“It’s not my cup of tea,” I said, loyalty struggling with honesty, “but I’m not a qualified critic of the arts. I don’t think we fully appreciate modern art, such as the pictures Gus paints.”
Daniel snorted as he picked up his glass and took a long swig of beer. “Well, good for them. At least they’re enjoying themselves and staying out of mischief with that damned suffrage movement.”
“Sid wanted to know if policemen ever got time off to travel,” I said. “She and Gus want us to join them.”
“Travel to Paris? On a policeman’s salary?” Daniel laughed. “Those women have no idea what it’s like to live in the real world.”
I chose not to add that Gus had offered to pay my way if necessary. That would only insult Daniel’s pride.
“I’m rather glad they’re away for a while, to tell the truth,” he said. “It gives you a chance to concentrate on your husband and son, and not get any more silly ideas in your head.”
“Daniel Sullivan, don’t you dare talk to me like that,” I said angrily. “I think it’s just grand to be a wife and mother, but I’ll get all the silly ideas I want, thank you very much.”
He laughed again. “I love it when you’re angry. Actually I was afraid you were becoming too docile of late. Not the wild Molly from Ireland I first fell in love with.”
“If you say any more patronizing things to me, you’ll still find me wild enough, I’ll warrant,” I said, giving him a challenging stare that made him laugh all the more. I came around the table to him and he grabbed my wrist, drawing me down toward him. “And I wouldn’t mind a good wrestle either,” he said, his face now inches from mine. “I’ve been so damned preoccupied that we’ve hardly had a good.…”
Suddenly there was the sound of breaking glass somewhere at the front of the house. Daniel and I broke apart and were on our feet instantly. “What the hell—” Daniel started to say as he made for the hallway. He had just reached the kitchen door, with me hot on his heels, when there was a tremendous boom. A great blast flung me off my feet, sucking all the air out of my lungs. As I was hurled backward I got an impression of a wall of flame, hurtling toward me before I crashed into the wall, hitting my head. Stars flashed before my eyes as a wave of pain came over me and I think I might have passed out. When I came to my senses I was lying with debris on top of me. My ears were ringing, my head swimming, and I was still fighting to breathe. I pushed a chair and what felt like big chunks of plaster from me and staggered to my feet. The air was so thick with smoke and dust that I found it hard to make out where I was.
I felt the edge of the kitchen table, solid pine and still standing, and moved around it. In the darkness I could hear the crackle of flame but no other sound. Somewhere in that black and smoking hell were my husband and son.
“Daniel!” I tried to shout but my voice came out rasping, like a bird’s caw. I pushed my way forward. “Daniel!” I tried again. The light from the fire, or maybe from the streetlamp outside, cast an unreal glow through the thick smoke. Where the hallway had been was now a pile of smoking rubble, and beneath it I spotted Daniel’s foot. With utter desperation I threw off one chunk of plaster after another, pieces of glass, pieces of what had once been the hallstand, a hook with my new hat still attached to it.
“Daniel.” I dropped to my knees beside him and turned him over. His face was blackened, like a chimney sweep’s, with a nasty gash across his forehead. His jacket had been torn away and his shirt ripped. I lifted him gently and cradled his head in my hands. “Daniel, wake up, please.”
I took his wrist and was relieved to feel a pulse. Still alive then. Must get him free of all this. Out of here. I dragged him back into the kitchen and opened the back door, letting in cold fresh air. I couldn’t wait a second longer to see if he was going to wake up. All I could think about was Liam. He’d been upstairs in his crib, in his nursery at the front of the house. As I tried to pick my way over the rubble in the hall I heard coughing behind me, a curse and a groan. Daniel was sitting up, his hand to his chest, trying to breathe.
“Daniel.” I rushed back to him. “Get up. Help me. Liam’s upstairs. It’s all on fire.”
He staggered to his feet. “Liam,” he gasped and came after me. We made our way down the hall, staggering like two drunks on a Saturday night. When we reached the place where the stairs should have been there was just a gaping hole with the upper steps hanging crazily over nothing.
“My son’s up there!” I screamed, my voice coming back to me now. “And Aggie. Aggie!” I shouted her name. The only reply was the crackle of flames and the shifting of some beam.
“Get help,” I tugged at his arm. “Get the fire brigade. A ladder.”