Finally, after what feels to have been the longest time, they all flop down onto a double bed, which takes up almost the entirety of the space in this small flat they have been allotted. There is no sea view. No view to speak of at all, apart from a graffitied wall and a row of bins beyond the only window. She casually wonders how much rent they would be charged for such a pit if they were living here long-term. But it is a place to lay their heads, until they can find out when they will be free to go home and if they are able to retrieve any of their belongings from the holiday let.
At least the shower works. This is all she could focus on as she had washed the dust and smoke from her hair, rinsed the layers of grime, sweat and tears from her face. Soaked her feet and applied fresh plasters. She has also bought some cheap plimsolls and new underwear she had found in the nearest big supermarket, plus some basic groceries, toiletries and nappies. The clothes they were wearing are in the ancient-looking washing machine right now, turning the water a dirty grey colour. Perhaps they should have just put them in the bin but Lottie’s frugal nature would not allow for that. Instead, they are sleeping in their underwear for now. It is still hot enough.
They feel even more naked without their possessions; wallet, handbag, and devices. All of them are being held ransom in the apartment until it is cleared for safe entry. Luckily, Lottie had been wearing her smartwatch and Tim had grabbed his phone when they fled the building and so they could still pay for things. Josh is bereft without his toys, his usual comforts, and has resorted to clamping his thumb tightly in his mouth; something she thought he had grown out of until now.
She closes her eyes but every time she does, the events of the previous evening keep replaying across her eyelids like a horror show from which she cannot look away. It had started off as such a good night. The cascading colourful fireworks, the taste of cider making her feel light-hearted and giddy, the shrieks of delight from Josh, the friendly warmth and camaraderie of the locals as she danced to live music for the first time in forever.
But then these visions are replaced by darker, intrusive thoughts. She had been far more drunk than she had realised at the time. She knows that much now. The strong scrumpy had hit her hard on a hot evening with only a small meal in her stomach. She remembers staggering home, up the hill towards their apartment, Tim carrying Josh while also tugging her by the hand. Passing out on the bed rather than falling asleep. Rising for a glass of water sometime later, standing in the kitchen, looking out at the back garden and contemplating the past week. Had she fallen asleep at the kitchen table or taken herself back to bed? Perhaps she had opened the back door, taken a walk in the garden, in need of fresh air to cool her cheeks and clear her head. Maybe she even sat down and had another cheeky roll-up. She can’t be sure.
It comes back to her in broken snatches. A wakeful restive night, fever dreams, the sound of sirens, the smell of smoke and then the night falling in on them like it was the end of the world.
How can this be happening? How has she found herself back here after she vowed she never would again? Being questioned by the police, making a statement, trying desperately to remember what happened and feeling like she is incriminating herself with every word.
Lottie squeezes her eyes shut but the tears leak out anyway; dehydrated, sore, stinging. But then exhaustion finally overtakes her brain and her body does what it must, giving way to sleep, eradicating anxiety for a few hours. She will face it all when she wakes. Perhaps they will be allowed to leave, to go home soon, and all will be well.
51
As Tobias arrives at the hospital, he is struck again by how parochial everything feels. Just like when he was at the local police station he visited earlier, as though he is inhabiting some toy town—novel and antiquated. Perversely, he would feel more reassured by the chaos of a crammed A & E in London than this place with its skeleton staff and on-call house doctor. But when he is shown into a single room he is gladdened by the sight of Drew sitting up in bed, pale but awake. Bella is beside him, her face a canvas of emotions etched with fatigue and relief that he imagines mirrors his own.
‘Hello, you two,’ he says, his heart quaking as he recognises how lucky he is to find both his children safe and well, after what has been the most horrific few hours of his life. He has already spoken with the ward sister who has assured him that Drew is fine, and is only to be kept in for observation as a precaution. Both he and Bella appear to have been recently supplied with a round of tea and toast and Tobias’s stomach growls for the first time that day. Up until this point, he has been too sick with fear to eat or drink, his body running on adrenaline. And at the police station, he was too wound up with anger to accept anything other than water. But now, as a passing nurse pops his head around the door, he is grateful to accept the offer of a hot drink and a biscuit. As soon as they are alone again, Tobias reaches for his children.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ says Drew bashfully.
‘Hush!’ he commands, pulling his son’s head into his own chest and eyeing Bella at the same time.
‘It was my fault,’ she says quietly. ‘I should have been looking out for you, little bro.’
‘I’m not a kid anymore,’ protests Drew. ‘You didn’t know. How could you? I didn’t even know I was going to wipe out like that. Everything was cool. Until it wasn’t …’ His voice trails off and he looks about the small room; at the magnolia walls, the blue curtains, the anodyne pictures of sailing boats. His Adam’s apple is reaching up and down his throat as he tries to control his voice.
‘Look,’ says Tobias. ‘I’m not going to read either of you the riot act. What would be the point? Clearly neither of you listen to a word your mother and I say anyway.’ He grunts. ‘Ah well. It’s not as if either of us led a sainted life in our youth,’ he adds. ‘But I hope you’ve learned your lesson.’
Both his children drop their heads and nod, suitably shamefaced.
‘Try to rest,’ he urges Drew, who gratefully lies back on the pillows and closes his eyes. Tobias hopes he didn’t bruise him too badly with his clumsy chest compressions. His eyes drift to the heart monitor they have hooked his son up to and he briefly thinks about that very same heart and how it had stopped beating earlier. He watches the electronic up-tick of each pulse, strong and steady, and tries not to count each one, waiting for the next and the next.
‘Dad,’ whispers Bella and he slowly drags his eyes away and focuses on her instead. Her beautiful face is grey under all the fake tan, giving her skin a strange jaundiced cast. The residue of black kohl and mascara has left streaks of dirty tears down her cheeks and her eyes are sunken from lack of sleep and dehydration.
‘God, you look awful, Belle. Let’s get you home for a shower and bed.’
‘Dad,’ she tries again as he downs his tea and stands to leave. ‘Dad, have you managed to track down Mum yet?’
‘What? Oh, right, yes.’ He takes out his phone and taps into it. The location app they all share as a family (though Drew and Bella seem to have become pretty adept at evading detection by switching theirs off) shows that Olivia’s phone is now registering at the hotel and charging. ‘It’s okay. As suspected, she’s back at the suite. Hopefully she’ll pick up my last message, letting her know everything is all right.’ He tuts. Trust her to stay out late and then sleep through all the drama. Probably for the best though. She’d have only had histrionics.
‘Can we not mention this to her?’ says Bella, gathering her phone and handbag. She looks so incongruous in her skimpy little summer dress and smeared make-up. So much younger and vulnerable, somehow. More like his little girl who used to end up with chocolate all over her face and would climb up onto his knee when she was cross or tired. ‘I mean about the drugs and everything. It would only worry her and I don’t want it all around the town.’
‘Well, I won’t tell if you don’t but I can’t vouch for the local gossips. Talk spreads like wildfire in a place like this.’
He takes a sharp in-breath at this as he remembers the devastation of the house fire again, the burned-out shell of the renovation. His brain feels as if it has far too many tabs open at once and each time he deals with one situation, he finds there is another and another to contemplate. He craves sleep. There is a tremor to his hands. He is still so hungover and thirsty, he can’t think straight anymore. As he beckons Bella out of the room and they walk the quiet corridor back to the main reception area, he realises his daughter, like his wife, still isn’t in possession of the full facts.
‘I should tell you, Belle. That fire. It was our house, the renovation property,’ he sighs heavily. ‘The whole place is gutted.’
He says this bald statement in an effort to remind himself but each time it is still a shock.
‘What? Shiiit,’ says Bella with a slow exhalation. ‘But how?’
‘Late last night, sometime during the fireworks, or afterwards. The police suspect arson too so it looks like whoever did this picked their moment very well, when the whole town would be busy celebrating.’
‘Wow,’ she says, the word stretching out like bubble gum. ‘You hear about this kind of thing but you never think it would happen for real. What do you reckon might have caused it? Who could be responsible?’
