Clambering over seats to reach the aisle, Rex crept closer to where the upper tier gave up its shelter until he could take in the full horror. One half of the theatre had been smashed to pieces and the illuminated arrows that were meant to point to the nearest of the side exits pointed to a mountain of broken rafters and rubble. There were fires at ground level, but so far its spread was limited. The danger lurked above where a large section of the ceiling was missing. Dense smoke filled the void in the roof, and it was this that glowed orange as gusts of wind fanned the flames. Burning embers floated down and, more alarmingly, occasional pieces of debris crashed to the ground.

There was less damage on the far side of the theatre and, peering through the gloom, Rex found what he was looking for; a green exit sign close to the stage. He watched as a handful of survivors broke cover and raced towards it. That was where they had to reach, but, before Rex turned to fetch his wife and granddaughter, he looked back to where they had been sitting earlier. In the spot where he had left the little girl to wait for her mum, there was a mound of debris. His streaming eyes disguised his tears. It was too late for her. He had to think of his own family.

4

The day after Mal’s telling off, Leanne arranged to meet Kathryn Parker and her daughter, Amelia, at the Bridgewater Inn. It was midweek so they had their choice of tables, and opted for one by a window. The menu offered standard pub fayre, but the view was better than most. The beer garden backed onto the Bridgewater Canal and had moorings for boat trippers, who could access the pub via a gate next to a play area.

The now ten-year-old survivor was more interested in the reporter than the view, and as Leanne returned from the bar with a glass of lemonade, two J2Os, and no fresh information about Karin Gallagher from the barman who had served her, she was being eyed cautiously.

‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? How about an ice cream sundae?’ she suggested.

Amelia shook her head.

‘This is fine,’ Kathryn said, taking their drinks.

Leanne placed her phone in the centre of the table with the voice recorder running. After a nod of approval from Amelia’s mum, she began the interview. ‘Do you know why we’re here, Amelia?’

‘We come here for Sunday lunch all the time,’ Amelia replied, choosing to direct her response to her mum. ‘I like looking at the boats.’

‘I heard you were very brave,’ Leanne tried again.

Amelia pursed her lips around the paper straw poking out of her lemonade glass.

‘I’ve told Amelia you’re going to find the woman who helped her,’ said Kathryn.