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I lay the baby on the floor where the smoke is less dense, then lift Ruth onto the chair. “Go,” I instruct her. “Try not to fall, but if you do, there’s grass and soil below.” As far as I remember… “It’ll be easier than when you escaped from me before. Hang from the gutter and drop to the ground.”
She makes no argument, just clambers up to perch astride the sill. “You’ll drop her down?”
“Of course. Now go…”
Sobbing, she scrambles out to kneel on the roof, then wriggles around so her feet are dangling off the edge. She looks back up at me briefly, then jumps.
“Ruth? Are you okay?” I lean out but can’t see her over the edge of the bay window. “Ruth? Ruth?”
“I’m here.” The disembodied voice comes from somewhere below me, the words lost in a fit of uncontrolled coughing. “Jack, come on.”
I grab Morgan and throw her cot blanket around her, then hug her to me. Smoke is billowing under the door when I stumble back to the window. I fling my leg over the sill at the same moment that the bay window below explodes.
I’m thrown back into the bedroom, Morgan still in my arms. I roll across the floor whilst Ruth screams outside. I can barely hear her over the din of the blaze, but I know my intended escape route is gone.
“Right, baby girl.” I stagger to my feet. “Plan B.”
This would be fine if I had a Plan B. I don’t. But we can’t stay here.
I shove the tiny, wailing bundle up my sweatshirt then tuck the waist into my jeans and fasten the button. It’s not especially secure but it gives me two free hands so will have to do for now. I crawl to the door and open it a crack. The heat hits me like a blowtorch.
“It’s just you and me, sweetheart. You’ll have to trust Daddy.” I slither on my side along the floor with the baby tucked in my clothing. The stairs are already engulfed in flames, so I’m heading for my bedroom at the back of the house. I’m praying that the fire downstairs is at the front.
I don’t know what primitive instinct drove me to close the door when I left, but I’m thankful for it now. I crawl inside and close it again. The room is smoky but bearable. I pull Morgan out from within my sweatshirt, then snatch a pillow from the bed to stuff under the door. It does a decent job of keeping any more smoke out.
My phone is still on the table beside the bed. I ponder the merits of taking the few seconds needed to call the fire service and decide it’s worth it because I know Ruth didn’t take a phone with her. I dial nine-nine-nine and bark out the details.
“Fire. Eighty-seven Lingwood Avenue. Two people trapped, one’s a small baby. In the rear bedroom…” I end the call and stuff the phone in my pocket. The rescue services may be on their way, but I won’t be hanging around.
I leave Morgan on the floor for a moment and go back to the door with her cot blanket over my arm. I inch it open, gather my bearings, then make a dash for the bathroom. It takes me just a few precious seconds to soak the blanket with water, then I charge back to where I left my daughter. By the time I’m on my knees beside her, I can hardly breathe, and the smoke is choking the pair of us.
Desperately frightened for the state of her little lungs, I drag myself to the window. It’s already ajar because I like plenty of fresh air when I sleep. That’s lucky, as some of the smoke is escaping outside. I shove it wide and lean out.
There are no helpful roofs or ledges, but there is a drainpipe about three feet to my left. That will have to do. There’s also the kitchen window directly below. Flames are billowing from it, I feel the heat scorching my face. The drainpipe runs alongside the kitchen window, no more than a foot away from the fire.
“Time to go, baby girl.” I wrap Morgan in the wet blanket and shove the wriggling, whimpering bundle back inside my clothes, this time securing her with my belt. I don’t want her slithering out and landing on the concrete below.
I clamber out onto the windowsill and don’t look down. My face plastered against the outside wall, I stretch out my left arm and grasp the drainpipe. I give it a tug. It feels solid, not that that matters overmuch. We’re going this way, whatever, and if it comes to it, I’ll cushion the fall with my body.
In that moment, I realise my sole focus is to get Morgan out of here alive. Her survival is everything.
I stretch out my left leg and find a purchase on one of the brackets securing the pipe to the wall. Good enough. I grasp the pipe with my right hand, then bring my right foot over and start to climb down.
I’ve no idea how long it takes. It feels like hours, but I resist the urge to jump. As long as I have a solid foothold, I’m not taking on gravity as well. Eventually, my bare foot makes contact with the ground. I’m down. I drop to my knees, just as the bedroom window blows out above me.
“Mate. Mate, are you all right?” Strong arms grab me by the shoulders and drag me back across the concrete yard, away from the house. “Fuck, is there anyone else still in there?”
I’m looking up at two men in motor bike leathers and helmets, passers-by who stopped to help. I shake my head. “Just us.”
“Us?” One of the men glances around him while his companion phones for help.
Already, sirens are wailing in the distance.
“I called the fire service,” I wheeze, at the same time extricating Morgan from her soggy haven.
“Hey, dude. Neat.” The motorcyclist grins at the baby and helps me to my feet. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll live.” More to the point, so will my daughter. She’s already screeching her disgust at this recent turn of events, and I’m almost sobbing myself with relief. “There was a woman…”
