‘An hour ago,’ the reporter said, ‘I spoke to Sally Healey, the headmistress of Sidley House Preparatory School.’

You went on with the young doctor, but Jenny and I stayed for a little while longer watching Sally Healey. She was immaculate in pink linen shirt and cream trousers with manicured nails occasionally coming into view. I noticed her make-up was flawless; she must have retouched it.

‘Were there any children in the school when the fire started?’ the reporter asked her.

‘Yes. But not one child at the school was hurt. I’d like to emphasise that.’

‘I can’t believe she put on make-up,’ Jenny said.

‘She’s like one of those French MPs,’ I said. ‘You know, with the lipgloss next to the state papers? Make-up in the face of adversity.’

Jenny smiled; sweet, brave girl.

‘There was a reception class of twenty children in the school at the time of the fire,’ Sally Healey continued. ‘Their classroom is on the ground floor.’

She was using her assembly voice, commanding but approachable.

‘Like all our children, our reception class had rehearsed an evacuation in the event of fire. They were evacuated in less than three minutes. Fortunately, our other reception class were at an end-of-term outing to the zoo.’

‘But there were serious casualties?’ asked the interviewer.

‘I cannot comment on that, I’m sorry.’

I was glad that she wasn’t going to talk about Jenny and me. I wasn’t sure if she honestly didn’t know, if she was being discreet on our behalf, or if she was just trying to maintain a pink-linen façade that everything went according to plan.

‘Have you any idea yet how the fire started?’ the reporter asked.

‘No. Not yet. But I can reassure you that we had every fire precaution in place. Our heat detectors and smoke detectors are connected directly to the fire station and-’