Page 77 of Wrapped Up at the Vintage Dress Shop
Phoebe tore off her cape and hitched up her skirt so she could leap on to the back of the boat where her bedroom was and beyond that the fuel tank. If the fire reached the fuel tank, then there was no hope.
You had to have hope. Without it, life would be absolutely unbearable.
And for now, there was hope. Phoebe gathered herself, tried to summon all her strength but suddenly there was an arm round her waist, hauling her back from the boat.
‘Phoebe!’ It was Freddy. ‘It’s not safe.’
For one fleeting second, she let herself rest against him, her hand covering his.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for ruining everything.’
‘It doesn’t even matter,’ he mumbled into her hair. ‘It’s not important.’
But some things were important. Some things were a matter of life and death. Even though Phoebe could hear the sound of sirens getting nearer, there wasn’t time.
‘Coco needs me,’ she said and she pulled free of Freddy, using her elbows to knock him down because she knew he’d try and stop her again. Then she jumped onto the side of the boat, clinging on to the rail as she inched along until she reached the stern, where the fuel tank was.
‘Phoebe! Come back!’ Freddy shouted, but he was just one more voice in the crowd that had assembled and who collectively gasped as Phoebe hoisted herself up the side of the boat so she could climb onto the roof where the little vegetable patch was. She lay belly down in the soil so she could lean over the other side of the boat and see into the little window by her bed, which she gazed out of every morning.
Over the sound of people shouting to her, she was sure she could hear Coco. Yes, she could definitely hear Coco barking and she sounded royally pissed off.
Phoebe knocked on the glass. ‘Coco! Get on the bed! On the bed! Please, get on the bed.’
Usually Coco needed help getting up and down from the raised bed; she only had little legs. Phoebe realised that she’d have to break the window to get to Coco. She hoisted herself up so she was standing again and looked around wildly for something heavy that she could aim at the glass.
‘Phoebe! Please come down!’ Freddy shouted. ‘The fire brigade are here now. They’ll get Coco out.’
It was just her. The only person she could rely on was herself. The only person Coco had to rely on too.
Phoebe gathered up the skirt of her dress once more and ripped it in two. Then she wrapped the heavy silk around her hand several times and lay down again, her torso hanging over the side of the boat.
‘Coco! Are you on the bed? I’m here!’
Phoebe took the deepest breath she’d ever taken, clenched her fist then smashed her hand against the window. It tookthree goes before the glass shattered and she could push her upper body through the small window.
Immediately smoke, thick and noxious, swirled around her. Phoebe’s first instinct was to rear back; she could hardly breathe, but she tamped down her fear and blocked out the noise from outside and listened for Coco’s imperious barking.
There was nothing. She was too late. It had all been in vain.
‘Oh, Coco . . .’ Phoebe moaned, smoke curling into her open mouth. But then she felt it. The faintest damp touch against the hand that wasn’t covered in silk, then something warm and furry press against her wrist.
Phoebe grabbed Coco by the scruff of her neck and pulled her through the window, trying to avoid scraping her precious little body against the shards of glass that were still embedded in the window frame.
They lay there for a second, both panting and shaking, Phoebe pressing kisses all over Coco’s face.
‘Phoebe! Please! I am begging you, get off this bloody boat!’ she suddenly heard Freddy shout.
It was hard to move. Phoebe’s limbs felt like lead and she could hardly catch her breath but she managed to crawl over the roof of the boat, cradling Coco to her with one hand. Then she lowered her legs and suddenly there was an arm around her waist again, pulling her and Coco to safety.
Coco wriggled frantically in Phoebe’s arms, panic seizing hold of her, and just as they were pulled to freedom, she felt Coco slip from her grasp. She landed on firm, solid ground at the same time as Phoebe but clearly disorientated the little dog ran haphazardly along the path, until she missed her footing and fell into the murky water.
Phoebe tried to scream but she had no voice left. Before she could gather what little strength she had left, the armsholding her up were gone and Freddy pushed past her, toeing off his shoes so he could dive into the greasy, dark, freezing depths of the canal.
‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ Phoebe wheezed, limping over to where Freddy’s head was bobbing above the water.
‘Phoebe! Are you OK? Of course you’re not OK,’ a voice panted in her ear and then Cress was hugging her tightly, Sophy launched herself at Phoebe from the other side while two men in fancy suits, Charles and Miles, lay down on the bank with their hands outstretched to pull Freddy from the water.
Freddy and Coco. Freddy lay on the path on his back, Coco splayed out on his chest and, over Sophy’s shoulder, Phoebe stared in horror.
