Page 102 of One Step Behind
The sound of sirens echoes down the street. So many sirens and louder now too. A police car turns into the road, followed by the red bulk of a fire engine.
I gasp for air and feel Archie and Beth press their shaking bodies up against me. ‘It’s OK,’ I tell them. ‘You’re OK. You’re going to be OK. I love you,’ I tell them, over and over.
Chapter 61
Jenna, one month later
Bernie’s living room looks the same as the last time I was here. I take a seat on the sofa and stare at the photos of soldiers posing by trucks, and a school boy growing older in each shot. I peer closer, searching for more, like I always do now. The photos on your wall are never far from my thoughts. If only I’d looked closer, searched every photo more carefully, then maybe I’d have seen Sophie in the background on some of them, and Beth and Archie would’ve been spared the trauma she put them through. But I didn’t. I saw what I wanted to see. I saw myself and nothing else.
Memories of that day rise up, smacking into me like an unexpected wave over the sea wall. I feel the shaky relief of holding Beth and Archie in my arms, all of us sobbing. My eyes didn’t leave that front door though, not for a second, watching for Sophie to emerge from the fire. But she never did. DS Church told me later that she barricaded herself in the living room, pushing the furniture against the door beforestarting another fire. The fire crew couldn’t get to her in time.
Then the bustle and noise of the hospital, sounding so alien when it was me who was the patient. I was discharged quickly, but they kept Beth and Archie overnight to monitor them for any smoke damage to their lungs. Stuart and I slept on fold-out beds beside them. I lay awake all night, staring at the polystyrene ceiling tiles as my heart raced and silent tears rolled down my face, thinking of my children and how close I came to losing them.
Only when dawn was breaking and the nurses began moving between the beds, doing the early rounds, did I think of Sophie and the look on her face as I threw myself at her. If I’d waited just one more minute would she have let us go? Would she still be alive too?
Nick found me in the canteen later that morning, as if I’d summoned him with my questions. He looked broken. His muscular frame somehow shrunken by grief and shock. His eyes were red and wet, and when he begged me to tell him what happened, I took my coffee and steered him to a quiet corner table. I told him everything.
I thought he’d break down, cry, sob, crumble beside me. Instead he stood and leaned over me. ‘You’re lying,’ he hissed.
‘Nick, I realize you’re grieving, but I’m not—’
‘I spoke to Rachel,’ he said with a sudden flash of triumph on his face. ‘She told me Sophie was changing her mind. She was going to let you go, but you attacked her. Why couldn’t you have waited?’
‘I … I didn’t know for sure she was going to let us go. She might’ve been trying to buy more time. Therewas smoke everywhere. My children were struggling to breathe and I had to get them out. There wasn’t any time to wait.’
‘You’re the reason she’s dead.’ He jabbed a finger at me, poking it hard into my collarbone. His touch was an electric shock of fear that zipped through my body. ‘She was mine. She was everything to me.’
‘Don’t touch me.’ The words flew out of me, a low growl. The coffee cup was in my hand and I tightened my grip, ready to throw it at him.
His eyes moved to the cup and he stepped back, his face contorted with pain and anger. Diya appeared then, a plate of breakfast in her hands. ‘Everything all right?’ she asked me, glaring at Nick. ‘Do I need to call security?’
I shook my head as Nick took another step away and Diya slid into the seat beside me, her arm wrapping protectively around my shoulders. Nick turned to leave, but not before glaring at me a final time, his eyes ablaze with a fiery hate.
In Bernie’s kitchen, the kettle finishes boiling. I pull in a deep breath, gripping my hands to stop them shaking and focus on why I’m here. I listen to the clink of a spoon and the fridge opening, then closing. My heart jitters when you walk into the room wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans, just like you always wore when I saw you watching. Your casts are off and your hands are full with two mugs; liquid spills from the top.
‘I never leave enough space for milk,’ you mutter.
‘It’s fine.’ I take the mug, careful that my fingers don’t touch yours. I know you’re not who I thought you were, but I’m still a mess seeing you. Coffee runs down the china, dripping brown blotches on the bright yellow of my top.
A silence settles over us. I don’t know how to start.
‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘Getting there. Bernie has been great letting me stay here. He should be back from the shops any minute. He’ll be glad to see you.’
I nod, but I hope I won’t be here long enough to see Bernie.
‘I’m looking for somewhere else to live. I can’t be in that house now.’ His expression hardens. ‘I’m going back to work next week. Just part-time. I still get so tired.’
‘Head injuries are a long road to recovery.’
‘Are you still working at the hospital?’ he asks.
‘No. I’m locuming as a GP now. Better hours for the kids.’
I did try to go back to work, I tried slipping back into my old life, but like a pair of outgrown shoes, I couldn’t make it fit. Suddenly the shifts were too long, the days too stressful, and I worried about Beth and Archie constantly. I thought it would be hard to leave emergency medicine after all the years I put into it, but actually it was easy in the end.
We fall silent. Mr Barnaby strolls into the room. He brushes his soft fur against my leg before jumping on to your lap and purring.
