I nod. “Okay.”
She takes the biscuits and leaves.
I make the tea.
Not well, possibly. I have never made tea on an industrial scale before. But I warm the urn because something in my grandmother’s voice rises from the dead to insist on it, add more tea bags than seems reasonable, and carry it through with milk, sugar and a stack of mugs balanced in a way that would horrify anyone with proper manual handling training.
By the time I get to the crew room, people are sitting.
Kev. Dan. Mish. Rob. A couple of others from the second appliance, damp hair, dry station shirts, faces drawn in the same quiet way. Lewis is leaning against the far wall with his arms folded. Sal is sitting near the window, staring at the table as if it has personally offended her.
No one looks settled.
No one looks relaxed.
They look as if their bodies have accepted the chair before their minds have caught up.
I put the tea down in the middle of the table.
“Cuppa?” I say, because apparently I have lost access to complex language.
Kev reaches for a mug. “Babyface, that’s a point to you.”
Mish deals with milk and sugar with the weary authority of someone who does not trust the rest of us with basic civilisation. Dan mutters thanks without looking up. Rob gives me a nod. Small. Tired. But real.
Then Pippa walks in.
And the room shifts towards her. Not dramatically. No one snaps to attention. No one sits up like schoolchildren. It is subtler than that.
Attention gathering.
Weight moving.
People turning towards the person who is going to tell them where to put the night so they can keep going.
Mish sets a mug on the table beside her as Pippa reaches the front of the room.
Pippa Hart stands there with the tea untouched and her pen in her hand, because apparently even grief is expected to queue politely until she has finished being useful.
“We’ll keep this short,” she says. “Not the full report. Just what needs capturing now, and anything anyone needs to say before we try to reset.”
Reset.
That word is doing a lot of work.
“Initial response was good,” she says. “Access was poor, but Dan got us in safely. Information from the neighbour was limited, but enough to confirm the main risks. Cylinder risk identified early. Exposure to the house managed. Search carried out as soon as conditions allowed. Casualty brought out as quickly as possible once located.”
Casualty.
Not Arthur.
I understand why she says it that way.
I still hate it.
Kev looks down at his tea.
Mish twists the biscuit packet once, then stops.
