The smell of smoke still permeated the air around him, even though the fire that had turned the Pavilion into a charred wreck had long been extinguished. The warmth of the day – still hot, but a more bearable temperature than previous days – gave it no means of escape, no breeze on which it could be carried away.

He’d been there when the last flame was extinguished; the call summoning him to the school came only minutes after he’d sneaked back into the pub. Being caretaker made him the first point of contact in an emergency, so off he’d dashed – conspicuously, via the pub’s front door this time – to offer his assistance to the fire crews putting out the blaze they had no idea he’d started.

He’d made a point of telling anyone who’d listen that he suspected kids were to blame, that there were always gangs of older ones skirting around the school grounds after hours. He’d sounded convincing and even though they were treating it as suspected arson he wasn’t worried. His mood today was jubilant, in fact – there was no way Gus’s girls could use the Pavilion the state it was in now.

‘Excuse me, are you Alan Donnelly?’ a voice interrupted him.

He looked round to see a very short woman bearing down on him. Sometimes suppliers requested an appointment to peddle their products but Alan didn’t recall any in the diary for today and he was certain he’d have remembered arranging to meet this one. With wild curly hair and a disarming smile, she was exceptionally pretty.

Reaching the table, she stuck out her hand.

‘I’m Jennifer Jones, Chief Reporter with the Mansell Echo. Have you got a minute to chat?’

Alan stumbled to his feet, jolting the table in his haste and spilling what coffee was left in his mug, which crashed to the floor.

‘How did you get in?’ he asked tetchily. ‘You can’t just walk around the school unaccompanied.’

‘I couldn’t find anywhere to sign in. The reception is shut.’

‘That’s because the school is shut today,’ he shot back. ‘If you want to talk to anyone, you need to speak to Mrs Pullman, the head. She’s in charge.’

Jennifer ignored him and plonked herself down at the picnic table across from him.

‘But it’s not her who has the story I want. You were there, you saw the boy die.’

‘Oh, come on, if you think I’m giving an interview about that –’

‘I’m not going to sensationalize it, if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re a local paper, not a tabloid. I’m only after a few quotes about what the boy was like.’

‘I didn’t know him,’ said Alan shortly.

‘So tell me how sad you are about what happened, then. Did you try to save him?’