‘I’ll look after that,’ I said. ‘I’ll look after him. I’m his mum.’

Finally, in a hospital room, Caleb slept. In a green vinyl chair beside him, I didn’t. I switched on the TV, and watched rolling coverage of the fire well into the night.

My throat was sore from inhaled smoke, my feet swollen in their battered boots, my neck stiff from spending too long with my head tipped to one side. It must have been nearly morning, coverage moved to the emergency response team’s press conference. A fire chief, identified in TV subtitles as Brendan Hurd, spoke to a throng of reporters rustling like seagulls at a chip shop. They trained cameras on Brendan’s corrugated iron hair and on the movements of his thin smoker’s lips. Jack Laskin approached the podium. Of course: the fire began in Brunton, where Jack was CFA captain. Instinctively, I moved closer to the TV.

‘A temporary morgue has been instituted to accommodate victims,’ Brendan said.

Accommodate? How could that word – reminiscent as it was of rolled towels and folded toilet paper – be fitting for the dead?

Jack checked his notes, a smear of soot on his left cheek. ‘So far, thirty casualties have been reported in Brunton. Right now, we don’t know the nature of the injuries. I don’t know about other locations,’ he said, in a professional, calm voice. Like an actor. ‘We won’t have final numbers for a while. Reports of missing people are still coming in.’

‘Can you tell us a bit about Brunton?’

‘It’s a Yarra Valley town. There are wine makers. There’s a brewery, a shop selling valley produce, that sort of thing.’

‘What was the fire like?’

Jack coughed at his colleagues, who nodded. He gripped the lectern. ‘I thought I’d worked in bad places before. But this is hell. This is climate change in action. It’s the hottest year we’ve ever had and it isn’t over. It’s still burning up there.’

Cameras whirred and flashed, a wall of light. Jack blinked red-rimmed eyes.

‘And you have grave fears for the residents’ safety?’ a reporter asked.

Brendan stepped forwards once again. ‘Emergency shelters are full and helicopters have located various groups who found shelter but became isolated.’

‘Brendan Hurd, can you confirm to us that you warned the Prime Minister that this would be a devastating season, nearly eight months ago?’ asked a reporter from the evening news.

Brendan coughed awkwardly. ‘Ministerial briefings are confidential conversations... Perhaps you should check with the Prime Minister once he returns from his family holiday.’

People sniggered. A woman’s voice sounded next. I stiffened and glanced quickly at Caleb. Sadie Riley. Always getting in everywhere. ‘Sadie Riley. The Melbourne Herald,’ she said. ‘The Premier says any arsonist is a mass murderer. So, we can assume it’s arson?’

Jack’s boss stared at her. A challenge. ‘We’re investigating possibilities including lightning strikes and downed power lines. There’s no certainty at this stage…’