Heading out of the kitchen, Grace called to Lawrence that they should be leaving. She picked up her bag and walked with Holly to the front door, where the Robinsons were saying goodbye to their other guests.

Suddenly, they heard the thunderous boom of an explosion. The night sky lit up with a bright orange glow. They all stared in horror as a crackling red fireball erupted into the air a few streets away. Then they all spoke at once.

‘What the hell was that?’

‘Where is it?’

‘It’s not that gas storage place, is it?’

‘No, wrong direction . . .’

Grace’s shriek was ear-splitting. ‘It’s near our place! Lawrence!’

Lawrence swore as he hurried to the door where they all stood, stunned, looking into the distance.

‘Where is it?’ cried Grace. ‘Oh, God no. I think the fire’s in our street!’ She screamed again and broke into a run.

‘It can’t be! Grace, get in the car, come back here!’ shouted Lawrence.

Grace was propelled by fear, horror and disbelief. Her mind seemed frozen as she sprinted towards their home.

Lawrence jumped in the car and caught up to her.

‘Jump in, Grace, for God’s sake,’ he called.

She was driven by some wild terror. For a moment or two her husband drove beside her, begging her to stop and get in. But she was running as if her life depended on it.

Lawrence gunned the car and sped ahead.

By the time she reached her street, the full horror had begun to dawn on her. Their house was alight, a wall of leaping orange flames and smoke. She could hear glass breaking and timber crashing.

‘Oh, my God, no, no, no . . .’ she panted as she saw Lawrence’s silhouette and the dark shapes of other figures as they came up and clustered around him.

The flames were higher and hotter now, and she picked up the strong, searing smell of smoke.

She had fallen into some unreal, terrible nightmare. Everything moved in slow motion. She felt hands on her arms, holding her back, and heard voices bouncing around her, as if she were in an echo chamber. Her own wailing voice sounded far away, drowned out by the noises that would continue to haunt her in the nights to come. The cracking and groaning as their home, their beautiful house, disintegrated.

It was impossible to take in that everything she owned and treasured from her past and present was being swallowed in this licking orange inferno of heavy smoke and searing heat.

Sirens wailed. People held her. She couldn’t see Lawrence.

‘Where’s my husband?’ she screamed.

A man in orange overalls and a helmet put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Is anyone else inside?’

‘Where’s Lawrence? Stop him . . .’

‘He’s here, it’s all right, Grace,’ came the shaking voice of a neighbour, who was holding her back.

More sirens, more people hosing down nearby houses. The smell, oh the smell.

Then Lawrence was beside her, pulling her to him, trying to turn her face away from the sight of their world imploding.