‘Okay. Drive carefully,’ I tell her.
She ends the phone call, and I get out of bed. Shoving my feet into my slippers I go out to the linen cupboard in the hall and take out a spare throw and two pillows. It’s warm, Judith won’t need a duvet. There’s no sound from the kids, thank goodness, so I carry the bedding downstairs and put them on the sofa. Then I walk into the kitchen and put the kettle on. I’m guessing everyone will want a hot drink. I feel numb, like I’m in a dream, the image of Lizzie and Judith trapped in a burning house going round and round in my mind. I should never have agreed to Lizzie staying there. But then she insisted, so how could I have stopped her?
I go to the front door and open it just as Lizzie’s car pulls into the drive. I walk over to the driver side and hug her as she gets out. She clings to me for a moment, her whole body trembling.
‘Let me help your mum out,’ I say.
Lizzie is there before me, opening the passenger door, then we both help Judith into the house, sitting her down on the sofa in the lounge. She looks shaken up. Obviously.
‘George. I shouldn’t have left George.’
I kneel down beside her. ‘It’s only for tonight. We can see what damage has been done tomorrow and then sort out for you to go back.’
‘She’s not going back,’ Lizzie says firmly.
We both look at her.
‘Mum could have died today. I want her with me where I can keep an eye on her.’ She sits down, shaking.
I look over at Judith who is practically falling asleep. ‘Your mum needs to sleep, Liz. Let’s get her comfortable and we’ll talk in the kitchen.’
We settle Judith down on the sofa, she closes her eyes as soon as she lies down, and we go into the kitchen where I make us both a coffee, adding a little shot of brandy for the shock.
Lizzie is sitting down at the table, her head in her hands. She’s covered in smoke dust. She needs a shower, I think. Judith does too, but the poor woman looks too exhausted.
I sit down by Lizzie and put one of the mugs in front of her. ‘Do you know how the fire started?’
‘George said the cooker hob was left on and a tea towel fell onto it.’ She raises anguished eyes to me. ‘He’s trying to blame me because I made Mum some hot milk before she went to sleep. But it wasn’t me. I turned that cooker off. I think someone sneaked into the house and started the fire.’ She stares at me defiantly. ‘Just like someone has been sneaking into our house. We’re all in danger, Nick. We need to call the police.’
‘And tell them what? That a fire broke out because the hob was left on and a tea towel fell on it?’ I ask her.
‘What about all the other things? What about someone breaking in here?’
‘We have no proof,’ I remind her.
‘There’s that message on my phone.’ She picks up her phone and tries to find it. ‘It’s gone!’ she says.
I know it’s gone. I deleted it yesterday when she was in the bathroom. I hate to do this to her but I can’t have her showing that text to anyone. As for the fire, I know how Lizzie gets when she’s anxious. How forgetful she is. It makes more sense to me that Lizzie accidentally left the cooker ring on just like she left the iron on the other day than that someone sneaked into the house, turned on the hob, arranging the tea towel in such a position that it would fall and catch fire.
Lizzie is quiet as she sips her drink, lost in her thoughts. I’m glad of the silence so that I can examine my own thoughts. I’m scared to look at them, to bring them out into the open, but I have to. So many things have gone wrong since Judith and George got married. They can’t all be coincidence. Could Lizzie be responsible? Could her agitation and worry over her mum marrying the husband of the woman whose death she feels responsible for have sent her spiralling?
She’s not responsible for my blackmail message though, is she?
66
LIZZIE
‘I think it’s best not to tell Isaac and Grace about the fire, and I’ll keep them out of the sitting room so they don’t disturb Judith,’ Nick says when the alarm goes off a few hours later. ‘You rest and I’ll take them to school.’
I nod, exhausted. ‘Thanks.’ Within seconds I’m asleep again.
It’s almost midday before I can drag myself out of bed, shower and go downstairs. Mum is up, dressed and sitting on the sofa, talking to Nick.
‘How do you feel, Mum?’ I ask her, sitting down beside her and putting my arm around her shoulders. ‘You must have inhaled a lot of smoke.’
‘A bit chesty but nothing to worry about,’ she replies, her voice a little raspy. ‘Thanks to you for saving me.’ She puts her hand on mine. ‘You were very brave. I bet you’re feeling a bit rough today.’
‘A bit chesty, like you, but otherwise fine,’ I tell her.
