How did we sleep?!
Our lovely house was reduced to rubble
One minute I was dreaming peacefully in bed, the next, I was wrenched from my sleep. The sound of voices downstairs made me sit bolt upright in bed.
‘What’s that?’ I whispered, shaking my hubby Cameron, 33, awake.
It was last April and we could hear people talking downstairs in our house.
‘Someone’s broken in!’ I gulped, heart pounding.
Tiptoeing onto the landing, the smell of petrol hit me.
Then I noticed smoke and dust rising up the stairs. ‘What the..?’ I gasped, terrified. My first thought was the kids. Our daughter Quaide, 4, and son Crewe, 3, were in their rooms.
Quaide was crying, so I rushed in, scooped her up.
Cameron grabbed Crewe.
But, as we made our way downstairs, we found a scene of absolute carnage.
There were piles of rubble everywhere.
A thick cloud of dust enveloped us. And then I saw it… A car, in the middle of the dining room and staircase. ‘What on earth..?’ I screamed. Someone had crashed a grey Ford Focus right through our home.
The sturdy stone walls of our midterrace house had been reduced to a mountain of rubble.
Neighbours had heard the commotion and had gathered outside.
The smell of petrol was overpowering – and getting stronger. ‘We need to get out before the car explodes!’ I cried urgently.
The front door was smashed in.
Panicking, desperate to get the kids out, Cameron clambered over rubble, still in his slippers.
He passed Crewe through a small hole over the top of the car to our neighbours, followed by Quaide.
Next, Cameron and I made our escape through a bigger gap – and, outside, reality hit.
‘Look at our home!’ I sobbed, taking in the scene.
The car had demolished the garden wall, front external wall and living room, before being stopped by supporting walls either side of the stairs.
‘How did we sleep through that?’ I gasped in amazement. ‘I heard a pop,’ Cameron said. But he’d not woken up properly until we heard neighbours screaming our names from the street. The police were called and the driver was arrested. We heard whispers about him being drunk. But I was in too much shock to pay much attention. Cameron and I left the kids with my auntie. Then we sat in our car all night, just looking at the mess that was our beloved family home. The following day, we called our insurance company. They found us a two-bed house for rent on an adjoining street. We had no furniture but at least it was a roof over our heads. The kids were so upset by the whole thing. Poor Quaide kept wetting the bed and was so clingy to me. Meanwhile, builders, plasterers and electricians set to work on the house. ‘It’s going to take months,’ one builder warned. The garden wall, internal and external walls had to be rebuilt, new
The smell of petrol was overpowering – and getting stronger...