Page 52

Chapter 51

2000

Anna

Hot tears pour down my cheeks and pool in the collar of my nightie. I cover my ears while my brother slips his hand over my mouth as we remain hidden under the bed. I feel him shaking just as much as me. Nothing happens for the longest time, until the door is suddenly thrown open again, and Mum’s shrill screams echo throughout the room as she’s dragged into the lounge. I’m so scared I pee myself.

A man’s muffled voice shouts at her, demanding she tells him where something is. And then there’s a second banging sound, much louder than the last because the door is still open.

I pull my hands from my ears just in time to hear a thump on the ground and, soon after, feet running down the stairs and more bangs, one after the other. And there are voices too. People are still out there. A few moments pass as I hear them moving around and then two strong, familiar smells arrive in the bedroom: white spirits, which Mum used when she decorated the lounge last Easter, and the fluid Dad uses to fill his cigarette lighter.

Suddenly a tin falls to the floor and bounces under the bed. A pair of knees press into the carpet. A hand enters our safe space and fingers fumble round for it. Finally a face appears. Her surprise mirrors ours.

Our eye contact holds for only a few fleeting seconds, but it’s long enough for me to take in every inch of her, imprinting it into a memory before she scrambles to her feet. A handful of seconds pass and the lighter fluid falls once again, only this time, the flame is clearly visible. We watch helplessly as line after line of fuel spreads across the floor in zigzagging ribbons.

I’m petrified, caught somewhere between fear and fire. Meanwhile, my brother pushes himself backwards under the bed to make his escape, grabs me by the ankle and drags me out, the friction from the carpet burning my thighs and belly as my nightie rises. The duvet and curtains are already well ablaze by the time he hauls me through the room and into the fiery lounge. We have no choice but to navigate our way through the flames or die. We cough and splutter as the acrid smoke fills our lungs until we’ve almost reached the door leading to the stairs.

Disorientated, I trip over an object on the floor, my nose taking the brunt of the impact. Blood trickles down my throat as I turn to discover Mum’s body. The orange and yellow flames threatening us reflect in a line of blood originating at a dark hole in the middle of her neck.

Before I can scream again, my brother is pulling me back towards the staircase. It’s only then he realises the lower part of my nightie is ablaze, so he grabs a coat from a hook and holds it over the flames to snuff them out. Then he carries me in his arms as he runs the length of the stairs, stumbling down the final few and sending us both into a crashing heap.

I just about struggle to my feet, but he remains on the floor, dazed and coughing more intensely than me. I try to help him as he helped me, but he is far too big for a six-year-old to shift. I’m struggling to breathe, but the adrenaline must have quashed the pain from my burns as I stumble to open the back door and draw in as much air as my scorched lungs will allow. I’m preparing to return to him when two police patrol officers appear from nowhere. I frantically tell them my brother is behind me and my parents are upstairs, but they only reach as far as him, carrying his unconscious body to safety.

I watch him being laid on his back as they desperately try to revive him, their large hands pressing down hard upon his chest over and over again until one exchanges a solemn glance with the other, then shakes his head.

If my brother is dead, I want to be dead too.