IN THE night Robbie swam out of a deep sleep. He knew something had woken him, but for several moments he didn’t know where he was or even who he was. He reached to switch his bedside light on and nothing happened. There was light under the door, but for some reason it was flickering. Then he realized what it was that had woken him. It was the smell of burning.
And in his head he heard a voice. Mary Allardyce. Faint but getting louder and louder as the acrid smell filled his nostrils. ‘It’s said that when a hare runs through a village street a fire will break out in one of the houses very shortly afterwards.’
It had taken its time, a couple of days or so. But here it was.
If he opened his door the air would feed the fire, but he had to, he had to take the chance.
The flames were climbing the walls of the stairwell. They had crossed the banisters that ran along the hall, and the blaze was building quickly between him and his dad’s room. The clouds of smoke were so bad he had to shut his door immediately. There was no way through.
Dad.
‘Dad!’ he screamed.
There was no response.
He called again and again, but there was only the roaring of the fire.
He had to get out, and there was only one way.
Once he was through the window he hung on to the sill, swaying slightly from side to side, and then he took a breath and dropped, hit the ground and rolled. The moon was hidden by clouds, but there was enough light to see by. He called 999 on his phone and raced round the house until he was under his dad’s window and he got through.
‘Dad!’
‘Can you just give me that address again, son?’
‘Dad!’
‘We’ll have the fire service and an ambulance there in ten minutes. What was the name again?’
‘Dad, can you hear me? Robbie, Robbie Lawton.’
‘And the address? Can you just confirm that?’ He did, hardly knowing what he was saying. All he knew was that there was no movement in his dad’s room. Smoke was billowing from the open window. He didn’t have ten minutes.
Okay, Robbie, concentrate. There’s a ladder in the shed.
The shed was locked, but he thought he could break in. He kicked hard against the door. It was tougher than he had thought and he was losing time. Another kick. It held.
With a yell of anger and hatred he took a run at it. To his astonishment the door splintered open. There was a stab of pain in his shoulder. He ignored it.
He couldn’t see the ladder. He knew there was one in there, because he had seen his dad putting it away. He took a step back and fell over the lawn mower, to find himself staring up at the ladder, lying on struts that ran from one wall to another under the roof. He jumped up to grab the end rung, hoping his weight would tilt it so that it would slide down, but most of it was on the struts and was too heavy and that didn’t work. He was panicking so much he could hardly see or think, then he saw a chair to stand on so he could pull the ladder properly, and it came cleanly.
He dragged it through the door, over the lawn and to the front. He put it against the wall of the house. After a while he could see the flames at the door of his dad’s bedroom and the dark shape of a body in the bed.
He couldn’t tell if he was still alive.
‘Dad! Dad!’
Nothing.
He pushed himself through the window. He pulled the duvet off the bed and shouted in his dad’s face.
‘Dad! Come on, wake up!’ His voice was rising to a shriek.
The smoke was suffocating, even with the windows wide open, and Robbie was beginning to choke.
He hooked his arms under his dad’s shoulders and yanked, swinging him out of bed. How was he going to get him out of the window?
His dad’s body was a dead weight, the smoke overpowering and the heat intense. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the door of the bedroom was beginning to go. He dragged his dad to the wall by the window, and climbed out. Then he leaned down and heaved. The pain in his shoulder felt like a bullet wound.
He had to push through the window into the smoke again. Leaning in, he lunged out and down to feel for his dad’s body. Suddenly there was light beyond the smoke as the door went up in flames. Fire ballooned into the room. He ducked at the top of the ladder for a moment, recoiling from the heat, then forced himself back. At least he could see his dad better, slumped against the wall beneath him.
Okay, Robbie, lean in, push down and pull.
He was going to have to use his left arm, the right one was no good any more.
He couldn’t do it. Too far, the pain too much.
Come on, Robbie, stretch. Stretch. You can do this.
He manoeuvred his hand under his dad’s shoulder and round.
It’s too hot, it’s too hot.
His back felt like it was going to go. This just might be impossible.
Come on, Dad. I need you now. Come on, someone, somewhere.
Something shifted in his dad’s weight. He was moving. He was alive. He was pushing himself back and up. He was coming with Robbie.
In one quick rush, as if they were bursting out of a flooded tank, his dad slid out of the window and they were falling, falling together, back down the ladder.