‘Oh sure,’ Jennifer smiled feebly, still shaken by the episode.

  Ten minutes later, she watched as the clean-up began. Hoses scraped, brass nozzles clanged and bounced over flagstones. The ladder clattered down to more than half its size. Talking and laughing among themselves, the men gathered their equipment.

  ‘Nice meet’n ya, Jennifer. We’re all volunteers so we don’t often get the chance to get the practice in.’ The firemen sauntered out of the courtyard, Bruce stayed back and took Jennifer’s hand. He leant in and quietly said, ‘I’ll see ya later at the church.’ She gave him a slight nod. He gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘For Bob.’ He smiled and took off.

  Jennifer swiped at a couple of stray tears, smearing more soot across her cheeks. She headed towards the secluded kitchen for some quiet reflection.

  How long had she been here? Not even twenty-four hours.

  Chapter 6

  Jennifer sat at the kitchen table with her feet up on the chair opposite. ‘Shit.’ She wiggled her toes and eyed the pink, fluffy stilettos. ‘Great, I can see it already, front page news: “Woman rescued from burning building. Still needs rescuing from poor fashion sense.” Or: “Woman burns heritage building, but saves fluffy pink stilettos.” ’

  On automatic pilot, Jennifer buttered herself a scone, adding lashings of jam and cream. Bugger the hips, she thought, biting into the spongy little cake. It had been an action-packed couple of days and she’d only just survived — arrived. She peered at her watch, quickly did the maths: nope, Sofie wouldn’t be up yet. She thought about changing her watch from London to Tumble Creek time, but what was the point. She’d be going home soon.

  ‘Ah, London,’ she sighed, thinking about her quaint flat that had never threatened to electrocute her or set her alight. The Tate Gallery, where she could spend days gazing at old masters, like Turner. Being able to go shopping down Oxford Street and pop into Harrods, just because you could. Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park…Jennifer smiled. Yes, she missed the place already. But a little flame of doubt burned in her mind, and that inherent feeling of belonging, normally associated with home, escaped her.

  Ah, but Europe had everything.

  Not a bunch of firemen who made her smile.

  Or a countryman whose expressive eyes suggested he knew everything about her — though, of course, that was impossible.

  The words, You’re in deep trouble, fluttered through her brain. Jennifer didn’t allow herself to investigate what they meant. Instead, she polished off another scone and, taking Calum’s card, ambled down the long hall. She stopped to admire another black and white glamour photo, this one of the beautiful Audrey Hepburn. What would become of these photos? What would become of all her uncle’s personal things?

  Sighing, Jennifer walked into the girlie pink bathroom. She turned the taps on in the shower cubicle and placed her hand under the water to find that it was warm. However, twisting the taps on full bore didn’t improve the flow. She let it run while undressing, just in case it decided to improve its performance. She shrugged out of Calum’s soft leather jacket and placed it on her bed along with his business card. She stripped off Veronica’s shift, turned, and caught sight of her face in the mirror. ‘Oh my God!’ What will everyone think? Rubbing at the soot smudges with her fingers, she quickly headed for the pathetic dribble called a shower, having to roll her body like a belly dancer to get wet.

  A shower usually took her about five minutes — ten minutes tops if she had to shave her legs, but this was ridiculous. Shampooing her hair wasn’t too bad, but rinsing the lather out was a nightmare. She glared at the old showerhead, gave up and towelled herself dry, then slipped on her undies and bra and ran a brush through her hair. Without thinking, Jennifer plugged in the dryer — BANG. She yelped, and threw the dryer onto the vanity.

  Smoke curled out of the power point.

  ‘Shit! Calum said don’t use the plugs — shit! Hurry-hurry-hurry!’ She danced around, arms flapping, knowing what she needed to do. She scanned the bathroom for something she could use. ‘What’ll I do — what’ll I do? Toilet brush — shit! Left it — can’t remember where.’ One fire rescue per day was quite enough, thank you very much. Edging forward with her hand outstretched she quickly grabbed the cord and yanked it free from the plug.

  With a sigh, Jennifer let her body sag against the wall. She rubbed one shoulder and then the other, digging her fingers in, trying to drive out the tension. A week’s worth of excitement in one day had worn her out. She eyed the bed, beckoning for her to fall into its flowery, pink ruffles and just lie there while the world sorted itself out. Instead, she forced herself to remain in the en suite. No matter what happens, you can’t neglect your skin. She slapped moisturiser on her face. ‘Relax, stay calm. Breathe in, breathe out. Ah,’ she soothed, though her fingers trembled. ‘Feeling
better already.’ No crackling, smoking electrical gremlins were going to stop her from moisturising her skin against the summer’s dry heat.

  She moved into the bedroom, and grabbed her mobile to ring Calum. With the sound of his voice, the English language disappeared from her brain. Had she tried to utter anything it would’ve been gibberish.

  ‘Hello…hello…speak,’ his voice a deep purr.

  ‘Sorry, Calum, my mind was on something else.’ And that was not a lie. ‘Um…I’m ringing about your jacket.’

  ‘I was coming back, I’ll be there in about half an hour, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Great, see you then.’ She waited, her hand gripping the phone like a lifeline.

  ‘Jen?’ Calum asked.

  ‘Um…yeah?’

  ‘Do not touch any power points!’ he ordered.

  ‘Um…No, of course not.’ She heard him softly chuckle and disconnect.

  In a dream, Jennifer stood there for a bit longer, phone to her ear.

  ‘Jen, breakfast!’ Sofie sang out.

  Quickly, she dropped her phone on the bed as if it were something that scorched her fingers. ‘I’m up here, Sofie!’ She took a deep breath and hurried into the hall.

  Sofie, wearing a flowing, tie-dyed caftan and carrying a Go-Green Planet Ark supermarket bag crammed with food, laboured up the stairs. Claudia was close behind, wearing her favourite colour — black hipsters and singlet top. Jennifer ran down the hallway in her white lace knickers and matching bra, arms wide ready for a hug.

  ‘We’re a bit early. Did sirens wake you?’ Sofie asked.

  ‘Not exactly,’ Jennifer mumbled. ‘Hope you’ve got my bacon and egg roll. Let me put something on and I’ll tell you all about last night — and this morning.’

  Sofie turned and headed for the kitchen. ‘No ghost stories, I hope.’

  When Jennifer walked into the bedroom, her mobile was buzzing on the bed. She eyed the number and groaned. Damn, why had she hoped it was Calum? She’d only just spoken to him.

  ‘Hello, Mother.’ She sounded flat and knew it. Damn again, that wasn’t her intention. Be bright and bubbly, so she can’t hang shit.