Fire (25 page)

But Irene didn’t respond.

And then it was Terry and Daisy’s turn. They turned and waved, their cloths tied over their faces like a couple of kids playing at bank robbers.

‘I’ll put the kettle on when we get down, eh?’ Terry called with a terrible false cheer. Then, holding hands, they went into the darkness.

As Allie watched them disappear and silently wished them luck, she realized she needed to go to the toilet.

‘Mind my place?’ she said to Irene, as though they were queuing up for tickets at the pictures, then felt silly.

Irene nodded. ‘Be careful.’ At least she was talking again.

Allie made her way back along the hallway, turned right just before she reached the cafeteria and pushed open the door to the women’s staff toilets. It wasn’t as smoky in here: the windows were all closed so nothing was drifting in from outside. As she washed her hands, she glimpsed herself in the mirror above the handbasin. Her face was pale and her eyes red from the smoke and crying, but she didn’t look like she was going to die.

Instead of going back down the hallway to join the others, she turned into the cafeteria. Colin Crowley’s group was still in there, sitting around three of the tables, looking as though they were waiting to have their orders taken.

Allie went to stand by one of the windows overlooking Queen Street. There seemed to be thousands of people down there, to the right and to the left, everywhere but directly in front of Dunbar & Jones. That space was filled with fire trucks and hoses and firemen and policemen, all doing their best to save them. It felt very odd. Here they were stuck up here and trying to get down, and there they all were down there trying to get up. What would happen
in between? she wondered almost dreamily. What would change and what would stay the same? Would
anything
be the same after this?

She leaned out of the open window and looked down. The air coming up was extremely hot and made her eyes water, and every few seconds the smoke from the floors below completely blocked her view. Below and to her left, their wire frames still attached to the front of the building at first-floor level but the papier mâché all burned away, perched the giant crown flanked by the kiwi and the lion, now both black skeletons. Allie squinted against the heat: something was jammed down behind the kiwi. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it had been burnt to a crisp. Then, with a surge of nausea, she realized what it probably was—the poor girl who had fallen from the window ledge.

Oh dear, she thought inanely, what would the queen think when she got here on Wednesday? And then she giggled, but it was only the beginnings of a sob. Then there were more sobs but she managed to stop them. Her tears dried quickly, making the skin on her cheeks feel tight.

She opened her arms, set her hands against the window frame and gazed down again. Was Sonny down there? Could he see her?

She shouted out his name, twice, but didn’t think he could have heard her.

‘Ha-ere mai, everything is ka pai,’ she whispered.

‘Allie?’

It was Irene.

‘It’s nearly our turn.’

Allie nodded. She retied her face cloth and followed Irene back out into the hallway. It had taken a little less than fifteen minutes for everyone before them to go down,
and now there were only about a dozen people left. In just five more minutes she should be on her way down.

But then Irene stopped abruptly and Allie walked straight into her.

‘What?’ Allie said, fresh ripples of fear running up her spine. ‘What is it?’

Miss Willow and Miss Button, waiting at the head of the stairs, were clutching each other tightly and everyone else looked as though they’d just been slapped very hard across the face.

Simone from gloves stammered, ‘It just went. They got on it and it just went.’

‘What went?’ Irene demanded. Her voice went up several octaves. ‘
What went?
’

‘The stairs,’ a man Allie didn’t know said. ‘Four got on them at once, they were rushing, and the whole lot just dropped—disappeared.’

He sounded bewildered and more than a little disgruntled, as though he’d just been cheated out of something.

Allie crept over to the stairwell and looked down. He was right—there was nothing left. Everything had gone: the steps, the landing, the handrail, everything. And at the very bottom, far, far down, she could see the flicker of bright, hungry flames.

C
an I get through? My daughter’s up there, I need to get through.’ Sid elbowed his way down the middle of the street.

The crowd parted and let him past, their eyes brimming with sympathy and concern.

Bill close behind, Sid wedged himself in behind the police barricade, squinting up at the burning building, his heart pounding furiously. Was she up there, his beautiful daughter?

He tapped the shoulder of a cop standing on the other side of the barricade. ‘’Scuse me, mate, but my daughter works in there. How can I find out if she’s been brought out?’

The constable, a young, soot-spattered bloke who looked as though he’d rather be anywhere else, made a sympathetic face. ‘No one’s been brought out yet, sir. Sorry, but the fire brigade hasn’t been able to find a way in. So far.’

‘Has
no one
got out?’ Sid exclaimed, appalled.

‘Oh, yes, quite a few,’ the cop said, pleased to actually be able to impart a bit of good news. ‘They’re all over there.’ He waved a hand. ‘She’s probably there with them. And there’s
a list they’re ticking off. You could have a look at that.’

Sid and Bill made their way over to the large, bedraggled-looking group on the footpath. Some of them were filthy, others simply looked stunned.

‘Allie Roberts!’ Sid shouted. ‘Has anyone seen Allison Roberts?’

A wall of blank faces stared back at him. Then someone spoke up, a woman holding a blood-stained handkerchief to her nose.

‘She was on the top floor. She was coming down after us. But I don’t know if…’ she trailed off, clearly lost for words.

‘Have you seen her since then?’ Bill asked.

Reluctantly, the woman shook her head.

‘Where’s that list?’ Sid demanded. ‘That cop over there said there’s a list.’

The woman retreated into the crowd, then reappeared a moment later. ‘This is George Lynch,’ she said. ‘He’s ticking everyone off.’

George asked, ‘Who are you looking for?’

‘My daughter, Allie Roberts. She works in the dress department.’

George nodded and ran his finger down the list, turned the page, then flicked it back again. He met Sid’s gaze and looked quickly away. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Roberts, but she isn’t here. But she could be outside somewhere and we just haven’t seen her yet.’

Sid’s heart sank, but he nodded his thanks and walked away, back towards the young policeman.

‘Hey, Sherlock!’ he called. ‘Who’s the head honcho here, for the fire brigade?’ He felt Bill’s hand settle on his shoulder.

‘Are you talking to me?’ the constable said, looking non-plussed.

Bill murmured, ‘Calm down, Sid.’

Sid ignored him. ‘Yes, boy—you!’

The young cop pointed towards a member of the fire brigade who had his head down over a set of plans.

Sid ducked under the barricade and marched over.

‘Are you the boss here?’ he demanded.

The fireman glanced up. His eyes were reddened by smoke and there were bits of black stuff stuck in his teeth. ‘I’m the senior station officer, yes.’

‘Well, get your arse into gear and get those fucking ladders up! My daughter’s up there!’ Sid shouted right into his face.

The fire chief stepped wearily back. This fire was the worst he’d attended in his twenty-four years of service, and it was tearing him apart, having to stand around down here on the ground like a useless bloody idiot, knowing that there were still people in there.

‘We’re doing everything we can, sir,’ he said.

‘
No you aren’t!
’ Sid roared. ‘Why aren’t those fucking ladders up?’

‘Because the verandah’s in the way. The ladders can’t reach the windows. But we’re looking at getting some men into—’

Sid threw a punch at him, but in his anger missed by a mile.

The crowd gasped and Bill put his hand over his eyes. Two police constables ran over and took hold of Sid’s arms.

Standing well back now, the fire chief said, ‘I realize you’re upset, sir, but we’re doing everything we can.’

‘Well, it isn’t
enough
, d’you hear me?’ Sid shouted as the cops half dragged, half walked him towards a police car. ‘
It isn’t bloody enough!
’

One constable opened the back door of the car while the other pushed Sid into it.

‘Hello, Sid,’ Sonny said.

Sid, who had whacked his head on the way in, rubbed his ear and looked at him in bewilderment. ‘Sonny? What are you doing here?’

Sonny nodded at the handcuff still attached to both his wrist and the door handle. ‘Had a bit of bother.’

‘So did I,’ Sid said, and burst into tears.

Sonny looked out the window and let him get on with it. Eventually he said, ‘She’s a strong one, Allie, eh? If there’s a way out, she’ll find it.’

Not counting Mr Crowley’s lot, there were only thirteen of them left now, Allie thought. A very unlucky number.

She lit a cigarette. She’d lost her bag somewhere but had spotted a packet in someone else’s, so she’d pinched them.

‘Does anyone else want one?’

Irene and Louise both nodded, so she slid the packet across the table. They were back in the caf, sitting with Miss Willow and Miss Button. The others were standing over by the window. They seemed to be arguing.

‘We’ve never smoked,’ Ruby said. ‘Have we, Bea?’

Beatrice shook her head. ‘It was terribly fashionable in our day, though, wasn’t it? All the bright young things used to do it. My sister used to have the most wonderful long, ivory holder.’

Louise said, ‘Do you really think anyone’s coming for
us?’ She was silent for a moment. ‘Or is this it?’

‘Don’t worry, dear,’ Beatrice replied gently. ‘They’ll be doing their very best, I’m sure of it.’

‘Yes, but is anyone
coming?
’ Louise put her head in her hands. ‘It’s driving me spare, just bloody well sitting here. Just
waiting.
’

Nobody said what they were all thinking: that soon they would have no choice left but to jump.

Allie remarked, ‘I’ve lost my bit of cloth.’

She felt very strange. She still had that sensation of being detached and everything seemed hazy, as though she were looking at everything with a stocking pulled over her face. She was still scared stiff, she knew that, but now it felt as though it was someone else who was terrified, not really her. She supposed it was the shock. But it was nearly funny, sitting around the table enjoying a relaxing cigarette while the floors beneath them were burning with such intensity that they could all hear the fire, and great sheets of black smoke were whipping up past the windows outside and blocking out the sky. She looked at her watch: only thirty-seven minutes since they’d all gone running out of the caf. It felt like they’d been stuck up here for ever.

She wondered what Donna and Pauline were doing. And she thought about her mother. Was she still at work? Had she heard? And what about her dad? He was supposed to be painting with Bill this afternoon, but they were probably in the pub right now. Bill was a good bloke, but he freely admitted that Sid could always lead him astray. She loved her family very much: the notion of not seeing any of them again was just…absurd, really.

‘Is anyone here a Catholic?’ Louise asked.

‘I am,’ Irene said, stubbing out her cigarette. ‘Well, I was. I’ve lapsed.’

‘So have I,’ Beatrice said. ‘But my family are strict Methodists, not Catholics.’

‘I haven’t been to church since I was thirteen,’ Irene went on. ‘Except for when Martin and I were married, but that was in an Anglican church.’ Irene looked at Louise. ‘Why? Are you?’

Louise nodded. ‘I was raised a Catholic, but I don’t go to church that often. But I was just thinking that someone might want to, well, you know, that we should…’

‘Confess our sins because we’re all about to die?’ Irene finished for her.

There was a moment of silence. Then Louise said, ‘Yes, I suppose. I’d like to, anyway, if nobody minds.’ When no one objected, she took a deep breath. ‘When I found out I was pregnant with Susan, I was really upset because I didn’t want a baby so soon. I wanted Rob and me to work for a few years and save some money and put a deposit on a nice little house and buy all those things that married people buy together. You know, a fridge and a lounge suite and a washing machine and a decent car and all the rest of it. I certainly didn’t want to be stuck in a poky little rented house boiling nappies in the copper and wondering what to do with half a pound of mince for the fifth night in a row. I was only about eight weeks at that stage and I hadn’t told anyone, not even Rob.’ She put her hands on the table, stared at a spot between them and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. ‘So I went to see a woman who I’d been told could…take care of that sort of thing.’

‘An abortionist?’ Irene said, sounding very surprised.

Louise nodded. ‘And it went against everything I’d ever
been taught. You know—“all human life is sacred, for it is created in the image and likeness of God”. But I was so angry because I wanted it to be just me and Rob. I felt like this…
accident
had come along and we didn’t have anything ready for it and it was going to come between us before we even had a chance to really have a life together. You know, just us. So I went to see her, and she was this really kind woman and I thought she was going to be awful with dirty fingernails and a fag hanging out of her mouth and a bare mattress in a back room. And she told me very gently what she would be doing and what to expect, and was I absolutely one hundred per cent sure it was what I wanted? And I started crying and I couldn’t stop and she told me to go home and think about it overnight and come back in the morning if I still wanted to go ahead. So I went home, and I did go back, but only to tell her I’d changed my mind.’ Louise was crying now. ‘And thank God I did, because otherwise I’d never have had Susan and, well, I can’t even imagine what my life would be like without her. I never told Rob. I’ve never told anyone.’

She glanced around the table, looking for censure and judgment, but there was none, only soft eyes full of sympathy and love.

‘So that’s it, that’s my confession.’ She gave an enormous sigh. ‘God, that feels better.’

‘I’ve got something,’ Allie said, ‘though it’s nothing like Louise’s. But it’s something that’s sort of…stayed with me.’ She reached for the cigarettes, then pushed the packet away again. ‘It was when the waterfront lockout was on. I was eighteen and I was going out on a first date with a boy. His name was Brian, Brian Ingham, and he was twenty-one and I just thought he was the bee’s knees. It was about three
months into the lockout, I suppose, and we were going to a party with some of his friends. He was at the university and he was very posh and educated—I’d met him down at the tennis courts. And halfway through this party, people started talking about the lockout and how all the watersiders were communist shit-stirrers and ruining the country’s economy and should be locked up, not out, or sent to South Korea to do a decent day’s work for a change, and they were laughing but some of them were getting quite het up about it. And I was sitting there, smiling away in the new dress I’d made especially and thinking how wonderful I was getting invited out by such a clever, good-looking boy, but terrified in case I said something stupid and he never asked me out again. And anyway he turned around and asked me what my father did. And I said he owned a building company.’

‘But your dad was a wharfie, wasn’t he?’ Louise said.

Allie nodded. ‘And that night, I bloody well
knew
he was biking around Auckland with some of his watersider mates delivering food parcels to other wharfies because they couldn’t even afford to buy their kids bread or milk.’

No one said anything for a moment, and Allie could see in their faces that they understood.

‘Did you go out with the boy again?’ Ruby asked.

‘No, I never heard from him after that.’

The subsequent silence was filled by Beatrice, who said brightly, ‘Well, my turn, I suppose. I’m a child of Satan.’

Ruby laughed.

‘Pardon?’ Irene said.

‘I’m a child of Satan,’ Beatrice said again. ‘According to my mother and father, anyway. They were very religious, my parents. My father’s dead now, of course, and my mother doesn’t know what day it is.’

‘Why are you a child of Satan?’ Louise asked, frowning.

Beatrice raised her eyebrows questioningly at Ruby, who nodded. ‘Well, you see, Ruby and I are lovers.’

Allie shot a look at Irene and Louise, but they were both staring round-eyed at the two older women.

‘And we have been for over twenty years,’ Beatrice went on. ‘Naturally, it’s not something we advertise, but we’re very happy together, aren’t we, Ruby?’

Ruby nodded and settled her hand on top of Beatrice’s, smiling fondly at her. ‘We are, dear, we are.’

‘So this isn’t really a confession,’ Beatrice amended, ‘but it is something that I wanted to…announce. Before whatever’s going to happen here, well, happens.’

Allie didn’t know what the others were thinking, but she was lost for words. Who’d have thought it? Who really even knew that women actually did that? But the more she considered it, the more sense it made. They seemed to be very close, Miss Willow and Miss Button, and neither was married, and they shared a house, and, well, it was actually quite nice, really, that they had each other. And that couldn’t be a bad thing. And they were together now.

But she wasn’t really alone either. Sonny wasn’t here—and thank God for that in many ways—but she had Irene and Louise. Daisy had managed to get out, so she would be all right, and whatever was going to happen to the rest of them, they would face it together. Knowing that made her feel better, a little less frightened.

Louise said, ‘So your parents thought you were a child of Satan because you’d…um, taken up with a woman?’

Beatrice suddenly made a pained face.

Allie asked, ‘Are you all right?’ Miss Button looked like
her father did when he was anticipating one of his more subterranean attacks of wind.

Beatrice’s features relaxed slightly. ‘I’m fine. A touch of indigestion, I think. No, my mother and father never realized that. It was because I’d decided to leave home. I’m the youngest daughter and they’d assumed I was going to look after them in their old age. But instead, I went off and learned how to make hats and went half-shares in a little house, and they were very disappointed with me. It was my duty to dedicate my life to them, apparently, and I let them down.’