One night I woke up to sirens screeching and strange shadows dancing on the walls, but it was too cold to get out of bed. In the morning I looked out the window and saw there’d been a fire in Charles Street. A kid died. It was on the BBC.
You could see the smoke staining for years after; apparently it’s costly and difficult to treat, so the council just left it.
The scarred house stood there reminding folk: this is your lot. Mind your place.
Yesterday I looked on Street View. After 40 years they’ve finally replaced the cladding.