Pippa points towards the yard. “Now we move.”
“With this?”
“With that.”
“Excellent.”
“It’s only familiarisation.”
“People keep saying only in ways that concern me.”
Dan drifts closer, mug still in hand. “Want me on timing?”
Pippa nods. “Basic circuit. Nothing fancy.”
That is how I learn that nothing fancy in fire station language means carrying equipment, moving hose, following instructions, stopping, starting, turning, lifting, lowering, clipping, unclipping and discovering that every part of my body has been quietly lying about its loyalty.
The first drill is simple.
Pippa says that, so I know not to trust it.
I carry a length of hose from one side of the yard to the other, set it down where she tells me, return for another, then move both again because apparently firefighting involves a lot of putting things somewhere only to be told that somewhere else is now better. The cylinder on my back changes everything. It shifts my balance, pulls at my shoulders and makes the kit feel twice as hot. I can still do it, which is both reassuring and deeply irritating because the fact I can do it means Pippa gives me something else.
“Again,” she says.
I look at the hose.
The hose looks back.
I may be hallucinating.
“Problem?”she asks.
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then again.”
I go again.
Then we add instructions. Not complicated ones. Left. Right. Stop. Back. Kneel. Stand. Pick it up from the coupling, not there. Watch your footing. Don’t turn your back on the equipment. Don’t step over that line. Tell me what you see.
What I see is my life choices gathering in the corner to laugh at me.
What I say is, “Hose, cone, bay door, Kev enjoying himself.”
Kev says, “Accurate.”
Pippa does not smile, but there is a softening at the corner of her mouth. “Again.”
Of course.
By the time we move to dragging, my thighs have begun to send strongly worded letters to management. My shoulders are hot. My shirt is sticking to my back under the kit. The cylinder, which at first felt like equipment, has become a permanent moral judgement.
“Keep your pace steady,” Pippa says. “Don’t rush because you’re tired.”
