‘Newcomers, then,’ Ingrid from BuyCheap said, with a sniff. (If a residency of fifteen years made someone a newcomer, what was I?)

A row of four chairs had been arranged at the front, and I sat, trying to look busy with my mobile phone. I was still Phoebe Wharton, even if I was Caleb’s mother. I was still Brunton Primary principal, and had to be part of any discussion about my school’s future. Even if parents would one day tell their children they were taught spelling by a woman who raised a murderer.

My neighbour Mary Ross, as president of the school council, took another of the front seats. Detective Hong Feng, in a clean uniform, sat to her other side and jiggled a folder of notes on his lap. At 7.30, I began proceedings. ‘It’s good to see so many people here.’

A few of them started to whisper. I raised my voice in case it wasn’t carrying properly in such a large space. ‘Thanks for coming.’

Mary Ross stood. The whispering increased. Mary cleared her throat. My audience looked at her expectantly. I rested my hands at my side.

‘Thank you, Phoebe, for calling us together,’ Mary said.

I smiled, ready to keep going. But Mary wasn’t looking at me and hadn’t finished. In fact, she had taken over. ‘This meeting is an excellent idea. I’m sure we’d like to hear from Phoebe later tonight. We have many issues to consider. First we’ll hear Hong Feng speaking from the police.’

I nodded, unsure what else to do, and sat, feeling foolish.

Detective Feng stood, nodding at me and at Mary and clearing his throat. ‘I know you want an answer about what caused this. We’ve heard everything from climate change to firebugs to broken glass to faulty powerlines and tractors. We have no certainty at this point. The police do have one request: if you have genuine suspicions then do call the helpline, but we’re receiving a lot of nuisance calls and these sometimes interfere with our ability to provide help.’

Abby Brin stood. Her daughter Hannah, who I’d last seen distributing religious brochures by the side of the road, had been right to believe she’d survive, if wrong about Armageddon. And Abby’s brother was one of the residents Jack and I had visited. ‘Is it a nuisance call if I’m asking when I can get back into my own house?’ she demanded.

Detective Feng smiled sadly. ‘I’m sorry information is slow to get out there. We’re spending a lot of time dealing with unfounded rumours. For the time being, please only contact us if you’ve seen something yourself. There’ll be plenty of time to talk once this initial period is over.’