He then pulled on his clothes, hurried down the narrow, winding staircase to the living room below and through to the small kitchen.

 

Breakfast was always the same; toast along with anything left over from yesterday’s lunch or dinner, and a large mug of tea. Today, there were two sausages in an otherwise sparsely filled fridge. He devoured them hungrily and then munched slowly on the toast.

 

He spent most of his day working in the vegetable garden, caring for a few fruit trees, tending his two goats, and making sure they were fed and contented. In return, the goats provided milk.

 

Similarly with his hens, a few eggs were their gift to the man who provided a warm place to bed down and an endless supply of feed.

 

His dog – a scruffy terrier cross – provided companionship and conversation, although the latter was very one sided. A moody cat took charge of pest control.

​

Every few days, he trudged, almost begrudgingly, down the track to where it met the road. Here a rickety table stood, and he would set out his few vegetables and eggs and empty the battered old honesty box. There were few passers-by, but he was seldom disappointed. Just occasionally, he would look at the contents of the box and whisper, “Someone has robbed me.” These were the rare when the table and money box were empty.

​

When this happened, waves of sadness chased the instant anger as, head bowed, he hurried back to the house where he poured himself a large whisky.

​

He had only one regular visitor, a woman who wandered up the track one day shortly after he moved in and, since then, regularly ensured he was still alive – that he had essential supplies he would not fetch himself. Occasionally, a delivery van would come and drop off a box or show up because the driver – although lost – insisted that, according to his sat nav, the man must be someone else.

 

Otherwise, the lifecycle of Montgomery ‘Monty’ Stewart was uneventful, as it had been for two years since he’d arrived. He kept the world at arms’ length, except for deliveries and one visitor, who came perhaps once a month and stayed for an hour. She brought him news from beyond the gate and made him laugh with her stories of village life.

​

That was, until one morning in early autumn, when he woke up to a completely different day.

​

There was no longer any early morning light to fill his bedroom, but he still stirred at 6.30am, got out of bed and stood by the window. There were no curtains. He looked across the yard towards where the gate and the trees beyond, even though he could barely see in the early gloom.

​

The previous evening, he’d written his list, a daily ritual that ensured he never missed a task and was never idle. Top of his list for today was fixing the door on the hencoop, making it secure in even the wildest weather. It must keep out the foxes.

 

Recent attempts to take eggs and fowl had failed, but more by luck than anything else. Sometimes he was awake or taking a walk at just the right time to foil the theft. His insomnia was the fox’s biggest enemy. It was also the hens’ protector. Anyone watching would see a man, alerted by squawking and screeching, dashing from the house with a shotgun. At night, he wore nothing more than underpants, and frequently nothing more than nature intended.

​

Also on his list for today was tidying his shed – it was how a lonely man occupied some time each week – and washing clothes (urgent) because he’d run out of anything clean to wear.

 

Yes, he sighed, it’s time for another battle with overly complicated technology. Each time, took him several minutes simply to start the wash cycle. He pressed every combination of programs available before the machine whirred into life. And each time, he vowed he would wash his clothes by hand in the future.

 

Comically, when the machine finally started, he stuck his tongue out at it. Losing his wife was bad enough. But losing the person who could operate the machine? That was stupid.

​

He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly seven. He put his empty plate and mug next to the sink and stared out of the window, across the wide expanse of the vegetable garden. His head bowed as he sighed. ‘Come on,’ he whispered, ‘it’s time to drag your old carcass through another day. She’d want you to give it your best.’

 

He pulled himself straight and moved towards the back door. Outside, he gathered up the few tools that were leaning against the wall by the door and headed off.

​

It was as he neared the shed - a fairly wooden structure that always looked in need of major repair – that he sensed something strange. Something was wrong, but he was never able - either immediately after or weeks later - to describe the feeling adequately. It was just wrong. At that moment, fear pierced through as an enormous roar, followed by the sound of breaking glass, filled the morning air.

 

Vicious tongues of flame leapt through the windows as they shattered, lashing out at Monty as he struggled to stay on his feet. For a moment, the scorching heat and flames wrapped themselves around him. He felt them all over his body. In his head, he heard a scream.

 

Then the flames let go. Holding up his arm to shield his face, he backed away from the double doors — out of reach. He was cursing and coughing, his lungs filling with smoke. He spat violently, trying desperately to rid his mouth of the taste of burning.

 

Acrid, dark clouds billowed out from the small shed. Inside, the cries of dying animals hit a crescendo. He fought to catch his breath as the screaming died away.

 

Soon, the only sound he could hear was the crackle of burning wood. He turned his head, just in time to see the roof collapse, almost silently, and then, one by one, the walls fell inwards. The large shed was now a huge bonfire.

​

He wiped the dirt and tears from his eyes. Momentarily stunned, he stumbled backwards and then quickly regained his balance. Out of the corner of his eye, away to the left, there was a movement. Something dark, something quick. He strained his eyes to see more, but the figure was gone. He wondered for a moment if he had seen anything.

 

His face, head and neck hurt, as did a hand, a thigh, and a shoulder. He cast a quick glance downwards. There were patches of burned clothing. He could see an angry red mark on his hand.

​

It had all happened so quickly; he wondered if he’d actually woken up. Was he still asleep? Was this one of the all too frequent nightmares? Now he had nothing, he thought. No people. No animals. Nothing. He cut a despairing figure as the fire crackled and subsided behind him.

​

 In the distance, he heard the rooks. Disturbed by the furore below, they circled noisily above him.

​

The billowing smoke caught the attention of a woman who was nearly a mile away. She was driving slowly, on an otherwise deserted lane. She knew instantly where it was coming from.

 

Accelerating, she drove as fast as she dared, and soon reached the narrow track that led from the road to the smallholding. There was a movement at the edge of the trees. It just caught her eye for the briefest moment - a dark figure stopped running towards her and spun away, heading back into the dense overgrowth.

 

She didn’t stop and as she pulled up at the gate blocking her way into the yard, saw both the burning shed and the broken man. She leapt from the car, threw open the gate, and hurried to his side.

​

‘Are you OK?’ He looked at her and nodded. ‘What happened?’ She stroked his forehead, careful to avoid a large red area on one side.

 

‘How did this happen?’ She glanced across at the dying fire. The stench of the burned carcasses drifted across. ‘Oh, that smell,’ she breathed.

He, too, looked across at the carnage. ‘I couldn’t get to them.’

​

She leaned forward a little and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He flinched. ‘You poor man,’ she whispered. He flinched again as her grip pulled at his burns. She felt him recoil and let go, looking him up and down.

​

‘You’re hurt. Oh, my God, you’re hurt.’ She stood and stretched out her arms to him. ‘We need to go inside.’

She held onto him as they moved slowly to the house. Inside, he stood next to the kitchen table and steadied himself on the back of a chair.

​

‘Monty, you’re going to have to let me look at the burns. I think you have a few bits where you just got too near the heat.’ She looked anxiously at him. ‘Sit down and let me look.’ He didn’t protest, but gently eased himself onto the chair. She unbuttoned his shirt and together they peeled it off as carefully as they could.

​

He looked at her and whispered: ‘I didn’t get too close; it came for me. The fire just lashed out.’ He looked downwards. ‘It was as though it wanted to hurt me.’

She seemed to ignore the remark. ‘Does it hurt?’ He nodded his bowed head. ‘Do you have a first aid box? Anything at all?’​​​

​

​He looked up and nodded towards the dresser behind her. ‘In the draw. Maggie always insisted we keep it full. Drove me mad, making me check it all the time.’ He grunted. ‘Good job I brought it with me.’

​

The woman smiled. ‘And she was always right, wasn’t she? Thank goodness she nagged you.’

 

The woman turned and opened the drawer behind her, pulling out a large green box and setting it down on the table. ‘Ok,’ she said, staring down at the contents. ‘I have everything I need to clean you up and fix things before we get to the hospital.’

​

He shook his head. ‘No,’ he mumbled, ‘no hospital.’ He looked anxiously up at her. ‘Please, Abi, no bloody hospital.’ He shook his head again. ‘It doesn’t hurt so much now. These things always hurt worse with the shock, don’t they?’ He looked away for a moment and continued shaking his head.

​

‘OK.’ She nodded. ‘If I feel we can manage, I’ll be honest with you. Same as if I think we need to go to outpatients.’ She stroked his hair and smiles. ‘Deal?’

This time, he nodded and smiled back.

​

She looked at his shoulders, arms, and chest. ‘Lean forward.’ He did as he was told. ‘Does anywhere hurt more than anywhere else?’

​

‘Just slight pains here and there,’ he lied. ‘Stinging a bit – that’s all.’

​

‘Ok, stand up.’ Again, he obeyed. ‘You need to drop your trousers. You have some charred material there,’ she pointed to his left thigh, ‘and there may be burns underneath.’

​

Again, he obeyed. He didn’t feel at all awkward as he let his trousers drop and stepped out of them, holding onto the table with one hand. He stood facing her, now wearing just his underpants and socks. Abi looked down at his legs and then at his feet. He was wearing odd socks. She sat on the chair and examined his legs more closely. ‘Turn around.’ He turned his back on her.

​

After a few seconds, she leaned back in the chair. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘You’ve got away with it, just slight burns – marks - in half a dozen places. At least that’s what I can see.

 

Go upstairs and have a cool shower. Not hot. No soaps, no creams, just cool water. Check I haven’t missed a spot under your pants. After a few minutes, dry yourself. Just dab, don’t rub. Dry your burns with this.’ She reached for some material in the first aid box. ‘It’s proper stuff. No bits of lint. Then I’ll apply this’ – she held up a jar of petroleum jelly – ‘and a dressing.’ She pointed to the door. ‘Quick, quick, go. Call me as soon as you’re out of the shower.’

He stood for a moment. ‘Thank you.’

​

She looked up at him and touched his face with the back of her hand. ‘Go, please go,’ she whispered. ‘It’s important we cool those burns.’

​

He hesitated. ‘You won’t leave, will you?’

Abi smiled. ‘Would I walk out on men who undress as readily as you’ve done? Now shoo – go.’ She waved him away. As he climbed the stairs, she rummaged through the first aid box and grabbed a handful of dressings.

 

She heard him moving about above her, and then the water pipes vibrated as the shower started. She climbed the stairs to his bedroom and, perching on the edge of his unmade bed, waited for him to come out of the bathroom.

​

He soon appeared at the bedroom door, dabbing himself with a huge bath towel as he moved towards her. He looked up and, realising he wasn’t alone, stopped in his tracks in the doorway.

 

The towel hung in front of him. He gripped it with one hand, and the material she’d given him was in his other hand. ‘Oops,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you were here already. I haven’t got to my clean knickers yet.’

​

She ignored him. ‘Have you dried the burns?’

He nodded and held up the cloth she’d given him. ‘But I couldn’t reach the back of my shoulder very well.’

​

‘OK, come here and turn around.’ She stood up as he stepped forward, wrapping the towel around his waist, and then handing her the cloth. She reached up and gently dried his shoulder and then applied the petroleum jelly to the burn, covering it with a dressing. He flinched several times. ‘I hope this is the right thing to do,’ she said. ‘Turn back.’ He continued to obey her instructions without question.

​

‘I’m sure it is – and I appreciate it.’ He looked down at her. ‘In fact, I feel better already.’

​

‘Good,’ she said, dabbing jelly onto his brow and onto his hand. ‘And it’s a good job I saw your smoke signals above the trees. You could just call me if you want me to visit.’

They laughed weakly.

​

‘I was wondering – in the shower – how you came to be here. I mean, it’s early. Where were you going?’

​

‘I was looking for men to accost – to have my wicked way with them; it’s a regular thing. Every Tuesday.’ She sat down on the bed. ‘Lift the towel a little higher. I need to do the burn on your thigh.’

​

‘Oh,’ he said, arranging the towel to reveal the burn. ‘I didn’t even realise it was Tuesday.’ He stared over her head, out of the window beyond. ‘If I’m honest, I never know what bloody day it is; sometimes not even the month.’

​

He was aware of her closeness. He looked down and watched her tend his wounds. She worked quickly and efficiently. Suddenly, impulsively, he wanted to touch her dark hair, gathered in a ponytail that hung between her shoulders.

 

No one had been this intimate with him since Maggie. Unless you count the doctors and nurses at the hospital after his “funny turn”, as he called it. The funny turn was far from humorous, but he always dismissed it with a smile.

 

He looked up again and stared at the scene outside, into the gap where, until just a few minutes ago, a large shed stood. Now he could see all, not just part, of the paddock beyond, and beyond that the edge of the woods. He grimaced as he realised that he would have to clean up the mess, including the carcasses.

​

‘So where were you going?’ he asked.

‘There, all done.’ She tightened the lid on the jelly and gathered up the dressing wrappings discarded on the bed. ‘I was on my way to the market; I wanted to get there early and then perhaps visit a friend.’

​

He pulled a face. ‘Sorry, I messed it all up for you.’ He dropped his head a little. ‘It’s all I seem to do these days.’

​

‘Oh, shut up, Monty. If I’d driven by and you were more injured than you are, I couldn’t live with myself.’ She looked up at him. ‘Besides, I go most Tuesdays, so a change for one week isn’t the end of the world.’ She smiled warmly.

 

‘The town doesn’t change and neither do the people at the market. So, it can wait.’ She stood up, feeling a little flushed and unsettled. ‘Now, your dressings must stay dry for a couple of days and then we’ll look at how they’re doing. I’ll go down and make a cuppa.’

​

He hesitated. ‘Shall I get dressed?’

‘That’s up to you,’ she smiled. Then she winked at him and hurried out of the room and downstairs.

​

Monty dressed as quickly as his injuries would allow and then stepped carefully down the narrow stairs. He found Abi tidying around the sink. Two mugs stood alongside the boiling kettle.

​

‘Strange, really,’ she said, without looking up. ‘How does something like that start? You didn’t store dangerous stuff in there, did you?’

​

‘No.’ He hesitated. ‘But – and I’m probably wrong - I thought I saw something.’ He shrugged. ‘Probably just a trick of the light, heat of the moment… that sort of thing.’ He smiled weakly. ‘Crap joke, wasn’t it?’

​

Abi ignored him and turned. ‘What did you see?’

He shrugged again. ‘Just something dark and blurry. I’m not sure, really.’

​

‘I see.’ She was thoughtful. ‘If by dark and blurry you mean a figure dressed in dark clothes, with their face covered and running away, then you definitely saw something.’

‘I did?’ Monty looked startled.

​

She nodded and pursed her lips.

‘How do you know?’

‘Because, my friend, I saw them as well. Just as I pulled into your track, by the road. They stopped, turned and ran back into the thick stuff.

 

But I definitely saw someone.’ She stepped towards him. ‘And now, after what you’ve just said, I think we’ve probably both seen the person who started the fire.’