It’s a coincidence. Will knows that. He had been walking on the marsh path alongside the railway, dog lead wound round his fist, when he saw the smoke – black and opaque and gushing horizontally inland. He’d headed in the direction of the front as the fire grew in intensity, the smoke flashing orange at its source. Only now, standing among a crowd across the street from the two fire engines, does Will even make the connection with Nain’s ramblings two evenings ago.

The building’s old, late Victorian, and it burns like a wooden stage set. Another two engines from a distant borough arrive as sheets of flame leap upwards and are knocked flat by the wind. Will stands away as two red rubber hoses are plumbed into a hydrant behind him.

‘Look at it go, Willy boy,’ a familiar voice calls. Mick Touch, like most of the crowd, holds his phone above his head and films.

Will nods but can’t pretend to share his enjoyment. Sparks shower into the sky as a hole opens up in the roof. The audience coo like they might at a fireworks display.

‘Popped up from Smugglers to put a bet on,’ Mick says, pointing at the betting shop next to the library with his folded slip. ‘Got turfed out by the fire brigade! So what do you reckon – charity shop or another bookies?’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Where the library was – charity shop or betting shop? It’s all that ever opens round here, isn’t it? If you want a tenner on the three o’clock at Chepstow while wearing a dead bloke’s trousers, Ebbswick’s the place, eh?’

Will shrugs. He thinks of the Saturday mornings spent at the library as a kid, of the movies he used to rent for a pound. And he thinks of the Laurie Lee short stories and encyclopaedia of photography sitting in his room right now. For a foolish moment he wonders how he’ll go about returning them.

‘Shit!’ Mick says, grabbing Will’s arm. ‘Where’s your dog?’

Confused, Will follows Mick’s gaze to the lead in his hand. ‘Yeah, it’s …’

‘He’s not missing, right? Don’t know if you noticed, Willy boy, but hell of a fire going on over there.’

‘He’s OK, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll go and find him.’

‘Need a hand?’

‘Be fine,’ Will says, a little too quick, gifted a reason to walk away.