thickened by the second. The doorway was almost obscured. I was disorientated ⦠lost ⦠I could not reach the children â¦
âMummy ⦠Mummy ⦠â And then they were there in the room with me, pressing against me, clinging to me. I realized with horror that I could see them so clearly because the doorway had burst into flames behind them. We could not get out that way.
We could not get out at all. We were trapped.
âRosemary ⦠â The warm familiar voice called to me. âRosemary ⦠over here â¦â
John was standing outside the window.
âOh, my darling!â I rushed to him, herding the children before me. âMy darling, youâre here!â
âWhere else would I be when you needed me?â His loving eyes met mine. We pantomimed a kiss to each other; the children were still between us, preventing physical contact.
âNow ⦠â John was immediately practical. âPass the children out to me and Iâll lower them to the ground ⦠Tessa first ⦠â
âAll right ⦠â I picked Tessa up and swung her over the window sill. âBe careful of her arm ⦠â
âHer arm?â He frowned down at the plaster cast. âWhatâs the matter with it?â
âItâs broken â¦â Something was wrong. The smoke was curling through the window, swirling around John, beginning to obscure his outline.
âWhen did that happen?â He was still frowning.
âSoon after ⦠â My voice faltered. I did not want to finish the sentence. But his eyes held mine with frowning, loving concern.
âWhen ⦠?â he insisted.
âSoon after ⦠you died â¦â He was shrouded in smoke now. I could scarcely see him. He was fading away.
âNo! No!â I could not let him go. I swept Timothy and Tessa aside, reaching out towards him. âThey told me you were dead â but it was a lie. Some terrible mistake. Youâre here now. Youâre with us again. Youâre alive!â
âNo, Rosemary ⦠â He spoke sadly, softly. I could scarcely hear him. I could scarcely see him. He was dissolving into the smoke.
âNo, Rosemary, Iâm dead.â
In the distance, there was a dull hollow thud, like a coffin lid falling.
Â
I awoke trying to scream.
For a terrible moment, I thought I had screamed. Had I wakened the children? I caught my breath and listened.
Silence.
The ache in my throat was evidence of the force with which the scream had tried to tear loose. Somewhere in my mind, I was still screaming.
I took a deep breath and a sob escaped me. I swallowed hard. That would never do. Not yet.
I crept from the room and down the hallway, the terrors of the nightmare still gripping me. I looked for flickers of
flame. I sniffed for smoke. I would not let myself think of John.
I stood outside Timothyâs room, and then Tessaâs, for a long time. They were sleeping peacefully although every once in a while a whimper escaped one of them. I wondered what sort of dreams they were having.
Downstairs, the television set was silentâand safe. No sparks, no smoke. In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed comfortably, an occasional tinkle of shifting ice telling that it was renewing itself for the coming day. The woods outside were dark and cool, rustling in the predawn wind that had sprung up.
Upstairs again, I checked on the children once more. Still sleeping, still undisturbed. I must not disturb them now.
I went into the bathroom. If they woke, they must hear only the familiar soothing sound of running water.
And yet the dream had not been entirely bad. For those brief moments, John had been there. Loving and supportive, when I needed him â¦
âWhere else would I be ?â
I turned on the shower and, standing beside it, sobbed myself into exhaustion.
Â
When I awoke the second time, the sun was shining. I heard the children
âMummy ⦠Mummy ⦠â And then they were there in the room with me, pressing against me, clinging to me. I realized with horror that I could see them so clearly because the doorway had burst into flames behind them. We could not get out that way.
We could not get out at all. We were trapped.
âRosemary ⦠â The warm familiar voice called to me. âRosemary ⦠over here â¦â
John was standing outside the window.
âOh, my darling!â I rushed to him, herding the children before me. âMy darling, youâre here!â
âWhere else would I be when you needed me?â His loving eyes met mine. We pantomimed a kiss to each other; the children were still between us, preventing physical contact.
âNow ⦠â John was immediately practical. âPass the children out to me and Iâll lower them to the ground ⦠Tessa first ⦠â
âAll right ⦠â I picked Tessa up and swung her over the window sill. âBe careful of her arm ⦠â
âHer arm?â He frowned down at the plaster cast. âWhatâs the matter with it?â
âItâs broken â¦â Something was wrong. The smoke was curling through the window, swirling around John, beginning to obscure his outline.
âWhen did that happen?â He was still frowning.
âSoon after ⦠â My voice faltered. I did not want to finish the sentence. But his eyes held mine with frowning, loving concern.
âWhen ⦠?â he insisted.
âSoon after ⦠you died â¦â He was shrouded in smoke now. I could scarcely see him. He was fading away.
âNo! No!â I could not let him go. I swept Timothy and Tessa aside, reaching out towards him. âThey told me you were dead â but it was a lie. Some terrible mistake. Youâre here now. Youâre with us again. Youâre alive!â
âNo, Rosemary ⦠â He spoke sadly, softly. I could scarcely hear him. I could scarcely see him. He was dissolving into the smoke.
âNo, Rosemary, Iâm dead.â
In the distance, there was a dull hollow thud, like a coffin lid falling.
Â
I awoke trying to scream.
For a terrible moment, I thought I had screamed. Had I wakened the children? I caught my breath and listened.
Silence.
The ache in my throat was evidence of the force with which the scream had tried to tear loose. Somewhere in my mind, I was still screaming.
I took a deep breath and a sob escaped me. I swallowed hard. That would never do. Not yet.
I crept from the room and down the hallway, the terrors of the nightmare still gripping me. I looked for flickers of
flame. I sniffed for smoke. I would not let myself think of John.
I stood outside Timothyâs room, and then Tessaâs, for a long time. They were sleeping peacefully although every once in a while a whimper escaped one of them. I wondered what sort of dreams they were having.
Downstairs, the television set was silentâand safe. No sparks, no smoke. In the kitchen, the refrigerator hummed comfortably, an occasional tinkle of shifting ice telling that it was renewing itself for the coming day. The woods outside were dark and cool, rustling in the predawn wind that had sprung up.
Upstairs again, I checked on the children once more. Still sleeping, still undisturbed. I must not disturb them now.
I went into the bathroom. If they woke, they must hear only the familiar soothing sound of running water.
And yet the dream had not been entirely bad. For those brief moments, John had been there. Loving and supportive, when I needed him â¦
âWhere else would I be ?â
I turned on the shower and, standing beside it, sobbed myself into exhaustion.
Â
When I awoke the second time, the sun was shining. I heard the children
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