We had come to Barking because that was where the fire was – the Barking Blaze, it said in the papers. Beyond that, we had not put much preparation into the excursion. I had, I think, expected to walk out of Barking Station and into a scene resembling a painting of the last hours of Pompeii. A geyser of destruction, infernal orange light, people cowering and fleeing, and so on. At the very least I expected the fire to be visibly nearby, within a few streets’ walk. In fact, it was as if we had travelled no distance at all.

There was the plume in the east, but it was still removed from us, almost abstract, a threat without presence. Not even perceptibly closer, just fatter, bolder, higher resolution, its unceasing internal coilings and rearrangements more clearly defined. But not close. No one was looking towards it but us, or so I believed.

‘You should have seen it yesterday,’ said a voice behind us. A Big Issue seller, a ginger beard between red tabard and woolly hat.

‘Bigger than that?’

The Big Issue seller frowned. ‘No, not really. But newer.’

‘Is it near here?’ Pierce asked.

‘Nah,’ the seller replied. ‘Down by the river.’ He nodded, helpfully, towards the plume.

A silent but eloquent moment passed between me and Pierce. We both understood that the social circumstances demanded that we buy a magazine, and that it might look a little forced if both of us did. In the end, after long milliseconds of wordless deliberation, Pierce volunteered, and I immediately wished that it had been me who jumped, for appearance and out of genuine guilt. But if I tried now that guilt would be a bit too obvious. The opportunity was lost.

Down by the river. Naively, I had assumed Barking to be on the river. Out came the phones, for navigation. I remembered the map in the morning paper, the aerial photo: the industrial lands of the estuary. From the satellite’s eye, not the texture of city or suburb or countryside, but more resembling a circuit board. The white buboes of oil tanks, the dull tessellation of warehouse roofs. Pierce had opened Google Maps. I tried Tamesis, which combined maps with live information and social updates. The screen raced to one side, away from the often-loaded pages of my usual haunts, into grey unloaded areas. ‘Finding you …’ it said, Bunk logo spinning merrily. Then central Barking unfolded on the screen. Menus opened like jeweller’s drawers. Where’s the fire? I asked it.

Ongoing event / Major fire / Barking Riverside / Police, TfL warnings in place / Ongoing air quality alert / Road closures / Related news stories (23) / User pictures (37) / What people are saying / Directions here / Share this?

I thumbed ‘directions’.