Anything that could or would burn was added to the pile — a fallen limb or tree was gold, but old fences, broken furniture, one year even an old tum...ledown shed. And the higher the pile grew the more excited she became, counting down the days to Burn Night. There was always a second pile too, but this was different. It wasn’t the steepled stack of the bonfire, no. It was carefully arranged, sorted and stacked according to size and weight. This was the fuel pile, each piece to be added manually. However, there was a certain air of hospitalisation and functionality that could not be hidden by mere rugs. Walking over to the desk her heels made a loud staccato clicking sound. She might have the option of a 4 x 4, sensible when one considered some of the locations that she had to meet clients. But once there she must be suited and booted. That meant uncomfortable heals, smart skirt and jacket. She placed the papers and her briefcase down, causing a small cloud of dust to swirl into. More

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