Cath Staincliffe - Stone Cold Red Hot

Doyle climbed out and Carl spoke to him, gesturing to show that the road was still blocked.

There was a sudden flurry of movement from the mob and another hail of missiles flew at the house. A bottle smashed against the front door, a bottle with a burning rag in it, and exploded in sheets of flame with a ferocity that made everyone rear back. A petrol bomb.

“Call the fire brigade,” Carl yelled and Doyle spoke into his radio.

I turned to Mr Poole, he had a look of despair on his face.

“Oh, God,” I said.

“I’ll get some water,” he said.

More missiles followed, they were coming in waves. I pushed my way through to reach the police, I was jostled on the way and someone tried to trip me up. It was uncanny how they all seemed to know I wasn’t part of the mob.

“The engines won’t be able to get through,” I shouted to the police, “they keep blocking the road up.”

Doyle scowled at me but Carl Benson’s partner nodded and got back into their car. He reversed it up the Close.

Another bottle smashed against the front of the house, below the boarded up window and burst into flames. The paint on the door was bubbling and the small frosted glass panel near the top exploded with the heat. The glass landed with a tinkling sound. The stench of petrol filled the air.

The fire lit up the faces of the crowd. People were jostling each other, calling and cheering, getting drunk on the spectacle. My stomach twisted but I ignored the fear and concentrated on the practical. Water.

I pushed my way back and met Mr Poole in his hall-way. He had a large, black bucket of water. I left my bag there and took it from him, it weighed a ton. I staggered into the road with it, ignoring the man who pushed me deliberately. They wouldn’t let me through, faces turned twisted and sneering, they swore at me. I was hemmed in, my throat tightened with rising panic. PC Benson spotted me and forced his way through to meet me.

“I’ve got water,” I yelled.

He heard me and managed to forge a pathway through the mob to meet me by shouting, “Clear the way, let us through, mind your backs, move back.” People moved aside slowly and with great reluctance but they did actually let us past. The water slopped over the edge of the bucket and drenched my legs and feet. I reached PC Benson and he took it from me, pushed back towards the house and hurled it at the fire. The flames parted and some died, it looked as though the remaining ones were dwindling as the petrol was consumed.

He handed me back the bucket and I went for more. A woman turned to me her face bright with spite. “Nigger lover, slag, fuck off you nigger lover.”

Doyle spoke into a megaphone. “Clear the area, clear the area now.”

The crowd fell about shouting and swearing. One of the Brennan twins climbed up on a car further down the road, pulled down his jeans and bared his bum at the police. I saw Doyle use his radio again.

Mr Poole handed me a watering-can and I passed him the bucket. “Can’t find anything else.”

I struggled back with the watering can. The surface of the door was cracked and distorted and the frame charred but it had stopped burning. The flames were still licking up below the lounge window but I could get near enough to pour water over the plywood which was beginning to smoke. A stone smacked against the wall beside me and as I turned another hit above my head with a crack. A ripple of outrage made my cheeks burn.

I crouched and ran to the police car. Johnny sat there grim faced. I thought about the camera but reasoned that with two police as witnesses to all that was going on they wouldn’t need a video as well. The crowd began to clap, faster and faster and to shout something I couldn’t make out. Would this have happened if Mandy hadn’t been sick? If the council had acted more quickly?

There was a roar from someone and then a battery of bottles, lumps of wood, half-bricks and clods of earth came over. A whoosh and a thump which rocked my belly as a petrol-bomb exploded against the upstairs window, glass shattered and the pane collapsed in. Immediately after another hit the roof washing flames across the tiles. Other things were thrown at the window, one looked like a lump of burning cloth, it reached the curtains of the bedroom and they flared alight.

A beat. Nothing moved but the tongues of fire. I froze. Boom! The thump of the explosion blew away the remnants of the curtain and fragments and glass and lit the window in a flash of intense light. Strips of blackened curtain, dripping with flames, billowed down to the ground.

“Jesus,” shouted Carl. He ran up to the front door and began to lunge against it, using his shoulder. Three or four times and it didn’t budge.

He looked back at PC Doyle. “Come on,” he yelled.

Doyle looked spooked. His cocky assurance unsteadied by the savage turn of events. “The brigade’ll be here any minute,” he shouted. “Leave it, Bennie. They’ll sort it out, they’ve got the apparatus.”

“There’s three kids in there,” I told him, “you can’t just leave them.”

Doyle turned away, huddled over his radio and talked urgently into it. Carl Benson looked stricken. He hurled himself at the door again to no avail. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Johnny slipping out of the passenger door of the police car. I thought he was making a run for it. But he was risking a lot with the mob so close. I willed him to get away safely. Doyle couldn’t see him. Another brick hitting the house distracted me, more followed, they were aiming at Carl Benson now. He put his hands up to protect his face.

“Try the back,” I yelled and ran after him round the side of the house to the back garden. I slipped on the way, my shoes full of water. My fake glasses fell off and I cracked them with my hand as I landed. I felt someone grab my arm and turned, ready to wrestle free, but it was Johnny.

“Y’alright?”

“Yes,” I struggled to my feet.

The garden was unkempt, overgrown grass and brambles, silvered in the strong moonlight, caught at our feet as we hurried after Carl. The hoarse screams and cat-calls of the crowd were muffled too but their message of hatred was all too clear. Smoke plumed up from the roof and drifted our way but otherwise there was no sign of the fire. Carl kicked at the door, three or four times. He ran back and Johnny had a go too. My teeth were clenched together tight as I willed the lock to give. They took turns kicking and shouldering it and finally the wood split across and the frame splintered. Another kick from Carl and the door skewed off it’s hinges and fell dangling at the side of the entrance.

There was darkness within. We stepped directly into the kitchen. I could smell the sharp fumes of petrol and oily smoke. I braced myself for the sound of screams or cries but heard nothing beyond the roaring off the fire upstairs and popping and banging sounds. Where were they? Oh, god, where were they?

Carl rushed ahead. “Carl, wait,” I yelled but he paid no attention. I grabbed Johnny’s shoulder. “Wait,” I repeated. The sink was just by me and above there were thin cotton curtains at the window. I ripped these down and turned the tap full on, soaking them and myself into the bargain. I shoved one at Johnny and tied the other round my nose and mouth. I pulled off the wig first, the false hair was slippery and I wanted the cloth to stay on.

There was an explosion then, loud and shocking, and a short scream. I didn’t know where Carl had gone. Johnny set off down the hall that led to the stairs. There were two rooms off it. I could just see the doors in the gloom. I opened each and called inside. No movement, no answer. I couldn’t see but I knew I shouldn’t turn the lights on. Were they in there but hiding from us? Thinking we were the ones out to get them? I tried to listen, to sense if anyone was crouching silent below a table or behind the couch. Where are you? My mind screamed and my heart raced in my chest. I found the bottom of the stairs, now I could see flames coming and going on the landing but mainly smoke, rolling in clouds before me. It became dense quickly. I crawled up the stairs keeping as low as I could. My eyes stung and watered, I felt the smoke locking my throat up. I was drowning. Another explosion sent a ball of flames the length of the landing, briefly illuminating the area. I saw Johnny’s trainers disappear into a doorway. The noise was horrendous, and the toxic stench of burning plastic reached me. I tried to follow but I could no longer breathe. My lungs were sticking together, my balance going. I pushed off the wall and tumbled down the stairs. My heart was thundering. I crawled to the back door and gulped in air then returned, holding my breath and I pulled myself up the stairs. Where were they?