The OH&S officer’s name is Lucy, though she looks like a Karyn to me. This is the sort of epiphany I have after an hour of listening to her tell us, over and again, that knowing your fire exits will save your life. We’re all sitting in Sunshine bookstore’s staffroom, where Clare, the sometimes-manager, has set up a whiteboard and a bunch of chairs; she’s in her mid-twenties, just a few years older than me, and I have this funny feeling she wants to ask Lucy, where are the fire exits, exactly?

Ray puts his mouth up to the gap between the window and the car door-frame. Still, everything smells of burning. Smoky air grazes his throat, punches his lungs. His head spins and he slumps back into the driver’s seat. No matter what he does, he can’t stop his hands from shaking. I could go out, he thinks, find her.