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ironed her shirt and put on some perfume, which is all very good, but at the same time a bit odd. I could have put last night’s miraculous recovery down to alcohol, but she certainly isn’t drunk now. It’s almost as if Alicia has wiped all memory of Julio from her mind. I wonder what on earth she said to her?
    I turn my attention to the bottle of syrup I’m supposed to be opening, clench it tight and yank as hard as I can, my face screwed up in concentration. Deacon strides in from the garden, and leans against the counter, watching my attempts with an amused look on his face.
    “Here, give me that!”
    He wrenches it from my grasp and twists off the lid as if it were no harder than opening a bottle of ketchup.
    “I loosened it for you!” I say in my defence.
    Deacon just laughs.
    Rhett serves the pancakes and we all sit around the table, talking about the fire. It appears to have been a fierce one. Left a big, depressing cloud over the whole of Queensbeach. I doubt much of the caravan park survived.
    Nonetheless, Alicia wants to know if any of her stuff survived, so we walk down there after breakfast to have a look. It’s not good news. Not even the outer fence has been left intact. The place looks like a meteorite has hit it. It has literally been flattened – and blackened. Not a single, frazzled piece of grass remains, just the burned-out shells of the caravans and a whole lot of mess and mud. 
    “Hey, that’s the owner,” Deacon whispers to me, as a plump, balding man approaches. I recognise him as one of the men who were trying to put the fire out the night before. 
    “Looks bad, doesn’t it?” he says, looking around at the charred remains.
    “It happened so quickly,” Deacon says. “There was really nothing you could do.”
    “No, I suppose not. Shame the fire brigade didn’t get here quicker, but not their fault. Apparently, there was a bloody great van blocking the road.”
    “Do you know what caused the fire?” I chip in.
    He shakes his head. “No, the police are investigating.”
    “They’re not ruling out arson then?” I ask, with one eye on Alicia, who has gone to examine the place where her caravan used to be. I can’t help it; I have to know.
    “It seems unlikely. We’ve never had any of that kind of trouble round here before.”
    “It is a pretty quiet neighbourhood,” Deacon agrees. “I hope you’ll be covered by the insurance?”
    “Should be, although you know what insurance companies are like. It’ll be like pulling teeth.” He looks guiltily in Alicia’s direction. “We won’t be covered for anything that was in the vans, I’m afraid. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone living in them. We’d been renovating.”
    “So how come Alicia was staying here?” I ask curiously,
    “I felt sorry for her,” he says. “I found her sleeping rough on the beach, poor lass. I told her she could stay in one of my vans if she didn’t mind the mess. I even gave her some of my daughter’s old clothes. Of course they’ll all have gone up in smoke now.”
    “Well, that settles it then,” Deacon says, as we walk back over to the others. “Alicia will have to stay with us for the meanwhile. She clearly has nowhere else to go,”
    “Are you sure?” I ask. “I mean, you barely know the girl.”
    He pats me on the shoulder.  “She’s your friend, isn’t she? That’s all I need to know.”
    “Well,” I say faintly, “that’s very…kind of you.”
    I bite my lip, wondering if I should tell him about my misgivings about Alicia. But what if I’m wrong? I wouldn’t want her to end up homeless because of me, nor do I want to invite her to live with me. In fact, I’m more reluctant now than ever.
    I owe her, I remind myself.
    She still hasn’t said a word to anyone about me nearly running her over. I don’t think I’d ever hear the end of it if Deacon got wind.
    “Hey, Isabel - what are you doing this afternoon?” Kate calls out.
    “I don’t know. I was