I consider this.
No one useful.
Marie Louise folds her hands on the desk. “AJ, this is not me sending you away because I don’t trust you with breaking news. It’s me giving you a chance to do the bitthat comes after speed. You got the first story quickly. Now you get the deeper one right.”
That is inconveniently elegant.
I hate when she does that.
I look at the article again and try to summon a better argument, something clean and professional that does not sound like I’m worried the world will move on without me if I spend two weeks watching firefighters check equipment. Nothing comes.
Because underneath all the objections, there is a small and irritating part of me that knows she’s right.
This could be good.
It could be more than good.
It could be the sort of piece that shows I can do more than arrive first and write fast. It could show judgement. Range. Depth. All the words people like Helen Archer probably write in recommendation emails while standing near expensive windows.
And still, all I can think is that the next big breaking story will happen the second I’m learning when Fellside Fire Station puts their bins out.
I sigh. “This is insane.”
“No,” Marie Louise says. “It’s uncomfortable. Those are different things.”
She picks up her phone, and says, “I’ll speak to him now. If they agree, you clear what you can, hand anything live to Morgan, and prepare for the assignment.”
I stand, because apparently the meeting is over and my life has been rearranged by a woman who has not yet technically secured permission from the people most likely to hate the idea.
At the door, I pause. “For the record, Ben puts plates in sinks.”
Marie Louise looks up. “What?”
“Nothing. Just evidence for later.”
Her eyebrows lift.
I leave before she can ask.
5
Chapter 4
Pippa
Iam wearing mycoat, holding my bag and experiencing the particular kind of happiness that only exists when four days off are close enough to taste.
Admittedly, I mostly taste the station coffee I should not have had at four in the afternoon, but spiritually, I taste freedom.
The shift has been quiet since Amanda left with Jamie and Samantha, which means everybody has spent the afternoon pretending not to enjoy the fact nobody has needed us. There is a strange superstition in this job around saying the word quiet. Nobody says it. Nobody risks it. The moment you do, a sheep gets wedged in a cattle grid, a tourist reverses into a ditch, or somebody decides a disposable barbecue belongs somewhere flammable.
So I don’t say it.
I collect my things, check my phone, check the rota for no reason other than habit, and head towards Josh’s office to say goodbye before I escape. Four days off. No alarms. No station kettle. No paperwork. No firefighters askingif the milk smells funny and then continuing to use it anyway.
Josh’s door is open.
He’s at his desk, phone beside his keyboard, glasses low on his nose as he works through something on his screen.
