We’d been married for just four days when our honeymoon turned to horror. By Zoe Holohan, 50
Stepping into the café for my latest internet date, I took in the two male customers sitting at opposite ends of the room.
One had a nice beard and a twinkle in his eye — definitely my type. But because the blurry photo on my date’s profile had been clean-shaven, I shrugged and headed for the other.
Only, right then, the handsome, bearded man stood up and asked: ‘Zoe?’
Result!
After a string of bad dates, I’d been ready to quit online dating. But something about Brian’s profile had made me give it one last shot. And boy, was I glad I had.
Brian, who sold produce to the hospitality trade, turned out to be funny and well-travelled.
A keen biker, he also volunteered for the charity Blood Bikes in his spare time, delivering medical supplies to hospitals.
The attraction was instant and that coffee date lasted 14 hours.
Both in our early 40s and married before, we knew what we wanted. We moved in together and two years on, Brian proposed on holiday in Portugal.
We planned a beautiful day at Clonabreany House, a country estate an hour from our home in Dublin.
And two years after Brian popped the question, we exchanged our vows.
We had our first dance to Happy by Pharrell Williams. It was a perfect day.
Two days later, we headed off on our honeymoon to a Greek villa in the resort of Mati, off the coast of Athens.
We spent our first morning in the pool, then had lunch and a nap.
'We're going to make it'
I was still dozing when I heard Brian yelling: ‘Zoe!’
Running downstairs, I found him staring out at the garden. It was on fire and the back of the villa was catching too.
‘We have to go, now!’ Brian said, finding the keys to the hire car.
I threw on a dress and grabbed my handbag with our passports, wallets and phones inside.
But the villa was protected by a big iron gate, and it wouldn’t open automatically like it had before.
‘Wait in the car,’ Brian told me, running to get the allen key to open it.
The car was like an oven, and as Brian struggled with the gate, the flames were getting closer.
I got out to help and a moment later, the car was engulfed by flames.
Brian helped me over the gate. Landing on the other side, I felt a sharp pain in my knee, but I ignored the pain as Brian clambered over and we began to run.
‘We’re going to make it,’ Brian said, as we ran between walls of fire.
Thick black smoke made it hard to see. The heat was unbearable, breathing was like swallowing acid.
Eventually, we found other people and a woman told us: ‘You can’t go that way. People are dying.’
Then they vanished.
I could feel my legs burning. Brian put my dress out with his bare hands. We still couldn’t stop.
We headed back in the opposite direction, on a main road where we found a small group of children, surrounded by flames.
'Please search for Brian'
Without a word, Brian scooped them up, while I took the toddler’s hand and kept running.
A car appeared from nowhere, and I begged: ‘Let us in!’
The three adults inside opened the doors, I put the kids in, then me and Brian desperately squeezed into the boot.
My hair, face and dress were soon alight and my hand felt welded to the boot lid. Beside me, I thought Brian was praying.
Then there was a massive jolt. The car hit a tree and a huge branch landed on the open boot.
Brian’s hand was no longer in mine as he toppled into the road.
Knowing I was losing him, I called out: ‘Brian! Brian!’
I said his name over and over, hoping the last thing he’d hear was the person who loved him the most.
‘Why?’ he mouthed, before he died in front of me.
We had only been married four days.
Still on fire in the boot of the car, I waited to die too.
Then I felt someone lift me from the car and carry me through the wall of fire.
Looking down at my hand, the flesh had all melted away. I wondered what my face looked like.
The pain was indescribable, but the local hospital was chaos. I was left alone on a bed, with no painkillers, all night.
The next morning, thankfully I was transferred to Mitera Hospital.
I had third-degree burns to my face, chest, arms, hands and legs and could only just see out of one eye.
I learnt that everyone else in the car — including the children — had survived with minor injuries.
My head was scrambled.
I thought: Maybe Brian’s been rescued too?
In between operations, I begged: ‘Please search for Brian.’
When my family learnt I was in hospital, my brothers flew out to be with me.
And three days on, my brother John told me: ‘Brian’s body has been found.’
His family were informed and we managed to get him home where he was cremated. He was 46.
Just three weeks later, while I was still in hospital, I lost my dad too. He’d been recovering from cancer, but had died of a massive heart attack.
It was months before I was well enough to return home to Dublin, but then I developed a rare skin reaction called toxic epidermal necrolysis. I was in a coma for a month, with multiple-organ failure.
When I pulled through that, I had to learn to walk, talk, eat and use my hands again.
Five months after the fires, I could walk on crutches, so we had a beautiful memorial for Brian to scatter his ashes on a lake.
It was only then that the full explosion of grief hit.
I was in hospital four days a week for physiotherapy, burns treatment and therapy for my PTSD. I still had visions of fires and terrible insomnia.
The thing that really helped was writing. Somehow, getting everything that had happened on to the page helped me get it out of my system.
It was around a year after the wildfires that I learnt the full immensity of what had happened in Greece.
The wildfire, the biggest in Europe in a century, had killed 104 people. Many more suffered severe burns. Homes were destroyed by the blaze that’s believed to have been started by someone burning garden waste.
But, like other survivors, what I was angry about was that there’d been no sirens, no warning system and no apparent evacuation plans in place. Roads had been blocked and the electricity supply cut off. That’s why the gate hadn’t opened.
I had to wear compression garments for three years after the fire to hold my many skin grafts in place, as well as lots of itchy wigs because I had no hair.
In time, I wrote a book about what happened, called As the Smoke Clears, which has since been published.
There was a lot about grief in the book, from the incredible anger I’d felt, to collapsing in the supermarket because I’d spotted Brian’s favourite biscuits. Afterwards, I began being invited to give talks about bereavement.
Five years on, my body and mind are still dealing with the consequences of that afternoon in Greece.
I haven’t dated since Brian. It still feels like I’d be cheating on him.
I thought Brian and I would be together forever. One thing’s for sure, anyone I do meet will have a spectacular act to follow.
• As the Smoke Clears by Zoe Holohan is available from Amazon.