Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
ERICA
All the while that she was telling Erica what she’d heard, Mollie stared straight ahead, looking towards the sea. With every word, Erica wanted to beg for her to stop, but knew that she couldn’t do that. As soon as she finished, she tried to explain. ‘Oh, sweetheart. That’s not what happened. If I’d known…I should have told you. I should have talked to you about it.’
When she turned to face her, Mollie’s face was hard, defiant, but her voice trembled. ‘Why did you leave me behind?’
Pain contracted Erica’s heart at the agony in Mollie’s face. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘Then, what was it like? Tell me.’
Sometimes Erica was back there in the middle of the night, her nightmares pulling her into the worst day of her entire life. Stood at the top of the stairs, smoke creeping towards them, reaching for her babies with its evil fingers. Eyes stinging, she’d tried to push words of comfort from her ash-dry throat. ‘It’s going to be okay. Mummy won’t let you go.’
Why, of all the times, had she left her phone downstairs that evening? She’d been trying to break the habit of doomscrolling when she woke in the middle of the night, hoping it would help her lack of sleep. Now, with fire raging through the house, she had no way of calling the fire service or Andrew or anyone.
‘There was only me there.’ She had to make Mollie understand. ‘Your dad was working nights. You and Ben were only eight. I had to work out how to get you downstairs, through the fire and out of the front door.’
Mollie frowned. ‘What about the neighbours? Why did no one come to help?’
Of course, Mollie would only think of Lynn when she thought of neighbours. Lovely kind Lynn who’d taught her to make paper dolls and fairy cakes. ‘I don’t know, Mollie. Maybe they didn’t know about the fire. Maybe they were out. I just know that I had to do something. And do it really quickly.’
Within moments, both children had been coughing. In her arms, Ben’s body had flinched with every splutter. Beside her, Mollie had barked between her whimpers of terror at the scene before them. Fear had gripped Erica. What should she do? Could they make it through the flames without anyone being hurt?
There was no choice, she’d realised. No one else to help. She needed to do this. They had to go.
Back in the very recesses of her brain, she’d remembered seeing something about draping a wet towel over your head to keep the smoke out. The bathroom had been behind them on the landing. She had tried to keep her scratchy voice as calm as she could. ‘Mollie, sweetheart. Can you help Mummy and bring two towels from the bathroom?’
‘You were so good, Mollie. Always such a good girl. I could see that you were absolutely terrified, but you were so brave and did everything I asked. You hurried to get towels from the bathroom and put them in the sink, ran the taps so that they were wet through.’
Mollie frowned. ‘Why did I do it? Why not you?’
‘I had to keep hold of Ben. He was trying to get back to his bedroom. I couldn’t make him understand.’
Mollie’s face was unreadable. ‘What did you do next?’
Trying to keep Ben close with one arm, Erica had wrung a towel out and passed it back to Mollie. ‘Okay. I need you to hold one of these around you, baby girl. I’m going to wrap the other one around Ben.’
It had been no surprise when Ben had recoiled at the sensation of the cold, wet towel across his back. He’d always been so sensitive to anything that doesn’t feel right. They’d spent a fortune over the years on clothes without seams and labels to irritate him. Sensory issues is the wording they use. It doesn’t come close to describing the meltdown that ensues from a top or shorts or pyjamas that don’t sit right with him.
Between the wet towel and the fact that he hadn’t wanted to be carried, Benjamin had fought Erica to release him every step of the way down, his fear tangible in her arms. She hadn’t been able to risk putting him down, though. If she couldn’t communicate to him how vital it was that they got out of there, she’d known, she’d have to physically take, drag, carry him herself.
‘You were such a bright little thing, even then. I was able to reason with you, make you understand. But you were terrified, too. Each step down, you tugged on my arm.’
She could hear Mollie’s tiny little voice even now, heard it often in bad dreams. ‘No, Mummy. I don’t want to go down there. I’m scared, Mummy. Stay here with me.’
Every maternal instinct is rooted in keeping your children safe, shielding them from harm. Aren’t those the very phrases used to signify the strength of a mother’s protective love? I’d step in front of a moving train to save you. I’d fight a bear. I’d run through fire . As a parent, your own safety, your very life, is secondary to that of your child.
Yet, there she’d been, in a situation where she had to take her children through danger to get them to safety. She remembered tightening her grip on Mollie’s hand. ‘It’s going to be okay, baby. We just need to get through the door.’
Now she watched thirteen-year-old Mollie closely. The next part was the most difficult to tell. ‘At that point, I didn’t know whether the fire was at the front of the house or the back: all I was focused on was getting you both outside. Then you tried to pull away, so I had to grip harder to keep you close.’
If she closed her eyes, she’d be back there, trying to make a decision which way to go, with Mollie pulling at her arm. ‘Mummy, you’re hurting me.’
The sound of her cries had made Ben even more stressed. She’d had to shout over the noise of the crackle and whoosh of the flames to make Mollie understand. ‘Mollie! Stop it! You have to come with me!’
Somehow, she’d managed to drag Mollie down after her without letting go of Ben. Her thighs had screamed with the effort needed to make it downwards. Ben’s heels had kicked into her hips as he’d tried to get down. She couldn’t risk it, she’d realised; he would run.
At the bottom of the stairs, she’d looked left and right, up and down the hall, trying to work out where the fire was through the black acrid smoke. At that point, she’d had no choice but to lower Ben to the floor. ‘Keep down. We’re going out the front door.’
‘That was the moment I heard the sirens and I was so relieved. I knew that someone must’ve seen the fire and called the fire department or whatever you call it here.’
She saw the merest flicker of a smile on Mollie’s face at that. She and Andrew liked nothing better than teasing Erica about the fact that – after so long in the UK – she no longer remembered which were the American words and which the English.
Maybe it had been the sound of the sirens that’d made her loosen her vice-like grip on Mollie’s hand…Or had Mollie got a surge of strength because she’d heard something else through the crackle and pop of the fire which seemed to have spread to the kitchen at the back of the house. ‘Mummy! It’s Joanie. We have to save Joanie.’
Joanie. The cat who had somehow adopted them the year before because, clearly, Erica didn’t have enough to be doing. Mollie had loved her with the passion of an eight-year-old girl for anything fluffy and warm. Joanie had actually been a wonderful distraction for her when Erica’s eyes were on Ben. She’d been a lifesaver.
Until then.
Mollie’s eyes were round. ‘I thought Joanie had run away. You said that she’d probably found another family. Did she die in the fire?’
Quickly, Erica shook her head. She didn’t need to add more upset to this story. ‘No, she didn’t die in the fire. She was a stray, sweetheart. She would’ve found someone else to feed her.’
Back then, Mollie had been distraught at the thought of leaving Joanie behind. ‘We have to get Joanie, Mummy!’
‘No, darling. Joanie will find a window. She’ll be fine. We have to get outside now.’
All at the exact same moment, Ben had kicked at Erica to try to get away and Mollie had twisted her hand out of Erica’s damp, sweaty grip and fled towards the sitting room where Joanie liked to lay across the back of the sofa, legs and tail dangling below her large well-fed body.
Erica had lurched towards Mollie’s departing back, trying to grab her arm, her hand clasping hot air. ‘Mollie! Come back! Come back right now!’
She was gone.
Ben was pulling away to get back upstairs.
She had to make a decision.
A choice.
The sirens were getting closer. If she could get Ben outside, ask a neighbour to keep hold of him, she could come straight back in for Mollie. She had to move. Quickly. Right that moment.
Still screaming for Mollie to come, to follow her, Erica had unlocked the door, Ben almost overpowering her as she’d reached up to the high lock they’d had to put in to keep him from letting himself out of the front door. Burning her fingers, she’d turned the red-hot key once, twice.
She’d continued to shout back over her shoulder. ‘Mollie! You have to come, baby! You have to come!’
With a crash, she’d pushed open the front door, pulling Benjamin with her. There was a neighbour from across the street, wringing her hands and behind her – thank God – was a bright-red fire truck.
Throat hoarse, she’d practically thrown Benjamin in her direction. ‘Take him! Mollie’s inside!’
As soon as she’d known that the neighbour had hold of Ben’s arm, that he wouldn’t be able to escape, she’d turned to go back in, but a thick bulk of a man in a yellow helmet had barred her way, his bright plastic jacket as impenetrable as the fire truck itself. ‘Stop. You have to stay here. It’s okay. We’ve got this. Who’s inside?’
Panic had choked her more than the smoke had. She had to get back inside to Mollie, she had to get past him, through him if necessary. ‘No, no. I have to go in. My daughter.’
Now he’d held her in the same firm grip as she’d held the children moments earlier. ‘We are on our way in to get her. How old is she? Where in the house will she be?’
She hadn’t known. Words had ripped from her raw throat. ‘Downstairs. The cat. She’s looking for the cat. She’s eight. She’s only eight. Please, let me go. I need to go and get her!’
What had she done? Why had she left her inside? Mollie would be terrified. She wouldn’t know who the firemen were. Erica should be the one to go and get her. Behind her, Ben had whimpered like a baby. His twin sister was in there. Could he sense something she couldn’t? What did he know?
The next two minutes had been the longest of Erica’s entire life. Unable to get anywhere near to the house, she’d held fast to Ben. Behind them, the street had filled with neighbours and onlookers, out to see what was happening. In front of her, firefighters had battled to rescue the house from the greedy flames.
She’d loved that house but, right then, she couldn’t have cared less if the whole thing had burned to the ground: as long as Mollie was safe. She’d sent prayer after prayer upwards. Please let her be okay. Please let her be okay.
The relief when the firefighter had carried Mollie out of the front door had made her fall to her knees. Erica had held out her hands for her precious baby girl, but the firefighter had carried her straight to an ambulance which she hadn’t seen arrive. Stumbling to her feet, she’d followed. ‘What’s happening? Is she okay?’
Mollie’s voice had been thin and plaintive. ‘Mummy? Where are you, Mummy?’
Erica’s legs had felt as if they belonged to someone else. ‘I’m here, baby. Mummy’s coming.’
The paramedic had called out to her from the back of the van. ‘Are you her mum? Mollie’s been calling for you. She’s been super brave. There are some burns on her arm. We need to get her to the hospital. You can come in the ambulance.’
As she’d opened her mouth to speak, Andrew’s voice had boomed from behind her. ‘I’ll go. You stay with Ben.’
He’d been in the ambulance before Erica had known what was happening. Later, she’d learned that a neighbour had called him. All she’d been able to do was wrap her arms around Benjamin and watch the blue light of the ambulance as it had screamed its way towards the hospital.