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It was dark in the room when my phone began to ring.
Confused, I looked at the time as I answered it. Eleven-thirty.
It was Nash and he sounded drunk, and I was about to hang up on him when I heard the words,fire in the summerhouse... all your paintings...
‘What? Nash?’ I sat up in bed, fumbling for the bedside light switch. He was clearly drunk. ‘What are you saying?’
I’d started using Nash’s summerhouse in the garden as a sort of art studio. I painted my watercolours in there and Nash had had many of them framed and put up on the walls.
‘The summerhouse is on fire. I called the fire brigade,’ he said more distinctly, and my heart leapt into my mouth. Hearing the sirens coming closer, I scrambled out of bed and started pulling on my clothes, the phone still to my ear. ‘Nash? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, yes. I’m fine. I don’t know how it started... I went in there after you left...’
‘You went into the summerhouse?’
‘Yes. I was... just sitting looking at your watercolours, having a drink.’
‘So you were in there when the fire started?’
‘No. No, I saw it was ablaze from the window when I was going to bed.’
‘So how did it start?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Were you smoking in there?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose I was. Maybe I dropped a lit ciggy... I really don’t know, Rori.’
‘Right, I’m coming over.’
Janey was awake, having heard me talking urgently on the phone, and I explained what had happened as I headed for the door.
‘I’ll come with you. Or Lance? He’s just back from the pub.’ She called through to Lance. ‘A fire’s started in Nash’s summerhouse.’
‘Really? Was it an accident?’
‘I suppose so. Well, it wouldn’t bedeliberate, would it?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s fine, Janey. I’ll be okay myself. I just want to make sure... you know...’
‘Yes, okay. Well, here’s a key. Just let yourself in when you come back, okay? And phone me if you need anything.’
I called out my thanks and dashed to the car, thankful I hadn’t got drunk as Janey had suggested I should. I was perfectly clear-headed, although my mind was whirling with confusion, wondering how on earth the fire could have started.
As I drove, I thought about what Lance had said.Was it an accident?
If Nash had started the fire with a stray ciggy, it must have been an accident. There’s no way he’d ever have started itdeliberately.
But hewasvery angry with me for leaving. Could he have started the fire out of spite, to destroy all my watercolours?
I shook my head to get rid of the thought.
No, no. He would never do that. Would he?
The scene when I got there was heart-breaking. The pretty summerhouse had practically burned to the ground, and all that remained of my paintings were half a dozen that apparently had been saved. They were propped forlornly against the neighbour’s wall, so I rescued them and retreated to my car which was parked at a distance, and I sat there staring at the chaos. It was all so awful.
But at least Nash was all right.
