BOYS! WAKE UP! The store’s on fire!” I never heard the phone ring, just my father yelling as he came pounding up the stairs. It was after one. The cigarette must have smouldered for a while. We all got dressed pretty quick and climbed into the car to head down there. “How bad is it?” Andrew kept asking. “I don’t know,” my father answered each time. “They didn’t say.” It only took a few minutes. The fire truck was just arriving and hooking up the hoses. People were turning up to watch the goings on, some in their pajamas and housecoats. It’s funny how there’s always enough people awake to show up for a fire. It was obviously just a matter of saving the buildings on either side. We could already hear the canned goods popping inside the store. Another few minutes and the crowd was oohing and aahing at the sound of the plate-glass windows cracking from the heat. Then the flames licked their way outside and took hold of the grey siding — dry, cracked boards that must have been seventy-five years old.
