Fire Song by Libby Hathorn Page B

think about her conversation with Freddy, and when hemight arrive. Time to think about what she’d promised Mum, to think about Dom and what he’d made of her strange behaviour to him and how she couldn’t really ask Dom’s dad now. Time to be with Pippa, who’d probably be scared out of her wits by being left alone at the Willams’s, and time to comfort her. Time to work out what she was going to do next. But
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meant a box of matches and some bowls of kero with twisted rags lying there ready, and she gave a hiccup of a sob at the thought.
    Fire, liar, fire! Fire, liar, fire!
The chant took up in her head again. ‘Up in smoke, down to the ground!’ She willed herself to think of something else, despite the flickering flames at the base of her skull, the shower of sparks at her temple, the windy roar of a gorging inferno behind her eyes. Her hand was still on the gate.
    Freddy, come quickly, she thought and then made a new song in her head. ‘We’re ready for Freddy, darling Freddy, darling Freddy. We’re ready, we’re ready, and it’s now, now, now!’ She repeated it in her head to keep the fire song at bay. She took slow deep breaths, lots of them, and in a while her heart stopped its racing. On the verandah Blackie stood, just looking at her, and then wagging his tail. Even the dog sensed something.
    Despite everything, what a flood of relief, just thinking Freddy’s name brought her! She wanted to stay at the old iron gate, looking up at that arc of sky, crisp with stars and adorned with a sharp, edible slice of moon, and think of her brothers, both of them under the same night sky and both of them heading for Blackheath right now. She wanted to stay with this good thought and not go inside.
    ‘Stay, doggie,’ she said as she passed by him, on the side path that led to the back door. But she reached over and fondled his old head again, because a little later she knew she’d have to tether him somewhere in the Williams’s garden and he hated being tied up. ‘Stay, Blackie.’
    She took another deep breath and went inside. But when she found them in the lounge room, what a surprise! She came in the back way as always, expecting to see Mrs Harry Williams in the kitchen. But there were shrieks of laughter coming from further inside. When she peered round the door of the lounge room, there was Mrs Harry Williams in front of her biggest tapestry lounge chair, down on all fours playing horsies with Pippa. There was Gracie, bent double with laughter and, as for Pippa, she was clinging onto Mrs Harry Williams’s apron strings for dear life, as Mrs Harry bucked and neighed. Pippa was pink-cheeked with excitement, throwing back her head and laughing and laughing, in a way Ingrid couldn’t remember her doing before!
    Mum always said Mrs Harry Williams took herself too seriously, but if Mum could only see her now, she wouldn’t think that at all! Her face was red, her hair tousled and her eyes were merry. She gave a start when she saw Ingrid standing there and shook Pippa free, to give her a bear hug before she stood up, smoothing her hair and her apron, almost as if she were guilty.
    ‘How’s your poor mum?’ she asked and, before Ingrid could answer, ‘Just keeping the little one happy!’ Then a miracle happened. Pippa didn’t run to Ingrid as she usually did and bury her face deep in her dress; she gave Mrs Harry another long hug, before she came to greet her sister.
    ‘What a little darling,’ Mrs Harry Williams said.
    ‘She’s so sweet, your little sister,’ said Gracie, ‘such a sweetie!’ Her voice was full of pleasure and maybe just a little envy.
    ‘Mum’s all right,’ Ingrid said, her voice coming out sour and serious. There was a strange jealous feeling clouding her heart, despite all the gaiety, yet why she should feel like this when it was clearly good fun for Pippa, she didn’t know.
    ‘But I got to go back there,’ she lied, because it came to her that she would have to see