Afterwards

The young doctor accompanied you swiftly past outpatient clinics, which were deserted now, the lights off. But in one empty waiting room a television had been left on. You stopped for a moment.

On the screen, a BBC ‘News 24’ interviewer was standing in front of the gates to the school. I used to tell Addie that it was a seaside house which had grown too big for the seafront and had to move inland. Now its pastel blue stuccoed facade was blackened and charred; its cream window frames burnt away to reveal pictures of the destruction inside. That gentle old building, so intricately associated with Adam’s warm hand holding mine at the beginning of the day and his running, relieved little face at the end of the day, had been brutally maimed.

You looked so shocked, and I knew what you were thinking because I’d felt the same when the rug was melting in my hands and masonry was falling around me – if fire can do this to bricks and plaster, what damage must it do to a living girl?

‘How did we get out of there?’ Jenny asked.

‘I don’t know.’

On the TV, a reporter was giving the facts but, shocked by the image on screen, I caught only fragments of what he was saying. I don’t think you were listening at all, just staring at the school’s cadaver.

‘… private school in London… cause at the moment unknown. Fortunately most children were at sports day. Otherwise the injuries and death toll… Emergency services were prevented from reaching the scene as desperate parents… One thing as yet to be explained is the arrival of press before the fire services…’

Then Mrs Healey came onto the screen, and the camera focused on her, mercifully blocking out most of the school in the background.

‘An hour ago,’ the reporter said, ‘I spoke to Sally Healey, the headmistress of Sidley House Preparatory School.’

You went on with the young doctor, but Jenny and I stayed for a little while longer watching Sally Healey. She was immaculate in pink linen shirt and cream trousers with manicured nails occasionally coming into view. I noticed her make-up was flawless; she must have retouched it.

‘Were there any children in the school when the fire started?’ the reporter asked her.

‘Yes. But not one child at the school was hurt. I’d like to emphasise that.’

‘I can’t believe she put on make-up,’ Jenny said.

‘She’s like one of those French MPs,’ I said. ‘You know, with the lipgloss next to the state papers? Make-up in the face of adversity.’

Jenny smiled; sweet, brave girl.

‘There was a reception class of twenty children in the school at the time of the fire,’ Sally Healey continued. ‘Their classroom is on the ground floor.’

She was using her assembly voice, commanding but approachable.

‘Like all our children, our reception class had rehearsed an evacuation in the event of fire. They were evacuated in less than three minutes. Fortunately, our other reception class were at an end-of-term outing to the zoo.’

‘But there were serious casualties?’ asked the interviewer.

‘I cannot comment on that, I’m sorry.’

I was glad that she wasn’t going to talk about Jenny and me. I wasn’t sure if she honestly didn’t know, if she was being discreet on our behalf, or if she was just trying to maintain a pink-linen facade that everything went according to plan.

‘Have you any idea yet how the fire started?’ the reporter asked.

‘No. Not yet. But I can reassure you that we had every fire precaution in place. Our heat detectors and smoke detectors are connected directly to the fire station and-’

The reporter interrupted. ‘But the fire engines couldn’t get to the school?’

‘I am not aware of the logistics of them getting to the school, I just know that the alarm went immediately through to the fire station. Two weeks ago some of the same firefighters came to give a talk to our year-one children and let them look at their fire engine. We never dreamt, any of us, that…’

She trailed off. The lipgloss and assembly voice wasn’t working. Under that carefully put-together frontage she was starting to fall apart. I liked her for it. As the camera panned away from her and back to the blackened school it paused on the undamaged bronze statue of a child.

We caught up with you in the corridor that leads to the burns unit. I could see you tense, trying to ready yourself for this, but I knew nothing could prepare you for what you’d see inside. Next to me I felt Jenny draw back.

‘I don’t want to go in.’

‘Of course. That’s fine.’

You went through the swing doors into the burns unit with the young doctor.

‘You should be with Dad,’ Jenny said.

‘But-’

‘At some level he’ll know you’re with him.’

‘I don’t want to leave you on your own.’

‘I don’t need babysitting, really. I am a babysitter nowadays, remember? Besides, I need you to keep me updated on my progress. Or lack of.’

‘Alright. But I won’t be long. Don’t go anywhere.’

I couldn’t bear to have to search for her again.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘And I won’t talk to strangers. Promise.’

I joined you as you were taken into a small office, grateful that they were doing this by degrees. A doctor held out his hand to you. I thought he looked almost indecently healthy, his brown skin glowing against the white walls of his office, his dark eyes shining.

‘My name’s Dr Sandhu. I am the consultant in charge of your daughter’s care.’

I noticed that as he shook your hand his other hand patted your arm, and I knew he must be a parent too.

‘Come in, please. Take a seat, take a seat…’

You didn’t sit down, but stood, as you always do when you are tense. You’d told me once it’s an atavistic, animal thing, meaning you are ready for immediate flight or fight. I hadn’t understood until now. But where could we run to and who could we fight? Not Dr Sandhu with his shining eyes and softly authoritative voice.

‘I’d like to start on the positives,’ he said and you nodded in vehement agreement; the man was talking your kind of talk. ‘However tough the environment,’ you say in the middle of some godforsaken place, ‘you can always find strategies to survive.’

You hadn’t seen her yet, but I had, and I suspected that ‘starting with the positives’ was putting a few cushions at the bottom of the cliff before pushing us off it.

‘Your daughter has achieved the hardest thing there is,’ continued Dr Sandhu. ‘Which is to come out of that intensity of fire alive. She must have huge strength of character and spirit.’

Your voice was proud. ‘She does.’

‘And that already puts her ahead of the game, as it were, because that fight in her is going to make all the difference now.’

I looked away from him to you. The smile lines around your eyes were still there; too deeply etched by past happiness to be rubbed out by what was happening now.

‘I need to be frank with you about her condition. You won’t be able to take in all the medical speak now, so I’ll just tell you simply. We can talk again – we most definitely will talk again.’

I saw a shake in your leg, as if you were fighting the instinct to pace the room, flee from it. But we had to listen.

‘Jennifer has sustained significant burns to her body and face. Because of the burns, stress is being placed on her internal organs. She has also suffered inhalation injuries. This means that inside her body her airways, including part of her lungs, are burnt and not functioning.’

She was hurt inside as well.

As well.

‘At the moment I’m afraid I have to tell you she has a less than fifty per cent chance of surviving.’

I screamed at Dr Sandhu: ‘No!’

My scream didn’t even ruffle the air.

I put my arms around you, needing to hold onto you. For a moment you half turned towards me as if you felt