21
Mickey drove like a madman, speeding through the night as fast as the icy roads would allow, white knuckling the steering wheel as he shouted at Isha. “How did this happen the same goddamn day we start installing fire breaks? Is this a fucking joke?”
“I don’t know how it started,” Isha said urgently. “Just that the whole block has gone up. I’m half an hour away. Where are you?”
“Ten minutes out. I can fucking see it from the road.”
“How bad is it?”
“Bad. If that cladding catches like it did at Grenfell, it’s going to be a massacre.”
Isha swore, as caught up in the moment as Mickey. He’d founded DOSHA with Dom to protect lower income households from unsafe housing, but contained by bureaucracy and red tape, it tookyearsto facilitate real change, and this was the result: tower blocks that could kill hundreds of people at once if the right kind of fire took hold. Elderly folk. Kids. Whole families.
Benito’sfamily if they hadn’t got out in time.
Mickey ended the call with Isha and jabbed at the screen on the dashboard, keeping a sharp eye on the road. He called Rosetta. Her phone was off.
He called Gianna.
No answer.
“Fuck.” Mickey pounded the steering wheel as the orange glow on the horizon grew bigger.Call him. He needs to be here. But coward that Mickey was, he didn’t have the balls to call Benito and tell him his mother’s home was burning and he had no idea if his family was safe.
Just get there.
Six minutes later, Mickey was as close to Barnfield Court as the emergency cordon would allow him to be. He threw his car up the kerb and leapt out.
He raced to the nearest police officer controlling the crowd. “I need to get past. This is my building.”
The officer shook his head. “We’re not letting anyone through. If you’re worried about relatives, you need to give your name to the incident command and wait over there.”
“I’m not a resident. I’m from the housing association that manages some of the properties. I have a list of every household, blueprints of the building, and documentation for the ongoing maintenance work.”
Mickey flashed his DOSHA ID and the folder of paperwork he’d had the foresight to grab when he’d charged out of his house.
The officer let him through.
Mickey dashed across the road, smoke from the fire already burning his eyes. Firefighters swarmed the area at the foot of the tower, shepherding coughing residents across the precinct to the fried chicken shop. Mickey scanned every face, searching out those he knew, ticking them off in his brain.
Mrs Foggarty
The Howlets
The Aslams
Mr Grecco
For a heart-stopping moment, that was it, then hefinallyfound the fear-filled gaze of Rosetta De Luca.
Gianna was at her feet, curled into an upright foetal position on the pavement, pale and tear-streaked. Mickey longed to go to her and scoop her up while he called Benito to come and be with his family, but he couldn’t. Before he could stop pretending Benito and his family weren’t everything to him, he had to locate Mr Morris and track down the lead fire fighter.
The white hat of the lead firefighter was by the engine closest to the building. Mickey ran to him and handed over the household list he’d gathered for the maintenance work. “I only manage the housing association properties, but this is a full list. Did you get everyone out? I can’t see one of my residents. Mr Morris. Third floor.”
“Morris. Yup. We’re looking for him. The third floor caught the worst of it. We’re also missing the son of the lady in the De Luca flat at the top. He went back in for the cat.”
Dread gripped Mickey’s heart. “Benito? But—but he doesn’t live here.”
“Visiting, apparently. Stayed the night on the couch. We’re looking for him, but there’s a structural weakness in the stairs. Access is—”