I’m petrified, caught somewhere between fear and fire. Meanwhile, my brother pushes himself backwards under the bed to make his escape, grabs me by the ankle and drags me out, the friction from the carpet burning my thighs and belly as my nightie rises. The duvet and curtains are already well ablaze by the time he hauls me through the room and into the fiery lounge. We have no choice but to navigate our way through the flames or die. We cough and splutter as the acrid smoke fills our lungs until we’ve almost reached the door leading to the stairs.
Disorientated, I trip over an object on the floor, my nose taking the brunt of the impact. Blood trickles down my throat as I turn to discover Mum’s body. The orange and yellow flames threatening us reflect in a line of blood originating at a dark hole in the middle of her neck.
Before I can scream again, my brother is pulling me back towards the staircase. It’s only then he realises the lower part of my nightie is ablaze, so he grabs a coat from a hook and holds it over the flames to snuff them out. Then he carries me in his arms as he runs the length of the stairs, stumbling down the final few and sending us both into a crashing heap.
I just about struggle to my feet, but he remains on the floor, dazed and coughing more intensely than me. I try to help him ashe helped me, but he is far too big for a six-year-old to shift. I’m struggling to breathe, but the adrenaline must have quashed the pain from my burns as I stumble to open the back door and draw in as much air as my scorched lungs will allow. I’m preparing to return to him when two police patrol officers appear from nowhere. I frantically tell them my brother is behind me and my parents are upstairs, but they only reach as far as him, carrying his unconscious body to safety.
I watch him being laid on his back as they desperately try to revive him, their large hands pressing down hard upon his chest over and over again until one exchanges a solemn glance with the other, then shakes his head.
If my brother is dead, I want to be dead too.
September
Two Months Before Bonfire Night
Chapter 52
2025 – Present Day
Anna
The soldering iron rests on a rack as I attach clasps to both ends of a bracelet. It’s intricate work, so I’ve decamped to the kitchen where the lighting is better. As much as I used to enjoy working from home, these days it’s become harder. Especially being in this room. Knowing that detective died in the chair opposite me, his blood spilling over the tabletop I’m using now, and across the floor under my feet. I still find myself checking my fingernails for blood from Drew and my clean-up operation. All we used was a garden waste bag cinched tightly around the detective’s neck to prevent more blood from leaking, before Drew hoisted him over his shoulder and drove him away in the car. I don’t know where to and I didn’t ask.
More than ever it’s made me want to be like Liv and able to afford a place of my own to work. Nothing grand like her studio, just a little workshop somewhere and perhaps an apprentice to help me when demand is high. Three months ago, Deja, one of Liv’s friends, styled a photoshoot forEllemagazine and a handful of her models wore my bracelets and necklaces. The issue finallyhit the shelves this week, including credits of who provided the jewellery, along with my website address. That, plus appearances on her influencer friends’ Instagram pages, means my inbox has been flooded with orders.
I rest my tired eyes from this intricate work and they settle upon the soldering iron. I briefly imagine the pain of pressing the tip against my skin, the smell of burning flesh, the wetness of tears running down my cheeks and the sting of antiseptic wipes as I clean my wound afterwards. I blink hard and the fantasy dissolves. I remember that I don’t need to hurt myself because Ioana isn’t here. Wherever she is, she’s been suspiciously quiet of late.
Margot came over again this morning without texting or calling first. She’s got into the habit of checking up on me. Perhaps she thinks I won’t cut again if she doesn’t announce when she’s coming. She doesn’t know that it’s not up to me if and when it happens, that other forces control me. However, it feels strange to have someone care about my well-being, especially her of all people, as she’s the one to blame for so much of this.
Neither of us have mentioned how she caught me, quite literally, red-handed. Although I’ve spotted her glancing at my thigh a few times. Even today, I sensed I was being watched as I made her a coffee. My healing skin is tight and thin, and when I’m alone, I’ve started keeping my leg as straight as I can when I walk, pulling it behind me like a reluctant dog on a lead. When I’m with others, I bend it like I’m supposed to, but it hurts.
‘That thing stinks,’ says Drew, pointing at the soldering iron as he enters the room.
He removes his green uniform jacket and tosses it towards the back of a chair. He doesn’t bother to pick it up when it falls to the floor.
‘I could say the same about you,’ I say, catching a sourness from his shirt. ‘You need to shower before we go to the party.’
‘What party?’
‘Liv’s birthday. She’s invited a few of us over for drinks.’
‘And why should I care?’
He’s in a combative mood, but for once, he won’t be putting a dampener on my day.
‘Two words,’ I reply. ‘Free bar.’
He makes his way to the fridge and removes a bottle of Estrella from an open box. I doubt it’s his first drink of the day. But I’ve given up trying to manage his alcohol consumption, especially since that detective’s death. I need to take care of myself, not him. I spoke too soon when I thought things were a little better between us back in the summer. Something he won’t talk about is casting a shadow over him. I assume it’s what he did to that man, which came as just as much of a surprise to me as it did to the detective. But each time I’ve asked what’s troubling him, he stonewalls me.
He clocks the two coffee cups on the draining board.
‘Company?’ he asks.
I nod without looking at him.
‘Who?’ But he already knows the answer.
‘Margot,’ I say.
