“You could have trained.”
“I could have improved. I could not have become a different person.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It’s accurate. I was bookish, slight, asthmatic when I was younger, terrible at team sports and worse at pretending not to be terrible at team sports. The whole thing required a body I didn’t have.”
I think of the kit dragging at my shoulders. The hose burning through my hands. The way my thighs turned a B&B staircase into a moral test. The sheer physical force of the work before the dangerous part even begins.
“Yes,” I say, quieter. “It does.”
“And I was sensible.”
“You were seventeen. No one is sensible at seventeen.”
“I was. It was unbearable for everyone.”
“That is true.”
“I looked at the requirements, looked at myself and chose something else.”
“You chose the Foreign Office?”
“Not immediately. There were a few stages between failed firefighter fantasy and controlled diplomatic disappointment.”
“Put that on your LinkedIn.”
“I will not.”
“You should. It would humanise you.”
“I am sufficiently human.”
“That remains under review.”
I am glad I cannot see his face. It would make this stranger somehow. Easier to mock, maybe. Harder to hear.
“You’d like them,” I say.
“The firefighters?”
“Yes.”
“What are they like?”
I look towards the rain-smeared window and picture the station as if I am already there. Kev at the kettle. Danpretending not to watch everything. Mish with tape in one hand and an entire filing system in her head. Josh’s calm. Pippa’s voice carrying through the garage, direct and steady, making people move because they trust her. The crew of the other appliances equally amusing and equally committed.
“They’re blunt,” I say. “Funny. Tired in ways they pretend not to be. Kinder than they make themselves sound. Less impressed by me than any group of people has ever been.”
“Excellent.”
“Thank you.”
“You needed that.”
I cannot even argue convincingly.
“And the Watch Manager?” Graham asks.
