They weren’t getting on, there was trouble with the two of them having to carry things together on their shoulders until my dad got the wheelbarrows and they could have one each. Me and Busola were getting off with just carrying bags. I didn’t mind the walk, but Manus and Connor were going up Vauxhall Street round the back of the Oval because they didn’t want anyone to see them. The shortest way was down the main road where my dad was going. He made the cars and even the buses stop and go round him pushing the wheelbarrow on the road, with my mum and me and Busola walking behind on the pavement to make sure nothing fell off. But then Busola and me had to carry the colour telly in our arms because of bumps on the wheelbarrows going over the pavements. ‘Don’t drop it,’ Connor said, ‘I’m watching the Big Match.’ Busola said he should carry it if it belonged to him. ‘Don’t make me come after it,’ he said. Manus wrapped the lead round into a knot and said, ‘Take it steady, don’t trip.’

It was heavy and we were trying to work out how to carry it. But by then Manus and Connor had gone on with the wheelbarrows up the back way and the fire had started, so we put it down. Over the road was burning, and I was watching my mum pretend there was nothing going on as though the fire brigade wasn’t flooding the street and crowds of people weren’t coming. She put her hands in her coat and wrapped it round her, and made her shoulders stiff like she was gonna stand up by the door in spite of anyone looking. I hadn’t seen it before but she looked skinny in the big coat. The fire was making it hot, but her face looked pale and white like she was freezing. I wanted my dad to stop joking with the police and go and get her. I looked at him, nodding and smiling to them as he moved back to the wheelbarrow, making a big fuss about the fire being too close like he didn’t want them to see what we were doing. My mum couldn’t see us and didn’t look round because she was trying to go on like we weren’t moving, and so was he.