She managed to blurt out the necessary information: fire, house, and its address, which she found on Google Maps.
A crowd gathered, made up of bemused neighbours in flip-flops and slippers emerging to see where the dense smoke and burning smell were coming from. Mattie sensed their mutual horror and morbid fascination as the fire took hold of the roof. Flames gorged like a hungry devil in front of her eyes, and she was unable to stop the Kenya memory reel playing internally.You’ve got to help me help you, Jon! Before it’s too late.
She shook her head in a vain attempt to dislodge the memories. The heat from the blaze in front of her merged with the sun. Her feet wouldn't or couldn't move. Had the heat glued her boots to the pavement? She heard screaming, so muffled it was impossible to tell if it was real or imagined.
Caught between memories and reality, Mattie stared as the front door of the blazing house flew open and three women staggered out. Two held something across their faces, perhaps atowel, but it was impossible to tell from this distance. The other woman had dragged her T-shirt up to cover her mouth and nose. They staggered out and hovered on the doorstep.
Why had they stopped? Mattie wanted to beg them to get the hell away from the house and the risk of burning debris tumbling from the roof but her mouth was dry, her tongue inert. Other voices yelled at them. She saw a man run from a neighbouring house, his arms circling wildly as he urged the three women forward. His shouts got them moving, and they lurched forwards and out of harm’s way. One of them wore nothing but her underwear. Her expression was one of terror. Mattie grabbed the compact travel towel she’d packed in case she’d wanted to swim in the sea. Finally, her feet deigned to move and she rushed over to the woman with it. The woman stared back at her with a smoke blackened face and dazed eyes. Mattie unfolded the towel and wrapped it around the speechless, shaking woman.
More shouts rang out, muffled by smoke and distance. “My baby! My baby!”
Mattie blinked, unable to see as smoke stung her eyes.
“Lexi!” The anguished cry in response came from the woman Mattie had just given the towel to.
“Where is she?” asked a man wearing a green T-shirt with a Window Washers logo on it.
“Top floor, at the back.” The woman grabbed hold of the man’s arm and half-leaned, half-hustled him along the pavement for a vantage point to see the back of the house.
Mattie followed, feeling as dazed as the woman looked. She shielded her eyes as she tried to focus between dense clouds of billowing smoke. There! A young woman was leaning out of the sash window, clutching a baby dressed only in a nappy.
Strangled lungs. Burning skin.
Relentless flames consumed the area by the fire escape stairs, rendering them useless. She listened. No fire engine sirens in the distance. The mother and child were running out of time.
On her knees. Yanking, tugging at the wooden beam. Hot hands. Singed flesh.
“Lexi!” The woman shoved past Mattie before she realised what was happening.
“No.” The neighbour grabbed her in a bear hug and refused to let her rush back into the burning building. The woman thrashed and squealed until she went limp in his arms and sobbed incoherently. The other women took her from him and held her, their backs to the blaze.
Got to get us out of here.
The Window Washers’ man ran across the road to a white van bearing the same name and snatched at a ladder strapped to its roof. He and the neighbour carried it over to the house, knocking Mattie’s hip with the side of it as they passed. The unexpected jolt knocked her out of her inner turmoil and into journalist mode. There was nothing she could do to help the mother and child but these two men would try and she was on the scene to capture it. She flicked on her mobile phone and watched the action play out through the small screen. This, at least, was a process she could do without thinking.
The window cleaner took his bandana off his head and covered his mouth and nose with it instead. Then he gripped the ladder with both hands and climbed up while the neighbour held it steady, feet still clad in his slippers. The ladder fell just short of the windowsill. The window cleaner climbed as far as he could go. There was still a gap between him and the mother with her child. So near yet...
Indistinct voices. Coughing. The faint but piercing sound of sirens rang in the distance. Mattie heard them all. She willed her hands not to shake as she filmed while the mother held out thebaby by its wrists. The child dangled, suspended in mid-air. The window cleaner leaned into the ladder with his torso for balance and stretched up with both hands.
Mattie held her breath and sensed everyone watching helplessly do the same.
The mother let go of one of her baby’s wrists. Doing so shortened the gap between them, and the window cleaner’s only option was to grab the baby by one of its ankles. Then he pushed the child against the wall with his other hand. The mother let go of her baby’s other wrist. The window cleaner pushed the baby’s back against the brick wall, all the time inching his other hand up its leg until he managed to grab its waist. He pulled the child against his chest and edged his way back down the ladder.
Mattie’s phone screen shook as she let out a breath of relief. It was still recording, every moment of the rescue captured. But the drama wasn’t over: the mother was still trapped inside.
Smoke, so much dense black smoke. Too overwhelming for the men to climb back up the ladder.
Losing vision. Body shutting down.
Sirens blared.
Mattie couldn’t drag her eyes away from the empty window. Around her, she was aware of bustling activity: firefighters wearing breathing apparatus, thick red water hoses, extra long ladders, a hydraulic platform. Instinctively, she followed the action with her camera. Smashing glass. So much heat. So much smoke. And then, finally, a woman was lifted through the now broken sash window on the first floor. Away from the fire, to safety.
Thank god.Mattie crumpled to the ground, covering her face in her hands. That shielded her from seeing the drama unfolding right in front of her, but nothing could protect her from her memories running wild. Would they ever stop haunting her?
Chapter 4
Nell surveyed the scene from the patrol car as her colleague drove closer to the stricken house. Her worst fears had gone into overdrive the moment she learned the exact location of the blaze because she knew that the domestic violence refuge charity she volunteered with owned the building. Divided into eight bedsits, each one offered a place of sanctuary to a woman and her children, if she had them. Instantly, Nell had been suspicious. Was it arson? An accident? Dreadful bad luck? Now the women faced even more trauma. The building’s purpose was a secret from the local community for obvious security reasons, and it was imperative that it stayed that way, at the very least until everyone was accounted for and moved to a safe location in a new area.
