But the injuries among the firefighters were more serious and Terry had been in theatre for most of the day before he’d had to leave with Gwyneth. Sandra had proved to be a godsend, working efficiently and quietly, always ready with a kind word, the right instrument and sensible suggestions. Becky didn’t know how or why Sandra had made the swift transformation from spoiled brat to dependable nurse, but they were all grateful for it – and hoped it would last.

As Big Mac was driven in by one of the Baker twins, it was clear he would bear the scars of his fiery encounter for the rest of his life. ‘Where’s my wife?’ he rasped as the smoke-blackened youth helped him up the steps.

‘Maeve’s on her way,’ Becky soothed. ‘Try to relax, Mac. You’ll do her no good if you make your condition worse.’

Angry blisters covered one side of his face, his hair, lashes and brows were all but gone, and his shirt had been burned into his chest and back. They sat him on the examination table and Becky and Jane got to work, carefully cutting away the charred shirt and dowsing the awful burns in warm saline water.

‘She should be here by now,’ he said through gritted teeth as they soaked away the remnants of his shirt. He swung a meaty arm to shoo them off him. ‘I’ve got to go and find her,’ he said, struggling to get off the table.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ said Rebecca, pressing his uninjured shoulder firmly back. ‘She and Dad are probably coming in right now, and you need to get these burns treated.’

‘But I’ve got to get back to the fire. Bob Freeman’s running things, and I don’t trust him not to make off with my scrub cattle.’

‘Bob Freeman has better things to do than nick your cattle,’ insisted Rebecca. ‘He wants that fire out as much as you do, so give it a rest, Mac, and keep still.’ She nodded to her mother, who had prepared a hypodermic.

As the needle slipped into his arm and Jane slowly depressed the plunger, Big Mac’s eyelids fluttered and he went limp.

‘I just hope to God they are on their way,’ muttered Jane as she propped him on his uninjured side so she could continue to cut away the big man’s clothing to get to the rest of his burns. ‘They’re certainly taking their bloody time about it.’

Rebecca eyed her mother sharply. Jane rarely swore, and it was a measure of the strain she was under. ‘I expect we’ll know soon enough when they get here,’ she replied, trying hard not to think of Danny all alone out there in the darkness – lost, perhaps injured – frightened, hungry – in danger from the fire.