Burning down the house, p.1
Burning down the house, page 1
Burning Down the House
Zoe J. Stark
First published in Great Britain in 2022
Oxford Spires Publishing
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Copyright © 2022 by Zoe J. Stark
The moral rights of the author have been asserted
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ISBN 9781739209704
Ebook AISN B0BJ72Y8LB
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All rights reserved.
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For the West Country,
and for all those who look for love
in all the wrong places.
Contents
Part I
The Fire
Chapter 1
Read letter day
Chapter 2
The morning before the fire
Chapter 3
The afternoon before the fire
Chapter 4
The afternoon before the fire
THE FIRE
Chapter 5
After the fire
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part II
Incoming message…
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
24 days until cour
Chapter 5
21 days until court
Chapter 6
20 days until court
Chapter 7
16 days until court
Chapter 8
15 days until court
Chapter 9
8 days until court
Chapter 10
7 days until court
Chapter 11
5 days until court
Chapter 12
5 days until court
Chapter 13
4 days until court
Chapter 14
4 days until court
Chapter 15
2 days until court
Chapter 16
2 days until court
Chapter 17
I day until court
Chapter 18
I day until court
Chapter 19
28 hours until court
Chapter 20
27 hours until court
Chapter 21
25 hours until court
Chapter 22
22 hours until court
Chapter 23
17 hours until sentencing
Chapter 24
16 hours until sentencing
Chapter 25
The day of sentencing
Chapter 26
The day of sentencing
Chapter 27
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Part I
The Fire
“Out of the ashes of this tragedy,
we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era.”
* * *
The Lion King
Nothing says more about a person than what they save from a burning house. When our home was glowing like the desert sun, all of me family were holding onto something.
Me dad had rescued an old monkey cuddly toy, with boxing gloves for hands.
His girlfriend Kirsten had grabbed a bag of knitting.
Gran had her pigmy pig that could predict the future.
And I had a Mary Poppins umbrella that me mum gave me as a kid.
Me family had lined up like suspects in the street, holding on to their prized possessions, the one thing they couldn’t leave behind. Or maybe we had all just grabbed the first thing we saw. Who knows?
I had woken up to shouting and smoke. Someone threw a wet towel at me to breathe through. Kirsten grabbed me arm and dragged me through to the landing. Dad, Granny and Destiny (the micro-pig), were all in the bathroom by the open window. I went out of the window first. In me bare feet, I shimmed down the gutter. I found the ladder outside and propped it up for the others.
A neighbour must have called the fire brigade. We heard the sirens as Granny came down the ladder in her flowery nightie. We watched as the fire ate our home, as the bonfire lit up the dark night, taking everything we had with it. The swinging pub sign cracked in two and crumbled like ash from the end of a ciggy. It felt as if all of West Stonecloud came to watch. In the middle of the night, they had come up from the valley; they’d come down from the hills. Every tribe, every class, every race, every species from the Cotswolds had come to witness the Saint’s kingdom fall.
The fire brigade leapt out in front of us. They were all in beige, striped with yellow reflectors and wearing yellow helmets. They unreeled a rubber hose and dived into our house, armed with hoses and breathing gear like they were entering a disaster zone. Neighbours brought us their slippers as we got checked over by paramedics. We all wore silver capes, but no one felt heroic. Granny wrestled with Destiny, who was trying to break free.
And then finally, the fire was out.
A woman in brown overalls approached Dad. She was holding a camera by her side.
‘What d’you say your name was?’ Dad coughed as if he smoked thirty-a-day.
'Kai.’ Her face was red. Her breath billowed without fire.
‘Kay?’
‘Kai! Sounds like pie, but with a K.’
‘Right.’ Dad nodded. ‘Well, K-ai… someone in the village will put us up. Sure we’ll find summat.’
Kai turned to look at the fire and crossed her arms. ‘Do you remember leaving anything on?’
‘No, not at all.’ He shook his head. ‘So you’re the one investigating it? K-ai.’
He wouldn’t say it. He wouldn’t tell her. What about the note we got? What about the letter? Whoever sent them to us must have been involved. I had to say something. ‘It wasn’t an accident!’ I shouted from behind them.
Kai jumped and dropped her camera. ‘Feck!’ She grabbed the sides of her head.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ I picked it up for her.
'She doesn’t mean us. We didn’t do it.’ Dad’s eyes were wide and his nostrils flared. ‘She thinks it’s arson.’
Kai turned over the camera, trying buttons, shaking her head. The screen blinked on. ‘Oh, thank god. It still works.’
‘Of course it was arson, you stupid boy.’ Granny wagged her finger at Dad. ‘That letter said we should all die and now look. Look!’ She pointed at our home, at what was her house. The converted eighteenth-century country pub at the end of a row of houses had disappeared into ash.
‘Letter?’ said Kai. ‘What letter…?’
‘Said we should all go to hell. Get out of town.’ Granny pointed to the garden wall in front of the house opposite ours. ‘Scarlett, take me over there. I want to sit down.’
‘I’ll be right back,’ Kai walked away. ‘I need to check-in with the Chief.’ She turned around. 'Do you know why someone might want to burn down your house?'
As we glanced at each other, you could feel the finger-pointing.
We all had enemies in the village.
But who wanted us dead?
1
Read letter day
“We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad. [...] You must be, or you wouldn't be here.”
* * *
Alice in Wonderland
Lewis Carroll
They say there’s no smoke without fire. But I thought we were a normal family with normal problems. I didn’t think any of us had enemies in the village. But there were little smoke signals the day before, little sparks in the air that I hadn’t noticed at the time.
Dad had gone proper-quiet, more than usual. He’d stopped doing deadlifts in his morning routine. Most people wouldn’t notice. But me dad's whole life was boxing and body building. I used to call him Mr Incredible when I was a kid. He’d hold me across his shoulders as he squatted: up, down, up, down, floor to ceiling. I can see it now, when I look back: there was no room for his deadlifts. Something heavy was already weighing him down.
One by one, Granny’s wails brought us all to the master bedroom that morning. We stood around her bed. Her room was all pink lace, nettings and frills. She moaned and refused to get up, pushing her fleecy electric blanket to the bottom of the bed. She stared up at the wooden beams above her head. 'OOOOO,' she cried, trying to prop herself up. Granny had no teeth in or eyebrows drawn on.
'What's that?' I pointed at a glass of neon-orange slime that dad was holding. ‘Looks radio-active.’
‘Added Turmeric.’ He squatted.
'OOOOOOO!' Granny threw her head to the side.
'What's wrong, Mum?' Dad was permanent-marker tired. Bags sagged under his eyes. No matter how many sit-ups he did, he never could tighten them. But he seemed more than just tired. The bags were carrying more than a lack of sleep.
'It hurts. Summats wrong.'
Dad turned to me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged. 'Tried to get her out, but she says something’s wr
'But it was fine last night, wasn’t it?' Kirsten held the morning’s post. She was leaning against the wall. Her pig-pink shirt blended into the wallpaper. She was pretending to care. But Gran was work for her - paper pushing.
‘Pass me that cushion.’ Granny pointed to the chair in front of her mahogany dressing table.
Dad picked up the frilly cushion and put it behind her back. ‘Better?’
‘I think it’s worse.’ Granny threw her head back like a terrible actress.
'I’ve got an early meeting.’ Kirsten put a hand on her hip.
'I’ve got to open the gym,' said Dad. ‘I’m already late. Ain't this your area of expertise, Scar?’
'I’ve got to work too.' I checked the time on me phone. 'But she won’t let me help. She wanted you.'
'Want some pain killers, Mum?'
'No - they’re useless. This is… ahhhh…'
'Maybe we should call her an ambulance,' said Kirsten.
'Don’t you dare!' Granny glared.
'Why not?'
'You’ll have me shipped off to that care home of hers!’ Granny pointed at me like we were in a courtroom drama.
'It’s a nice place, Gran. It’s not….'
'Not on your nelly.' She wagged her finger. 'You ain't casting me out of me - own - house.' She pointed to her chest with each word. Kirsten rolled her eyes.
‘Mum…’
'Over my dead body.’ Gran was the only person I knew who would, legit, snarl.
'We could arrange that.' Kirsten smirked.
I wanted to smack me head against the wall. You can’t joke with Granny. That was the worst thing to say.
‘YOU.’ The point of granny’s finger thrust towards Kirsten like a dart. ‘You’ve been trying to get rid of me ever since you got here!'
'I just thought you’d be happier…' Kirsten threw up her arms. 'It was just an option to think about.' She ripped open an envelope as if she was tearing at Granny's hair. 'For god’s sake,' she muttered. ‘I was just trying to help.’
Granny squinted at Kirsten, giving her evils. ‘You’re like knotweed takin’ over the place. Get your grubby tentacles off me house.’
‘I don’t want your house! This place is falling a part. The paper is peeling off the walls. You’d have to pay someone to live here.’
‘You money-grabbin’ little…’
‘Granny, you can’t say that!’
‘Say what? I can say what I like in me own house!’
‘Dad?'
He sighed. 'They’re as bad as each other.'
Kirsten stood upright and pulled down on her blouse. 'I'm nothing like your mother…'
'No, you’re not!' shouted Granny.
‘I can’t keep living with you both fighting.’ I bit me fingernails. ‘Dad?’
‘You don’t have to live ‘ere.’ He threw his hand into the air. 'Free country. Nobody’s forcing you to be here.’
‘How? All me money went on driving lessons and paying you rent.’
‘Welcome to the real world.’ He folded his arms. ‘It’s hard graft.’
‘You could have moved in with a friend.’ Kirsten tightened her ponytail.
‘They all went to uni ages ago.’
‘What about Rubi?’
‘She works at her parent’s B&B. Why would she leave the place she works at?’
‘Your mum?’
We all knew the answer to that. And I didn’t want to live on me own. I didn’t want to be like the people in the care home with no-one. For ages, I had tried to get Rory to move in with me. Everyone else had gone to Uni, and he was the reason I’d stayed in the village. I wanted to start a family of me own, maybe move to Cheltenham. Ever since I was fifteen, I had wanted to be a mum. I saved up for a deposit and the first month’s rent. Rory said he could double it, and took it to the bookies.
I loved Rory for his dreams, for his Peter Pan like enthusiasm. He said all the right things. He said he’d go small and then only use the profits. But he sank it. Tapped me out. He told me at the pub - eyes glued to his sagging Deliveroo bag he used for takeaway deliveries in Bristol. He said he didn’t want to live with me anyway. Said I was too clingy, too baby-mad. He dumped me as he ate a packet of crisps that he’d smashed a pickled egg into. Rubi said she always knew he was a bad egg. Gran said it was only a matter of time. I never told Dad because I knew what he’d do to him, and I was waiting for Rory to come back. He didn’t really mean it. He’d made a mistake and was probably embarrassed, lashing out. When he was drunk, he’d go on and on about wanting kids, having a new start. We both wanted that. But boys don’t like to admit it when they’re sober.
'Such a drama queen.’ Granny snorted. 'Don’t know you’re born. Lucky to have a family at all.'
I scoffed. ‘And you’re lucky to have me around, otherwise who’d look after you!’
Granny gritted her teeth. 'I'm not goin’ into that care home!'
'You ain't goin’ into a care home, for Pete’s sake,' shouted Dad. 'Will you stop windin’ her up, Scar.'
'I ain't.'
'Was that someone at the door?' Kirsten stared at me.
'Huh?'
'I thought I heard someone at the front door?'
I hadn’t heard anything, but Kirsten had better senses than me. ‘Postman probably.' I peered out of the window.
'But…' Kirsten held up the post and shook the post already in her hands, so it couldn’t have been the postman.
'I'll go,' I said.
‘No, you stay ‘ere.’ Dad walked out of the room and I felt static in the air.
'You wish I was dead, don’t you?' Granny glared at me.
'No, Gran.' I tried to stop me voice from sounding like an eye roll.
'Yes, you do. I can see you gritting your teeth. Well… I'd come back and haunt you, mark me word.' She crossed her arms. 'Ungrateful, spoiled children. Give you me house and this is what I get…'
'No one wants your house, Henrietta.’ Kirsten paced. 'You don’t half make it so bloody difficult.'
'You always think you’re better than everyone else,' said Granny. 'Nobody cares about me.'
‘That’s not true.’ Kirsten shook her head.
Dad’s girlfriend was the only one in the house who spoke proper like the Queen. It always felt like she was looking down on us. Though, she couldn't help it. And we couldn't help sounding like the Wurzels (you’re obligated to love the Wurzels if you’re from the South West).
I knew Granny was just grumpy from being up all night in pain. We had it lots at the care-home, especially in winter. It’s hard to be happy and smiley when things hurt so much. She just needed a little comfort. ‘I care about you, gran. I do.’ I sat down on her bed.
‘Well you might be the only one, Scarlett.’ She took me hand and held it as she stared at her feet. ‘Yous got a heart of poet. So big. But drawn to tragedy.’
Granny had always called me a poet. Ever since I was small, she said I had eyes that looked right into people’s souls. I could never figure out if it was a compliment or not. ‘You’re not a tragedy, Gran.’
Dad came back into the room. 'Right Ma, up and at ‘em. Time to get out.'
'Wait, what's that note?' I pointed at his hands.
'What note?'
'In your hand.' Kirsten straightened the curtain.
'Probably from the neighbour.' He glared at Granny. 'You’ve not been workin’ him up again, have you?'
