Chapter 28
Stella stared at the words on the page in front of her.
The End. She couldn’t believe it. And the most wonderful thing was, she thought it was good.
Her characters had lifted her up and carried her along with them on their funny little adventures, had led her to places she didn’t know she was going to take them, yet somehow it had all made perfect sense, as if she was writing down something that had really happened.
And the ending had felt like an ending, but at the same time full of new beginnings, and she’d jotted down ideas for a sequel as they came to her, to convince Harriet this could be a series.
She only had to do one more drawing, for the last chapter.
She would do it when Ted was in bed tonight, then wrap it all up and send it off to Harriet tomorrow.
She’d had two postcards from her – jolly little pictures with Mabel Lucie Attwell drawings on the front, with ‘Good luck!’ on the first one, and ‘Keep going!’ on the second, and they really had spurred her on, for they had made her realise Harriet believed in her.
It was a tiny gesture, but so thoughtful, and she sensed she would be in good hands if she did end up being published by her.
They’d go to the shop when she picked Ted up from school, she decided, and get some ginger nuts to celebrate.
That was their favourite biscuit, dunked into tea while they sat by the fire.
The trick was to get them soft, but not so soggy they broke off and your cup was filled with biscuit crumbs.
She grabbed her coat and ran out of the door – she’d been so wrapped up in the thrill of finishing that she was going to be late if she didn’t hurry.
Every time Ted came out of the school gate, she felt a rush of love, but it seemed even more overpowering today, for a brighter future was almost in her grasp.
Clementine’s visit had unsettled her for a few days, but she trusted her not to betray her confidence, and in the end, it had spurred her on to finish The Towpath Gang, for Stella valued her independence over everything.
If she ever was to meet Edwin’s family, she wanted to be in a much stronger position than she was now.
She was vulnerable, living from hand to mouth on the boat, and she didn’t trust the Arbutuses not to take advantage of that.
‘Ginger nuts?’ she said now as Ted scurried over to her with a big grin. One day, she thought, he might not be so eager to be with her, and would become his own person, standing on his own two feet, but for the moment she was going to make the most of her boy and his big, open heart.
‘It’s not ginger nut day, is it?’ He frowned, for they usually had them on the Thursdays her money went in from the magazine.
‘Not officially, but I finished The Towpath Gang this afternoon, so I think we should celebrate.’
‘Yay!’ He gave a little punch of triumph.
She’d told him all about the book, spent time discussing the characters and what they got up to with him, for she was writing it for boys and girls his age.
He’d been very useful, even coming up with some good ideas.
As they walked along the high street towards the shop, she thought about the dedication she would put at the front of her manuscript.
To Ted. Head of our own little Towpath Gang.
They procured the biscuits, and she bought a small bag of mint humbugs too, and they wandered back over the bridge, sweets lodged in their cheeks.
As they dropped down onto the towpath, she frowned.
She could see a plume of smoke in the distance.
She couldn’t work out where it might be coming from.
The canal bent slightly to the left just after Breverton, so it wasn’t possible to see straight ahead to the boat from the bridge.
But theirs was the only boat on this stretch of canal at the moment.
And there were no buildings. Nothing else it could be.
The smoke could only be coming from Penelope.
She grabbed at Ted’s arm. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself open the stove door and put in an extra log earlier. Had she forgotten to shut it? She can’t have done.
‘Ted,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I want you to run back to the shop and ask Margaret to call the fire brigade.’
She saw his eyes swivel round and focus on the smoke. ‘Is it the boat?’
‘I don’t know. I’m going to go and see. But stay at the shop, please.’ He seemed mesmerised by the sight. ‘You need to hurry, love.’
He nodded and shot off back towards the high street.
There was no time to waste. She broke into a run.
If the boat was on fire, there wasn’t going to be much she could do.
The whole thing was made of wood. It would go up pretty quickly.
Within seconds, she could feel her heart bursting, a mixture of panic and exertion.
She couldn’t run fast enough. Her legs were like jelly.
It was like the most awful dream – she’d had enough of them, desperate nightmares as she ran away from burning buildings.
Only this time she was running towards the fire.
She was coming up to the bend. Her mouth was dry with fear as it became more evident what she was going to find.
She raced around the corner, dread in her heart, and there she saw it, her beloved Penelope, the cabin already engulfed in thick, greedy flames.
She could feel the heat on her face, hear the almost gleeful crackle as they made their way along the deck.
She stood at a distance, for it was too fierce for her to get any closer, tears pouring down her face, as it destroyed their home, their lives, everything they owned, her and Ted, from the teddy he’d had from birth, all the things Edwin had left behind, her belongings.
And the manuscript of The Towpath Gang. Those precious pages would be charred beyond ruin.
She sank to her knees in despair, powerless to do anything.
She was taken back to the war, to the seemingly endless conflagrations she’d witnessed from a distance, the almost carefree way a fire would take hold and destroy everything it its path, showing no mercy.
She knew, from experience, that there was no hope.
That, even if a fire engine could get down the towpath, Penelope was too far gone to be rescued, that now she would just have to burn herself out.
She heard shouts from behind her, people running to her side, someone lifting her up and drawing her away from the scene.
‘Come on, love, there’s nothing you can do.’
She slumped against a man she recognised from the ironmonger’s. There were half a dozen people now, some with buckets, but as they gathered on the towpath it became obvious that any attempt to put out the fire was futile.
‘Where’s Ted?’ she asked, panicking. The last thing she wanted was for him to see Penelope like this. It would be far too traumatic for him.
‘Margaret’s got him at the shop.’ Everyone gathered around her, protecting her, offering reassurance.
All she could do was stare out across the canal as Penelope disappeared, flame by flame, wrapped in a pall of black smoke.
Someone was trying to persuade her to head back into Breverton but she shook them off.
How could this have happened, just when she felt so sure her luck was going to change?
A new life had been almost within reach.
What was she going to do? She had nothing, literally nothing except the clothes she stood up in.
As Penelope’s name disappeared, eaten up, the gold letters turning to black, she turned away in defeat and stumbled back along the towpath.
At the shop, she clung to Ted, who was white-faced and silent.
Margaret made hot, sweet tea but Stella couldn’t even hold her cup.
She was trembling with shock, and her bones felt as cold as ice.
There were crowds of people in there, offering help and reassurance, but most of what they were saying drifted in and out of her consciousness.
She was here and she wasn’t here. Nothing made any sense.
All she could smell was scorching fumes.
All she could hear was the crackle of flames.
Dr Boxer came and offered her something for the shock, a sleeping draught, but she didn’t want to take it.
She needed her wits about her. Besides, she had nowhere to sleep.
She sifted through her trains of thought, desperate to find something in there that would make sense.
Monsieur Corbières – he was too far away, and he didn’t have a phone, or a car, and he was too old to deal with a crisis like this.
Harriet? She couldn’t contact her. She wasn’t even her publisher yet.
And then a face appeared amidst the muddle in her mind. A pair of kind blue eyes and a gentle smile. And she heard a reassuring voice. ‘Ask for Clementine.’
Right now, it was the only option she had.
‘I wonder if you could give us a lift?’ she asked Dr Boxer, surprised at the clarity of her voice as she took Ted’s hand. ‘To Foxwood.’