Joe

When I go downstairs for breakfast, Mum and Dad are both in the living room watching TV. I stand by the door, looking in at what they’re watching. It’s the news. It’s about the fire at the flats. My curiosity gets the better of me and I walk in.

Mum turns round. ‘Oh, morning, love,’ she says.

Dad’s still watching the TV. He points at the screen. ‘Hey, Joe, have you seen this?’

I read the rolling news bar at the bottom of the screen: DORSET POLICE CONFIRM THAT THEY HAVE LAUNCHED A MURDER INQUIRY FOLLOWING THE DISCOVERY OF A BODY IN A BURNED-OUT BLOCK OF FLATS.

I’m not sure what to say. This is weird. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in Fayrewood. It’s not that kind of place.

‘They’re doing a post-mortem as we speak,’ Dad says, still watching the screen.

‘It’s horrible,’ Mum says.

I nod.

Dad puts the TV on standby with the remote and then goes and switches it off at the wall. He turns to me and Mum. ‘There’s a press conference this afternoon,’ he says. He shakes his head and sighs in disbelief. ‘Come on, then, let’s get some breakfast.’