I called Jeannie. We reassured each other we’d done everything we could to keep the school safe. I gave Leanne another cup of tea, and deposited the hot teapot very deliberately on my collection chest.

‘Maybe it’s time for you to look through my History?’ Leanne suggested helpfully.

Well, it was something to do. Time was crawling by.

A scream pierced my consciousness. Isla, apparently being tortured by her brother Mason. I sorted them out teacher-style, distracting them with tiny blocks of chocolate.

I poured myself a long glass of orange juice. Another one for Leanne. I made a jug of cordial for the Beckwith kids, and found some plastic picnic glasses. From the kitchen, I looked over the stretch of brown grass running down to the creek. Caleb should be out there somewhere, younger. Riding his skateboard along the driveway, where Stephen set up a gas barbecue we used only once, or playing that strange game that involved throwing a ball over the fence as often as possible.

Knock knock. Knock knock knock.

Knuckles on wood. My front door. Knock knock. Knock knock knock.

I pushed aside an internal argument: Why would Caleb knock? He’ll have lost his key. He loses everything, and opened the door. ‘Where on earth…?’

In the haze, the shape of Caleb wavered and stretched into the taller, lankier shape of Jack Laskin, yellow CFA hood brushed back from his face, blue eyes glinting behind plastic lenses. His skin was red and shiny with heat and sweat. I checked my watch. It was only twenty minutes since his call. He must have hung up and headed straight for his ute.

I waited for him to speak. Don’t worry, Phoebe. Caleb is with me after all.

Surely these words hovered around his lips?

Jack’s four-wheel drive hummed for him at the kerb. He scratched the stubble on his chin and peered over my shoulder. ‘You should be hosing your house. To saturation. What are you doing? Making tea?’

Of course, he was right. Nothing was going according to plan today. First Caleb’s disappearance, then the unwelcome arrival of the Beckwiths, had thrown me off-guard. ‘Have you found Caleb?’

‘I’m sure he’s somewhere safe.’ Behind us, footsteps. Jack’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve got guests?’

‘It’s not what I planned…’

‘Phoebe, today is about sticking to a plan. For your own safety. Fire could begin at any time.’

‘I have to look after them –’ Over those revolting Beckwith children, even when their mother is present. ‘I can’t throw them out.’

‘You have to look after yourself.’ His sometimes barbaric bush individualism came through. ‘They should be at their own place. It’s not fair if they put you in danger.’

‘They’re here, Jack.’

His blue eyes crinkled at me and beneath his sleeve a muscle twitched – he wanted to reach for my hand. But he didn’t want to detract from what he had to say. ‘You aren’t safe, Phoebe.’

‘What about Caleb?’

‘He won’t come home. Not if it’s dangerous. He’ll come to us. If you can’t fight the fire, you need to leave. Now. This is gunna get bad. Any second.’