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At this he got angry. I’d never seen him angry before, but his face darkened. His eyebrows drew together. “Stop it. Stop behaving like this. It’s silly. It’s childish.”
“Tell me,” I persisted.
Then he shouted, and I knew I’d gone too far. “No!” And there was a sense of finality in that shout as he turned and went out.
The front door slammed, and I knew I’d done something terrible. “Lex.” It was almost a scream. I rushed to the door, shouting. “Lex, Lex, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
But as I reached the door, then flung it open, all I could see was the tail end of his car screeched away, leaving rubber on the road as it, and disappeared around the corner.
What had I done?
Something irrevocable?
Surely I could apologize tomorrow.
“All would be well, and all manner of things would be well.” Blessed Julian of Norwich’s comforting words consoled me.
Chapter 6—Incendiary
I WENT to bed that night, my mind in confusion. Of course his mobile was switched off, but I left a message, begging him to get in touch. Later I tried again and got the terrifying response: This number is no longer available. Jesus, what had I done?
I didn’t think I’d sleep at all, and around about three o’clock, I was still tossing and turning in a bed that felt so lonely, so huge and lonely.
I must admit I cried, tears of self-pity, I told myself, but had I ruined a relationship that had been so happy, except for that one thing? What did it really matter if he didn’t tell me, if he couldn’t tell me?
I stared at the ceiling, with the light from outside percolating through the window, and sniffed—and smelled a strange smell. Imagining it. I blew my nose and tried again. Yes, there was a smell pervading. Smoke! And what was that other smell, almost hidden by the smoke? Petrol? Could it be? But that was daft. We had no open fires in this ultramodern house, unless there’d been some fault in an electrical appliance, which had caused some minor conflagration. I switched on the light, looked down the stairs with the intention of dousing it with a wet towel. No, that was stupid, electricity and dampness didn’t mix, or rather they mixed only too well.
I went back into the bedroom and shut the door. A moment later I saw it, creeping under the bedroom door like an insinuating probe—a curl of smoke. Naked, I rushed to the door and threw it open. A spurt of flame followed it, singeing my chest and face. The whole staircase was alight, crackling with flames delighted to find so much flammable material. There was no escape there.
I ran to the window. Already the smoke was filling the room, billowing round the ceiling as my movements created their own vortices. Keep as near to the floor as possible, smoke rises. The window. The window. Double-glazed of course but surely openable. No, the only air intake was through a grid at the top, which could be opened or shut as required.
I banged with my fists, knowing that would be useless, tried with my elbow but nearly broke my funny bone. Funny, I thought, inconsequentially. Find something heavy to bash it with. But what was in a bedroom apart from a bed, chest of drawers, wardrobe? Couldn’t use those, couldn’t actually lift them.
Then I thought of the bedside lockers. Crawled my way back to the bed. I could scarcely see even with the light on, and then that flickered and died. Felt for a locker, Lex’s side, grabbed hold of it, and crawled back to that barely discernible rectangle of light.
Holding my breath, I stood up, raised the locker above my head, and brought it down with all the force I could muster on the inner window. It cracked but didn’t splinter. Damned toughened glass. Once more. More cracks but no hole. Third time lucky, I told myself and gave it all I’d got. Glass shattered all around me. I could feel several cuts but ignored them. The outside window was ordinary glass; it shattered at the first blow, and I gasped as fresh air filled my lungs. Bits of jagged glass stuck out from the frame as I tried to grip it.
The smoke in the room was marginally clearer so I went to the bed, grabbed the duvet, and used it to cover the glass. I was on the first floor, which meant, if I could hang from the frame, probably no more than a six-foot drop onto… what was under the window? Concrete? No, a narrow patch of garden with bedding plants. Well, it wouldn’t do them much good, but I’d probably be all right.
I was halfway across the sill when the door suddenly crashed open and immediately the room was full of flames, licking over my left side. With a cry I flung myself forward, and I think knocked myself out on a stone or something, for all went black and I knew no more.
I REMEMBER coming around a couple of times. Once, when someone in a dayglo uniform, presumably a paramedic, kept asking me what my name was.
For a moment I couldn’t remember, but I knew that, for some obscure reason, I mustn’t give my real name. “Lex.”
“Hold on, Lex,” said the guy. “Keep hold of everything, try to stay awake.” But however hard I tried, everything swirled away out of my grasp, and I must have blacked out again.
The next time I came around, I was on a hospital trolley and above my head were bright white strip lights. So many that it seemed that they were joined in one long stream, stretching into infinity.
“Lex,” said someone. “We’ll soon have you….”
“Where’s Lex?” I asked, but no answer came, and I passed out yet again. It seemed to be becoming a bit of a habit—and not a good one at that.
Someone was calling a name, a woman’s voice from very close at hand. “Lex,” she said insistently. “Wake up, Lex.”
I opened my eyes. A nurse was sitting beside my bed. A drip from a bottle was going into the back of my left hand through a cannula. My head felt tight and throbbed a bit. Other parts of me hurt as well, especially my left arm, which throbbed. These clues suggested to me that I was in Intensive Care. If not I felt I ought to be.
“Ah. You’re awake at last, Lex,” she said.
