Читать книгу The 1,000-year-old Boy - Ross Welford, Ross Welford - Страница 25

We didn’t evacuate in the end. Slowly the chaos in the street died down. One by one, the cars left. The ladder on the fire engine was retracted.

The smell of woodsmoke hung about and the air smelt like the leftovers of a huge Guy Fawkes bonfire.

As the sky in the east started to lighten, the Chief Fire Officer (who had two stripes on his helmet – the only thing I remember from a trip to the fire station in Reception Class) was making his way around the groups of neighbours who had not yet gone inside.

Roxy had wheeled her mum back inside. I hadn’t spoken with her any more (and hadn’t really wanted to).

Dad was drinking from a mug of tea and had made one for the fireman who had been up the ladder. I don’t think they noticed me sitting on the step behind them.

‘… Can happen so easily, mate,’ the fireman was saying and he slurped his tea thirstily. ‘One spark, dry conditions, bit of a breeze, y’know?’

‘Was anyone hurt?’ said Dad, as if he could read my mind. The fireman took another sip and looked thoughtful.

‘I’m not really supposed to say until it’s official, but, well …’ He paused, and Dad didn’t prompt him. ‘It’s not gonna help him now, is it?’

Him? Did he just say ‘him’? My heart plummeted.

‘Or her, I suppose,’ he continued. ‘Anyways … one body that we know of. We don’t even know who lived there yet. We couldn’t get the trucks down the lane, and the hoses weren’t long enough. They never stood a chance.’

They? Was that ‘they’ as in ‘he or she’ or ‘they’ as in … I was confused and tired, and didn’t know what to think.

Dad tutted and shook his head. ‘Dreadful way to go.’

‘They’re all bad if you’re not ready. But this? Probably quicker than most. You suffocate long before you burn.’ He smiled as if this was encouraging, but I was still unbelievably sad. I rested my forehead on my knees and felt myself wanting to cry. I think I made a slight sobbing noise in my throat because it made Dad and the fireman look down. The fireman spoke and his gentle Geordie accent was reassuring.

‘Ha’way, son. Time you got some sleep, eh? It’s bin a hell of a night!’

I stood up and gave a stiff nod and I felt a tear run down each cheek. I wiped them on my sleeve.

‘It’s … it’s the smoke. It’s got in my eyes,’ I said, though I don’t know why.

‘Aye. It does that. We all get it,’ he said and patted my shoulder. ‘Have a shower, son. You’ll feel better and you won’t smell it.’