Cathy’s husband Chris shouted “bye, catch you later!” As she lay in bed, burrowed snugly under thick blankets.

Then he was off, slamming the heavy front door shut on his way out, drawing an exasperated sigh from Cathy; she was always telling him to close it gently, something was going to come loose one of these days. But then almost immediately, she relaxed and smiled and called out her goodbye to him. He was like a bull in a china shop, too strong, too large and too rough, but a cuddly, even tempered bull at that.

She was going to have a slow day, Cathy decided, wriggling deeper under the covers. But just as she was about to drop off, her stomach gave a sharp twinge, protesting loudly, and so she shuffled down to the kitchen still wrapped in the heavy blankets and put a pot of oats on the stove to cook. She’d been working hard and this deserved-undeserved sick day, procured through a fib and stellar acting, was a day off where she wanted nothing more than to cuddle up somewhere and bask in solitude.

Heading to the living room, she plopped down on the couch to wait, turning on and flipping carelessly through the TV. Nothing was on but the monotonous drone of morning news and the cozy cocoon she was in was so soothing, she was swaddled so comfortably, that Cathy found herself drifting…

What was that? Something tickled her nose, tickled her throat so that she felt she had to clear it. She could taste it too, a bitter chalky taste that settled like grime on her tongue.

And what was that sound? A low hum, a sound that vibrated in the air, rising and waning but unceasing. Where was she? Her thoughts were disjointed, dissolving one into the other without resolution and Cathy began to panic. Why was she so uncomfortable? It was too hot, suffocating in fact, a heat that itched the skin and wrapped you tight so you couldn’t move... Cathy jolted upright, her eyes flying open as she fully woke from her impromptu slumber. She was surrounded by flames.

“Oh,” a low moan escaped her gaping mouth at the merrily swaying flames that were licking furniture, walls, floors and reaching for the ceiling.

Cathy sat frozen in terror until one of the curtain draping’s caught fire with a loud hiss, then she was up, tossing sweat drenched blankets aside and scrambling to her feet, her mind whirring to action.

The fire, set by the forgotten burnt oats, had long since engulfed the kitchen and now, it was creeping through the rest of the first floor. She leaped out into the hall-way and dashed madly for the front door, grabbing desperately at the handle, crying out in despair as it came away, broken.

Cathy stood trembling as she stared at the broken handle in her hand, feeling her hopes crumble like dry tea biscuits, but flames were crawling out of the living room and she had to move. Taking the stairs two at a time to her bedroom, she grabbed her phone and begun to call for help, a confused and horror struck Chris, the cool un-frazzled operator at the fire station, police; dialling frantically, half crazed with fear now.

They lived at the end of a quiet lane, so no one would hear her if she called out the window… The window! She could tie sheets together and climb down, couldn’t she?

Moving as the idea took shape in her mind, she ran for the door to head to the linen closet near the top of the stairs, but as soon as she opened it, a blast of hot, opaque grey choking smoke pushed her back.

The fire had taken the downstairs and it was coming steadily up the stairs to claim the rest of their home; her with it.

A little sob evaded her closed lips, which she was biting down hard on with stress, and she wrung her hands as she went over to stand shakily by the window. She had no choice. She had to jump, risk a few broken bones, or take her chances with the dancing flames whose tempo was sure to overwhelm her. Cathy clutched at the window sill as an explosion rocked the house, scattering showers of glass like fireworks onto the front lawn as the downstairs windows blew out.

Balanced precariously

In the distance, behind the dull ominous roar of the fire, she could now hear sirens wailing but she was out of time. Gingerly, she climbed onto the thin sill and balanced precariously.

The ground looked so far away even though deep down, she knew it was only a couple of feet. If she landed well, maybe all she’d do was roll her ankle. She took one foot off the ledge, took in a measured breath, then she closed her eyes, hesitated a second and jumped.

“Oof!” she hit something firm, but much softer than the ground.

“When did you get so heavy?” Chris’s voice sounded muted in her ear, “You’re squashing me,” he came again.

Dazed, heart in her mouth, fear, relief and confusion rushing unrestrained through her, Cathy gawked at her husband lying under her. Then she rolled slowly off him onto sweet, cool grass. The fire continued to feast greedily on their house as Chris helped her to her feet, walking her a few paces away before they both sunk, hugging, onto the still dewy grass. Then unexpectedly, Cathy gave a short stunned laugh.

“You said you’d…catch me later,” she snorted.