The haters sitting there hating included fire victims, scarred, or with limbs in pressure bandages. Penelope could so easily have been injured, or worse. His stomach knotted at the thought. The victims hated him and he deserved hatred, even if they didn’t know why. He kept swallowing. His own hands clutched his knees: he always did that when nervous. He’d thought about this for months. Himself in a court, facing justice he should have faced before. This, and very little else.

But now reality gripped him with a new pain, something else to feel guilty about: he hadn’t considered the other people who’d be here, people who’d have to testify, be forced to relive the worst day of their lives. It wasn’t fair asking them to do that – he was the one who needed to atone – but it was too late to stop it now…

Mum’s friend Leanne Beckwith raised a taloned hand to wave at her. Douglas Anderson reappeared, wig perched on his head like it had flown in and landed there. He wasn’t Caleb’s friend but a character in the theatre of the court. Caleb didn’t trust him. Their opponent, prosecutor Charles Scott, also approached the front bench. A menacing figure, his hair was an iron-grey that matched his own wig. Deep lines were etched into the skin around his mouth. Their legal robes were as black as the goth look Caleb had abandoned. They were functions, not people, in ancient legal costumes with meanings hidden from all except the initiated. No official resembled an actual, living human. The transcript-maker sat at the end of the bench like a punctuation mark. Caleb’s shoulders tightened. He knew he was meant to be intimidated, because these were exactly the characters he’d draw in an intimidating scene. And he was intimidated.

Magistrate Nina Haynes was welcomed to the court. She was a small, square-shaped woman, with tiny, dark eyes that looked like they’d been pushed into her lined face. Caleb stood with everyone else. He watched Mum’s shoulders ease, her stance soften. The court changed the version of herself she showed the world. She stopped glaring at Charles Scott. She would want the court to think she was nice. Nice women didn’t raise arsonists.

Caleb clenched his fists. He didn’t want Mum to suffer. But she had brought him into this world and, eventually, here.

Nina Haynes spoke. ‘I need to arraign the accused. Please stand up, Mr Wharton.’

Caleb stood. Nina regarded him. ‘Mr Anderson, will your client be entering a plea today?’

‘Not at this time, your Honour.’

Charles Scott tapped his ridiculous wig, ready to deliver his opening statement.