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It’s a two-story drop to the garden. She knows the minute she opens the window, the gust of oxygen will add fuel to the flames, and she peers through the blackening glass. The lawn is below them, but still. With a freezing frost it could be as hard as concrete.
But stay here, and both of them will almost certainly die.
Coughing uncontrollably now, she pushes the window open. The fresh air is soothing to her lungs, but instantly she hears the roar of the fire gain strength behind her.
Awkwardly, Alice still in her arms, she pulls herself up onto the windowsill. Her legs dangle out into nothing. She looks at her daughter’s face. She can’t tell if Alice is breathing, and panic takes over.
She looks down into the dark.
And jumps.
Her body crumples as she hits the ground, and she collapses onto the cold grass, Alice on top of her. She feels her head hit something hard: the edge of the concrete patio. The adrenaline makes her shake, and she looks up at her house. Every window is lit up, bright red and yellow dancing behind. The living-room bay next to them has smashed, blown outward by the ferocity of the blaze.
She tries to move, but her head spins. She’s dizzy, nauseous, and she lies back on the grass, taking deep gulps of air.
She hears sirens, sees flashing blue lights in the road. People arrive. A man dressed in reflective yellow stands next to her, calling for medical assistance on his radio. She sees ladders, her house swarming with motion.
Her daughter is pulled out of her arms. She grabs at air.
“Where are you taking her?” she gasps as she watches Alice being carried away. A paramedic appears at her side.
“Your daughter’s safe now. We’ll get her to the General—you won’t be far behind.” Jess feels his hands all over her, checking for injuries. “I’ll give you something to take away the pain,” he says.
“I don’t …” she starts, but she’s too tired to argue as the needle is thrust into her arm.
A fireman stands over her.
“Who else is in the house?” he shouts.
“Patrick,” she mutters. “My husband. Front bedroom.”
The message is relayed, and she lies back on the grass. The paramedic is trying to talk to her, but she can’t hear him. She thinks of nothing but her daughter.
A mask is put over her face, a rigid collar fastened around her neck.
She feels the grass in her hair, the damp seeping into her T-shirt. The heat from the fire is replaced by a cold wind as they roll her one way, then the other, onto a stretcher.
Her brain can’t catch up with what just happened: the fire, the speed with which it spread, the flames destroying her house. She wants Patrick. Every part of her wills Alice to be okay. Take me, she thinks. Take everything from me, except my daughter.
The emotion overwhelms her, and she starts sobbing, her tears making clean lines in the black soot on her face. She is carried into an ambulance. A paramedic stays next to her as they head toward the hospital, sirens blaring, and he takes one of her hands in his.
“We’ll be there soon,” he says. His face is kind. Understanding. “Do you need anything else for the pain?”
“No,” she whispers. Everything is numb, she thinks. Her whole world is numb.
CHAPTER
3
Day 2
Tuesday
THE POLICE OFFICER standing at the edge of the cordon looks pale. The day is freezing: the grass crisp with cold, puddles frozen solid. She climbs out of the car. Her breath blows out in smoky plumes; she stamps her feet, trying to keep warm.
Behind her, DS Noah Deakin finishes his cigarette and discards it, stubbing it out with the toe of his shoe.
“Ready?” she asks him, and he nods, his mouth already set in a grim line.
