Had she been running away from things? Had she not cared about saving their marriage? Had she neglected both Declan and Charlie? Declan had obviously decided that she had done those things. Kate was not so sure. Nonetheless, it had taken the packing of his suitcase for her to realise there was no running away from feelings. They always catch up with you. He’d packed his suitcase and left them, without even telling her where he was going, probably a hotel room, an empty hotel room, anywhere other than being with her. At least she had taken some action and cancelled work at Ocean House for the next few days. She needed time to think, time to work it all out.
The wind outside was building up. Her mind felt blank, tired. Then a sound from out back stirred her, a noise like smashing glass, and something falling. Kate walked over to the back window. A black cat was on the fire escape, the sensor light was broken again. She stood at the window, thinking about how even the apartment sounded different now it was just the two of them.
Huddled on the couch, the darkness and the wind reflected her mood, like she was out in the wilderness, the howl of nature the only thing making any sense. If it rained now, it would be a relief. She wasn’t in the mood for tears. Tears were for long after. Right now, she needed to stop running, to stop everything. It’s a funny thing, loneliness, the way it creeps up on you. One minute everything is such a rush, people are everywhere, and then you are right back to just you. Kate had no desire for morning, nor any wish to set a clock, or be anywhere other than where she was. Tonight was all about being still. Tomorrow would bring its own answers.
Cronly Lodge
Monday, 10 October 2011, 9.00 a.m.
OLLIE HAD NO IDEA WHY WILLIAM CRONLY HAD A photograph of the girl who was killed in the fire, or why he had any of the other stuff either, but he was pretty sure that whatever the answer was, he wasn’t going to like it.
Standing at the gateway of the Lodge, looking up at the old building with its curtains drawn, his mind went back again to that summer.
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Ollie hadn’t been working at Beachfield long when the fire happened. A bloody awful affair. The girl’s mother was a right lunatic. He had caught her roaming about the caravan site a couple of nights before it happened. Up to no good she was, parading around the place when all other decent folk were in their beds. He hadn’t had a good night poaching, so his mood wasn’t good when he came upon her. Cheeky as anything, she even questioned him about his gun, like he was the one requiring interrogation.
The day the blaze took hold, at first he thought it was vandals, and he had cursed his bad luck. If that blaze had really got going, it could have taken the whole bloody caravan park with it. He raised the alarm as best he could, banging his fists on caravans and mobile homes on his way. Within seconds there were men running for the water hose, looking for anything to fill up with water.
When he reached the caravan, the door was locked, so he went back for the main set of keys. Although it was a bit of a struggle, he got the door open. The smoke caught him in the chest, forcing him to stand back in an effort to clear his lungs. He knew the caravan was occupied. The family had already been there for nearly a week. Covering his nose and mouth with his jacket, he crawled on his hands and knees under the smoke in the living area. When he pushed through to the back room, he saw the woman and the girl. The mother was the nearest one to him. He grabbed her, managing to get out before the flames went shooting through from the bedroom. By the time he’d got out with the woman, others, including her husband, had arrived. It didn’t take long for the man to work out that his daughter was still trapped inside.
Everything happened so fast. Within seconds of Ollie getting the wife out, the thing turned into an inferno. The heat was intense, forcing them all back. The roar of the fire was like nothing Ollie had ever heard, like an angry beast that kept on exploding with rage. The water hose wasn’t much use either. Some of the men did their best to pour water on the thing, but their efforts fast became useless. The father of the girl went mental. It took all Ollie’s strength to hold him back. Ollie was a big man, but the girl’s father was having none of it and he managed to get loose seconds before the fire cracked out the glass. As the flames roared into the black smoke, there was an explosion, knocking the father off his feet. When the gas cylinder at the back blew, Ollie grabbed hold of him again. By then, the man must have known his daughter was beyond saving. He could still see that look of blind acceptance on the father’s face, looking over at his wife, and then back to the flames. There was something about how the woman stood, her skin blackened by the smoke, her eyes wild, that made her look as guilty as hell.
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