21
I couldn’t move. I put my phone down on the reception desk, picked it up again. Home screen. I’d cut him off. The flames were getting higher on both sides of me. If they reached – no, when they reached the petrol in front of me, the pub would become an inferno. I’d have to walk through the petrol and open the door. What if the killer was waiting for me?
Andre! He was upstairs, fast asleep.
That finally galvanised me and got my legs moving. I scooted around the desk and headed up the stairs, stumbling a couple of times, pulling myself up by the rail. I banged on his door and screamed, ‘Andre! Wake up! Fire, fire!’
The door to my room was open, the keys in the lock still. I wrenched them out. Andre’s door opened.
‘What did you say? What’s wrong?’
‘Someone’s set the pub on fire. We h
