She nods. “Good.”
Then, softer, “You listened better than I thought you would.”
That one lands somewhere under the ribs.
“Thank you.”
“I said better than I thought. The bar was on the floor.”
“Still. Thank you.”
Her expression warms by exactly one degree. From Mish, that feels lavish.
“Send us the piece before it runs,” she says.
“I will.”
She pats my arm once. Quick. Almost accidental.
Then she is gone.
Dan catches me outside the appliance bay, where I have stopped because leaving is apparently taking longer than expected and because I have become oddly attached to the smell of diesel, rubber, coffee and damp kit.
“You off then?” he asks.
“That’s the rumour.”
“Back to civilisation?”
“Carlisle.”
“So, no.”
“Rude,” I chuckle.
He gives a small huff of laughter.
That, from Dan, is practically a speech.
For a second, I think that is it.
Then he says, “You were good with Margaret.”
I swallow as the images come back.
“Thank you.”
Dan shrugs, clearly already regretting having said anything with emotional content.
“Not everyone can do that bit,” he says.
“I didn’t do much.”
“Sometimes that’s the bit.”
He nods once and moves away, leaving me with that sentence and no sensible place to put it.
Josh catches me near his office as I am closing my notebook and sliding it into my bag for what should be the last time inside Fellside Fire Station.
