‘Okay for now, but be prepared to shift if necessary,’ he’d said before lying down on the couch for the couple of hours’ rest he allowed himself.

Studying his weary expression even in sleep, the creases of fire-smoked skin, the parched lips, she’d thought that now she perhaps had the measure of the man she’d chosen to be her refuge. It made her ashamed of how much she’d doubted him.

Sometimes Colin would appear with him and together they would go through the same routine, Colin taking the couch, while Greg, encouraged by her, would head gratefully to the bed for the small amount of time before she heard his alarm go off and they were up and away again.

She spent her day writing about the latest trauma to hit Blackrig and preparing food, so that there was always something hot and ready on the stove, whenever they should appear.

On one occasion, Josh arrived with Greg. This time it was only for food and copious amounts of water. She imagined that, despite their breathing apparatus, their throats must feel like the inside of a blackened chimney.

The two of them seemed easy in one another’s company, but Joanne had no opportunity to ask what may have passed between them to ease the tension Greg had spoken of in the prison.

She took to walking up the hill at the back of the house to see if she might watch the firefight at a distance, but all the spyglass could show her were flying sparks like bonfire night and plumes of smoke dancing like wraiths above the charred land.

In her mind’s eye, she imagined what might happen if the fire should turn and fasten its wrath on Blackrig, perhaps circling the hill on which Beanach stood or attacking the ancient pinewoods that bordered An Lochan Uaine.

An image of skeleton trees, one of them ‘their’ tree, as she thought of it, blackened in death beside the satin-green sheen of the fairy loch almost moved her to tears, until she reminded herself that her imagination had created the picture, and it had no basis in fact.

But it could happen, she told herself. It could happen.

She slept little herself. Always out, always checking. The longest day well past by now, she could count the difference in the daylight hours. Even as she watched the fire move inexorably across the landscape, so too did she search the neighbouring sky for any sign of clouds and approaching rain.

Whether it was her prayers to the Rain God or not, a light spatter of drops arrived on the third day. Not enough to do the work of a firefighter but enough to give a small hope that the forecast of a break in the weather might come true after all.