Chapter 50
Lottie is about to go to bed. Or rather back to bed.
By the time they had returned from the police station, having answered questions and made brief, probably unhelpful statements, the morning had slipped away.
They had also been forced to wait around for ages until some suitable accommodation had been found for them.
The family liaison officer had said it would be advisable for them to stick around for the next twenty-four hours at least, until all immediate lines of inquiry had been followed through.
‘If this is a case of arson and one or both of those people who were pulled out of the property dies, this will be a murder investigation,’ Tim had said, clarifying all the nebulous fears that had been circling around Lottie’s head but which she hadn’t dared give voice to.
Why must he always point out the obvious – instruct, educate – as though everyone else is hard of understanding, not in possession of the full facts.
The police had been nice enough, offering them the proverbial tea and sympathy.
They had refused all food, apart from barely drinkable machine coffee and a carton of juice for Josh.
Lottie couldn’t help feeling that they were somehow under suspicion, paranoia poisoning her thoughts.
Every time they were asked the same question, differently phrased.
When they were asked to give separate statements, each taking it in turn to mind Josh, she had felt like they were being tested, to see whether their stories were straight, matched up, corroborated.
But they had no new information to give.
They could be of little assistance. They hadn’t seen anyone, or heard anything.
As for Tim, she’s not sure what he believes.
He is acting out of character, a little distant from her and closed off.
But neither of them is sure how to behave anymore; it has been such a strange, traumatic few hours.
Finally, after what feels to have been the longest time, they all flop down onto a double bed, which takes up almost the entirety of the space in this small flat they have been allotted.
There is no sea view. No view to speak of at all, apart from a graffitied wall and a row of bins beyond the only window.
She casually wonders how much rent they would be charged for such a pit if they were living here long-term.
But it is a place to lay their heads, until they can find out when they will be free to go home and if they are able to retrieve any of their belongings from the holiday let.
At least the shower works. This is all she could focus on as she had washed the dust and smoke from her hair, rinsed the layers of grime, sweat and tears from her face.
Soaked her feet and applied fresh plasters.
She has also bought some cheap plimsolls and new underwear she had found in the nearest big supermarket, plus some basic groceries, toiletries and nappies.
The clothes they were wearing are in the ancient-looking washing machine right now, turning the water a dirty grey colour.
Perhaps they should have just put them in the bin but Lottie’s frugal nature would not allow for that.
Instead, they are sleeping in their underwear for now. It is still hot enough.
They feel even more naked without their possessions; wallet, handbag, and devices.
All of them are being held ransom in the apartment until it is cleared for safe entry.
Luckily, Lottie had been wearing her smartwatch and Tim had grabbed his phone when they fled the building and so they could still pay for things.
Josh is bereft without his toys, his usual comforts, and has resorted to clamping his thumb tightly in his mouth; something she thought he had grown out of until now.
She closes her eyes but every time she does, the events of the previous evening keep replaying across her eyelids like a horror show from which she cannot look away.
It had started off as such a good night.
The cascading colourful fireworks, the taste of cider making her feel light-hearted and giddy, the shrieks of delight from Josh, the friendly warmth and camaraderie of the locals as she danced to live music for the first time in forever.
But then these visions are replaced by darker, intrusive thoughts.
She had been far more drunk than she had realised at the time.
She knows that much now. The strong scrumpy had hit her hard on a hot evening with only a small meal in her stomach.
She remembers staggering home, up the hill towards their apartment, Tim carrying Josh while also tugging her by the hand.
Passing out on the bed rather than falling asleep.
Rising for a glass of water sometime later, standing in the kitchen, looking out at the back garden and contemplating the past week.
Had she fallen asleep at the kitchen table or taken herself back to bed?
Perhaps she had opened the back door, taken a walk in the garden, in need of fresh air to cool her cheeks and clear her head.
Maybe she even sat down and had another cheeky roll-up. She can’t be sure.
It comes back to her in broken snatches. A wakeful restive night, fever dreams, the sound of sirens, the smell of smoke and then the night falling in on them like it was the end of the world.
How can this be happening? How has she found herself back here after she vowed she never would again? Being questioned by the police, making a statement, trying desperately to remember what happened and feeling like she is incriminating herself with every word.
Lottie squeezes her eyes shut but the tears leak out anyway; dehydrated, sore, stinging.
But then exhaustion finally overtakes her brain and her body does what it must, giving way to sleep, eradicating anxiety for a few hours.
She will face it all when she wakes. Perhaps they will be allowed to leave, to go home soon, and all will be well.