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“Look out,” a caroller shouted.
A second la
ter Lake and Brandon flew back through the window and into the street. People screamed and scattered before making a circle around the men.
“Go, Lake! Go, Lake!”
The two men circled each other. Brandon still held the knife. There was blood on his face. Lake had blood on his arm, but otherwise seemed fine. Kirsty’s heart was in her throat. She thought she was going to die every time Brandon landed a blow. Lake’s face showed no emotion at all as he went after Brandon. He was completely relentless. And, of course, the women helped. When Brandon came too close to the edge of the crowd, Betty kicked him hard in the back of the ankle. He spun away, giving Lake enough time to punch him in the side. Brandon stepped back again and Jean whacked him with one of the Scottish flags that were placed around the market. It didn’t do much damage, but got a cheer from the crowd. Lake kicked Brandon in the stomach and sent him flying backwards. The crowd parted.
“Go, Lake! Go, Lake!”
“I can’t see what’s happening,” Kirsty wailed as people blocked her view.
Even with the chanting she could hear the thud and smack of raining blows. It made her stomach turn. Had Lake been hurt? Was he okay?
“What’s happening?” she shouted.
“Lake’s beating your ex-boyfriend to a pulp,” someone shouted back.
Another cheer went up.
The fight moved up the high street away from her shop and Kirsty followed. She had to see what was happening. She had to know that Lake was okay.
And then she heard a word that sent chills down her spine.
Fire.
She spun in the direction of the screams. The carol singers were hysterical. They pointed at her shop. There was wailing. Most terrifying of all, there were flames in the window of the shop.
“Oh no,” one of the twins wailed. “The carol singers. Their candles were knocked into the shop. Somebody do something!”
Kirsty watched as the flames engulfed the negligee set, then jumped to the rest of the lingerie, which had been packed into her window display.
“Put that fire out,” someone shouted.
Two men grabbed the large drinks cooler from beside the doughnut stall.
“No!” screamed Claire.
It was too late—the men threw the contents of the cooler over the fire. And the flames shot up to the ceiling.
“It was oil,” Megan wailed.
The two men stood dumbstruck as the fire ate up the lingerie on the racks. The whole of the shop window was engulfed in luminous orange flames. There were running footsteps behind Kirsty.
“What’s happening?” Officer Donaldson demanded.
Megan pointed to the shop and burst into tears.
“Kirsty?” The policeman turned to her.
Kirsty stared at her shop. In flames. Her whole life being eaten up. No. Not her whole life. Nowhere near it. She turned to the policeman.
“Lake is up there.” She pointed at the crowd. “Brandon. He has a knife. They’re fighting. I can’t see them.”
She knew tears were falling. They barely registered.
“You need to help Lake,” she told Officer Donaldson.
