“Maggie!” Dad’s voice croaked. “Where have you been? Neel told us you were doing a job for the mayor but – you’ve been gone all night.”

“Doesn’t matter, Dad. I’m fine. But Mum – is she OK? And Trig?

“They’re all going to be OK, Maggie.” The doctor looked up. “Mr Wetheral saw the smoke and banged on the door. Woke them up just in time.”

“Where’s Trig, Dad? I can’t see him.” I twisted round. Where was he?

“It’s OK, Maggie. Mum got him out. He’s here.” He cast an arm out to the side.

No Trig. I turned and craned and squinted. There were people from the school, people from the fields, people from the dairy – even Frederick was there – but no Trig.

“He’s not here, Dad! Where is he? Trig! Trig!” I pushed Beth Goodman and little Devvy Chowdhry out of the way.

“Maggie!” It was Una, right behind me. “Is that him?” She pointed towards the house.

There was Trig, his jumper pulled up across his mouth, running in through the open front door.

Flames slurped and spat through the windows.

“Trig!” Dad yelled. He staggered up and stumbled over, clutching his chest, coughing. “What’s he doing? Trig! Someone stop him!”

A hand grabbed mine. A warm hand. Strong. Dirty. Free.

Una.

“I have to go in,” I told her.

“Course you do,” she said. “What are we waiting for?”

Feel your fear, Maggie. One more time. Feel your fear.

We wrapped our free arms across our mouths and ran into the house together.

My eyes closed against the hot, thick blackness. The fire fizzed and crackled. I breathed in stale breath through the sleeve of my jumper. Breath that had been through my lungs once, twice, three times. Every bit of me wanted to run back outside.

Keep calm, Maggie, keep calm. Focus on Una’s hand, snug and tight.

I squeezed. She squeezed back.

“Trig! Trig!” The air scorched at my throat. “Trig? Where are you?”

CREAAAAAAK.

The house let out a juddering, dying cry.

“We have to be quick!” shouted Una.

“Trig! Trig! Come out! You’ve got to get out!”

CRAAAAAAACK.

“Jed! Jed! Jed!”

It was Trig.

Calling for Jed?

“C’mon, Jed, c’mon!”

He was in the sitting room. With the portrait. The Real Jed.

Of course he was.

“Trig – you can leave it. Jed’s home – he’s home!”

I felt my way through and pulled Una with me.

Less smoke in here.

I opened my eyes a sliver.

Outlines in the dark. Trig, tugging the heavy frame. The Real Jed, half off the wall.

“Come on, Jed. Come on.” Trig spluttered and coughed and yanked at the picture.

The frame banged back against the wall.

“Jed! Jed!” Trig turned to face us through the smoke. “Make him come, Maggie, make him come.”