Doing her best to call for him as she went, Fran blinked and coughed as the smoke became thicker, stinging her eyes and scratching at the back of her throat; beating her back.
‘Red, where are you?’
Tears streamed from her eyes, not all of them a result of the acrid smoke, her voice ragged and desperate. As she reached the edge of the meadow, she did her best to wipe the tears away, only to have them replaced by more. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open at all, the lids felt swollen and uncooperative, and she was coughing more than calling, now.
An enormous pop, like a firework, had Fran straining to see clearly through the swirling smoke. She could just about make out a pulsing of colours, reds and yellows, amongst a dense cloud of smoke, still some way away from where she stood and obscured by the heavy atmosphere, and yet somehow Fran knew exactly what was burning. The oak with the split trunk. Red’s hiding place.
‘No, no, no …’
If the cat had been taking refuge in the strong branches of that ancient tree, there would be no way for him to escape. No way for Fran to get close enough to help him.
The image of that beautiful little ginger cat perishing in the flames was too horrendous to contemplate. She couldn’t cope with the thought of it, couldn’t go any further forwards because there was grass under her feet, dried grass just waiting to burst into flames. There was nothing more Fran could do, except retreat.
A crack and a whoomph pulled Fran’s total attention, the swirling in the cloud-like gloom giving her a glimpse of the oak. Only a partial tree remained, burning into the sky like a medieval torch, the other half slumped like a corpse and burning bonfire-hot on the ground.
Fire tracked in all directions from the base of the tree, from the place where only a few days ago Fran had lain with Johnny and had contemplated her life taking a different turn.
But right now there was only one thing to contemplate. With the flames drawing closer, Fran turned on her heels and tried to run. But the smoke was thickening by the second, making it difficult to catch her breath even through her makeshift mask. No longer sure which way she was facing, her eyes all but closed against the harsh abrasion of the particles in the air, Fran felt for something familiar, eventually hitting the stone of a wall. With no way of telling which wall she was touching, but with her options narrowed to the roughly hewn granite beneath her fingers, she kept her hand on it, hoping she was heading in the correct direction and that her path would bring her back around the building and to safety.
On the edge of the ragtag group of people mustered by the bridge which spanned the tributary of a larger river, and the area considered to be the safest place for the hotel guests and staff alike to wait for the arrival of the emergency services, Johnny searched the faces again. She wasn’t there. He couldn’t see Fran anywhere. He caught sight of Noel, heading in his direction with a bundle of hastily grabbed footwear in his hands, the expression on his face a mirror of the concern written across everyone’s features. Noel dropped his armful of shoes and grabbed Johnny by his shoulders, forcing him to stand still and focus.
‘Thank God you’re out here. I thought the whole thing was some sort of a drill until the busboy hammered on my door. Wouldn’t even give me time to put on some proper shoes.’ Noel gestured to the sliders on his otherwise bare feet, then reached for a pair of trainers. ‘That alarm nearly drilled a hole in my brain it was so loud. Needs to be, I suppose, to get everyone out.’
‘Everyone isn’t out, though. I can’t see Fran anywhere,’ Johnny said.
‘Who? Ed and Ricky went out for the day, so they’re OK. Who are you looking for?’ Noel said.
‘Fran. She’s not out here.’ Johnny was scanning the group again.
‘Fran?’ Noel’s incomprehension forced Johnny to concentrate on him for a moment.
‘Our waitress. The one you … She and I … Doesn’t matter. Dark bobbed hair. She brought you those ridiculous chips, remember?’
Noel’s confusion lifted, a nod of comprehension at Johnny’s explanation. ‘Didn’t know her name was Fran.’
‘Well it is, and she’s not out here. I can’t see her anywhere.’
‘Are you sure she was in the hotel?’ Noel asked, hanging on to him again. ‘Maybe she’s not on site at the moment. Maybe she’s gone out for the day.’
‘I saw her earlier, she must be here,’ Johnny said.
‘Just because you saw her earlier doesn’t mean she’s still here, though, does it?’
Johnny shook his head. Noel was being a complete imbecile. ‘You’re not listening. Yes, she is. Several people saw her after the fire alarm sounded. She was in the foyer as they were heading outside, but nobody has seen her out here. Nobody knows where she is.’ Johnny broke away from Noel’s grasp, gesturing towards the hotel. ‘Maybe she fell on her way out. Maybe she’s hurt andcan’t walk. Look at it, Noel. The whole place is going to go up any minute.’
The chateau loomed out of what looked like – from this distance, at least – a heavy grey fog. Although the way the grey was pluming and billowing, it more closely resembled one of those supernatural foggy manifestations in one of the many apocalyptic movies they’d watched when they were kids. But this wasn’t supernatural, or fog. Smoke was billowing right over the turrets of the chateau, and although they couldn’t see the fire, there must be an inferno to be creating all that smog.
It looked bad. Bad enough that it became clear Noel wasn’t the least bit keen on going any closer to it than where he was currently standing.
‘We should wait for help, mate. Wait for the experts.’
‘I can’t wait for the emergency services; it might be too late by then. I’m going to go and look for her.’
Johnny was on the move before Noel could argue further.
‘You can’t be serious,’ Noel said, skipping every few strides to keep up with him. ‘There’ll be a fire engine here any second. Let them go in and look for her. They’ve got all the proper equipment, breathing apparatus, all that.’
Johnny was still striding, heading back up the driveway, a little surprised that Noel was doing his best to keep pace, even though chips of granite kept flicking up between the soles of his feet and his sliders. Every now and again he stopped to flap the stones out.
