It was gone eleven by the time we crept upstairs at the cottage.

‘Can I have a tiny good-night kiss?’ Ollie asked Erin, when she came out of the bathroom after washing her make-up off.

‘Get lost, and keep your voice down,’ she stage-whispered, inclining her head to where Craig was asleep downstairs. The living room had been in darkness when we came in and there’d been no movement from the sofa, despite Ollie tiptoeing in and prodding Craig’s sleeping bag. ‘And don’t be coming into Lily’s room in the middle of the night, pretending you’re looking for the bog.’

‘That’s a great idea.’ Ollie mimed sleepwalking up and down the landing with his arms outstretched like tongs, which made me giggle.

‘Idiot.’ Erin looked more intoxicated than I was, even though she’d had nothing stronger to drink than lime and soda, while Ollie and I had worked our way through the champagne. Around nine, she’d declared she was starving, so Ollie had persuaded the doe-eyed waiter to talk the chef into rustling up a festive pizza with a turkey-and-cranberry topping, which we’d shared. I’d thought about leaving them to it, but Erin wouldn’t hear of it, and neither would Ollie. He’d been at his most entertaining as he brought Erin up to date with all the ways he’d upset the neighbours, and although I knew he was hamming it up to impress her, it helped take my mind off Craig deserting us.

‘Careful, or you’ll give him another nosebleed,’ Erin said now, as I closed the bedroom door in Ollie’s face.

‘I told you that was an accident.’

‘He’s got sensitive sinuses,’ she said.

‘I know that now.’

Erin contorted herself into a pair of my pyjamas. The heating was off and the bedroom felt chilly. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had a sleepover,’ she said, tossing her clothes onto the chair.

‘I can,’ I said. ‘It was with my mum last week.’ This struck me as hilarious and I spluttered with laughter.

‘That’s tragic,’ said Erin, which made me laugh even more.

Once we’d wriggled under the duvet, I calmed down and switched off the bedside light. ‘So,’ I said. ‘You and Ollie?’

‘There is no me and Ollie, and if you mention it again I’ll smother you with your own pillow,’ she said. ‘How about you and Craig?’

‘There is no me and Craig.’ A tight feeling spread across my chest. I wondered if he was really asleep, or lying awake in his sleeping bag, desperate for morning, so he could escape.

‘There you go, then.’

‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘You’re not making sense.’

‘It’s quiet here, isn’t it?’ I said.

‘It’s nice, like having earplugs in but without hearing your own heartbeat.’ Erin turned over, dragging a portion of the duvet with her. ‘Shipley suits you,’ she said. ‘You should definitely stay.’

‘Did you really like my idea for Sabrina the Magic Cat?’

‘S’great,’ she murmured, starting to sound sleepy. ‘She could wear a diamond collar, or maybe a velvet bow. A purple one, because purple’s supposed to be magic.’

‘I like that,’ I said, imagining it. ‘I thought I could still write an adult novel as well,’ I went on. ‘What do you think of My Neighbours and Me as a title for a book about a woman’s struggles to integrate into the local community?’

‘Boring as fuck.’

‘Don’t hold back,’ I said.

‘How about In the Dark?’

‘Ooh, that’s good.’ I wrenched a handful of duvet back. ‘It would be a thriller, obviously.’

‘Or, it would be a story about a woman who got a bit lost when her father died, had a disastrous relationship, and threw away the job she loved to write about a cat.’

‘Erin, that’s mean.’ I tried to kick her, but she shifted just in time.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, yanking the duvet back. ‘The cat idea’s great, but you’re a fantastic teacher. You should do that too.’

By the time I’d thought up a response, her breathing had deepened into sleep. I lay for a while, picturing myself at Nightingale Primary School, teaching a class of eager-faced children the alphabet, then felt myself drifting off.

---

What felt like minutes later, a shout from outside woke me up.

‘Wha…?’ Erin sat up. ‘What was that?’

I snatched the duvet and parcelled it around me. ‘A seagull,’ I said, drowsily. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘Seagulls don’t shout.’ She leaned over and switched the light on. ‘It’s nearly two o’clock.’

Another shout went up and I dived out of bed with a sinking sense of déjà vu. ‘Ollie must be out there.’

‘Ollie?’ Erin’s hair was a rumpled mass, but her eyes were bright and alert. ‘Why would he be outside?’

‘It’s what he does,’ I said, belting myself into my dressing gown. ‘He wakes up the neighbours every night.’

A fist hammered on the door, and Ollie’s head poked round. ‘Next door’s house is on fire,’ he said, before vanishing.

‘Fuck.’ Erin leapt out of bed.

We were halfway downstairs, when Craig came out of the living room, wrapped in his sleeping bag. ‘Not this again,’ he said, blinking owlishly in the brightness of the hall light. ‘Carol-singing, or snowball fight?’

‘Fire!’ I yelled, dragging my boots on and following a fully dressed Ollie through the front door, where I was greeted by the sight of orange flames dancing in the Lamberts’ downstairs window, and smoke curling round the frame.

‘Oh, good god,’ said Erin, behind me. ‘I’ll phone the fire brigade.’

‘They’re on their way,’ called Doris from the street. ‘I called them as soon as I saw the blaze from my bedroom window.’ She must have been having a late-night snoop with her binoculars – which was probably just as well.

In a horrible parody of the night before, I saw more neighbours emerging, blank-faced with shock as they took in the spectacle in front of them.

I followed Ollie as he raced round to the Lamberts’. ‘Is anyone inside?’ he said.

As he spoke, the front door flew open and Sheelagh ran out in an old-fashioned, full-length nightgown. Wild-eyed with terror, she clutched at Ollie’s hands. ‘Please help,’ she cried, her cheeks streaked with mascara. ‘Barry… Barry won’t come out.’

‘Won’t or can’t?’ I said, but her eyes seemed stuck to Ollie.

‘Please help him,’ she whimpered.

Craig materialised. He’d pulled his jeans and a jumper on, and his hair was sticking up. ‘How did it start?’ he said to Sheelagh, eyes scanning the rows of Christmas lights on the house, which had mostly gone out.

‘I told Barry the circuit was overloaded.’ Her breath caught on a sob. ‘Something must have blown in the hall, and we wouldn’t even have known if Marmite hadn’t come up and jumped on the bed.’ She let out a wail. ‘We have extinguishers everywhere so Barry put it out, but then it flared up again, and Barry’s locked himself in the dining room to wait it out.’

‘Wait it out?’ I swapped an incredulous look with Craig. ‘But that’s dangerous. The fire could spread and the smoke will be toxic.’

‘I know,’ Sheelagh sobbed, chest heaving. ‘And I don’t know where Marmite is.’

‘I’m going in,’ said Ollie, and before anyone could stop him he’d charged through the front door, just as sirens sounded in the distance.

‘Christ’s sake,’ Craig said. ‘I’d better go and help.’

‘No!’ I grabbed his arm.

‘It’ll be fine,’ he said, gently unpeeling my fingers. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘Where’s Ollie?’ Erin had reappeared, white-faced, in her cow-print coat. ‘Don’t tell me he’s bloody gone in.’

‘He’s gone in,’ I said.

For a second she seemed dumbstruck. ‘I can’t bloody believe this.’

‘Craig’s in there too.’

She shook her head. ‘They’re a pair of bloody idiots.’

No one else seemed inclined to speak. They were too busy watching the drama unfold, their solemn faces at odds with the sagging, but still grinning, Santa and a smiling Mrs Snowman.

As the flames in the window leapt higher, Sheelagh began making a keening noise, and Doris bustled over and wrapped an arm around her. Jane was there too, making soothing gestures, and Celia Appleton appeared with her Labrador, a voluminous nightdress under her patchwork coat, and placed a blanket around Sheelagh’s shuddering shoulders.

As the fire engine roared up the road, its flashing lights slicing through the darkness, Craig emerged with a furry bundle in his arms.

‘Oh, my baby,’ Sheelagh sobbed, taking the cat and cradling him to her bosom. ‘Look at my poor little pussy,’ she cried. ‘His fur’s gone flat.’

Craig came over, rubbing his arm. ‘Bloody thing attacked me,’ he said, wincing. His jumper was on inside out, and the sight of the label sticking out made my chest feel tight. His sleeves were rolled up, and his forearms were criss-crossed with scratches.

‘I’ve got some Savlon in my emergency drawer,’ I said, through a lump the size of a ping-pong ball in my throat. ‘I’ll get it for you, if you like.’

‘I’m OK.’ He smiled briefly. ‘Thanks, though.’

I looked at Erin, who had her hand crushed to her mouth, staring at the house as if willing Ollie to appear. ‘What’s he doing?’ I said, wondering why Craig didn’t seem particularly anxious.

He ran the heel of his hand over his brow. ‘He’s, er, trying to persuade Barry to come out.’

‘What’s his problem?’ I said, tightening my coat around me. ‘Surely if he’s able to, he should. It can’t be safe in there.’

‘It’s not that simple.’ Craig looked distinctly awkward now.

‘But Barry’s OK?’

‘He’s fine.’ He glanced towards the house, where one of the firemen was extending the hose, while another assessed the situation. There was a palpable sense of tension as the living-room window shattered, and flames started licking upwards.

‘BARRY!’ Sheelagh screamed.

Craig started to move back towards the house, just as one of the firemen aimed a jet of water at the blaze and Ollie appeared at the front door, struggling under the weight of a body slung over his shoulder.

‘Thank god,’ said Erin, so softly I was probably the only one who heard it.

‘It’s like Father Christmas, but in reverse,’ someone said.

‘Except that’s not a parcel of presents he’s carrying.’ I recognised Mr Flannery’s voice.

‘That’s not even Barry,’ said someone else. ‘It’s a woman.’

As Ollie staggered down the path, backlit by the blaze from the house, I stared. I recognised that red hair. It belonged to Barry’s mistress. Her sizeable bottom was barely covered by the skimpy robe she was wearing, and a pair of fluffy mules dangled from her feet.

‘My god, were they having a threesome in there?’ said Erin. ‘No wonder they didn’t want to come out.’

‘Not exactly.’ Craig moved back to join us as Ollie lurched past a row of illuminated angels and deposited the woman in front of Sheelagh like a heavy parcel.

‘Oh, my darling,’ she cried, placing Marmite gently on the ground before throwing herself into the woman’s arms. ‘Thank god you’re safe.’

‘Anyone else in there?’ called the fireman.

‘No,’ said Sheelagh. ‘We’re all here.’

‘What’s going on?’ I looked back at the house. ‘Where’s Barry?’

‘Yes, where is he?’ said Doris, looking as mystified as everyone else.

‘I’m here,’ said the woman. Reaching up, she removed her long red hair, and suddenly it wasn’t a woman at all. It was Barry, in crimson lipstick and dangly earrings, the silky camisole under his skimpy robe barely covering what looked like an ample bust.

‘Fuck,’ whispered Erin. ‘And I thought it might be boring living in Shipley.’

The firemen were concentrating fiercely on the house, even though the fire had been put out.

‘I know what you’re all thinking.’ Sheelagh turned to look at the stunned faces of her neighbours, brightly lit from the surrounding houses. She was holding on to Barry as if to stop him legging it back into the house – though I doubted he could in those mules. ‘But he’s not doing anything wrong. He likes wearing women’s clothes sometimes, so what?’ Through the bravado, her voice shook. ‘I expect we’ll be targets now you’ve found out, like at the last place we lived, which is why we left, but I’m not ashamed and Barry shouldn’t be either. And just so you know, I love him very much.’

So that explained the self-help books I’d seen her carrying, and why she’d been worried that I might have spotted something the night she was at her sister’s. Poor Sheelagh. I wondered whether it explained why their daughter rarely visited, and felt even sorrier for her.

‘My dear, you don’t have to be ashamed,’ said Doris. ‘My Roger always wore a pair of frilly knickers under his uniform.’

‘Dennis is partial to a bit of make-up now and then,’ said Jane. ‘He was wearing eyeliner just this afternoon.’

‘Well, I think Barry’s got an excellent pair of legs.’ Ollie rested a firm hand on Barry’s drooping shoulder. ‘I say, embrace your inner woman, but get some advice about the underwear, yah, you need to dress for your size, not the size you think you are.’

‘That’s what I keep telling him,’ said Sheelagh, eyes shining. ‘Ollie, you saved his life,’ she added. ‘I can’t ever thank you enough.’

‘He would have been fine, but I wasn’t taking any chances so got him in a fireman’s lift, which was astonishingly difficult. I need to get back to the gym.’ With a final press of Barry’s shoulder, Ollie came over, his face alight with satisfaction. ‘I think that’s rounded off my stay in Shipley rather nicely,’ he said, a smile breaking over his face. ‘And at least it wasn’t me disturbing the peace this time.’

‘Why were you dressed?’ was all I could think to say. ‘Normally you sleep like the dead.’

‘Oh, I had things on my mind.’ He glanced at Erin, eyes shining like marbles. ‘Like how to win this beautiful lady over.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ she burst out. ‘You just did.’ And with that, she threw herself at him and pressed her lips to his.

Craig and I arched our brows at each other, and the warmth in his eyes when they fixed on me made me dizzy. Or maybe it was the drifting smoke from the house.

Ollie’s arms were wound around Erin’s waist, and hers were tight around his neck. They clearly weren’t going anywhere, any time soon.

‘Shall we?’ Craig nodded at the cottage.

I couldn’t stop grinning. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ I said.