Ben realised the telephone was ringing, which did not seem right if he was in bed. He struggled to make sense of it as he came around slowly, becoming aware of the shape and scents of Marcie’s bedroom around him. He noticed that there was only the weak light of dawn behind the curtains, as he heard Marcie stir beside him. And still the flat’s landline kept ringing.

“Who can that be?” he heard her moan, “Is it even morning?”

“Shall I get it?” he asked, fully awake now.

“No, it must be for me,” she assured him, rolling out of bed and staggering for the door.

Ben could hear her voice indistinctly as she pick up the phone in the living room, but then he heard her speak his name, as if repeating it to the caller in confusion. Now concerned that it was someone trying to reach him who had awoken them both and driven Marcie from her bed, he urgently got out of bed himself. He heard Marcie say, “I’ll get him now then,” as he rushed into the spare room to get some boxer shorts to put on at least. Somehow it didn’t seem decent to take the call naked, as he’d been with Marcie last night.

Marcie found him there, saying with concern furrowing her dark eyebrows as she leant on the doorjamb, “She said her name was Rhona, from the Armstrong Trust. She said it’s really important.”

“Thank you. Sorry,” he said to Marcie, pulling his pants up, then he went to the living room to pick up the handset. “Hello, Rhona? Is something up?”

“Oh Ben, thank goodness your safe,” he heard her say with a fluttery panic in her voice, giving him an icy chill of deepening apprehension. Then his heart gave a sudden lurch as she said, “There’s been a fire. The police called, they’re trying to reach you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Ben said dumbly.

“I’m sorry, it’s all been such a rush,” Rhona said, clearly still flustered as she explained, “There was a fire in your workshop, in Shieldfield, last night, or early in the morning I suppose. The fire brigade was called out, and when they realised your flat was right over it, they called the police, to try and find out where you were I imagine. Well, the police must have rung around a bunch of numbers for the Trust, but they could only reach old Bill, the caretaker at Cragside. He called Doug Anderson, you know him, right? Cragside’s estate manager? So he ended up phoning me, asking me to rush into the office to get your new details, well, your girlfriend’s phone number and address, so that he could pass them on to the police. I think they want to speak to you.”

“A fire?” Ben asked, feeling numb and badly shaken by Rhona’s concise and comprehensive description of the drama. He was sitting on the arm of the sofa, and Marcie had come back in, wrapped in an embroidered silk robe that he’d not seen before, standing anxiously at his shoulder. He felt he owed Rhona something more, and said, “I’m sorry you were disturbed, so early on a Saturday morning. Thank you for calling, for letting me know.”

“It’s no problem at all, Ben,” she reassured him with a kindly tone, “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door, making Marcie startle. Ben said quickly, “Rhona, there’s someone at the door. I think it may be the police already. I’d better go.”

“Yes, you go. I hope they can help. Good luck, and we’ll speak later,” she said quickly, then Ben said his goodbye and hung up.

He grabbed his jeans that were still on the back of the dining chair and hopped into them quickly, explaining very briefly to Marcie that there had been a fire at his workshop and that it was probably the police at the door, confirming that he’d speak to them. There was another knock as he dived into the spare room to get a t-shirt, which he pulled on as he manoeuvred around the bike in the corridor, whilst Marcie disappeared into the bedroom.

Ben was momentarily surprised to see just a middle-aged man in a casual shirt and jacket on the doorstep, but then he noticed a younger man in police uniform behind him. He learnt who they both were as the first man said, “Ben Osborne? I’m Detective Chief Inspector Simon Bailey and this is Constable Ryan Walker. I’m glad we’ve found you, but I’m sorry to say we have some bad news for you.”

“Come in,” Ben found himself saying, “Excuse the bike.”

As they followed him into the living room, Ben heard the constable’s radio come to life with an indistinct clipped phrase. It made the situation seem even more unreal to him, as if he were just watching things play out on the television without any control himself. Then the constable held the radio to say, “Lima zero three, confirming with subject now, out,” which made Ben realise there were even more people involved in tracking him down than he’d imagined.

“Erm, my office manager just rang. She woke us up. She said there’s been a fire, at my workshop,” Ben told the policemen as he stood awkwardly in the living room.

“That’s right,” Detective Bailey said, “We’d like you to pop over there with us straight away so we can start getting things sorted out. I hope that’s okay.”

“Aye, erm, okay,” Ben agreed, hesitantly, aware that he needed a pee and he’d not had any breakfast, nor done any of his morning ablutions.

But at that moment, Marcie appeared at the doorway, already dressed in the same jeans and plaid shirt that she’d worn yesterday morning. Ben made an effort to introduce her, saying, “Inspector, constable, this is Marcie, Marcie Tabone, my girlfriend. This is her flat.”

The detective formally introduced himself and Constable Walker again with their full titles, and apologised for intruding and for getting them up.

“Did I hear that you’d like to take Ben over to the site of the fire?” Marcie asked, showing her confidence with a determined business-like manner, perhaps deliberately refusing to be intimidated by the men towering over her, unexpectedly intruding into her home, where they could even see her underwear hanging on the airer.

“That’s right, we’d like to drive him around there as soon as possible,” the detective said carefully.

“Is this an arrest?” she said bluntly.

“Absolutely not, ma’am,” the detective said smoothly, “We would just be very glad of Mister Osborne’s help with our investigation, and it would be very beneficial to do that while the fire investigation team are still on site. Mister Osborne kindly invited us into your flat to talk to him.”

Ben could see that Marcie was quite stewed up and wondered if she’d already read things into the situation that he was unaware of. He could see no reason why he’d not go along with what the policemen wanted though, especially as he urgently wanted to know more about what had happened himself.

“It’s fine,” he tried to explain, “I want to help.”

“I know,” Marcie said, quickly shooting a sympathetic and tender smile towards him, before turning to the detective to say sternly, “But I’d like to come too, to keep Ben company and support him if I can. Did you know that he’s just recently had some bad news about his health, that he’s been in hospital?”

“No, Ms Tabone, I didn’t know that. Perhaps Mister Osborne could tell me about that on the drive over to Shieldfield. You are welcome to come too of course, but I’m sorry that you’ll have to ride in a different car. We have another one here already.”

Marcie seemed surprised at this, but Ben didn’t want to make things more awkward than they already were, so he said, “Thank you. That sounds good. May I just pop to the bathroom?”

He noticed the constable moving around to keep an eye on him as he went through the kitchen, and wondered if Marcie had been close to the mark when she asked if this were an arrest. Did the police genuinely suspect him of having something to do with the fire? As he sat on the loo, he looked at his hands and realised he was shaking a little. He rose to wash them and splash some water on his face, then decided to give his teeth a very quick brush and slurp some water down to freshen his mouth, taking his lungs’ morning dose on his brown inhaler too.

He didn’t know what Marcie and the policemen had been discussing while he was in the bathroom, but the atmosphere was still pretty frosty in the living room when he came out. The detective asked if he was ready to go, prompting Ben to pick up his jacket and some clean socks from the spare room, then automatically check his pockets for his wallet, keys, phone and blue puffer. The detective stepped outside first, as Ben slipped his socks and shoes on in the hallway, whilst the constable hung back, waiting for Marcie, who’d now excused herself to use the bathroom too.

Once outside, beneath the lightening sky of a clear spring morning, Ben saw the police car blocking the street with yet another policeman at the wheel. He followed Detective Bailey, who’d indicated one of the car’s rear doors for Ben to step into. Ben paused before getting in though, waiting to see the second car that the detective had mentioned turning into the street, then Marcie emerging from the flat with the constable, carrying her satchel, turning to lock the door behind her. As Ben squeezed into the back seat, saying a brief hello to the driver, Detective Bailey got in beside him and belted up too. They both watched through the windscreen as Constable Walker said something to a policewoman who’d stepped out of the other car, now bumper to bumper with theirs. She then held a door open for Marcie to get in as he got into the front passenger seat of Ben’s car.

“All set, constable?” the detective asked, then once he’d heard the confirmation, he told the driver, “Let’s get back to the site, sergeant.”

As the car accelerated backwards to turn around at the end of the street, making Ben feel a little nauseous, the constable called in some cryptic message on the car’s radio, mentioning Ben’s familiar old address. Ben observed aloud that this fire had caused a lot of trouble for them all, but Detective Bailey dismissed it, saying, “It’s quiet this early on a Saturday morning. This is something for the response teams to do to keep busy. But the roads around here are quite awkward aren’t they, with those back alleys too?”

Ben realised in that moment that the detective was hinting at some subtle detail of their police operation, that the cars had been covering the ends of the alley behind the flat while he had come to the front door with the constable. He felt a little shaken to understand that they’d been prepared for him to make a break for it and do a runner, as if he were a genuine suspect, perhaps guilty of starting the fire himself. But the detective seemed relaxed now as he turned to Ben and asked in a casual chatty way, “So you’ve been unwell, Mister Osborne?”

“Aye, erm, it’s my lungs. I’ve got pneumoconiosis, from dust, do you know? And call me Ben, that’s fine.”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know much about medical things. And call me Simon, too. We might be having quite a few chats about this business over the next few days Ben, so it will be good to keep things friendly. Your girlfriend though, Ms Tabone, may I ask if you stay around at hers often?”

Ben wondered if Simon had mentioned Marcie immediately after that remark about being friends as he’d felt quite a different attitude coming from her. He answered the detective’s question honestly though, saying, “Well, every night now, since I got out of hospital, erm, on Tuesday. But not before. You see, the thing is, she wasn’t my girlfriend before, before I collapsed and went to hospital, on Monday. She helped out. I couldn’t go back to my flat, because of the dust, so she put me up, erm, and then we got together.”

“I think I’m beginning to see it, and thank you for explaining that to me. So you lived on your own in your flat above this Armstrong Trust’s workshop, right up until you were hospitalised and diagnosed with your lung condition at the start of this week. Ms Tabone helped you out by what, visiting you in hospital?” Ben interrupted to say she’d actually called the ambulance to take him there too, and given him first aid while she’d waited for it to arrive, before Simon continued, “Right, then she offered you a place to stay that would be safer for your lungs, to help you convalesce. And somewhere in this romantic story of a guardian angel helping out a young man who’s had some unexpected bad news about a serious medical condition, the two of you decide to make a go of it as a couple. So you’ve only just started cohabiting in her nice dust-free flat, abandoning your old place. But for how long?” he asked with a sudden astute challenge, “Until you get better?”

Ben then slowly explained that the pneumoconiosis meant that his lungs were permanently damaged and that it seemed unlikely that he’d get back to the work that he had previously done in the workshop. He talked about the work injury compensation claim that he’d initiated, which Simon seemed very interested in. Then he got around to explaining the point that he’d wanted to make, which was that he and Marcie had already spoken about terminating his rental contract on his old flat, but hadn’t got around to it yet. He tried to stress to the detective that he saw his future as being with Marcie now.

“It certainly sounds like you’ve had an eventful week, Ben,” Simon mused as they approached the workshop, “I can only say again that I’m sorry to have brought yet more bad news. Stop the car here, sergeant, we can walk the last few yards.”

They’d turned the corner into the cul-de-sac that Ben’s old flat was on, and he saw straight away that the short road was blocked by fire engines and a large red van with ‘Tyne and Wear Fire and Rescue Investigation Unit’ written on its side. As he got out of the car, he looked around to see if Marcie’s police car was behind them, but there was no sign of it yet. He was aware of an unfamiliar smell on the fresh early morning air, then realised its significance with a shock. It was like that of a dampened bonfire, with the more sinister fragrance of burnt plastic too, and it must be coming from the site of the fire. With anxious anticipation, he turned towards the workshop and started walking towards it alongside Simon, with Constable Walker following them.

At first he couldn’t properly see the building around a fire tender that they’d parked up in front of, but he was already aware that something was wrong with the profile of its roofline. Then he got past the end of the vehicle and saw just how bad things were.

The fire had completely gutted the building, leaving an empty shell, open to the blue sky. The front wall was still standing, but its big doorway and the window that had risen above Ben’s bed were gaping open now, the brickwork above them stained black with sooty trails that rose up towards the lost roof. The wooden doors and even the window frames must have been burnt away, falling into the great mound of steaming black ash that Ben could see through the hollow doorway. And in front of the doorway, he saw his pickup was damaged too. Its bonnet and front bumper were marred by more than just the soot and ash, the paint and plastic fittings having been scorched and blistered by the heat, and its nearest front tyre was burnt away, with just blackened hoops of wire crushed against the cobbles by the collapsed wheel now.

Ben looked back to the building to see fire crews in high visibility outfits still moving around in its empty shell, dragging hoses or carrying equipment around the heaped embers. And that piled mass of cooling ashes must be all that was left of everything else that was in there, he realised. All his tools and climbing gear, all his furniture and models, all his clothes and videos, they must have been incinerated and then buried as the roof fell in. He imagined the floorboards beneath his rugs, beneath his bed, smoking and then catching fire, before falling through into what must have been a firestorm in the workshop. The heavy flaming timbers of the roof must have crashed down on top of them all, completing the destruction.

He felt his knees go weak, and he seemed to hear Simon’s voice coming from a great distance, “Hey there, Ben! Take it easy.”

There were strong hands under his arms as he sank to the floor, sitting down awkwardly on the cold curbstone. He was gasping for air, his breath seeming to fail him, and he realised this was maybe another asthma attack. He scrabbled in his pocket for his blue inhaler, popping its cover off carelessly to take a deep breath from it.

Simon was squatting down before him while someone else, perhaps Constable Walker, supported his back with a firm hand. “Are you okay son? Are you still with us?”

Ben nodded as he took another good puff on the inhaler. He was aware that his cheeks were wet, and suddenly realised that tears had been streaming down his face. “My stuff, all my stuff. It’s gone, isn’t it?” he said, choking a little as he wept in his breathlessness.

“But you’re safe, son,” Simon said firmly, “That’s the important thing.”

“I thought it was just in the workshop, it was just a fire in the workshop. I didn’t know it was the whole thing,” Ben said sadly, sniffing and wiping his face ineffectually as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

But then he heard a familiar voice behind him, crying out, “Oh Ben! Are you all right?” He turned to see Marcie running towards him, then she was crouching down beside him to hug his shoulders as the big constable respectfully stood back.

“I’m fine, Marcie, thank you,” he said as she pecked at his wet cheek with a kiss, “I was just shocked, surprised. Look at it! It’s all gone!”

She was rummaging in her satchel, finding a pack of tissues, then pulling one out to hand to Ben. But she was turning toward the detective Simon with a fierce expression. “Why didn’t you say?” she asked in a sharp accusatory tone, “You could have warned us, warned Ben that it was this bad. You deliberately didn’t say anything, am I right? You wanted this, you wanted to see his reaction, didn’t you?”

“Now, Ms Tabone, let’s keep calm and take things slowly,” Simon said, raising his hands as he rose to his feet and stepped back.

“Keep calm and take things slowly?” she shot back with venomous scorn, rising to her feet herself. “You were all for getting things moving as quickly as possible when you barged into our flat. And keep calm? Is dumping a surprise like this on a sick man any way to help people keep calm? I’m sure your constable arranged something with the sergeant in my car too. I swear we took a wrong turn deliberately, so you could have more time on your own with Ben. I should make a complaint about your conduct.”

“And that is absolutely something you have every right to do, Ms Tabone,” the detective replied smoothly, keeping calm as he let Marcie’s fury roll past him, “But please ask yourself, would that help Ben now? Wouldn’t it be better if we all just had a calm chat together about what happened last night and what happens next? Perhaps I have kept you both in the dark a little. Well, the truth of it is that the fire investigation team believe this is arson, as you might have guessed. That is a serious criminal offence, especially when it might have put Ben’s life at risk. That’s why I’m here and why I’d value some help from both of you.”

“We can help, Marcie,” Ben said, taking a slow breath as he rose slowly to stand up unsteadily too, “This is bad, maybe just bad luck. But I can get through this, with your strength. We can use that strength to help, not argue. Simon’s just the messenger.”

“Simon, is it?” Marcie said sceptically, holding Ben’s arm firmly and looking sternly at the detective. “You’re right, Ben, but I still think it was a mean trick. And you’re not just the messenger, are you detective chief inspector?” she said with a challenge, even as her initial rage was cooling, “You engineered this situation, you planned things out this way when you arranged to pick up Ben. You wanted to know, to see for yourself, I’m sure of it. If it is arson, then your first suspect is the owner, or whoever benefits from an insurance pay-out, isn’t it? You wanted to test Ben, to see if he was genuinely surprised when he saw what had happened, or if he was going to try and bluff you. Well, I hope you’re satisfied.”

“I just wanted to bring Ben over to meet the fire team as quickly as possible,” Simon said with practised composure, “Why don’t we all go and meet lead investigator now? And would you like Sergeant Khan to keep us company, Ms Tabone?” he asked, indicating the policewoman who’d followed Marcie from the car that had brought her.

“No, I don’t think we need to waste any more of her time, thank you,” Marcie said with a grudging smile, obviously understanding that there may have been some protocol about accompanying women in police care. She added, “And you’d better just call me Marcie, if we’re using first names now, Simon.”

“Good, let’s go and find Clive then, or Fire Investigation Officer Clive White, if you will.”

Marcie checked that Ben was okay, relaxing her grip on his arm, resting her hand tenderly on his shoulder, before Simon led them toward the blackened gaping doorway of the old coach house and Ben’s former workshop, where he’d been busy for so many years. Now Ben could clearly see the huge heap of blackened rubble, glistening from the soaking that the fire crews must have given it, but clearly still hot as puffs of steam or smoke escaped between the charcoaled timbers, smashed roof-tiles and other rubbish. The smell was much stronger here too, a dirty and bitter mix of ash and burnt plastic tickling his nose and throat unpleasantly, though his careful breathing seemed unaffected. He felt small and helpless as he came to the full realisation that his workshop, his place of industry and the root cause of his damaged lungs, was gone, utterly destroyed, along with his old home.

As they stood just outside the empty arch, Simon caught the eye of one of the firefighters, who went to get a smaller man in a high visibility jacket. He introduced himself as Clive White, and said that he was sorry for Ben for having had this happen to him. He also introduced the firefighter who’d brought him over as Cai Davis, explaining that Cai had been on one of the first crews to arrive.

Once he’d checked they were happy to see what he’d found, he carefully led their party into the burnt-out building, telling them where to put their feet to avoid the still smouldering debris, warning them about sharp fragments too. He brought them to the front right corner of the building, and pointed out one of the small windows set high in the wall.

“Do you know if this window was broken when you were last here?” Clive asked. When Ben answered that it wasn’t, though he’d not worked in here since Monday, Clive explained, “We knew the fire started around here because of the way it laid these sooty shadows down on the walls. Then we found glass fragments on the floor, inside, beneath the ash, so it wasn’t blown out by the fire, or forced in by our lads later. And can you remember what was here before the fire?”

Ben explained the front of the shop was normally clear for timber, but since he’d finished his last job, there was just a pile of offcuts from a big cedar, and Marcie added that she’d remembered seeing them too because it seemed like the sawdust in the pile might be risky for Ben’s lungs.

“Nothing like a bundle of oily rags then?” Clive checked, then he squatted down on his haunches to show them something. “We’ve got some of this bagged up already, but can you see these flakes?” he said, holding up a fragment of what looked like burnt fabric on his fingertip. He went on, “As I explained to the detective chief inspector, we found a few bits like this on the floor, so they were the first things to burn. Most of it must be long gone, but some would have got left behind to smoulder, choked by whatever piled up on top. You can touch it if you want. Can you feel it’s a bit greasy? We need to get it down to the lab, but I’m confident what we’ve got is diesel soaked cotton, a good choice for a serious fire starter who wants to get things going quickly. And you said there was a pile of woody scraps right here? It couldn’t have been much better for our arsonist, I’m afraid. Maybe they knew that kindling was already here, so in the wee hours they just snuck around the side, then broke in the window to stuff their improvised firelighters in. It would probably be enough for them to just drop a match in then, but they might have smashed something like a Molotov cocktail in to be sure. My guess is that the first crew got here at least half an hour after it had started, but to be honest, it would have been a lost cause within five minutes.”

“Aye,” the firefighter Cai interrupted, “This whole bay was filled with flames when we arrived, poking our heads around the door here. We thought it was just light industrial when we took the call. For a moment it looked more serious when we realised there was someone’s flat upstairs. I don’t mind saying, I’m glad to see you standing upright. I was first up the stairs, and it didn’t look good when we checked your flat, totally filled with smoke and the floorboards already catching. I saw your bed, but I wasn’t going to just walk over to it. We got a ladder up the front and broke in yon window. I’ll tell you, I was glad when it turned out to be empty, but we still had a good check in the other corners you might have made it to. Like I say, it’s relief to see you fit and healthy in front of me.”

“I’m sorry, you’ve gone to so much trouble,” Ben said, feeling strangely vulnerable and humbled to think that the firefighter had thought he might have had to pull Ben from the flames, or perhaps even drag out his lifeless body, he realised.

“No bother, it’s what we do,” Cai said offhandedly, adding, “I’m just sorry we couldn’t save, well, anything really. As I said, the ground floor was already wall to wall when we arrived. We were worried your truck was going to catch too. By then the wooden beams overhead were already turning to ash, and they were all that was holding up your first floor. With the floorboards already burning too, that meant there was no way we could stop the whole lot falling in, and the beams in the roof had caught it by then as well. I reckon whatever was cooking on the ground floor found some canny chimneys up under the eaves, or burnt them through for itself.”

“What was this, Ben? A joinery shop?” Clive asked, and Ben explained it was more like a small sawmill, for processing the timber from the tree surgery work that had been his main occupation. “That explains why there was so much wood to go up, way beyond what you’d expect in even in an old building like this.” Ben mentioned the wood dust too, and Clive confirmed that the fire would certainly eat that up quickly. He pointed out something poking out of the blackened debris that Ben recognised as the remains of his large saw bench, now smashed and mangled. “Do you see that?” he asked, pointing to an insignificant dirty silver nugget, then explaining, “That’s aluminium slag, probably something that ran off the steel contraption that’s still buried here. But that doesn’t melt below six hundred and sixty degrees, and wood only needs about three hundred to catch. This was way beyond the point of no return well before anyone arrived to do anything about it I reckon. I can only say sorry again Ben, for everything that you’ve lost here, but I really don’t think the fire crews could have done a better job.”

“Aye, I understand,” Ben said numbly, looking around at the hollow building and the great heap of filthy steaming ash and debris. He was struggling to match what he was seeing to the idea that this was all that was left, that almost everything he owned lay buried and ruined in that heap. As his eyes scanned around, he saw something familiar poking out of the otherwise unrecognisable debris. It was one of his climbing carabiners, and without thinking, he stepped forwards and crouched to pick it up.

Clive and Cai both moved quickly as if to pull him back, but their caution wasn’t necessary. The metal was merely warm as Ben held it in the palm of his hand to show to the firemen. “These were hung up with my ropes and gear,” he explained a little shamefully.

“I wouldn’t trust it now,” Cai said, “The heat will have ruined the metal’s strength, even if that’s steel.”

“May I keep it though?” Ben asked, thinking of it as a reminder of his previous life.

“Of course,” Clive reassured him, “It’s still yours. I’m just sorry again that you can’t expect to find anything worth saving here. Even the truck’s probably a write-off, certainly unsafe to drive now.”

“So what happens now, Simon, Clive?” Marcie asked, taking Ben’s hand again and gripping it. Ben was again relieved at her practical mindset and her focus on just whatever they needed to do next as he slipped the grimy carabiner into his pocket.

“Let’s go over to the incident vehicle and have a chat about that,” Clive suggested.

Simon nodded, saying, “We’ll take some brief statements from you both, if we may, just to say where you were last night, and how the workshop was when you left it.” He went on as they began picking their way out of the building, “I’d also like to ask Ben a few more questions. If I could ask Firefighter Davis to put his signature on a piece of paper that captures what he just told us, that would be great too. Then you and I can have a longer chat about a plan of action, Officer White.”