“That was before the beard gave us a cause.”
He gives me a look.
I nearly smile.
I do not, because discipline matters.
Mostly.
“There are disposable razors in the washroom cupboard,” I say. “Foam too, I think. Sink by the showers.”
“Of course there is.”
“Problem?”
“No. I just wasn’t expecting the fire service to be so prepared for my personal downfall.”
“We train for all scenarios.”
Kev says, “Mostly fires, but this is good too.”
I nod towards the locker room. “Don’t dawdle.”
AJ picks up his dignity, which has taken several blows but is still technically operational, and heads inside.
The second the door closes behind him, Mish says, “That was beautiful.”
“It’s a safety requirement.”
“Of course.”
“It is.”
I check the BA set because I need something to do with my hands that is not acknowledge the fact that AJ Hodgson sulking over a beard was funnier than it should have been.
Also, because I am thinking about what he’ll look like without it.
Which is not useful.
Not in the slightest.
The beard made him look older. Not old, exactly. Established. Polished. A bit too aware of his own angles. Without it, he’ll probably look more tired. Or paler. Or like a man who has made a poor grooming decision under pressure.
That would be helpful.
Very helpful.
A few minutes pass.
Then a few more.
Eventually, I go to check he hasn’t cut his own throat out of journalistic resentment.
I knock once on the locker room door. “You decent?”
There is a pause.
“I have never been less sure.”
