The old man is dead. Gabriel’s sure of that. The fire has crackled and spat its way into his room, crunched its way through his muscles, burnt his bushy white hair to ashes. It’s melted the rough skin of his hands and scorched his horny heels. He’s dead now, Gabriel thinks, as he watches the people from Acacia Avenue spilling out of their houses. He’s dead and it’s not his mother’s fault, and nor is it Gabriel’s, but who is going to believe him?
Who is going to believe him when he says he smelled the smoke before he saw the fire? That when he woke up his room was hazy and his eyes stung as he opened them. That the smoke wormed its way into his lungs and made him cough. That he followed the smoke down the passage to the kitchen, seeing his feet and hands disappear as the smoke grew thicker. That his mother was standing at the blazing grate, the fire snaking its way around her, and that he saw how it wanted to slither up her legs and feed on her loose-hanging nightgown.
Gabriel. Mum turns to him with a glowing smile. Come, over here darling. It’s so much warmer now.
Gabriel’s small, and he’s quick, and he darts over the snaking flames to his mother’s side.
Her voice is bright and happy. I was so cold, Gabe.
I know Mum, I know. Well done, good job.
Gabriel tries to pull her away from the fire, he looks at the kitchen door, standing wide open. All he has to do is edge her towards it, move her away from the roaring grate and the trail of fire.
His mother’s hair is sweat-soaked, her face is pink and shiny hot. The fire has reached the curtains now, the dingy red gingham flaring into a terrible brightness. Gabriel hears the window panes crack and then fall out of their frames.
Harry.
He looks around.
Where’s Harry, Mum?
Harry? His mother looks at him blankly. Harry’s fast asleep. She’ll be nice and toasty warm now, Gabe. She was so cold, and so was I.
Gabriel grabs her hand. Mum! He shakes her arm, then shakes it harder, digging his nails into her skin. Mum! I have to get Harry. You have to wait for me outside.
This time his sister’s name connects and her eyes widen.
Harry! Mum turns away, panicked.
Okay, Mum, Gabriel soothes. It’s okay. You go outside and I’ll get Harry.
The path to the door is still clear. His mother nods. I will Gabriel. I will. She edges her way to the door. You get Harriet, darling, and we can all go and sit outside.
Good idea, Mum. Gabriel tugs at her gently and she moves away from the fireplace, away from the fire hurrying along the floor, making its way to the room his mother shares with Harry and Gabe.
Gabriel takes two dishcloths from the sink and holds them under the tap. He drapes one over his head, ties one around his face, over his nose. He’s able to breathe better, the air acrid but cooler.