“What must I do? What must I say?”

“Stick to the truth. The inventory you compiled was accurate. You can personally vouch for each piece of furniture. Don’t change your story. Don’t elaborate.”

But that’s not the truth, Daddy.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t get flustered, girl. You lose your nerve too easily.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay strong.”

* * *

Jono from Very High Premiums Insurance wears a grey suit with grey socks and grey shoes. His face is shiny with youth. His hair has been brushed and gelled to cling to the shape of the skull. He shakes my hand and makes eye contact like they taught him in business school.

“Miss Lurie. Good to meet you. Jono from Very High Premiums. Would you like tea or coffee?”

I ask for tea and sit on the edge of my chair. It is a classic marker of guilt, but I can’t help it. I feel guilty because I am guilty.

“Just a few issues to run through.” He consults a clipboard and cross-references it with something on his laptop screen. “Your father said that his collection of antique furniture was amassed over many years. Can you tell me about that?”

“Of course. Some of it was given to my mother and father as a wedding present by my mother’s family. They were farmers in the Worcester district for generations, and had an impressive collection of furniture. My parents were also in the habit of frequenting auction sales and flea markets on weekends. I believe much of their furniture was sourced in that way.”

My mother loved trawling second-hand shops and flea markets. My father hated it. When she died, he got rid of most of what she had collected. I remind myself that I don’t remember exactly what he sold and what he kept. I was twenty at the time. I was at university. I didn’t pay attention.

He keeps his gaze fixed on the clipboard. “On the night of the incident, can you remember whose idea it was to start the fire?”

The question snatches the breath from my lungs. I am a landed fish, begging to be thrown back into the water. Jono keeps his eyes on the clipboard. The Dale Carnegie school of eye contact has been abandoned.

Is this what he wanted? To question me about that night?

“Do you remember, Miss Lurie? Do you remember who decided to start the fire?”

“We didn’t know that a fire had been started until it was almost upon us. My father came to tell me to get up—to get out because the house was on fire. Smoke was already billowing into the sitting room. I wanted to grab a few things, but he told me to leave everything and get out. I didn’t hear them—the intruders—discussing it. I didn’t know they were thinking of such a thing.”