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The persistent, shrill ringing of the telephone firmly roused Isabel Devine from her sleep, early on a freezing November morning.
Still half asleep, she fumbled at the empty space beside her, groggily expecting to still feel Ronald lying beside her, until reality hit.
Ronald was gone, had been for almost a year, a realisation that sent a fresh wave of grief lancing through her, tears springing to her eyes.
Coming around, she finally registered the ringing telephone, and reached out to flick on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a warm amber glow.
Glancing at the alarm clock beside it, she noted the time.
3 o’ clock in the morning.
A telephone ringing at the hour usually heralded only one type of news.
That second realisation since waking, sent an jolt of panic through her veins, chasing away any remnant of grogginess
Isabel swung her legs out of bed, seizing her green silk robe from the back of the chair, and swiftly tied it around herself.
Trying desperately to swallow down the rising tide of panic and anxiety rising inside her.
Mind frantically running down the mental check-list of those dearest to her.
Eddie, her son? Alec, her best friend? Richard, her brother?
The mere thought of harm coming to any of them sent a ice cold chill through her heart, especially Eddie, her last living link to Ronald.
Had only just begun to mend their relationship, fractured by their differing ways of grieving their husband and father.
If she lost him....
Quickly pushing the thought from her mind, no sense in thinking like that, Isabel, she inwardly chided herself
Taking the stairs as swiftly as she safely dared, Isabel desperately tried to calm her racing mind, feeling her breathing quicken and palms go clammy.
Steadied herself in the way Ronald had taught her, taking a deep breath in and out, distracting her mind by focusing on the task in hand.
Steady, Izzy. Steady, old girl. Breathe for me, darling.
Isabel can hear Ronald’s calm, quiet voice in her mind, almost as if he were standing there with her.
Wished he was here now, holding her hand.
If wishes were horses...
Reaching the telephone, she reached for the receiver and answered, willing her voice to remain calm.
“Kembleford 743?”
“Mrs. Devine? Isabel?” The warm and familiar voice of Sergeant Goodfellow drifted down the wire, although Isabel detected a note of concern laced in his voice.
“Sergeant Goodfellow...Daniel?” she swiftly corrected herself “How can I help? Is anything the matter?”
A brief moment of tense silence passed between them before the Sergeant spoke again, as if he were debating whether or not to continue.
“It’s the Inspector, Mrs. Devine. I’m rather worried, he’s had a rough time tonight.”
“What’s happened?” Isabel asked, her concern for her friend rising with every moment. Was Alec alright?
“It was the Hartley’s cottage, there was a fire, Bonfire night prank gone awry, firework thrown through the letter box. The Inspector was first on scene...spotted the fire and tried to help but...”
Goodfellow’s voice trailed off and the awkward silence that followed was enough for Isabel to realise the tragedy of the situation.
“Alec’s not badly hurt is he?”
“He’s got some burns to his face and hands, smoke inhalation, I reckon, he’s been coughing up a storm, he’s badly shaken too...won’t admit it though.”
Goodfellow pauses, unsure how to proceed, doesn’t want to unduly worry Isabel, she already has enough on her plate, getting back on her feet after losing her husband.
“The Inspector’s refusing to go to hospital, and I’m worried, especially with the smoke inhalation and burns to his face...it’s just asking for trouble. I’ve tried but he keeps pulling rank, telling me to leave him alone.”
Isabel took in the information, using her own medical training to assess the situation.
Daniel was right about the danger of the smoke inhalation and burns, the two combined could potentially be very serious, perhaps even fatal if his respiratory system was affected.
Oh Russell, you stubborn old fool...
Isabel thought to herself, typical of Alec to dig his heels in, to try and power through.
Well, she was damned if she was going to bury him too, because of his own pig-headedness, thinking he was invincible.
“Where is Alec now, Daniel? Still at the station?”
“That’s right, I made him stay put, so I could keep an eye, didn’t want him going home alone. I’m sorry to disturb you, Isabel but if anyone can persuade the Inspector it’s you.” Goodfellow added apologetically.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll come and see what I can do, drag him to the hospital myself if I have to!”
“Thank you, I appreciate it, Isabel. I’ll tell him you’re on the way.”
“You’re welcome, Daniel. I’ll be there in ten minutes once I’ve got dressed.” Isabel replied with a determined air, before exchanging farewells with Goodfellow and heading back upstairs to get changed.
I’m on my way, Alec, and you’re going to let me look after you. You’re my best friend and I’m damned if I’m going to lose you too, because of your stubbornness.”
Isabel defiantly thinks to herself almost as if she could send those thoughts directly to Alec’s mind.
_________________________________________
Russell sits in his office, chair inclined away from the door, blankly staring at the dark blue wall of his office.
Desperately trying to will away the memories of the evening’s events, horrific and brutal in their intensity.
They won’t stop.
Endlessly running through his mind like a macabre film reel.
Except this is reality.
Terrifying and tragic reality.
The harsh red-glow of flames, like the very gates of hell, scorching even at a distance, the agony of the flesh of his hands and face searing with the intense heat as he’d tried to gain entry, felt like being burnt alive in the Atlantic all over again, the terrified screams of the cottage’s occupants, the sickening smell that had hung in the air...
Russell only just has enough time to lean forward before the contents of his stomach empties forcefully into the wastepaper basket with a harsh, wrenching retching.
Bent double for a moment, panting and coughing in equal measure as he recovers, he can’t stop shaking.
Some policeman he is, reduced to a quivering, pathetic mess.
His jacket lies abandoned in a corner, charred beyond recognition by his attempts to use as a shield over his head, to enter the house, before he’d been beaten back by the flames on his second attempt.
Holds his hands out in front of him, observing the red, blackened burns pocking both the palms and backs of his hands, small collections of blisters already forming.
The very hands that had carried the silent, still body of the youngest Hartley girl, Alice, only three or four, thankfully untouched by the ferocity of the fire onto the dusty road beside the cottage, away from danger.
Remembered once slipping the young girl one of his humbugs on meeting her and her mother in the street one afternoon, not long ago.
Russell had known instantly there was nothing he could do for her, smoke inhalation most probably, a bloody horrible way to go, but a lesser evil than the flames reaching her.
Hopes it would have been quick, that little Alice wouldn’t have known a thing about it, that she hadn’t suffered.
Merciful in an oddly cruel way, considering the fate of her parents and elder sister.
Cradled the young girl in his arms, kneeling in the dust of the road, singing some gentle lullaby he’d once sung to his own daughter, soothing her even though she could no longer hear him.
What a bloody, futile waste!
A entire family wiped out in a matter of seconds, by a firework shoved through the letterbox.
No doubt some yob’s sick idea of a prank.
The firemen would have the unenviable job of recovering the bodies of Alice’s parents and sister in the cold, harsh light of day.
Was there something he could have done differently?
Why hadn’t he been quicker?
Had he hesitated too long?
Perhaps if he’d been able to get further in?
Was it his fault?
Guilt courses through Russell, bitter and sharp, and he can feel his breathing growing ragged, the corners of his vision beginning to blacken, moves mechanically over to the corner of the room.
Wedges himself firmly between the wall and the fireplace.
Body quivering uncontrollably, scorched hands tucked into his armpits, the dam of suppressed emotion finally breaking with great, gulping sobs as he rests his forehead on his bent knees.
Pressing the seared flesh of his right cheek hard into the rough plaster of the wall, pain lancing through him from the movement.
Pain he thoroughly deserved.
Should have done more.
Isabel gently inched the door to the Inspector’s office open, expecting to be greeted by Alec’s gruff protests to leave him alone.
But there was no sign of him, or so she thought.
Until she rounded the desk and saw a sight that almost broke her heart.
Alec, almost curled into a ball, sobs wracking his large frame, as he crouched, wedged between the window and fireplace.
Hasn’t seen him like this since those dark days after his wife, Hazel and Eleanor, his youngest daughter had been killed in a direct hit on their house during the Blitz, leaving no bodies to bury, or a grave to visit.
Looks so small and vulnerable Isabel can hardly believe it’s really Alec.
“Oh, my darling man” The endearment slips out before Isabel has even realised she’s said it, as she crouches beside him, hand extended but not quite touching.
Not yet.
Doesn’t want to startle Alec, unsure if he’s experiencing one of his flashbacks, even though every instinct is screaming at her to hold him.
So she bides her time.
Eventually Alec inclines his head, revealing the red searing of burns to the right side of his face, especially severe on his cheek, meets Isabel’s eyes.
His own, wild and unseeing, blue depths made even more vivid by the soot caking his face, tears descending in pale rivulets through the dirt as his sobs began to quiet.
Head laid on his knees, completely exhausted, Alec can barely muster the energy to speak.
“Bel?” The old nickname comes out more as a plea than a question.
“I’m here, Alec.” Isabel reassures, taking this as a hint to at least move slightly closer to him.
Placing the first aid tin down on the worn wood of the desk, she takes a moment to assess the situation, can see the red, blackened burns on Alec’s hands, knows they will need washing and dressing.
Moves back towards the door, opening it slightly, leaning her head out to address Goodfellow.
“Daniel, could I have a basin of clean, warm water please? I’m going to wash and dress Alec’s burns, make a start at least.”
Goodfellow nodded, while his brows still knit with concern for the Inspector, felt more at ease knowing Mrs. Devine was with him.
A practical woman, skilled in first aid from her ambulance driving days, she would at least be able to make a start in treating the Inspector’s injuries.
After that, they would work on trying to persuade Russell to get checked over at hospital, the Sergeant suspecting that if anyone could persuade him it would be Isabel.
The Inspector had a definite soft spot for her, rarely refused her anything, a consequence of their long and rather close friendship, they were devoted to each other in their own unique way.
“Of course, Mrs. Devine. I’ll see to it myself.”
“Thank you, Daniel.” Isabel replies, with a reassuring smile before turning back to the office.
Moving back to Alec, unable to resist the urge to run her fingers through his sandy hair, in an effort to comfort him.
Her heart aching as he leans into her touch, grounding himself in it.
“Come on, Alec, let’s get you more comfortable.”
Isabel moves to take his arm, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, avoiding touching the reddened seared skin on his hands.
Alec’s war wounded leg locks after being in the same position for so long, and he stifles a low groan of pain as he eases himself down into his chair.
Isabel carefully and methodically lays out the gauze and ointments needed to wash and dress his hands.
The ragged way Alec is breathing concerns her, unsure whether it’s a consequence of his emotional distress or the smoke inhalation.
Sergeant Goodfellow quietly enters the room with a gentle tap on the door that neither Alec or Isabel notice, carrying a porcelain bowl of water and several clean cloths.
“Thank you, Daniel.” Isabel acknowledges him, with a reassuring smile, as he places the bowl carefully down on the desk, next to the gauze and ointments.
Goodfellow simply nods, uncertain of himself, not wanting to intrude in the privacy of the moment.
“Shall I call for an ambulance?” he suggests.
“No! No ambulance...no hospital. I’m alright!” Russell rasps harshly, the ferocity of his response surprising both Isabel and Goodfellow.
Instantly regrets the action, his smoke irritated throat protesting.
Setting off a violent bout of coughing, leaving him almost bent double, panting as his head lolls limply against Isabel’s shoulder.
Isabel’s hand automatically finds the back of his sandy hair, stroking it gently, tears of concern and frustration burning behind her eyes.
Goodfellow quietly slips out of the room, sensing that they need to be alone, despite his own growing concern.
“Let me take care of you, Alec.” The request is more of a plea, her voice ragged with emotion.
Russell’s heart aches at the vulnerability in Isabel’s plea and he presses his forehead more firmly into her shoulder in silent acknowledgment.
“Should have been quicker...done more...gone in again, could have saved them.”
The self-recrimination in Alec’s voice almost broke Isabel’s heart.
“You did what you could, Alec.” Isabel adds, taking his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.
“Wasn’t enough though, was it?”
Isabel has no answer to that, gently rubbing her thumbs over Alec’s soot covered cheeks in an effort to comfort him, before turning her mind back to practicalities.
“Will you at least let me wash and dress these burns? It’ll help you feel more comfortable?”
Alec nods his acceptance as Isabel dips one of the cloths into the basin, wringing it out before tenderly beginning to clean the burns on his palms.
Apologising with a wince of her own as Alec hisses sharply in pain as she applies the ointment.
“I’m sorry, Bel, didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“Don’t you dare apologise, we’ve seen each other in worse scrapes. We’ve always taken care of each other, haven’t we?”
Alec nods, wincing as Isabel tightens the bandage around his left hands.
“Bit tight, Devine!” he attempts a joke, seeing for the first time just how concerned Isabel is for him.
“Which of us is the ex-ambulance driver, Russell? Fully trained in first aid thank you!” Isabel shoots back with a slight chuckle.
“Point taken!” Alec adds, with a shadow of his usual grin.
“Now will you humour your best friend, and get checked out at the hospital. For me?” Isabel asks, engaging in a little underhanded emotional blackmail. “No need for an ambulance, I’ll take you in Hercules.”
“Alright, Bel, you win. I’ll go, would you stay with me please, you don’t have to but...” Alec trails off, unsure of what he’s trying to say.
“I want to, Alec.” Isabel replies, finishing dressing his right hand.
“Thank you, Bel. You always take good care of me.”
“Somebody has to, you stubborn man.” Isabel fondly chides him. “Ready to go?”
Alec nods “Lead the way, Bel.”
Offering her his arm, somehow deep down sensing Isabel needs her own reassurance that he’s safe and well, knows her fear of losing those she cares for, especially since Ronald died.
Perhaps in his own way, he needs her reassurance too, even if he’s too proud to admit it.