“Possibly. Come in.”
The inside of the station is warm and busy in a way that is not obviously busy at first. Nobody is running. No alarms are going off. No one is sliding down a pole, which is disappointing from a cultural standpoint but probably excellent for health and safety. Still, there is movement everywhere. A man in navy kit crosses the corridor carrying a box of equipment. Another is checking something near a door labelledStorage. Somewhere deeper in the building, someone laughs, followed by a voice calling, “I’m telling you now, if Kev’s made coffee, I’m reporting it as a hazardous substance.”
Josh leads me through reception and into the garage.
Not garage, technically. I know that because the visitor information pack used the phrase appliance bay several times, and I read it with the nervous attention of a man revising for an exam nobody had confirmed he was taking.
Still. In civilian terms, it is a garage.
A very serious garage. A garage with better equipment, higher stakes, and fewer Christmas decorations in boxes.
The fire engine dominates the space. I am aware that appliance is the correct word because, again, I read the information pack twice and then said appliance aloud in my kitchen until it stopped sounding like something thatbelongs next to a fridge. Red, gleaming, enormous, it sits there with a kind of quiet readiness I have never associated with vehicles before.
Josh notices me looking.
“First time inside a station?”
“Not counting school visits and one press photo about smoke alarms, yes.”
“Then welcome to the glamorous heart of emergency response.”
As if summoned by that, a firefighter walks past carrying a mop bucket.
He looks at me. Looks at Josh. Looks back at me.
“This him?”
Josh says, “This is AJ Hodgson.”
The firefighter nods. “Right.”
That is all.
No greeting. No smile. No threat either, although his tone suggests threat would be available on request.
Josh gestures. “Kev.”
“Morning,” I say.
Kev gives me a once-over with the careful neutrality of a man assessing whether I count as a person, a problem, or something that will need moving later.
“Morning.”
Then he walks away.
I look at Josh. “That went well.”
“Kev used two syllables,” Josh says. “Practically a welcome basket.”
We move further into the garage.
“On call-outs, Pippa rides with Kev, Mish and Dan, and you’ll travel with them,” Josh says. “That means, for most of your time here, they’ll be the crew you’re closest to.You’ll meet everyone, but if we get turned out, you stay with whoever Pippa or Dan puts you with. No wandering. No trying to get a better angle. No making yourself interesting.”
“I’ll try to be as dull as possible.”
“Good. We value dull in observers.”
I am introduced to the rest of the crew in stages, and the reception ranges from polite to polite in a way that has clearly seen a solicitor. Dan shakes my hand and says, “All right?” with the warmth of a locked filing cabinet. Mish, who is checking equipment near the lockers, gives me a small nod but does not stop what she is doing. Lee smiles, but it is the sort of smile people use when they have decided to reserve judgement until after the first incident, scandal or tea round.
