cue doom music

So, she just shook her head, and looked at all the life insurance documents, John’s simple will (everything would have gone to her automatically anyway, but he’d put it all in writing, as he’d said, “To make it easier for you, if the worst happens,”) and a brochure for a direct cremation service.

“Mum!” Paul exclaimed, “Can’t you just say something? Don’t I have a right to know why my Dad died?”

“I can’t… explain it,” Denise managed to force out, “I just…” She trailed off. Hung her head, in shame and guilt and regret and… and something else she daredn’t name. She wouldn’t even let herself think the word… relief?

Because what did that make her?

Paul sighed loudly, harshly, angrily, before turning on his heel and flouncing out of the kitchen. “Forget it! Not like anyone tells me anything, anyway!” He stomped up the stairs to the spare bedroom, and threw himself down on the futon with a clang.

Honestly, he was starting to think his mother really did have something to hide.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Meanwhile, at The Bull, Jazzer McCreary was making his way from table to table with a clean, dry pint glass.

“Are ye going to give something, Prof?” he asked Jim Lloyd, who had settled in at the bar with a newspaper, a glass of red, and a bowl of salted peanuts.

“Is this for young Martha?” Jim asked, digging in his pocket, and pulling out his wallet.

Jazzer smiled sadly. “Aye, it is. Trace’s idea, to try an’ ease the burden on the wee lass’ family. God knows it’s never easy to cover the costs when someone ye love dies, but—”

“But when it’s one so young, the pain is unbearable,” Jim finished, plucking all the notes out of his wallet, and pushing them into the jar. “I understand. Anything I can do to help.”

Jazzer clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, Prof.” Then, he stepped a little closer, lowered his voice, and added, “An’ how’s Alistair holding up?”

Jim shook his head. “I wish I knew. He wakes up, he showers and dresses, he goes to work, he comes home, and he tells me about his day. But, honestly, Jazzer, it’s like listening to him read his medical notes. There’s no emotion in his words, whatsoever. And his eyes! His eyes are just… empty. No life in them, and he hasn’t looked right at me since the car accident. It’s as if there’s a spot over my shoulder, taking all his attention.”

“The thousand-yard stare, aye, I’ve heard of it,” Jazzer said, “It’s what soldiers get, isn’t it, when they come hame.”

“Yes,” Jim said, “I just wish there were something I could do for him, something to help him talk. Between you and me, Jazzer, I’m worried this will bring his gambling problem back.” Jim’s eyes were wet, but Jazzer politely pretended not to notice.

“Just be there for him, I would,” Jazzer said, “He’ll talk to you when he’s ready. You’re his Dad. He’ll talk to you. And… er… do the police want to talk to him?”

Jim sighed. “Thankfully not. He had his dashboard camera running. He was going at the right speed, he was on his own side of the road, and he called an ambulance straight away. It seems that he did everything right, everything he ought to have done. Just a terrible, terrible accident; the police say Mr Mack lost control of his bicycle a moment before the collision, and that was it.” He shook his head, staring contemplatively into his wine. “So tragic. So awfully tragic.”

“Aye, it’s been a horrible week in Ambridge,” Jazzer said, “I’m just hoping the worst is over.”

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Paul heard his mother go into the downstairs bathroom and start the shower running. So, she wasn’t coming up to talk to him about the real reason she and Alistair Lloyd had been out together that night.

That night… when he’d had to go home on his own, and put the prepared lasagne in the oven himself, and wait for his parents to get in… and wait… and wait… until, finally, he’d called them, to find out where they were.

No answer from his Dad. And his Mum’s phone had gone straight to voicemail, again and again, until the smoke alarm had started yelling about burning lasagne.

And then - as he was pulling the smoking remains of family dinner out of the oven, and dropping it into the sink - his phone had rung, and his Mum had told him the awful news.

“Your Dad’s been in an accident.”

That was how she’d phrased it at first; well over a minute passed before she explained that she’d also been involved.

And, days later, she still hadn’t bloody told him why!

Paul groaned. If it had been the other way around, if his Dad had been in the car, and his Mum had been on her bike - not that she ever got it out of the shed - there would have been no need to ask: his Dad would have told him the whole truth at once.

But, of course, his Dad wasn’t there to tell him anything anymore.

Mum’s phone, Paul thought to himself, Mum’s phone was bound to have some answers, though.

He slipped downstairs and dug through her handbag, holding the phone up to her driving licence until it recognised her face and unlocked.

Paul checked the shower was still running - it was - and then he started looking through his Mum’s texts.

She had received dozes of messages over the last few days - and no wonder, with so many friends and relatives sending their condolences - but she hadn’t sent a since once since the day of the crash. A few hours beforehand, in fact.

And she’d sent it to Alistair: “Can’t wait for our little getaway, xxxx.”

Paul dropped the phone like it had burned his hands. “No!” he breathed, desperately hoping he’d misunderstood. But, when he picked the phone back up off the floor, the message was still there, along with a string of others, most of them even more damning than plans for a , “getaway.”

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Paul whispered, pressing, “Back,” until he was on the home screen before locking his Mum’s phone again and dropping it into her bag.

He felt sick. He had to run. Couldn’t stay at her house for one more minute.

And to think he’d come to stay, so that he could look after her in her grief! What grief? She was probably glad!

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Back at The Bull, Tracy spotted George approaching the bar, and smiled brightly at him. She was doing her best to smile recently. God knew it weren’t easy, but someone had to bring a bit of light into the world as it was right now. Why not her? “Evening, Georgie, what can I get you?”

“Nah, I’m not really here for a drink, Auntie Trace.,” he mumbled, leaning across the beer-damp bar top. “I heard you and Jazzer are raising money for Martha’s funeral.”

“Yeah, he’s going round with one jar, and I’ve got the other, here,” Tracy replied, picking it up from behind the bar and giving it a shake. Notes muffled the jangle of coins. “And you don’t need to call me Auntie; it’s just Trace.”

And she certainly weren’t old enough to be a great aunt, she thought.

George managed a smile, but Tracy didn’t think his heart were in it. “I was wondering if,” and now he lowered his voice, “If there was anywhere I could give more than like a couple of quid. More’n I’ve got on me.”

Tracy blinked. “You mean like a lot?” she said, glancing round the bar in case they was overheard.

George nodded. “I’ve got money from the Bartleby videos, and… well, it seems right, you know? ‘Cause Martha loved horses, and… well, it ain’t like I’m gonna go to uni or anything, so, like… what am I gonna spend it on that’s better than… trynna do something nice?”

Tracy didn’t think she’d every heard George say anything about wanting to be, “nice,” before, specially when it came to money. Wasn’t it George that had stolen from the church collection plate? Yeah, that’d been a while ago, but he hadn’t got better since. There was all the trouble he’d got Brad into, and the way he’d treated Hannah, and Helen, and how he’d messed Chelse around with that bloody guinea pig…

She narrowed her eyes at him. “This’d better not be one of your, “Grundy schemes,” Georgie. There’s a time an’ a place.”

At least George had the decency not to look offended. Obviously, he knew what Tracy meant. You couldn’t live in Ambridge and not know what reputation the Grundys had. They were thrifty to a fault, notorious for running cons that probably took more work and earned them less money than proper jobs. Trace had never really understood what her niece, Emma - George’s Mum - had seen in either of the Grundy brothers… but, then again, her Jazzer didn’t have the best record, either, and Tracy loved him.

But George just looked… ashamed?

Tracy weren’t sure; she’d never seen him do that before. Was that what he looked like when he felt guilty?

He shook his head. “No, Auntie… No, Tracy. I mean it. I wanna help. I know I’ve been… Well, I haven’t been a good person, lately, and I wanna make up for it. Whatever way I can. And this… Maybe it’s a good start.”

His eyes was wet, Tracy noticed, and he couldn’t seem to look at her.

“OK,” she said, “Probably a cheque’s the best way. Have you got a cheque book?”

George looked at her like she was speaking another language. “You what?”

“For your bank,” Tracy said… but Georgie obviously wasn’t getting it. “It’s fine. Brad and Chelse haven’t got ‘em, either. Maybe you’re better off asking for Chris’ bank details. Or ask if he’s got one of those payment app things.”

George nodded. “Thanks, Tracy,” he said. He took out his wallet and added a twenty-pound note to the jar. “That’s all I’ve got on me right now.”

“What’s all this, then, Georgie?” A large, grubby man slid onto the barstool next to George.

“Oh, hi, Grandad. I was talking to Auntie Tracy about Martha’s funeral fund.”

“Oh, right, that,” said his Grandad.

There was only a few men in Ambridge what looked - or smelt - like Eddie Grundy, and Tracy’s Dad, Bert, was one of them. Whenever she left for her shift at The Bull, Tracy always hoped her Dad would hang around at home for a bit before following her, so’s she’d get a break from the stench of stale sweat and failing aftershave… and hoped she wouldn’t have to serve Eddie Grundy in the meantime.

Trace held the jar out to Eddie, not expecting him to make a donation, but still doing her bit to encourage him.

And, sadly, her prediction was right.

Eddie sniffed the air, and shook his head. “Not sure why we’re havin’ a whip-round for Martha, of all people.”

“Granddad!” George exclaimed, “She were just a little kid!”

“I ain’t sayin’ it ain’t sad!” Eddie protested, holding his hands up, “But you’ve gotta wonder why her Granddad ain’t payin’ for her to have a proper funeral, hisself. Brian Aldridge ain’t short of a bob or--”

“All right,” Tracy said, putting the jar away before Eddie could go off on one of his rants, “Nobody’s making you give anything. Just, the jar’s there if you want to make a contribution.”

“Uncle Chris ain’t exactly made of money, though,” George pointed out, “And this has come out of, like, nowhere for him. Even if he can get some help from Brian, why shouldn’t his neighbours chip in a bit, if they want, to help give Martha a proper goodbye? Isn’t that what, “community,” is about? People helping each other?”

“Maybe so,” Eddie said, “But I don’t remember anyone, “chipping in,” to help with funeral costs for me Dad when he passed away, God rest his soul. No, we Grundys had to pay for all that usselves. Meanwhile, the likes of Brian Aldridge gets handouts from the, “community,” yeah… I know how it is…” He got up and lumbered away, the pint he’d been nursing for the last hour sloshing around in a half-empty glass.

George had been holding his breath, and now Tracy heard him let it out slowly. “Sorry about ‘im,” he mumbled.

Tracy gave him another odd look. He really wasn’t hisself. Obviously, everyone in Ambridge was shaken up by what had happened, but… even so… Georgie weren’t Georgie this evening.

She pulled him a pint. “Here,” she said, “Have this one on me.” She dug into her pocket for coins as she held the glass out to him. “And you know… if there’s anything you want to talk about… I’m here to listen.”

George looked like talking were the last thing he wanted to do, but he gave Tracy a weak smile, and accepted the drink all the same. “Thanks, Trace.”

“Any time,” she said, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “And… what you told me just now… that’s really generous of you. I’m sure your Mum’ll be proud.”

George swallowed hard, and new tears came to his eyes. “Don’t tell her, please. Or anyone else. ‘Specially my family. Don’t want Granddad finding out.”

Solemnly, Tracy nodded. “Say no more,” she said, “I won’t tell a soul.” She leaned in a little closer. “It is really kind of you, though, Georgie. You’re a good lad, deep down.”

“‘Scuse me,” George said, his voice cracking as he got up from his barstool. He turned and headed out to the garden at a pace Tracy’d only seen in people about to cry.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Lily was cooking supper at The Stables when Paul opened the front door. She jumped at the sound of his key in the lock, but did her best sympathetic smile when she saw that it was him.

“Paul!” she said, “How are you? I thought you were staying with your Mum… until… until, you know…” She lowered her voice. “After the funeral?”

(She’d quite enjoyed having one less person in the flat… but Paul did have every right to be there, she supposed…)

Paul shook his head. “Couldn’t stay there another minute,” he declared, flinging himself down on the sofa.

Lily turned around and pretended to stir the pan of chilli, so that she could widen her eyes without Paul seeing. “Really? Why’s that?” (“I mean,” she thought, “I know everyone responds differently to death, but, when my Dad died, I didn’t want to be away from Mum for a moment.”)

“She was cheating on him!” Paul exclaimed, digging his fingers into his hair, “I mean, can you believe that? She was cheating on him with Alistair!”

Now, Lily couldn’t hide her surprise… and it wasn’t easy to hide her curiosity, either. “Alistair Lloyd?” she said.

“Do you know another Alistair?” Paul said, “More to the point, does my Mum know another Alistair? No, ‘cause she spends all her time with him, at work. She’s always out on emergency calls with him, always racking up the overtime. At least, that’s been her excuse. Obviously, she’s been—”

“Hooking up with her boss,” Lily finished, grimacing. “Yikes.”

“Don’t!” Paul yelled, clapping his hands over his ears and shuddering. “Even the thought of them talking to each other now is—”

“Sorry, yes, of course it is,” Lily crooned, sitting on the arm of the sofa and putting her arm around him. There was a pulling feeling in her chest, as though a string were attached to her sternum, and she knew what it was: the need to find out everything Paul could tell her… and then some. She’d never say so, of course – she was better than that – but it was like something out of a soap opera. And it felt… good… in some ways… to know that she wasn’t the only one who’d lost a father so suddenly. “How did you find out?”

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

There were half a dozen picnic benches in The Bull’s garden, but George hadn’t taken a seat at any of them. He could have done – it was a misty, chilly evening, and it felt like it wanted to rain, so he was the only one out there – but he was leaning against the fence on the far edge, looking out over the fields as he drank his beer.

It was Chelsea who spotted him, as she stepped out for a quick vape.

He was barely visible – older eyes might not have caught him, Chelse thought – in his black hoodie and black trackie bums, but she’d have known that hunched figure anywhere.

And she’d seen him hurry out of the bar like there was something wrong.

So she picked her way across the damp grass, hoping Kenton and Jolene wouldn’t trace any pockmarks back to her Barbie-pink stilettos in the morning.

“Wotcher, George,” she said, blowing a cloud of white vapour over her shoulder as she approached him. He wasn’t her favourite person in the world, but she wasn’t mean enough to blow strawberry vape in his face.

“Hiya, Chelse,” George mumbled, not meeting her eye. His voice sounded thick, like Brad’s did when he had hay fever, but Chelsea got the feeling that maybe George didn’t. Just somehow.

“Are you OK?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. So she tried to change the subject, in case that was all he needed. “Mum says the fundraiser’s going really well. Over a grand so far. That should help Chris.”

George still didn’t say anything. But Chelsea heard him gulp.

“It’s so sad,” Chelsea said, offering him a go on her vape, but getting only a shaken head in response. “I cut Martha’s hair a couple of times. She had beautiful hair. She was such a smiley little girl. I can’t believe she’s gone.” Her eyes hurt… She hadn’t let herself cry since she’d heard the news, but that hadn’t stopped the tears threatening to fall. “She hadn’t even started school yet.” She sniffed, and stared at the inky sky, knowing that, if she did start crying, she’d never be able to stop.

George nodded vigorously, and glugged his beer. “I should’ve done something while I still had the chance,” he said.

Chelsea frowned at him. “What do you mean? ...Done something about Martha?”

“I um… I saw Alice in the supermarket… Couple of weeks ago. Um. I saw her. Buying a box of wine.”

Chelsea grimaced. “And you think you could’ve stopped her? George, that ain’t how it works—”

“I could’ve told someone she was drinking again,” George said, “Mum, or Nanna, or Uncle Chris. Maybe they could’ve done something.”

“You don’t think that’s why the fire happened, do you?”

It wasn’t Harrison’s fault, the, that he saw the screen. Fallon’s app for tracking her cycle was open… and showing that her last recorded period was six weeks ago.

Harrison’s heart skipped a beat, and he looked towards the kitchen, unsure whether he could let himself smile.

He knew what it meant for Fallon to miss a period – and two weeks late was missing it, considering she could normally set her watch by it – but he’d never dared to hope it might happen; Fallon had told him she didn’t want children.

And, on a day like today, when it hardly felt possible for a good thing to happen, Harrison tried to put it out of his mind, and went into the kitchen, without saying anything.

Fallon was leaning against the counter by the kettle, not looking at him, and he wondered if she was thinking about it, too.

As the kettle came to a boil, though, she dropped two teabags into two mugs, and he realised she couldn’t thinking about it at all.

“Not decaf?” he said, “I’d’ve thought—”

Fallon frowned. “I’m tired. Aren’t you? I barely slept last night. Didn’t think you did, either?”

“No, I meant…” Harrison trailed off. Cleared his throat. Glanced over his shoulder, back into the lioving room. “I saw your phone, love. That tracker app. I… um… I know it’s early days, and… it’s not the best time, but… I thought you’d want to avoid caffeine.”

“What, because I’m pregnant?” She looked surprised.

“So, it’s true, then? You are… You are pregnant?” Harrison’s heart began to pound, and his eyes welled up in joy for the first time since the fire. “We’re having a baby?”

Fallon stammered. “Well, I don’t know for sure that I’m pregnant… Not yet… While you were out, I made an appointment with the GP, to talk it over properly. I had to check the date of my last period – that’s why I had the app open – but I haven’t taken a test yet.”

“But you think you might be?” Harrison felt giddy as he crossed the kitchen to hug his wife. “Oh, love!”

But Fallon didn’t really hug him back; she just shuffled a little closer, and put her chin on his shoulder.

“What’s the matter?” Harrison stepped back, peering at her, “Is this ‘cause of Martha? Is it because you don’t… feel right, being happy right now?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Fallon said. She hurriedly finished making the tea, mopping up splashes of milk and dumping the dishcloth in the sink.

“How’s it like, then?” Harrison said.

“We’re not having a baby,” Fallon replied, sitting down at the kitchen table and curling her hands around her mug of tea. “I don’t want to be pregnant.”

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Brian knocked on Kate’s bedroom door, and opened it just a hair. “Kate, sweetheart? Can I come in?”

Kate nodded – though it was hard to tell with the curtains drawn – and pulled the duvet over her head.

“All right,” Brian said, stepping in with a tray of chamomile tea and Vegan shortbread biscuits. “Can I put the light on?”

This time, the duvet twitched as though Kate were shaking her head.

Brian picked his way around the bed to put the tray on Kate’s bedside table. “Something to eat and drink, darling,” he said, “I think it’d do you good.”

“Don’t want it,” Kate mumbled, her face still hidden.

“All right.” There wasn’t really anything else Brian could say; he certainly couldn’t make Kate eat or drink, and he knew only to well how difficult it had been to take care of himself after Jenny’s death. And he’d known that was coming, even if he hadn’t known when.

Jakob had been a fit, healthy – well, not young, but certainly not old – man, and there had been no warning… just the worst news imaginable, in the middle of the night.

Brian couldn’t quite believe he was dead. Couldn’t quite absorb the fact he’d never see Jakob again… so God alone knew how Kate must feel.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Kate?” Brian asked softly, laying his hand on the duvet.

“What’s the point,” said Kate. It wasn’t a question; there was no movement in her voice. But why would there be? She was probably still in shock.

So Brian just nodded, patting the duvet gently. “If you do want anything, just let me know.” As he got up to leave the room, he paused in the doorway, and asid, “I love you, Kate. Remember that.”

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

“You can’t mean you’re going to ask the doctor to give you a—” Harrison’s ears started ringing. His face went hot and cold all at once as he stared at his wife. He staggered, and had to sit down before he fell down.

“For a termination?” Fallon offered.

“No!” Harrison exclaimed.

But she nodded. “Yes. Of course I am. How else could I stop being pregnant? Short of hoping for something that might never happen, it’s my only option.”

“But you can’t! It’s our baby,Fallon! Ours!” He choked on suddenly tears, and gripped his mug of tea so hard that it hurt his hand.

“It’s a colleciton of cells,” Fallon replied, sounding like she was correcting him, “And I can, and I’m going to. Because I have to! Because this isn’t something I want, Harrison! I’ve never, ever wanted to be a Mum, and I’ve certainly never wanted to be pregnant. You know I’ve had an IUD for years, and you know I was on the pill for years before that. Why did you… Why did you think that was?” She took a sip of tea, and winced as it scalded her tongue.

Harrison didn’t answer.

“I did all of that, had all of it done, because I didn’t want to get pregnant. Ever. Don’t you get it?”

Harrison couldn’t believe Fallon wasn’t crying. He was.

Didn’t Fallon care? Her eyes were as clear and dry as if she were talking about what furniture they’d need to move around, if they wanted to paint the lounge… and she was talking about… talking about…

“But you’re pregnant now,” Harrison said, “It’s real, now! Don’t that change anything? Don’t it make you realise… that it could be good? That maybe it were meant to happen?”

““Meant to happen?”” repeated Fallon, “It wasn’t.” She sighed heavily. “I have an IUD. I have it because I don’t want to get pregnant. It’s that simple!”

“But even though you had all that, you got pregnant anyway! Ain’t that a miracle? A gift?”

For a moment, Fallon could only stare at him in stunned silence. When the words finally found her, she said, “It’s not a gift I want, Harrison; that’s the point. And you know I don’t believe in miracles.”

“But it’s—” Harrison protested, but Fallon stopped him.

“It’s my body, and it’s my choice,” she said firmly, “And every time I’ve had a choice, I’ve chosen to avoid getting pregnant. Somewhere, somehow, something went wrong. And now I’m going to make sure I don’t stay pregnant. All right?”

Harrison shook his head, tears in his eyes. “But you can’t! Not after what’s happened to poor—”

“Don’t bring Martha into this!” Fallon exclaimed, her throat tightening, “She died, in the most horrible way, and she must have been so frightened, and you’re using her as a tool to try to force me to have a baby, when I don’t want to! And Martha was a whole person, with thoughts and feelings, and a life of her own.” She gestured to her lower abdomen. “This is just a collection of cells that should never have even formed. It’s not a person, it’s not a baby, or a child; it’s a thing growing inside my body, and I want it gone!”

“But I do want it!” Harrison burst out, springing from his chair and throwing himself at Fallon’s feet as he grabbed both of her hands. “Don’t that count for anything?” He was openly weeping now, eyes and nose both streaming. “Anything at all?”

Fallon swallowed hard. “It counts,” she said, “It counts a little. But… Harrison, you wouldn’t be the one who was pregnant for nine months, and then off work for… what? Three more? At least? And, I think, if we’re being honest, you’re not the one who’d end up doing most of the childcare, are you? That’d fall to me as well. And I don’t want it. So, no. That you want it… it counts for something… but it’s not enough. I’m sorry.”

Harrison choked on a sob, and staggered to his feet. “I can’t believe it,” he said, “I can’t… I can’t… I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

Fallon stared at him, unable to do anything but watch as he lurched out of the house, the front door banging shut behind him.

After a few moments of silence, Fallon buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Brian was sitting at the breakfast table in the cottage when there was a creak from the floor above. Another followed, and then another, and then he realised Kate was moving around upstairs.

Gingerly, he looked up, following the sound as it moved towards the staircase, and then he picked up his newspaper and tried to look as if he were concentrating on the crossword.

If his daughter had managed to get out of bed, he was hardly going to be the one to frighten her back to her room by trying to strike up a conversation.

Kate was as fragile and shaken as if she herself had been pulled from the flames. It didn’t matter that her skin was unburned, or her home untouched by the fire; her life had been taken, too.

She walked into the kitchen, eyes wide and vacant like a sleepwalker’s, and mumbled, “Morning, Dad.”

Brian decided against pointing out that it was the middle of the afternoon. “And to you, darling.” He glanced at the kettle, and smiled as Kate filled it up and set it to boil. At least she was present enough to remember what the kettle was and how it worked. He hadn’t been up to that so soon after Jenny had died.

Kate herself didn’t seem capable of remembering much else at the moment. Everything seemed to pass her by: she didn’t know that Martha was dead, although he’d told her; she didn’t know that everything indicated Alice – still in hospital – had somehow been responsible for the fire. But of course she didn’t know these things. Jakob’s death was too awful to comprehend.

“Tea?” Kate asked, the kettle rattling to a boil behind her.

“Let me,” Brian said, putting his newspaper aside.

“No, I can do it myself,” Kate mumbled. Her hands shook as she filled the teapot, and the water leapt wildly onto the worktop. Some splashed the back of her hand. She flinched, and dropped the kettle, giving a small sceram as it crashed to the floor.

Then she just stared at the kettle where it lay, broken and leaking, on the tiles.

Steam rose up, and Brian pulled his daughter away from the scalding water, rushing to switch the kettle off at the wall.

“Let go of me! I’m fine!” Kate snapped, yanking her wrist free of Brian’s grasp. “I’m fine, I just…” She looked down at the water, and the ruined kettle, and began to cry again. “Jakob helped me choose that kettle…”

All Brian could do was hold Kate as she sobbed against his shoulder.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Fallon Rogers sat in the middle of her bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, and the top edge of the duvet cover damp with tears.

She just couldn’t stop replaying Harrison’s words in her head. Had he really said all that? Had he really stormed out on her, so angry at the prospect of her seeking a termination, that he couldn’t stand to stay?

And his… his shock at her saying she wouldn’t keep the pregnancy, that was what she really couldn’t fathom, she realised.

At first, she’d had that awful, told-off-by-the-teacher sort of feeling: guilt; shame; regret… that she’d told him. In the half-hour since he’d left, that had morphed into something else… a sense of betrayal; when she’d most needed Harrison’s support, he hadn’t given it. He hadn’t even listened.

Why couldn’t he understand that she just didn’t want to be a mother? Why did he think she’d had an IUD fitted? Nobody did it for fun!

And, then, Fallon had realised that she was angry, too. Not at herself, mind, but at him. Her husband ought to have known her well enough to know what she wanted. He ought to have supported her… and instead, he’d been secretly hoping that her contraception would fail, and she’d learn to love a pregnancy she’d tried so hard to prevent.

As if it should all be down to her, to change her mind, and learn to want what he wanted! Why couldn’t he learn to want what she wanted? What, was it so awful of her, not to want to be a mother?

Fallon sighed. Only now did she notice that she’d balled her hands into fists around the duvet cover. Shaking her head, she released them.

No, enough crying. It was time to get out of bed.

She got up, and showered, washing her hair with her special-occasion shampoo, and treating herself to a deep-conditioning mask. After all, she deserved something nice.

Once dressed, she made up a flask of strong coffee – with caffeine – and went out for a walk.

No, she left no note for Harrison; if he came home before she did, he could have a good, long think about why the house was empty.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Harrison Burns got into his car, and pulled out onto Darington High Street.

Knowing it was feasible helped. Knowing it was feasible didn’t stop the tears, but it helped. At least now he knew what he wanted to do, and knew he could afford to do it. If he could do one little thing to make any of this better, it was money well spent.

He drove back to Ambridge, but didn’t go home… at least, not straight away.

Parking his car outside Chris Carter’s house, he knocked at the door.

When the grieving father opened it, Harrison immediately deduced that he hadn’t slept. And who could have done, in his situation? But Harrison was sure he could help with that.

“Hiya, mate,” he said softly, “Have ye got a minute?”

Soundlessly, Chris nodded, and held the door open for him.

“How are ye holding up?” Harrison asked, making his way through to the living room where he and his friend had spent so many evenings chatting over beer. “Oh,” he said, as he looked around and saw… photos of Martha on the windowsill… Martha’s toybox in the corner… Martha’s dollhouse – he’d bought her that – by the bookshelf. There were traces of her everywhere, from her little shoes by the front foor, to the little notches on the doorframe, marking every inch she’d ever grown. Or ever would. Harrison’s breath caught on the lump in his throat. “I can’t believe she’s gone.”

Chris swallowed so hard that Harrison heard it six feet away. “What do you want, Harrison?” he asked, “I’ve got a lot to do. Funeral… Funeral to plan, and… Martha’s things to pack up.”

“Well, let me help,” Harrison said, “That’s why I’ve come here, to offer…” He took a deep breath. “To offer to pay for the funeral.”

All the colour drained out of Chris’ face – not that there had been much there to begin with – and he blinked hard. “You what?”

“I want to pay for Martha’s funeral,” Harrison repeated, “Give her a proper send-off, like she deserves. Poor little girl.” He looked around, and sighed. “She should be here. It’s so unfair.”

“Harrison, I can’t ask you to do that,” Chris said, “I haven’t even organised it yet, and it’s bound to cost a lot. I can’t ask you to pay. She was my daughter. It’s my job to pay.”

“But she were like a daughter to me,” Harrison said, “I’d have gone into that house to save her myself, if I’d only known—”

Chris shook his head. “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he replied bitterly, “It wasn’t the fire that did her. It was the carbon monoxide in the smoke. Jakob got her out, let her in Kate’s house, where she was safe, but it was too late. She was already going.”

“But if I’d been there, I could’ve looked after her!” Harrison exclaimed, “Taken her to hospital!”

“Don’t you think I’d have done the same?” Chris retorted, his voice suddenly hard, “Don’t you think I’d have tried to save her? Don’t you think I lay awake at night, thinking about how things might’ve been different, if I’d only known—”

“Well, of course you do,” Harrison said, “And I’m not saying you wouldn’t have done your best—”

“But I had no idea,” Chris snapped, “Because I wasn’t there, she wasn’t here, she was with Alice that night, and Alice was drunk, and… and…” He hung his head hopelessly. “Just go.”

“Chris, I’m not leaving you alone when you’re feeling like this,” Harrison said, as softly as he could.

“I want to be alone,” Chris said, staring at the carpet, “And, whether you’re here or not, I will be. Because you don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child.”

Harrison’s chest ached. “I know more about that than you think.”

“No, you have no idea!” Chris shouted, his face bright red, “You don’t have any children! So how can you possibly imagine how it feels, to see your daughter’s body, cold and grey in a hospital bed, knowing she died alone, without you?”

“Chris, mate, I’m so sorry…”

“Just go,” Chris whispered, “Please.”

Finally, Harrison left, and Chris shut the door firmly behind him.

Then, he went up to the room which had been his little girl’s, turning off every light on the way.

And then, he sat down on her little bed, as though he were about to read her a bedtime story, and put his head in his hands.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

When Harrison got back from Chris’ house, his own home was empty.

It took him several calls of, “Fallon love?” to realise that nobody was replying. He tried her phone, but heard it ringing upstairs, and found it, laying still, on her bedside table.

Sighing, he went back down to the kitchen, and started looking in the fridge for supper.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Fallon had walked for hours across the fields around the village, and now her legs were aching. She had found her way to Jazzer and Tracy’s house, but there was no answer, and she realised they were both probably at The Bull. How could that have slipped her mind?

She thought about going to The Bull, to see her Mum, and then realised, sighing heavily, that she’d have to tell her what had happened… or pretend everything was fine… and she couldn’t do either.

And so she kept walking.

In another life, she might have gone to Alice’s, and vented to her about the argument with Harrison. But Alice’s house wasn’t there anymore… and nor was the Alice that Fallon had once known. Had once called her best friend… until Alice’s drinking problem had put paid to that. And even if it hadn’t, how could Fallon go and talk to Alice about this, when Alice had just lost her child?

Her stomach churned as she walked down the lane, and she wasn’t sure if it was her pregnancy, or the way she felt about it, but she suddenly had to retch into the hedgerow. Thank God she brought nothing up. At least that felt a little better. Maybe she’d only needed to retch.

A car pulled up beside her, and someone called her name. “Fallon? Are you all right?”

It was Kirsty, Fallon realised, as the driver’s door opened. Lovely Kirsty, who’d had more than her fair share of men who didn’t understand. Lovely Kirsty, who might empathise.

Fallon chewed her lip. “Um… no, I’m not, actually. Have you got a minute?”

Alan wasn’t shocked to see Harrison crying in the pews. He knew how fond Harrison had been of Martha, how he had loved her like a daughter of his own.

And now, just like that, she was gone.

Alan swallowed the urge to cry himself, and cleared his throat.

Harrison wiped his face, as if there were any shame in crying at such a tragedy. (There wasn’t, and he knew there wasn’t, but that didn’t make any of it less painful.) “Alan, sorry,” he said, sitting up straight, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I’m always here,” Alan said gently, sliding into the pew and sitting next to him. “Here to help. What can I do?”

Harrison shook his head, but accepted the tissue Alan offered, with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

They sat in quiet for several minutes.

The whole village had been eerily quiet since the fire. Since Martha – and Jakob, poor, kind Jakob – had died. The birds still sang, and the faint hum of traffic still drifted over from the bypass, but it had been several days, now, and, still, talking about anything but the fire felt wrong. And talking about the fire itself felt even worse.

“It it about what happened to Martha?” Alan asked.

Harrison let out a gasping sob that might as well have been, “Yes.”

“I’m very sorry,” Alan said, putting his hand on Harrison’s shoulder, “I know how much she meant to you. She was a very dear little girl We’ll all miss her, very much.”

What else could he say? There was nothing.

All his ordained life, words of comfort had come naturally to Reverend Alan Franks, but now they all felt so… flat. Everything he wanted to say felt trite and useless, but, then again, of course it did. He knew how to talk about God, but… what kind of God would take a three-year-old girl from the world? What kind of God would take Martha and Jakob in the same night?

Neither one of them had done anything to deserve such a terrible end - nor had poor John Mack – and none of the people who had loved them had done anything to deserve such grief.

“She’s in a better place, ain’t she?” Harrison mumbled, “Heaven.”

Alan hadn’t felt able to say so himself. He just nodded. “That’s what I keep trying to remind myself.”

“But it’s so hard, ain’t it?” Harrison said, “I don’t know how I’m going to go on, knowing she’s… knowing she’s…”

Alan straightened his back, unsure exactly how to respond to that.

Harrison sounded more like a grieving father than a bereaved friend of the family. Then again, loss touched everyone differently, and everyone knew how fond Harrison had been of Martha. Of course he should grieve her; of course Alan could expect him to be struggling now.

-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

In the kitchen of the flat where Chris Carter lived, his sister, Emma, sat with her arm around his shoulder as he wept into his palms.

Emma’s own eyes were full of tears, but she was doing her best to hold them back, knowing she needed to be strong for her brother.

And what was her grief, anyway, next to Chris’? Chris had lost his little girl, in the most horrible of ways, and – worse still – he hadn’t seen it coming.

Not that Emma would ever say so – not now, and not to Chris – but something like this had been going to happen.

She ground her teeth as she thought about it.

Something like this had been going to happen since Alice had picked up that glass of wine. Or that bottle of gin. Or vodka. Or… whatever she’d been drinking that night. And it could have happened any night in the last few weeks; Chris had told Emma that Alice had started drinking again, around the time she’d broken up with that Harry bloke.

The fire at The Nest, Martha’s death, and Jakob’s death – and it seemed that Jakob had been trying to save Martha and Alice – were just the latest in a long line of Alice Disasters. Her sister-in law – ex-sister-in-law – had never wanted to face reality, or take responsibility for her actions. Her life was one catastrophe after another, but could Alice ever admit what all her problems had in common?

Emma sighed heavily.

It wasn’t a question so much of whether Alice could, as whether she would.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Chris sobbed.

“You don’t have to know,” Emma replied, hugging him tightly. She didn’t know what to do either, short of chasing Alice out of town for good. All the damage she’d caused, she’d deserve it, but that rich Dad of hers, that Brian Aldridge, oh, no, he’d make sure his little girl avoided the consequences.

Chris’ shoulders sank, and he slumped over the table.

Emma folded her arms on the tabletop, and rested her head on her hands, so that she could look Chris in the eye. “You don’t have to know what to do, and you don’t have to do anything,” she whispered, “Anything you need done, we’ll do it for you. Any help you need, we’ll give it. Me, Ed, Mum, Dad, George, Kiera. We’ll all help. Just tell us what you need.”

“Yes, Martha,” the nurse said, “A lovely name. Now, we’re not sure what happened, exactly… but we do believe Martha was in the house for some time after the fire broke out. She was found next door, at her aunt’s house - so we think someone tried to save her - but, when her aunt found her, she was very unwell.”

“No,” Chris whispered, knowing - and wishing desperately that he didn’t - where this was going. He wouldn’t have been taken into a side room if Martha was all right, would he? “Please don’t say it.” 

“Mr Carter. I’m really sorry. Martha was unconscious, and not breathing, when she was found. Her aunt took her to the paramedics as soon as she could, but Martha showed a number of signs of carbon monoxide poisoning, most likely due to smoke inhalation.”

Chris put his head in his hands. “Not my little girl,” he moaned, unable to think about what it meant, that one of Martha’s nurses was here, talking to him, instead of taking care of her.

But the nurse kept talking.

Little by little - because she gave him time to absorb what she was saying - she told Chris, “Martha was without oxygen for a long time… We don’t know how long she went without breathing… But it’s likely that she stopped breathing because there was too much carbon monoxide in her blood… and not enough oxygen. She would have felt very sleepy, Mr Carter. She wouldn’t have been scared… She would’ve just gone to sleep… and gradually stopped breathing.”

Chris dug his fingers into his scalp. “Don’t say it.” He knew the nurse had to tell him… but why did she have to tell him, when he already knew? Couldn’t he just stay in the moment before he heard the words, in the tiny bit of hope that Martha might be all right?

“I’m so sorry, Mr Carter. By the time she was in the care of the paramedics, Martha was too unwell to recover. They gave her oxygen, they tried to restart her heart, and they did their very best to revive her… but, in the ambulance… Martha died.”

“Martha died?” Chris repeated hollowly.

“Yes. Martha died.” If Chris had been able to look at her, he would have seen tears in her eyes. “I’m very sorry.”

Chris’ eyes were wide and dry. He stared at the wall, remembering the last time he’d seen Martha.

Only the afternoon before, he’d kissed her goodbye at Alice’s front door. She’d been fine, and he’d thought nothing of leaving Martha at her mother’s house for the night. It had only been for one night, and he’d be back again in the morning.

But now it was the morning - four in the morning - and a nurse was telling him that Martha was… dead? His little girl, barely three years old… dead?

How could that be?

“Can I… Can I see her?” Chris stammered.

“Yes, of course you can, Mr Carter,” the nurse said, “As soon as you feel ready. She looks very peaceful; we washed her hair and her face, and we’ve tucked her up in a blanket. She looks… She looks like she’s asleep.”

Except she’d never wake up.

Pain seeped through Chris’ chest as he realised that was what the nurse must have meant by, “Looking after Martha.” She’d been preparing Martha’s body for viewing… because she’d died before she’d ever reached the hospital.

Martha had been dead before Lillian had called him. Martha had been dead before the nurse had called his name. She had died in the middle of the night… and he hadn’t even known it was happening.

Yet she’d been alive when the nurse had shown Chris into the side room, and she’d been alive when the nurse had told him about the fire, and she’d been alive… until the nurse had said, “Martha died.”

She had been alive and dead at the same time…

(And… carbon monoxide poisoning? A house fire? Lillian hadn’t said anything about a house fire. Just what had happened?!)

Chris felt like another horse had kicked him in the chest. It felt exactly the same: he couldn’t breathe; his whole body was in agony; the edges of his vision were going dark.

“All right, Mr Carter, all right,” said the nurse, putting her arm around his shoulders, “Sit forward for me. Try and put your head between our knees.”

Numbly, Chris did as he was told, but it all felt pointless, and it didn’t help. All the blood rushed to his head, it sounded like a roaring fire, and that was all it took to make him vomit.

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Brian Aldridge sat in silent shock as Lillian told him what had happened.

“So The Nest is just… gone?” He couldn’t picture it. “Gone, completely?”

“Yes, darling,” Lillian said, “The fire destroyed it.”

“But how did the fire start? When did it start? How did it get so bad, and… How did Martha get into Kate’s house?” None of it made a shred of sense. It all felt like a bad dream… not helped by the fact that he’d put on his coat and shoes to drive to the hospital, without ever changing out of his pyjamas.

Lillian shook her head. it seemed pointless to say she didn't know, but, of course… nobody knew.

The family sat in painful silence as they waited - in the absence of Kate and Chris - for news.

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Hours seemed to pass, and maybe they did. It was hard to know, when nobody could stand to look at the clock, let alone speak.

Lillian sat, gripping Adam’s hand, and praying inaudibly, eyes shut. She never usually prayed… but what else could she do right now? She couldn’t help - she wouldn’t have known where to start - and she couldn’t do what she really wanted to: turn the clock back, and stop the fire from breaking out in the first place.

Finally, the door to the waiting room opened, and Kate - grey-lipped and huge-eyed - came back.

“Darling!” Lilliam jumped to her feet and wrapped Kate in her arms. “What happened?”

But Kate just stared over Lillian’s shoulder, while her aunt, brother and father rushed her with questions she couldn’t answer, and hugs she couldn’t feel.

“Oh, darling, please, tell us,” Lillian whispered.

Brian glared at her, shaking his head. What had happened was perfectly obvious to him. Why make Kate say the words?

He held his daughter as tightly as he could, letting her sob into his shoulder as he stroked her hair. “I know,” he murmured, “I know.”

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

At last, Chris Carter had been able to get to his feet.

The roar had faded from his ears, and he had nothing left in his stomach but a burning pain.

“You are welcome to stay in here as long as you need to,” the nurse said to him, “There’s no rush.”

“No, I want… I want to see her,” Chris said.

“Of course you can,” replied the nurse. “I’ll take you to her.” She offered him her arm.

He took it, legs shaking as she led him back out into the corridor… and past signs pointing to the children’s wards.

Chris stopped on the spot. “No, not Martha,” he said, “Alice. I want to see Alice.” How could he go and see Martha without her?

“Your wife?” the nurse asked, and Chris didn’t correct her. “All right.” She turned him around, and led him somewhere else.

“Has she been told?” Chris stammered, “Does she know about--”

“Leave that to me,” replied the nurse gently, helping Chris into a chair, “I’ll go and find out for you.” She went over to some kind of reception desk, and started talking to someone Chris couldn’t see.

Meanwhile, he sat staring at a sign for the, “Adult Critical Care Unit.” Was that where Alice was?

His ears droned as he wondered why he’d been brought here, and not taken back to the side room. Maybe there were other people in there now. Other families receiving… the worst news.

And then he thought of all Alice’s relatives he’d left sitting in the waiting room… of the call he’d had from Lillian… and his heart started to thud as he realised she or Brian might be in that room now, being told what had happened to Alice.

Chris covered his face with his hands and tried to stifle his crying. What was he doing, waiting for news of Alice, when Martha was all alone… cold, scared, maybe… wondering where her Mummy and Daddy were?

Then it all came back to him, and he choked on the memory. Martha didn’t know she was on her own. She’d never know anything again, never know loneliness, or fear, or cold… nor company, nor content, nor warmth.

His poor, sweet little girl.

No, he had to go and see her.

He jumped to his feet. He’d find the children’s ward on his own, and see his daughter. Hold her hand. Tell her how much he loved her. And how sorry he was.

“Mr Carter?” There was the nurse again. “Come with me, please.”

Chris looked over his shoulder, swallowing hard as he saw the signs for the children’s ward. He wanted to say Martha’s name, to ask to see her instead of Alice, but the words wouldn’t come out.

So he said nothing, and followed the nurse.

“Your wife has a broken leg and a broken arm, Mr Carter,” she explained, “We believe she fell, or maybe jumped, from a first-floor window. She was found unconscious in the back garden, but woke up after she arrived at the hospital.” She pushed open a door marked, “Adult Orthopaedics Ward,” and led Chris to a cubicle.

The nurse opened the curtain, and Alice opened her eyes.

Her face was pale, and her right arm and leg were in splints. She looked exhausted. “Chris?” Her voice was hoarse. She tried to sit up, but her movements were sluggish. “What happened?”

Chris blinked. “There was a fire.” He looked at the nurse. “She did know there was a fire, didn’t she?”

The nurse shook her head. “I don’t know what Mrs Carter has been told.” She turned to Alice. “I’ll talk to your doctor.” With a sympathetic smile, she stepped out, shutting the curtain behind her.

“A fire?” Alice repeated, “What are you talking about?”

“You and Martha were brought to hospital after a house fire,” Chris said, but that was all he said.

He could hear Martha’s nurse talking to Alice’s doctor, and he caught the words, “Liver damage… Stomach pumped… Blood alcohol…”

“Martha?!” Alice exclaimed, trying again to sit up, but snagging her IV line. She winced, and put a hand to her head, as if it hurt. “Where is she?”

Chris’ heart pounded. “Why is Martha’s nurse talking to your doctor about alcohol poisoning?” He heard his own voice only distantly, as if it were someone else’s. It sounded cold and clipped and clinical. “Were you drinking?”

Alice shook her head furiously. “No! Of course I wasn’t! I don’t drink! And I’d never drink around Martha! How can you even say something like that?!” She began to cry. “Now, where is she? Tell me right now!”

Alice’s doctor opened the curtain. “Mrs Carter, please, try to lay still.” He helped Alice - who did not want help, she wanted her daughter - to lay back on the bed, and checked her IV line. “It’s important that you rest.”

Chris turned on the doctor. “What happened?” he demanded, “What did she do?”

“Mr Carter, I understand how difficult this must be, but--”

“Oh, do you?” Chris snapped, “My little girl is dead, and your treating Alice for alcohol poisoning?!” He glowered at Alice. “Was the fire your fault?”

“Dead?!” Alice repeated, “No! Martha! She can’t be!” Tears flooded down her cheeks. “She isn’t! No!”

“Mr Carter, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the ward,” said Alice’s doctor, “Your wife has been badly injured, nd it’s vital she rest.” He tried to guide Chris out of the cubicle, but Chris refused to move.

Alice was trying to get off her bed, but couldn’t put any weight on her plastered leg. “Where’s my daughter, Doctor? Tell me!”

“She’s dead!” Chris roared, shoving Alice in the chest. “She’s dead, because you’ve been drinking! You killed her, Alice, you killed Martha, it’s all your fault! It should’ve been you! It should’ve--”

Two members of the hospital’s security staff bodily escorted Chris from the ward, but, as soon as he was out in the corridor, all his resistance and anger and strength dissolved.

He sank to the floor, his face pressed against the lino.

The security staff had seen this kind of thing a hundred times before. This man wasn’t a threat, he was in shock.

One of them helped Chris into a chair, while the other softly urged him to take deep breaths.

But Martha would never take another breath. All Chris could think about was his little girl… and how she was gone.

“Yes, darling, but…” She stared at the burning horizon, “I’m sure it’s just a precaution, to make sure everyone’s all right.” She wasn’t sure of any such thing, but what else could she say? She had no more idea of what was happening than Kate did.

Kate kept struggling against Lillian’s grasp. “Let me go, then, and see that everyone’s all right!” Tears were running down her face, and her Vegan mascara was running.

“No, darling, you’re in no state to drive,” Lillian said firmly, “Get in my car, and I’ll take you.” She squeezed Kate’s arms. “We’ll… We’ll both check on them. Together.”

In truth, she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of driving, herself, but she’d had a few more glasses of Beltane sangria than Kate had, and her nerves weren’t quite as shaken.

Lillian steered Kate towards her car, and pushed her into the passenger seat. “We’ll be there before you know it, darling.”

Somehow, that didn’t help.

Maybe it was because - despite Auntie Lillian’s assurances - her aura was not its usual colour, and had taken on a jagged shape, edges pulsating erratically, a sign she was lying.

Maybe it was just because, even though Kate wanted to be driven back to the cottages, every moment they spent getting there was another moment she could imagine things were all right.

Auntie Lillian’s silver Audi sped down the lane through Home Farm. She drove as fast as she could, much faster than usual. Nobody was coming the other way, after all… and she could see an ambulance in her rear mirror.

As the car drew closer to the fire, Lillian gasped.

“Oh, my God, it’s The Nest!” She pulled into the gateway of the nearest field, and she and Kate undid their seatbelts, leaping out of the car as soon as the ambulance had passed.

They ran up the last bit of the lane.

A fire engine was parked outside Alice’s cottage, and three ambulances in front of Kate’s.

“What’s happened?” Kate demanded of a firefighter.

“Madam, please, keep your distance. It’s for your own safety.” He was setting up a firehose. “Let us take care of it.”

“But what happened?” Kate repeated, “That’s my sister’s house. Her little girl was with her tonight.” That was why Alice had said she couldn’t come to Beltane, because she had Martha tonight. Oh, God, she had Martha tonight… and the house was on fire.

Auntie Lillian grabbed Kate’s arm and pulled her away from the firefighter.

“Sorry,” she said, “I’m sure you understand, my niece is very worried. And I’m sure you’ll make sure everyone’s all right.” She blinked hard. “Thank you. Is it… Is it safe to go into that house?” She gestured to Kate’s unharmed cottage, and then to Kate herself. “It is her home.”

The firefighter nodded. “It’s safe.”

Kate couldn’t stop staring at Alice’s burning house.

Only when Auntie Lillian got Kate into the house did she manage to blink.

Lillian steered her niece into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea. “Where do you keep the sugar, darling? Something sweet will help with the shock.”

Kate was staring at the wall, now, swaying on the spot.

“Kate, where’s the sugar?”

There was no reply. Kate went upstairs in silence.

Shaking her head, Lillian opened the cupboard to look for mugs and tea. She found chamomile, and some agave to sweeten it. Of course, Kate didn’t keep caffeine or sugar in the house.

There was a thump upstairs, and then Kate dashed back down to the kitchen. She was pale and sweaty.

“Where’s Jakob?”

“Didn’t you say he was working tonight?” Lillian reminded her gently.

“That was last night. He was here tonight, he was staying here, he…” Her ears started ringing, and everything seemed very far away, all of a sudden.

“All right, all right.” Lillian grabbed Kate under the arms, lowering her gently to the floor. “I’m sure he’s all right.”

“But where is he?” Kate persisted.

“Look, darling, are you sure he was here tonight? Did you see him before you went to Beltane?”

Kate groaned as if she were going to be sick. “The bed’s all rumpled, like he got out of it in a hurry. My room smells like his aftershave. His slippers are next to my yoga mat.” Her voice went very small. “He was here. And he wouldn’t have sat by and done nothing while Alice--” She couldn’t stand to finish the sentence.

“Well, I’m going to call him,” Lillian said, “So that he can tell you himself that he’s all right.” She dug her phone out of her pocket, and patted Kate’s shoulder.

Then, she ducked into Kate’s living room, leaning on the door as she found, “Jakob Vet,” in her contacts.

She called. She heard only his recorded voice, a sterile beep… and then silence.

“Jakob, it’s Lillian. Please call me, or Kate, as soon as you can.” She didn’t want to ask about the fire in an answerphone message. Maybe Jakob had been called out to work, and had no idea about the fire. So she ended the call, and sighed.

She hadn’t turned on the living room light when she’d come in. Now she did, and gasped in relief.

There was Martha, sleeping on the sofa, safe and sound, thank God.

“Martha, sweetheart, you’re all right!” Lillian scooped her great-niece up for a cuddle, and then shrieked.

Martha was like a ragdoll, with dangling limbs, and a lolling head. And she wasn’t breathing.

A tearful Kate appeared in the doorway. “Martha!” For half a second, she smiled…

But then Lillian shouted, “Call an ambulance!”

“There’s no time!” Kate grabbed Martha and ran out of the house, screaming,  “Help! She’s not breathing! She’s my niece, she’s only three, she--”

“Was she in the fire?” The paramedic took Martha out of Kate’s arms, and laid her gently on the grass.

Martha was so still that Kate couldn’t speak to answer.

“Do you know if she was in the fire?” the paramedic asked again, checking Martha’s pulse and going over her chest with a stethoscope.

“We found her on the sofa,” Lillian whispered, peering over Kate’s shoulder.

The paramedic pulled down Martha’s lower lip, and shone a torch into her face. “Right, she’s showing signs of carbon monoxide poisoning,” he called to his colleague.

“Oxygen,” the colleague said, passing him equipment for Martha.

“Carbon monoxide?” Lillian repeated, “From the smoke?” Her ecstatic relief at finding Martha safe in Kate’s house had vanished.

“Was she in the fire?” the paramedic repeated.

“I don’t know!” Lillian snapped. Then she caught herself, and softened her voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

“But if she was…” Kate mumbled, watching as the paramedics covered Martha’s face with a mask and listed her into the ambulance.

“If she was in the fire, who got her out?” Lillian finished, her heart pounding.

“And where are they now?” Kate’s ears began to ring again.

There was a quiet thud, and some crackling, adn then a sound like rushing wind… but so quiet…

Dazed, Kate looked towards the source of the noise, just in time to see Alice’s house collapse in a burst of orange flames and yellow sparks.

The firefighters were drenching the building, but it was too late. The Nest was gone. All anyone could do was try to extinguish the flames that had devoured it.

But there were two other ambulances.

“Who’s in those?” Kate whimpered, knowing the answer would be awful.

“A man and a woman were found in the garden,” replied the paramedic, “Our colleague are taking them to Borchester General.”

“But who is it?”

The paramedic shook his head. “The woman is alert enough to speak. She said her name was Alice.”

“My sister,” Kate breathed.

The paramedic shut his eyes. “The man… He didn’t have ID on him.”

Kate’s heart plummeted. “Is he… Is he alive?”

“Yes, but he’s seriously injured.”

“Can I see him?”

“Do you think you know who he is?”

Weakly, Kate nodded. “My partner is missing.” She trudged over to the next ambulance.

Lillian stayed to talk to the paramedics looking after Martha.

Kate heard only snatches of their conversation. “Someone needs to go wtih her, though. She’s only three. Her mother’s hurt, and her father’s not here--”

To say nothing of the fact that Martha’s grandfather was nowhere to be found.

Kate hadn’t thought of that, but now it crossed her mind, sickening her: what if it wasn’t Jakob in the ambulance, but her Dad? What if Brian had hurt himself, helping Alice and Martha?

(But where did that leave Jakob?) (But what if her Dad was hurt?) (But what if Jakob was hurt?) (And where was Jakob?)

Kate sobbed her worries into the ambulance, and a paramedic helped her step into the back.

There he was.

Every one of his limbs was splinted. He was wearing a neckbrace. There was a tube down his throat, and one of the paramedics was pumping air into his lungs with a bag. His clothes were badly burned, his skin blistered, and his eyes closed… but Kate knew him at once.

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Kate stumbled out of the back of Jakob’s ambulance, and watched as Martha was driven away.

Auntie Lillian was staring at the spot where Martha’s ambulance had been.

“They wouldn’t let me stay with her,” she said, “Little Martha, she’s all on her own.”

The doors to Jakob’s ambulance banged shut, and the engine rumbled into life. The sirens started up, and the vehicle took off down the lane, quickly followed by the one carrying Alice.

Kate and Lillian were left behind, in the near-silence. The only sound was that of water spraying onto the remains of The Nest.

“It’s Jakob,” Kate said, “The man they found… It’s Jakob.” She put her face in her hands. “And they wouldn’t let me go with him, either. They say… He’s too seriously hurt. He needs too much… Too much…”

Lillian wrapped her arms around Kate again. “I’m so sorry, darling.”

“I wish I’d never done Beltane,” Kate said bitterly, “If I’d been at home tonight, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“You don’t know that. You mustn’t think like that. This wasn’t your fault.” Lillian rubbed Kate’s shoulders.

Once she was sure she could let go of Kate, Lillian fumbled for her phone again, and called Justin.

“Hello, darling. Yes, I’m sorry to wake you. But how quickly can you get to Home Farm? Yes, of course, I drove here, but… Look, Kate and I need picking up, and we’re in no state to drive… No, we’re not drunk, darling, it’s… Something has happened. We need you to take us to Borchester General, please.” She sighed. “We’re all right, yes. But… Alice, Martha and Jakob are on their way to hospital, and we’re the only ones who know. Please could you drive us there?”

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

The dual carriageway was almost empty in the middle of the night. Justin put his foot down, and for once, Lillian didn’t tell him to slow down.

She sat in the back, holding Kate’s hand and calling Chris, and Brian, and Adam, telling them only that Alice and Martha had been taken to the hospital in Borchester.

Her stomach twisted. She knew she shouldn’t leave out the fact of the fire, but… wasn’t it frightening enough to know Martha and Alice were hurt? Couldn’t the full, awful story wait for the hospital? And didn’t every minute count?

In the spaces between the calls, the words, “carbon monoxide poisoning,” kept looping around Lillian’s head.

Kate couldn’t get rid of that image of Jakob in the back of the ambulance, and she hated herself, because she wished she hadn’t looked.

What did it matter how she felt, when he was hurt? What did anything matter?

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

It seemed like hours passed before they arrived at Borchester General.

Justin dropped Kate and Lillian outside the entrance to Reception, and then went to find parking.

Lillian and Kate hurried over to the reception desk.

“Please could you tell us where to find Alice and Martha Carter, and Jakob Hakansson?” Lillian said, “They were brought here by ambulance, following a house fire.”

Kate stifled a sob, hardly believing Auntie Lillian was actually saying those words.

“They’ll have gone to Accident and Emergency,” the receptionist said. He gave them directions, and they set off in a hurry.

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

Waiting for news was agony.

Every time the door to the waiting room opened, Kate flinched.

Justin came to sit with them, but he was joined by Brian and Chris before anyone told them anything.

But then a nurse opened the door. “Mr Carter? Would you follow me, please?”

Chris got up, shaking, and went with her down a corridor.

Brian reached for Kate’s hand, and squeezed it, but she couldn’t squeeze it back.

“Are they talking to him about Alice or Martha?” whispered Lillian, but of course, nobody could say.

“Mrs Madikane?” A doctor looked around the waiting room.

Kate didn’t answer - couldn’t answer - and so it was Brian who stood up.

“She’s here,” he said, helping Kate to her feet.

“I’ll go with her,” Lillian said, linking her arm through Kate’s as the doctor led them to the Relatives’ Room.

 -:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-

“Please, make yourself comfortable, Mrs Madikane.” The doctor closed the door, and gestured for Kate and Lillian to sit on a threadbare, grey sofa.

“Kate,” Kate mumbled, staring at the worn carpet.

“Kate,” repeated the doctor, “I understand you’ve come here because you’re the partner of Jakob Hakansson. Is that right?” She was reading their names from a tablet, and although she hesitated before each one, she pronounced them correctly. Which helped. A bit.

Kate nodded.

“Thank you.” The doctor paused. “Now. Kate. I’m sure you know Jakob was very seriously hurt.”

Lillian squeezed Kate’s hand hard.

Again, Kate nodded.