Cushla pushed through the crowd, calling his name. She looked at the house and saw him go through the open door. She ran up the path after him. In the sitting room, the smoke was thick, the room illuminated by the blazing foam of the settee. The net curtains were a molten drip across the windowsill and the wallpaper was rolling off the wall in sheets. She tried to call Davy’s name, but her voice was choked with smoke and it came out like a scrawk. The staircase creaked heavily and she looked up to see him on the landing, his eyes squashed tight. He groped for the banister and stumbled down the stairs. She caught his hand on the fourth-last step and dragged him out the front door. A fireman pulled them away from the house and they fell on the raggy lawn, spluttering. A whooshing sound doused the crackling as the hose was pushed through the shattered window. A stench of wet soot wafted into the garden. The fire engine had arrived quickly, too quickly. She’d heard the fire brigade was sometimes called before a blaze was started, so as not to waste a good house by burning it to the ground. The police had arrived too, an officer making a pretence of clearing the crowd away. A half-hearted gesture; he knew some of them by name, and most of them stayed where they were.

Davy was gripping something in his arms, his chest heaving. Cushla gently unfolded his hands; he was holding his satchel. That was a brave and very stupid thing to do, she said. She was crying. She got to her feet and pulled him by the hand to his family. Is Tommy here? she asked Betty, who was clutching Davy to her.

That murdering wee bastard, a woman said behind them.

The crowd began to close in. Where was the policeman?

We need to get out of here, Cushla said, taking Davy’s hand. Seamie’s steps were slow. Betty was on one side of him, his arm over her shoulder. Mandy was on the other, her lips moving, as if she was praying. The crowd had begun to follow them, but another siren sounded, a momentary distraction, and Cushla managed to get them into her car.

Lock the doors, she said.

An RUC Land Rover pulled up alongside her as she started the engine. Two officers went towards the house, another came to her window and banged it, asking who they were, where they were going.

They’re called McGeown, she said. They’ve just been burnt-out. Do you want them to stick about and watch or something?