Chapter 39
Anna can’t stop shaking. Her knees have gone, her hands too, the tremors running deep through her. Now she’s alert to it, smoke is still acrid in the air around her, a sharper smell than bonfires of autumn leaves, harsh on her tongue.
‘You OK?’ It’s a man walking his dog. He stops next to her. ‘Are you ill? You look like you’re about to pass out.’
Anna can’t speak. She waves her hand in the direction of the smouldering ruin.
‘Oh yes, shocking, isn’t it? It took hold before anyone could do anything to stop it. Terrible business.’
She doesn’t reply, keeps staring up at it while the dog busies itself around her feet, snuffling at her trainers.
‘Friend of yours, was he?’
This catches her attention. Was? Does he mean . . .
‘Did he get out?’ she says.
‘Oh no,’ the man says, leaning forward and speaking to her in a low, confidential voice.
‘No one was going to get out of that one. Once it took hold.’ His teeth are pointed and yellow, his tongue darting over them from side to side.
There’s a hunger in his eyes. ‘His dog barking outside, that’s what woke me up.
Then the smell. I thought someone was having a barbecue. ’
Anna turns away from him, repelled. He hangs around for a little longer but eventually, deterred, he wanders off, his dog trailing behind him.
She’s still staring at the place where the house used to be, but it’s not what she’s seeing, not anymore.
Tom’s face is dancing before her, the tentative smile, the lock of hair that kept flopping down across his forehead.
He was trying to help her. And now he’s dead. At least the dog made it out alive.
But how the fuck has this happened? The whole house is gutted.
Could it have been accidental? Her blood runs colder still.
Was it her fault? Did she leave something plugged in?
She wracks her brains, comes up with nothing.
Not even neurosis could make this her fault.
If the bedside lamp in her room was switched on, it wasn’t by her.
She needs to stop this. It’s bad enough already, she doesn’t need to make it worse.
As much as she wants to believe that whatever happened here was an accident, the presence of the police shows it’s suspicious. It must have been arson, petrol through the letterbox or something.
But that doesn’t make sense, either. Why should anyone want Tom dead? He was a nice man, someone willing to go the extra mile for his clients. There’s no reason at all that anyone would want to kill him.
Think, Anna. Think.
A screeching of brakes, pain radiating from her shoulder where she landed. She’s still carrying the bruises from the car hitting her outside the prison. It really isn’t looking like an accident anymore.
Maybe it’s not Tom they were after . . .
She looks at the police car again. She should speak to them. She takes one step forward, another. Then turns around, her head down.
She can’t talk to the cops. Her approach, the whole prison record of her, the shambolic jacket, the bag full of sad belongings.
They won’t listen to a word she has to say.
As soon as they clock she’s under probation supervision, they’ll shut down.
Arrest her. Even attempt to pin the blame on her. An easy solve.
It’s not right. Tom deserves better. She walks swiftly round the corner, only stopping when she’s found an alleyway between two houses where it seems safe to pause for a moment to think. She sinks down on to her bag, head in hands.
Tremors run through her. Was she supposed to be in there when the house went up in flames? She’s seen and heard so much, the dead woman in the bunk below her, the whispered words.
She’s holding her knees close to her chest, terror clawing at her skin.
Someone knows the phone is out there, she’s sure of it.
The way that it rang and rang so insistently when she turned it on earlier – they must have been sitting there with their finger on redial, pressing it repeatedly until the moment that Anna so recklessly turned it on.
But what are they trying to cover up? The whispered conversation hisses in her ears.
Promise me you’ll leave her alone. I won’t let you do this.
Why won’t anyone help me?
Anna’s been too focused on herself, her own struggles. She hasn’t paid attention to the real threat that’s been surrounding her from the moment of her release. The same threat that led to Kelly’s death. That killed Tom.
Anna’s pad mate might have killed herself, but someone else was responsible for it – they didn’t slit her throat themselves, but they might as well have. Kelly was desperate, she couldn’t see another way out. Why? What did that phone call mean? What do they want?
If Anna doesn’t find out, she’s going to be next. The smell of smoke still lingering in the air around the burned ruins of Tom’s house is a grim warning.
She gets to her feet. She can’t stay here, close to the scene of the fire, of Tom’s death.
She needs to get away, find somewhere she can shelter.
Collect her thoughts. She pushes her hands into the pockets of her jacket to warm them up and hits a piece of paper.
Recollection dawning on her, she pulls it out and reads the folded note with the volunteer’s address written on it. The other side of Oxford.
The only person she half-considered trusting is gone.
Can she bring herself to involve another innocent person in this madness?
There’s nothing to suggest she can even trust this stranger.
But she’s going to have to try. She has no other choice.
Once more hauling her bag up to her shoulder, she starts walking, one foot after the other, sounding out a litany to Tom as she goes.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, a crackling of flames constant in her ears.