Free Home Truths by Louise Forster Page A

as the ladder bounced with their combined weight. What if it broke! That frightened her more than anything. Mouth open, eyes agog, face crimson, she had to be the perfect picture of sheer terror. Thinking it must be easier if you couldn’t see what might befall you, she screwed her eyes shut and prayed for it all to be over.
    â€˜Stop right there, Bruce, and give me a wave!’ the journalist called up.
    â€˜Bruce, if you value your life,’ Jennifer wheezed, ‘don’t you dare let go of me or the ladder to wave at that idiot.’
    Bruce stopped his descent. ‘I wouldn’t do that, luv.’ He used the arm wrapped around her thighs to hook through the ladder. With his free hand, he waved and smiled at the photojournalist.
    Jennifer thumped him on the shoulder. ‘Bruce! My eyes feel like they’re about to pop and my head’s about to explode!’
    â€˜Oops, sorry, luv.’ He continued down. It took forever before the swaying stopped.
    Applause erupted around her. With a sigh of relief, Jennifer felt solid ground under her feet. Feeling light-headed, her legs buckled. In a wink, half a dozen firemen lunged forward wanting to be the one who came to her aid.
    â€˜You all right, luv?’ Bruce asked.
    â€˜Sure...think the blood stopped flowing to my legs.’
    â€˜Everyone,’ Bruce called out, ‘I’d like ya to meet Bob’s niece, Miss Jennifer Dove.’
    â€˜Miss Dove,’ the photojournalist called out. ‘You’ve been a terrific sport. Could we have a photo of you in Bruce’s arms and the rest of the fire crew in the background?’
    â€˜Oh sure,’ Jennifer smiled feebly, still shaken by the episode.
    Ten minutes later, she watched as the clean-up began. Hoses scraped, brass nozzles clanged and bounced over flagstones. The ladder clattered down to more than half its size. Talking and laughing among themselves, the men gathered their equipment.
    â€˜Nice meet’n ya, Jennifer. We’re all volunteers so we don’t often get the chance to get the practice in.’ The firemen sauntered out of the courtyard, Bruce stayed back and took Jennifer’s hand. He leant in and quietly said, ‘I’ll see ya later at the church.’ She gave him a slight nod. He gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘For Bob.’ He smiled and took off.
    Jennifer swiped at a couple of stray tears, smearing more soot across her cheeks. She headed towards the secluded kitchen for some quiet reflection.
    How long had she been here? Not even twenty-four hours.

Chapter 6
    Jennifer sat at the kitchen table with her feet up on the chair opposite. ‘Shit.’ She wiggled her toes and eyed the pink, fluffy stilettos. ‘Great, I can see it already, front page news: “Woman rescued from burning building. Still needs rescuing from poor fashion sense.” Or: “Woman burns heritage building, but saves fluffy pink stilettos.” ’
    On automatic pilot, Jennifer buttered herself a scone, adding lashings of jam and cream. Bugger the hips , she thought, biting into the spongy little cake. It had been an action-packed couple of days and she’d only just survived — arrived. She peered at her watch, quickly did the maths: nope, Sofie wouldn’t be up yet. She thought about changing her watch from London to Tumble Creek time, but what was the point. She’d be going home soon.
    â€˜Ah, London,’ she sighed, thinking about her quaint flat that had never threatened to electrocute her or set her alight. The Tate Gallery, where she could spend days gazing at old masters, like Turner. Being able to go shopping down Oxford Street and pop into Harrods, just because you could. Marble Arch, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park…Jennifer smiled. Yes, she missed the place already. But a little flame of doubt burned in her mind, and that inherent feeling of belonging, normally associated with home, escaped her.
    Ah, but Europe