How did we sleep?!

Our lovely house was re­duced to rub­ble

Chat - - Contents - By Kim Davies, 33, from Maesteg, Mid Glam

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.

Hor­ri­fy­ing!

‘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...

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