Then I realise what I’ve said. I’ve made it sound as if Mum is trying to burn another home down. I plonk onto the couch, imagining what would have happened if I’d gone out, too.

‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to,’ says Maggie kindly as she joins me. ‘It’s easy enough to set the alarm off when you’re cooking.’

‘Yeah, but you don’t have a history of burning down houses.’

The smoke has started to clear, sucked out the front door into the stairwell, but the smell is still thick and rancid, just like it was outside our house that night as we watched the firefighters try to save whatever they could.

I hear a noise in the stairwell and then Mum rushes in. She yells my name.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘But we might need to get takeaway for dinner.’

As she tumbles towards us, her feet moving faster than her body, I see how white her face is and how, when she’s scared, she looks more like me. Freckled and pale. She throws herself down onto the couch, smothering me in a hug, and my arms are pinned to my sides. All I can smell is lavender shampoo and fear.

‘I forgot to turn it off,’ she says, pulling back to look at me. ‘I’m so sorry, Clem. I’m so, so sorry.’

I’m not sure what to tell her. Then she notices Maggie sitting beside me and she jumps up and steps back like she has no right to me. Her hands are trembling. I can’t believe how terrified she seems. Maggie notices, too. She smiles and stands up, matching Mum for height.

‘I’m Maggie,’ she says, patting Mum on the arm.

‘Oh. I’m Sarah.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ says Maggie warmly. ‘A bit of eucalyptus oil should get rid of the smell. I have some upstairs if you need it.’

Mum nods, like she can’t think of what to say.

‘See you later, Clem,’ says Maggie, giving my good knee a squeeze on the way out.

After she leaves, the tap punctuates our silence with its annoying drip. Mum slides onto the floor. I want to slide down next to her and wrap my arms around her waist and tell her it’s okay. That it’s better than okay because that dinner smelt really spicy, anyway. But my body feels frozen.

Mum’s shoulders start shaking and she hunches further towards the floor. I know without seeing her face that she’s crying. This was what it was like before the fire when Mum would cry about nothing and everything; when she’d stay in bed for days on end and I’d never know whether she could make it through a conversation without sobbing halfway through. I’m not going back.