Cath Staincliffe: Stone Cold Red Hot

We made the journey in silence. I began to feel unbearably cold and started to shiver, my wet feet had gone numb and my leg ached fiercely.

At the hospital we were all seen by the triage nurse and split off into different cubicles. I was shaky and nauseous but I managed to use the payphone to ring home, thankful when Sheila answered. In a breathy croak I told her I was at the hospital, that something had come up with work and I wasn’t sure when I’d get home. Her interest and warmth brought me close to crying again so I kept the call brief.

I returned to my cubicle and reclined on the trolley. I was freezing and asked for another blanket but nothing ever materialised, Time seemed frozen, too. I read all the dilapidated notices about correct use of the equipment in the room and studied the sellotape marks on the walls.

I became familiar with the moans from the woman across the way who had stomach pain and kept vomiting and with the persistent outbursts from an exasperated old woman who wanted only to go home. Beside her sat an incredibly young care-worker who spoke occasionally to tell her she could go home once she’d seen the doctor. I’d passed the pair of them on the way to the phone, sitting side by side and looking like they’d just landed in purgatory.

At lengthy intervals nurses and doctors came in and made notes, asked questions, took blood samples, asked me to breathe into tubes, dressed my leg, gave me a leaflet and a note for my GP’s practice nurse and at long, long, last told me I could go home.

I sought out Johnny and found him in one of the bays. They’d covered his burns but he was to get the dressings changed daily as they were worried about the risk of infection.

“They cut my Levi jacket up, you know,” he feigned outrage, “and my Joe Bloggs shirt.”

I tried to smile but I felt lousy and I’m sure it looked pathetic. “I can probably get you some money for it, claim it from the council when I bill them. Oh, and I owe you the cab fare.”

“Forget it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Kills but they’ve given us some really strong tablets. Need ‘em, I can tell you.”

“Look, that policeman, the one who arrested you, Doyle, If he tries to follow it up…”

“I’ll sue him for wrongful arrest. My cousin’s a lawyer, he’s good he is. And my uncle.”

“I think he’ll forget about it, after what happened. You saving the little girl.”

He looked sheepish.

“But if he does try anything, I’ll be a witness. It was racial harassment, he was totally out of order. The police will want to see us anyway, about the fire. It’s murder now. I know who was behind it and so do they. There’ll be a trial.”

“And seeing as one of their own’s dead, they’ll have to take it seriously for a change.”

His scepticism was well-placed. It wasn’t all that long since the Chief Constable had admitted to institutional racism in his own force in the wake of the Stephen Lawrence inquiry.

“Shame it was one of the good ones,” I added.

“Yeah. Should have been that other joker.” He shifted on his seat, settled his bandaged arm again. “One of my cousins went in the police, he was determined he was going to make a go of it. Fast track promotion, all that, he was a graduate and you know how they’re always going on about needing more black and Asian officers…We all thought he was tapped. Anyway, he lasted eight months. Nearly destroyed him. They were all like that Doyle, or worse. Stories he told me. Sick. Like that lot. Setting an house on fire, burning children.”

“And…” sudden tears caught me unawares. I fought to swallow them, wiped at my eyes with my hand. “I keep remembering him,” I said, “the little boy. I only saw him once, he translated for his mum.” I had to break off again. I took a deep breath or two.

“How old was he?”

“Six, seven? I feel so angry, at what they’ve done. And I feel so bloody useless too. It’s like ‘what can I do?’ What can anybody do? What will actually change anything?”

I wasn’t expecting answers from Johnny and he didn’t offer any. We sat quietly for a little while lost in thought.

“How are you getting home?” I broke the silence. “And your car!”

“My Dad’s coming for me. He’s gonna drop my brother off to get the car. We share it.”

“Who chose the seat covers?”

“Eh?”

“The leopard print?”

“Why?”

I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, go on. What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing. Look, thank you, what you did, going in there. It was brilliant.”

“Yeah,” he looked embarrassed, “you didn’t do so bad yourself, wet curtains and all.”

I smiled. “Improvise. I want to see the Ibrahims before I go.”

“They were down at the end before.”

I got to my feet. “I’ll see you, then. Take care.”

“Yeah. See you.”

I went looking but the end bays were deserted. I asked the triage nurse.

“You’ve just missed them, I think.”

“Have they been admitted?”

“No, no. They’re OK. They’ve sorted out some emergency accommodation for them. You might just catch them, they’ve only just gone.”

I pushed through the swing doors and down the ramp of the ambulance bay where a clutch of smokers hovered.

I saw the family a few yards down the path walking away, a policeman and a woman with them.

I caught them up.

“Mr Ibrahim?” He turned quickly, the toddler in his arms, a frown on his face. The others stopped.

“I’m sorry, about your little boy, please tell your wife. I’m so sorry.”

I glanced at her, she looked at me blankly, then shifted the baby closer to her shoulder.

“You were one of the people who went into the house?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

I didn’t want his thanks. “I’ve been working for the council,” I explained, “filming for evidence.”

He studied me for a moment. “Now they have their evidence.”

I swallowed. I didn’t say anything.

“They should never have left us there, you tell your council people that.”

I nodded.

He turned and they walked on.

Back in the Casualty department I rang for a black cab and was thankful, when it arrived, to get a taciturn driver. He never even commented on how I smelt.

I needed a bath. I knew it wasn’t a sociable thing to do at that hour in the morning but I was desperate to wash away the soot and the acrid stench of smoke and it would be easier to keep my bandages dry in a bath rather than a shower. First I made a cup of tea and took it up. I had a sudden rush of anxiety about Maddie and Tom and went in to look at them. They were both sleeping peacefully and I left before I could become too maudlin. I put a towel in the bath to try and muffle the noise but it didn’t help much and did nothing to quieten the gurgling of the pipes.

I heard Ray calling my name. I stopped the taps and opened the bathroom door.

He began to complain, blinking in the light, running his hand through his unruly hair. Then he got a look at me.

“Oh, God. What’s happened?”

I opened my mouth then snapped it shut, pressed my fingers to my lips. That set off the shakes, everything began to tremble. I shook my head at him then my control caved in and I began to bawl like a baby.

He led me downstairs and into the kitchen. Made me tea without asking, handed me the kitchen roll. He quizzed me about my injuries, wanted to know what the hospital had done, whether I’d be OK, how I was feeling and of course how I’d got hurt.

In little bursts and puffs I told him about the tragedies of the night. When I reached the part about the firemen not being able to save the little Ibrahim boy and Carl Benson, I began to cry noisily again and with all the artlessness of fresh grief. “It’s awful, it’s so awful, why should they be dead?” I ranted. “It’s not fair. That little boy…And it’s not just that either, there’s you and Laura as well. I don’t know how we’ll manage if you move out. I’ll miss Tom so much and if you take Digger too Maddie will be heartbroken.”