AllFreeNovel
Share Us
‘Belle, can you hear me? Nod, say something, anything! You have to get up and come with me,now.’
Her eyes drag slowly up to meet mine and her lips part as though she’s trying to speak. Nothing comes out.
‘OK, sweetie, let’s do this…’ I grab one of her arms and heave it up over my shoulder and around my neck, holding it in place. I daren’t let go of the vodka bottle and, somehow, I manage to manhandle her to her feet. ‘I told you toget out!’ I yell at the punter, who’s shoving his feet into his trainers, staring at me like I’m a madwoman. He grabs his T-shirt and legs it, leaving me alone with Belle. She’s wobbling like a newborn foal as I help her from the room.
And then, out on the landing, I hear Darren coming up the first flight of stairs from the ground floor, his voice booming out. When I look over the banister rail, I catch sight of his fists clenched down by his sides as he strides up two steps at a time, his face red with rage.
I freeze, staring at him rounding the corner on the landing below us, not knowing which way to turn. Belle is almost a dead weight as she lolls against me, struggling to stay upright. She’s mumbling nonsense now – as though she’s drunk or drugged, or both. There’s no way we’ll make it downstairs without being spotted. That woman, Gail, is arguing with Darren now, and Luba’s voice chimes up from the hall, telling them to keep it down. Vaughn is cussing and banging from the office, his nurse insisting he calm down for the sake of his health. They’re everywhere – all the characters from my worst nightmares playing out in real life. And there’s no escape.
‘What fucking woman?’ I hear Darren boom. He must mean me – Gail has told him that someone is here asking about Belle.
‘Belle, you have to walk. Can you do that?’ I hiss in a whisper, my mouth close to her face. She gives a vague nod, her head wobbling. ‘We need to go up,’ I say, turning her and leading her to the staircase going up to the attic rooms. Another look over the banister rail tells me that Darren is coming up another floor, his rage following in his wake.
I’m breathless and my head feels as though it’s about to explode from effort as we near the top landing – and, oh God, I can barely put one foot in front of the other as I hear echoes from the past as we all ran up and down these stairs countless times a day, sometimes excitedly if we had news, or some money, or booze or drugs, and sometimes we’d be dragging our feet and our bodies would feel heavy, broken and fifty years older than they really were.
Three more steps and we’re on the top landing, where Belle collapses to her knees – partly because I can’t take her weight any more, but mainly because I need to stop Darren getting any closer. For some reason, he’s been waylaid, halting on the floor below, shouting at one of the girls as she comes out of a room in tears.
I pull the lighter from my pocket and tip the bottle of vodka upside down several times to make certain the scarf is drenched. Then I flick the lighter with my thumb…butGod, it takes a few clicks to get a flame and my hands are shaking and I feel like I’m about to throw up…and Darren is thundering upwards again…and…and I light the scarf, almost dropping the whole lot as the virtually invisible flames from the alcohol flare up in front of my face, almost catching my hair…and my vision is blurry and my ears are filled with the sounds of sex and pain and crying and laughter and excited giggles and wailing and fear and…and everything from the past is flooding through me as I hurl the bottle of vodka down the stairwell.
I watch it fall in slow motion.
The shimmering glass catching in the light.
The pale blue iridescent flames billowing out from the scarf.
First, it bounces off the banister rail one floor below, not far from where Darren is standing. He jumps as it makes a sound, then he glares up, catching my terrified stare as we lock eyes.
Then the bottle continues its fall and suddenly there’s a loud smash as it breaks on the hallway tiles below.
At first, I don’t think anything has happened – that there aren’t enough flames, or they’ve gone out or are too faint to see. Maybe there’s nothing to ignite down there and the alcohol is just burning off on the tiles. But then a plume of thick black smoke billows up from below as a coat stand overloaded with garments catches fire. Then Luba appears, swiping furiously at it, but the stand falls over and drops onto the lower stair, trapping her in a fan of flames and forcing her upwards towards Darren. She screams as she runs up the stairs.
I don’t wait any longer. Now is my chance. Someone will put it out – they’ll all be distracted while I get into the attic room with Belle and barricade us in. Then I can call for help.
‘Belle, love, get up, come on!’ I shove my forearms under her armpits and hoist her to her feet and, eventually, she manages to stand and wobble her way with me across the remainder of the landing towards…towards the room where we got ready every night, where we slept, where we laughed and cried and plotted and planned and dreamt and had nightmares…
‘Fucking bitch!’ I hear Darren yell as he thunders up.
Shaking, I force myself to open the door, turning the little brass handle as if it’s for the very first time.
Then I drag Belle inside, screwing up my eyes as I slam the door behind us, leaning back against it as I catch my breath. But there’s no time to waste. Belle has slumped down again, holding her head and sobbing. I need something heavy to keep the door shut tight because Darren will be up at any moment.
Then I see it…a familiar old armchair, its faded brown corduroy cover worn and threadbare from all the spent and exhausted bodies that have sat in it over the years. I go around the other side of it and shove against it hard. It’s big and heavy but it won’t keep Darren out for long. It slides easily across the floor, and I know he’ll be able to push it away from the outside.
Once it’s in place, I haul Belle out of the way, dropping her onto the old sofa under the dormer window. Then I look around for something to keep the armchair in place. And then I see a pair of rubber flip-flop sandals – the soles grubby and worn – discarded by the dressing table.
For a second, I can’t take my eyes off where we used to sit to get ready – it’s the exact same table, with its cracked mirror and make-up-stained white top. I close my eyes for another beat, but then grab the flip-flops, shoving one under each of the two armchair legs to give it some grip on the wooden floorboards.
And then I hear the banging and shouting outside as Darren thumps on the door.
‘You’re dead, bitch!’ he screams, making Belle sit up, suddenly more alert.
‘Mummy?’ she whimpers.
‘It’s OK, love, he can’t get in…’Yet, I think to myself.
And then I see the first traces of smoke billowing in under the door.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
