‘What whole place?’ I said, but not loud enough to be heard through the door. From behind me, in the vicinity of the bathroom, came a sickening grinding noise, rough surface hard against rough surface.

‘We’ve got to get you out of there!’ said the voice.

‘I’ve got to get out of here!’ I cried in return. ‘I’ve got a meeting!’

‘Can you come to the window?’

Yes, I could. I went through to the bedroom and opened the curtains. A firefighter was standing at my front door, in full fluoro-flashed armour and yellow helmet, and another was standing behind him on the stairs. I was stopped by the stance of this second firefighter – her feet were on different steps, not even adjacent steps. She was poised, ready to spring up and away from the house. I was in danger.

With a ping, one end of the curtain rail fell down, spitting plaster and knocking over some of the cans I had left on the window ledge and the desk. A crack had run through the wall where the rail had been attached, and opening the curtains had dislodged the rail from whatever tenuous grip it retained.

The firefighters saw me, but did not acknowledge me, instead conducting a rapid conversation.

‘Prop?’

‘No time.’

‘Quick then.’

‘It’s reinforced.’ The window panes had a grid of wire fired into them, to try to frustrate the burglars who love basement flats. The second firefighter produced a tool, a crowbar interbred with a hatchet.

‘Sir! Sir! Turn away from the window and cover your eyes!’

I didn’t have to be warned, I knew what was about to happen, and they didn’t wait. I shrank back and pressed my arm across my face. The hatchet crunched through the glass. They didn’t pause – more impacts followed, accompanied by the tinkling of shards, an almost restful sound in comparison. There was a particularly loud, splitting crack, and more blows.

‘Out! Out now!’

A hole had replaced the lower two panes of my bedroom window, the splintered remains of the glass peeled back like a sweet wrapper. The firefighters thrust heavy-gloved hands through, beckoning harshly. I scrambled onto the sill, trying to sweep away crumbs of glass as I did, and take their hands, thinking they meant to steady and assist me. But as soon as they had contact with me, they pushed aside my hands and hooked theirs under my armpits, not helping me but hauling me out all at once. I felt jagged edges catch my trousers and dull razors drag against the skin of my legs.

‘Is it just you?’ the male firefighter asked. He didn’t ask it, he shouted it in my face. ‘Is there anyone else in there?’