Briefly, he wonders if he shouldn’t pull his clothes back on and go down, investigate, see if he can help out. But it looks like the local fire brigade is on it and the townspeople will no doubt be pulling together. They’re quite a close-knit, community-minded lot round here, as he well knows. And this is nothing really to do with him, he decides. A thought occurs to him then. That he doesn’t really care at all about this place, these people. As long as he and his are all okay, it doesn’t really matter.
At this, he walks into the main bedroom to check on Olivia. But the bed is empty. It hasn’t even been slept in. His mind stalls, trying to assimilate this. He is so tired and so hungover but a spike of fear shoots through him, sobering and invigorating. Why would Olivia still be out at this time? He glances at his watch again. It’s only just gone 2a.m. Where could she possibly be when the celebrations are over, the town centre closed and all asleep? And then he strides into the other rooms. Both Bella’s and Drew’s beds are dark and abandoned too.
He sits down on the edge of one of the beds, his legs suddenly weak. He is being a fool, no doubt. His sloshed brain working overtime and jumping to the worst conclusion. The kids said they would be joining their friends, after all. It’s not that late. There will be a party going on somewhere, perhaps down on the beach, beside the glowing embers of the remnant bonfire. Perhaps Olivia woke refreshed, her headache gone, and decided to join them. She always was a bit of a free spirit back in the day and he can half imagine her dancing on the sand now, smoking a roll-up, hair flying, her eyes bright in the reflected flames.
And then he thinks about another fire, the recent sirens, the fact that the whole of his family is currently unaccounted for. He lurches back to the sofa, tugs on his clothes, finds his phone. He tries to call them each, in turn. Olivia, Bella, Drew. But they do not pick up, the calls either going straight through to answer machine or spooling out ignored, as though he is pointlessly shouting into a void.
39
Lottie sits bolt upright in bed. She had been dreaming, lost in a deep, sweaty parallel world where everything felt both familiar and strange at the same time. The holiday was over, they had returned to work, nursery runs, the old schedule. Her alarm had been ringing persistently in her ear but she had slept through it. She was going to be late, in trouble.
Leaning over to the side of the bed, she scrabbles for her phone to check the time. She doesn’t remember falling asleep but they had all been so tired after the party, staying out later than they expected with Josh. Her neck aches from craning it to watch the fireworks, her head woozy from cider. She must have dropped off, though a glance at the clock confirms that she has not been asleep for very long. She sighs. The heat in this bedroom is unbearable at night, her sleep schedule completely messed up.
She stares around the darkened room as the shapes of furniture slowly reveal themselves to her; the wardrobe, a chair covered in clothes, Josh’s travel bed. Lottie listens intently but her son sleeps on. Beside her, Tim begins to stir.
‘What’s up?’ he moans.
‘I thought I heard something. An alarm or a siren. I don’t know, maybe I was dreaming after all.’
Tim raises himself up on his elbows. He sniffs the air which is filtering through the small gap in the bedroom window as though sensing something.
‘Listen,’ she says again. ‘Can’t you hear that?’ He shakes his head, mystified, but throws back the duvet, gets out of bed. ‘Shh,’ she hushes him.
They both pause, straining their hearing until they are rewarded with a cracking sound, like a branch snapping. Underneath it all is something of a low roar like a kettle slowly reaching its boil.
‘Has the wind got up, the weather broken?’ asks Tim as he walks over to the window, which looks out onto the back garden. He opens the wooden blinds a fraction. As he does so, an eerie orange glow casts its light into the dark of the bedroom.
‘I can smell smoke,’ says Lottie, a note of alarm in her voice.
‘Really?’ says Tim. ‘Are you sure it’s not just left over? Y’know from the fireworks and the bonfire?’
‘All that would have blown away hours ago,’ she says. ‘Especially here by the coast. Wouldn’t it?’
Scrambling out of bed, she begins tugging on her jeans under the T-shirt she has slept in. She reaches for Josh, no longer mindful of waking him up.
‘Calm down, I’m sure it’s nothing,’ says Tim. ‘Probably just some idiots messing about. Let me go and have a look around first.’
She hates it when he advises her like this. It is as useless as telling someone not to worry or not to get stressed. As if any of us has any real control over such emotions.
He is starting to pull on his own clothes now, selecting garments from the chair where he flung them last night. Last night? No, this morning. Today is Sunday, she reminds herself. But too early for daybreak. This is not a beautiful last sunrise they are witnessing, creeping over the horizon. Yet surely it is too late for any residual celebrations to be colouring the sky.
‘We should call the fire brigade,’ she says.
‘What? Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Hold on, Lottie. Let me just check it out.’
She watches Tim dress slowly, purposefully taking his time so as not to appear rushed or panicked. Just as he would if he was at school, asking his pupils to quietly form an orderly queue, to not shout or run. Fingers on lips. It makes her want to screamsometimes, how calm and practical he can be. When she knows, deep down, that something is wrong. Very wrong.
At this thought, Lottie holds Josh closer to her, his head nuzzling into her shoulder, his limbs slackening again. She stages a whisper.
‘We’re coming with you.’
‘No,’ says Tim, his voice surprisingly firm and she takes a step back. ‘Stay here with Joshie, until I’ve figured out what’s going on, whether it’s safe.’
‘We need to get out, Tim,’ she hisses. ‘This is serious.’
