I’m looping a price tag from a wooden hanger, when my contact lenses start to bother me. I blink. Everything seems hazy and my eyes begin to itch. I squeeze them shut and wonder if I’ve caught Lucy’s cold already. Is that possible? I go to the bathroom and drip Thealoz eye drops into my reddened eyes and feel much better. Back in the lounge, though, they get worse again. I look around. The room is strangely misty.

There’s a loud thudding overhead from Lucy’s flat. I hear her front door open and slam, and down the outside steps she comes, boom-boom-boom! And she’s thumping on my door with her fists. ‘Fern!’ she cries dramatically. ‘Fern, are you in there?’

I open it, standing well back in case she sneezes on me again. ‘What’s up?’

‘My flat’s on fire,’ she says breathlessly, eyes wide, damp hair clinging to her forehead. She’s wearing a black towel. That’s it. Just the towel.

‘Really?’

To confirm it, my smoke alarm goes off, so I grab my phone, trench coat and my red lipstick. After shutting the door to muffle the noise, we dash outside and up the steps into the street. We stand together on the pavement, hanging onto the black railings and staring at the house nervously, looking for flames.

A middle-aged man comes towards us with a black Labrador on a blue retractable lead. His eyes settle on Lucy, barefoot and clad in the black towel. Then his gaze rests on me for a moment and swiftly returns to Lucy before he politely passes us without a word.

‘Lucy, here, take my coat.’

‘No, thanks, Fern. It’s a better look to be standing outside a burning house wearing a black towel, dramatically speaking.’ She looks up at her window again and nudges me with her elbow. ‘Have you called the fire service yet?’

I put my hand in my coat pocket, feeling for my phone, and hesitate. Out here in the fresh air, the house looks perfectly normal and I happen to know that Lucy just loves a drama. Well, she would, being an actor. I can’t see any smoke or flames and I wonder if it’s burnt itself out already.

‘Lucy, how big is the fire, exactly?’ I ask her sceptically.

She stares at me through the damp blonde strands of her fringe. ‘What do you mean, how big is it? Fires spread, you know! They spread like wildfire. Hence the saying.’

‘Mmm. Mmm. What’s the difference between a fire and wildfire?’

‘Give me that.’ She grabs my phone from me and phones the emergency services.