The Loom (44 page)

Maud and Alf turned and ran back into the kitchen, slamming the door behind them. Beattie and Jenny had just come down stairs for their cup of tea.

‘
Get out of here,’ Alf yelled. Jenny dropped a cup she was holding and Beattie stood up quickly and knocked the teapot off the table.

‘What’s the matter…’ she began.

‘Fire,’ Maud and Alf yelled simultaneously as they disappeared out of the back door. Jenny and Beattie followed like a flash. They ran out of the back door and around to the front of the house. When they looked up thick smoke was billowing out of the upstairs windows.

The town was slumbering, somnolent in the aftermath of a balmy day. The streets were deserted except for a few children playing hopscotch. Tea time is early in Harwood, usually bread and butter, pickled pork or pressed tongue, or very occasionally, cold lamb. Also pickles, tomatoes and usually a dessert (trifle quite often). The main meal of the day is eaten at lunch.

Leah had made pressed tongue, something she hadn’t done in years. Her mother would be surprised (she was not wrapped up in cooking like Emma, had never swapped a recipe in her life or discussed how to make the best parkin). They’d have it for tea, just the three of them, because Stephen was having his tea or ‘dinner’ as Raymond had put it, at the Hall. Emma would appreciate the tongue because she wouldn’t feel like cooking after travelling all that way back from Blackpool.

She looked at her watch. Five fifteen! Stephen and Raymond would be at the Hall by now so she could safely go to Glebe Street without fear of confronting Raymond. She couldn’t face him after yesterday! It was no good crying over spilt milk (her mother again) and when you made your bed you had to lie in it (ditto). She cringed when she thought of lying in bed with Walter. No, never, not that, anything but that. She’d sent Raymond away but she also knew she couldn’t carry on with Walter. That was finished as well!

She covered the tongue (in a dish) with a towel and put it in a basket. She locked the front door and made her way down the garden path and onto Belmont Road.

The field was filled with hazy light, the sky a clear blue, birds winging their way towards the smudge of mauve-grey, which was the Pennines. The sky had lost the glare of midday. She lifted her face to it, to the scraps of chiffon cloud streaming across one section, the beginning of gold where the sun would eventually begin to dip. There was a slight breeze, which cooled her face and made her dress billow. Walter would be at her mother’s by now, boring her to death probably. She was well aware what her mother thought of Walter. Poor Walter! He did so want to be popular but he was so humourless most of the time.

When she crossed the Square she glanced into her shop window and felt an odd sensation. The dress, arranged so tastefully, was slowly dissolving before her eyes and instead there was a man in a striped apron brandishing a long knife as he prepared to cut up what looked like a pink foetus but which was, in fact, a rabbit. As she watched he brought the knife down with a huge thunk and the rabbit was split in two. She noticed that the striped apron he wore was all bloody. He was talking to a woman who stood behind the counter watching him. The woman wore a long dress (brown), neat brown boots (very shiny), a poke bonnet and she wore white lace gloves. The woman was saying something to the butcher, whose knife, catching the glint of the sun through the window, looked as though it was on fire.

Terrible what happened at
the Hall
, the woman was saying.

Would that be Hyndburn, Leah wondered and shook her head, the scene slowly fading and there was her creation of white chiffon with the hand-painted roses she’d copied from her own dress she’d worn to Blackpool so many years before. She must be going mad! Seeing butchers with knives aprons covered in blood and a woman in a poke bonnet in her own shop, for heaven’s sake! They’d be committing
her
soon!

She hurried on and turned down the Co-op into Glebe Street. The sudden scream of a siren made her stop in surprise. She didn’t think she’d ever heard the siren before because she couldn’t remember there ever being a fire in Harwood. Not in her lifetime, anyway! She’d heard horrific tales of fires in mills before the new laws were enforced. She quickened her step, noticing that people were standing on their doorsteps. Her mother, Christine and Walter were standing outside number five. When Emma saw Leah she waved, although there was something in the wave that made Leah’s heart miss a beat. Something frantic in it! She began to run and the dish with the tongue slithered around in the basket, banging against its sides. A cold hand clutched!

‘There’s a fire at the Hall, Leah,’ Emma said as soon as Leah was within hearing distance. ‘Now don’t get upset,’ she continued when she saw Leah’s face change from red with running, to pasty white.

‘A fire,’ Leah repeated, a sudden fear seizing her. A fire at the Hall and Stephen was there. Raymond and Stephen!

‘Now don’t get all het up, Leah,’ Walter said, putting his hand on her arm.

‘Mam, Stephen’s at the Hall. Will he be all right?’ Leah heard the fear in Christine’s voice, which echoed like a gong in her own.

She thrust the basket at her mother and without a word brushed past them and began to run. As she ran the full impact of that word (fire) really hit her. Smack! Like a punch in the face. She could hear voices calling to her as she ran. Faster and faster, she wanted to sprout wings to get her there quicker. That was her driving need, to get to the Hall as quickly as possible.

Down St. Hubert’s road she went, unaware that she was moaning aloud as she ran, past the church, flying down Princes Road and then over the Cock Bridge and across the meadow. Now she was in the lane leading to the huge gates of Hyndburn and she could smell the smoke. Beyond the trees she saw huge billowing black clouds against the blue of the sky. The acrid smell filled her nostrils. Mixed with the bitter taste, was that of fear.

She sped through the gate and up the long, winding drive, her mad pace kicking up the gravel. Sweat poured out of her, running into her eyes, stinging, dripping off the end of her chin. She was drowning in her own sweat and fear.

When she turned the last bend and came upon the house she cried out loud. It was engulfed, flames licking around the windows, the smoke giant mushrooms billowing from the rooftops.

The fire brigade was there and men who had come to help. She pushed her way through calling Stephen’s name, but her words came out in a croak after all the running. Then the crowd fell back with a gasp as windows burst with the heat.

Constable Huxtable ordered people to get back.

Leah’s heart pounded in her chest as though it would burst. Then she saw him standing next to Jessica Townsend. She thought she’d faint with relief, swayed for a moment.

‘Stephen!’

He turned as he heard his name. Leah almost collapsed onto him, clasping him to her. He struggled against her tight grip.

‘I’m all right, Mam.’

‘Raymond?’

‘They’re still in there, George and Raymond.’ Jessica’s voice was tight as she stared intently at the burning house.

Raymond suddenly appeared at the window of the upper story. A shout went up from the spectators. He threw out a knotted sheet. Then he helped his father over the sill and some of the watching men rushed forward to catch him as he fell the last few feet. Raymond watched until his father reached safety and then he, too, climbed out, the room he was so hastily vacating now a giant fireball, lapping the windowsill as he let himself down. The flames ate through the sheet as he was halfway down. He yelled as he fell.

Leah rushed forward as Raymond collapsed on the ground.

George and Jessica followed her.

She was in a time warp again. It was a nightmare of the past, a re-enactment of the scene with Stephen when they’d come off the bike. She put her hand out to touch the man lying prostrate. If this was to be her life then she didn’t want it. This repetition of disaster was driving her mad. Raymond’s face was blackened by the smoke, hair singed. She saw the pulse beating in his neck like a delicate bird. She began to sob with relief. At least he wasn’t dead. Her tears plopped onto his cheek.

He opened his eyes, staring blankly at her for a moment. Then he smiled. It was as if the whole world smiled at her. Then, unbelievably, he winked (only Raymond would have thought to do this after what he’d been through, she thought later).

‘
How do you like your toast, light, medium or well done?’ he said.

She laughed through her tears.