‘The back door’s locked too,’ Lumin says in frustration as she tries the French doors at the back.

Amber notices a slim floor-to-ceiling broken window to the side of the house. It isn’t boarded over like the others. She walks over to it and pretends to stumble, her shoulder ramming into the glass. The glass shatters and Lumin looks over in surprise. ‘Oops, I fell into it,’ Amber says.

Lumin’s lips widen into a smile. ‘You clumsy oaf.’

‘Yep, that’s me.’ Amber clears the edges of glass, pleased she’s wearing thick gloves. She helps Lumin step in first before following her. They find themselves in a corridor, dark and freezing cold. Though the fire was no doubt many years ago, the smell of smoke still lingers. A long shelf stands next to the window, a range of books on it, some fallen to the floor, spines broken. Lumin crouches down to look at one: it’s a Peter Rabbit book. ‘This rings a bell,’ she says.

She slips it into her bag then walks down the corridor as Amber follows. At the end of the corridor is a small utility room with various appliances. There’s even a laundry basket on the side with dusty clothes in it, some of which are covered in birds’ droppings.

The downstairs really does seem to have escaped the worst of the fire. People must have been here to witness it and to call a fire engine to save half of it. But now it stands abandoned, neither rebuilt nor knocked down

‘It’s like everyone bolted,’ Lumin murmurs. ‘They didn’t even finish their washing.’

Amber takes her glove off, smooths her fingers over a shelf, brings away a thick layer of dust. ‘Looks like it’s been like this for a while too.’

They step into a vast kitchen, thick curtains drawn across the windows making the room dark. Lumin goes over to the curtains and sweeps them open, and light rushes over a large island laden with rotting food. Amber puts her hand over her nose and mouth, trying to block out the terrible smell.

‘It must’ve been Christmas when the fire started,’ Lumin says, her hand over her mouth too as she gestures to some packaging for a Christmas pudding.

‘Certainly looks like it,’ Amber says, picking up a bottle of spiced mulled wine. ‘How awful for it to have happened over Christmas.’

‘Christmas,’ Lumin whispers to herself. Then she suddenly marches out of the kitchen. ‘I just had a memory and if it’s right, there was once a Christmas tree in the living room, a huge one.’

‘Wait!’ Amber shouts, jogging to keep up with her.