Page 69 of Neighbor from Hell
He hesitates, his fingers stilling on mine, and says, “They’re taking care of it now. Inspectors are at the house, figuring out what caused the fire. They’ll let us know what caused it soon. Everything will be resolved, don’t worry.” There’s a crack, a vulnerability that I’ve never seen before, and I believe him. I want to believe him, but the loss of the cottage is a knife in my heart. And my loss is his gain. That’s something that can’t be ignored, but I won’t face it now. Not yet.
I look at him, really look. My eyes catch a small burn on his forearm, red and blistered, peeking from his rolled-up sleeve, and worry surges as my hand reaches for it, but he catches my fingers and holds them gently, stopping me from straining the IV.
“It’s fine,” he says, his voice soft but insistent. “Just a small burn. The doctor says it’ll heal perfectly, no issue.” He smiles, trying to reassure me, but I see the fatigue in his eyes, the sootstill clinging to his hair, and I know it could’ve been worse, so much worse.
“It could’ve been worse,” I echo, my voice breaking, and gratitude overwhelms me because he saved me, pulled me from the flames, risked his life for me. “Thank you, Hugh,” I say, my eyes stinging, tears welling as I try to hold them back, try to stay strong, but the weight of my crushed dream presses down on me. “Thank you so much for saving me.” My voice cracks, and I can’t stop the tears spilling, hot and silent, down my cheeks.
He leans in, his strong arms wrapping around me, pulling me close against his chest, his shirt rough with dried sweat and ash, his scent familiar, grounding. “No problem, no problem,” he mutters, his voice thick, his hands stroking my back, comforting and steady.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Lauren.” His words are a vow.
I cling to him, sobbing softly, my tears soaking his shirt, my gratitude and fear tangling together, because he’s here, we’re alive, but everything else is gone.
The doctor enters, her white coat crisp. “Hi. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I reply, and her smile widens.
“That’s good.” She smiles. “I’m happy to announce that you’re stable and clear to leave whenever you’re ready. You didn’t have any significant smoke inhalation, and right now what you need is rest and hydration.” Her voice is calm, professional, but I barely hear her, because leaving means facing the cottage, the blackened ruins, the life I’d started to build, now ash. My heart races, nervous, heartbroken, and I grip Hugh’s hand tighter, my eyes fixed on the window, avoiding the truth waiting outside.
We leave the hospital.
Hugh’s arm around me, his warmth a shield as we step into the chopper, the blades humming, lifting us back to the estate.
He sees my distress, the way my shoulders tense, and murmurs, “Don’t worry, Lauren, it’ll be fine.”
But his words feel hollow because nothing feels fine, not when my home is gone. From the helicopter, I can’t help it—I look down. And there it is, the cottage, its stone walls charred, huge swaths blackened, the roof collapsed, the windows gaping like wounds. My heart breaks, a physical ache, and I cry silently, my hand pressed to the glass, tears streaming as Hugh’s hand rests on my shoulder, strong but helpless.
We land, and I walk to the cottage, my steps slow, the air still smelling of smoke, acrid and bitter. Work vans are parked nearby, inspectors in hard hats poking through the debris, their voices low, their tools clinking against scorched wood. Hugh walks over to Joseph, his estate manager, and Dustin, an electrician, their faces grim as they discuss wiring, construction errors, a spark that might’ve started it all.
I overhear “faulty circuit” and “rushed job,” and my stomach twists, wondering if the renovations, the ones Hugh pushed for, caused this, if someone made a mistake, if this was preventable. I need someone to blame. I’m so upset my hands are trembling as I stare at the charred ruins. The pink sofa that I fell in love with is a melted hunk of burnt husk and twisted metal.
Hugh steps closer, his hand brushing my arm. “Why don’t you go back to the manor. You need rest. I’ll handle things here.”
I’m reluctant to leave, but I nod.
His voice is gentle, his eyes earnest, but before I can respond, a voice calls my name, instantly familiar and unwelcome, and my heart sinks. I turn and see Cecilia, her horse-faced features pinched with concern, her coat flapping as she strides over. Hugh moves away then and gets back to conversing with the workers, not wanting to deal with her either. My moodplummets even more. She is honestly the last person in the world that I want to see right now.
“Lauren, oh my God,” she wails dramatically, “we heard about the fire. I’m so, so sorry for what’s happened.” Her eyes dart to the cottage, then back to me, and I force a smile, my voice tight.
“It’s okay,” I say, lying to myself as much as her, trying to find strength. “I fixed it once, and I’ll do it again. It’s fine.” The words feel hollow, a lie to keep me from breaking.
Cecilia’s expression shifts, her lips pursing, her tone sharpening. “I warned you,” she says, her tone low.
I flinch, offended, my anger flaring. “What are you talking about?” I snap, my voice low, dangerous.
She steps closer, undeterred, her eyes glinting with something like triumph. “I told you about Hugh, about your land. It means a lot to him, Lauren, even if he has to destroy your house to get what he wants. I warned you he’d pull something like this.”
Her words hit like a slap, and my breath catches, because she’s expressing aloud the fear I’ve buried, the suspicion I didn’t want to face.
“Don’t you think it’s convenient?” she presses, her voice lowering, conspiratorial. “This fire, after you refused to sell? I’m sure he must have tried to seduce and charm you into giving it up, but when that didn’t work… maybe he resorted to this out of desperation.” She gestures at the charred cottage, her words venomous, sinking into me, stirring doubt, anger, betrayal.
I’m reeling, my heart pounding, my eyes flicking to Hugh, who’s still talking to Joseph, unaware, his posture tense and focused. And then they turn and walk away, heading towards the manor. They are completely unaware of my dazed eyes watching them.
Cecilia leans in, her voice softer, “It’s best you keep your distance from him, Lauren. In the meantime, if you need a place to stay while you sort this out, I have a spare bedroom, and you’re welcome to it. Anytime.”
Her offer is kind and unexpected, but somehow it grates. Her presence, as ever, is an intrusion, and her accusations have poisoned the very air I breathe.
I want to scream, to tell her to shut up and fuck off, but I force myself to be calm. My voice is unconsciously icy. “Thank you, Cecilia, but I’m not ready to talk about my affairs to anyone right now. I need to be alone, to assess the damage. Please.” My words are a clear dismissal, but she still hesitates, her eyes narrowing.
