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Chapter 3

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July 1995

The flames dance like magical beings – telling me I’m right – telling me they deserve to die.

They’d left the back door open, so it was all so easy.

And now I can see David from my window. He can’t get out of the bedroom. I wedged a chair under the door handle.

‘Help!’ he cries as he presses on the glass; well, I think that’s what he’s yelling. I can’t be sure. I’m too far away to hear.

‘Nobody will help you,’ I whisper.

He looks down and I wonder if he’s going to leap from the bedroom window, but the fire grips his pyjamas, and his face changes shape as he cries out in agony. He slips out of sight.

I draw the curtains, rest my head on the pillow, and close my eyes.

Tell the Truth: Or they’ll tell it for you…

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