Читать книгу The 1,000-year-old Boy - Ross Welford, Ross Welford - Страница 26

I woke up at ten o’clock and spent a few minutes staring out of Libby’s bedroom window. The sky was a clear light blue with no clouds, and there were a few lone wisps of smoke rising from beyond the trees. I opened the window and there was still a faint smell of burning wood.

Downstairs the local TV channel was showing pictures of firemen and people in white overalls standing by the burnt-out shell of a building. And by ‘burnt-out’ I mean it was just a few blackened walls and a doorway, and half of an upper floor supporting a bit of roof. I could make out the remains of a table and some other furniture, and the camera showed close-ups of some burnt books, a stone sink, a bookshelf and a picture hanging wonkily on the wall.

‘… blaze was well established by the time firefighters arrived on the scene. The secluded house, parts of which are believed to date back to the eighteenth century, was completely destroyed in the inferno, which the fire service spokesperson described as one of the worst house fires she had ever seen.’

Chief Fire Officer Harry Oxley: ‘We have recovered one body from the scene which has been removed for forensic examination. I cannot say more than that at the moment.’

Reporter: ‘Can you say what started the fire?’

CFO Oxley: ‘At this moment in time, we are pursuing all avenues of enquiry, but there is nothing at present that indicates foul play.’

Reporter: ‘The fire spread to other parts of the woods, and locals from the nearby Delaval Estate were warned they might have to evacuate …’

At this point, the picture cut to our street, and there I was, gazing up at the fireman on the ladder. Normally I’d have gone, ‘Dad! Dad! I’m on telly!’ but I didn’t. I just watched in glum fascination as the reporter finished her piece.

‘… finally brought under control shortly before dawn. The area has been cordoned off while fire and police investigators try to establish both the cause of the fire and the identity of the unfortunate victim. This is Janey Calvert in Whitley Bay for North Today.’

When I heard BANG BANG BANG on the window, I jumped so hard I spilt milk on the sofa. It was Roxy.

‘Still in your pyjamas?’ she said, her high voice muffled by the glass. ‘See you in the garage in ten minutes. It’s important.’