Chapter 3

3

Gio switched off the shower but promptly turned it back on again to clean the dirt gathered in the corners of the white tray. Apart from what went on in his head, depending on whether lives had been saved or lost, dirt and grime was the other part of his job he couldn't help bringing home with him.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped the back of his hand across the mirror. He'd missed some grease from the side of his face. No matter the temperature of the water or the steam, sometimes dirt remained stubborn. He rubbed at it with the hand towel for the friction and dumped the towel in the wash basket when he was done.

Gio loved his job; he buzzed on it: the adrenaline, the excitement, the demands and the need for fast reactions. Today's late shift had been quiet until a couple of hours ago. The crew had finished supper and embarked on a theoretical training session – not his favourite sort because it meant sitting in a bland room talking about what may or may not happen when he'd rather be in amongst it, doing the job or job simulations rather than talking about them .

Then a shout had come in, the piercing alarm at the station taking them all out of that dull meeting room, down the stairs, to their kit, which they pulled on before leaping aboard the fire engine and roaring out of the Whistlestop River fire station.

A house fire in a rural cottage five miles from town had had the potential to claim casualties but the family of four were all outside as Gio's crew pulled up. Bruce, the officer in charge, spoke briefly to the family and did a 360 of the property to get as much information as he could while the crew began to run out the hoses and waited for instructions to be given.

Gio had his full breathing apparatus on and with no one inside the cottage, the hoses were filled with water, checked and then taken into the residence. They would hit the fire directly at its source: the lounge at the front where candles had been left unattended.

The flames, fierce and unforgiving, could've taken the entire property. Nobody would know at this stage the extent of the damage, but the main thing was that everyone escaped with their lives. That was always a good day in Gio's book. Possessions and property could be replaced; people couldn't.

When Gio and the others emerged, the little girl from the family was freaking out. Her dad's arms were the only thing stopping her from running back into the house. Gio had lost count of how many fire talks they'd done where they reiterated personal belongings were not worth risking your life for.

But then he heard something about a dog and he realised she wasn't after something that could easily be replaced. He was right back inside to look for it, his teammate Jeremy following close behind as his back-up.

They went from room to room and eventually found Ziggy, the cockapoo, cowering under the stairs.

He brought Ziggy out in his arms and handed him to the little girl. Her tears immediately stopped and the smile on her face as her whole world brightened was priceless.

‘Do you all have a place to stay tonight?' he asked them as he pulled off his mask.

No sooner had he asked the question than the folks from the nearest property who had likely seen the flames, heard the sirens, came and assured the family that they all had beds for as long as they needed.

As Gio and his crew had left that job, he'd looked back at the property as they drove away and watched the family. They were devastated, it was quite likely that their house wouldn't be the same nor liveable for quite a while, but their faces said it all. They were safe. They had each other.

And Ziggy, of course.

He smiled as he readjusted the towel around his waist. He thought about the little dog, shaking in his arms, wagging its tail as soon as it saw its owners. Gio had never had a dog as a boy. He always wanted one, but it had never happened and when he got his own place, he'd told himself maybe one day, but with his job and the shifts, he knew it wouldn't be fair to leave it for long periods of time. He knew what it was like not to feel a part of a family and he wouldn't wish that on anyone, not even a canine.

Gio put the main light on in the bedroom. It was approaching midnight but he was still buzzing. You didn't just come down from a shout and the last one had been so close to end of shift that the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.

He reached for the charger cable to juice up his phone but it came alive in his hand and his mum's name appeared on the display.

Midnight was late for most people but not for Marianne Mayhan. Whenever he saw her name on the display, he was tempted not to answer but knew that if he didn't, she'd keep on calling and calling until he picked up.

‘Did I wake you?' She put the same question to him that she did every time – it didn't matter whether it was midnight or midday, she'd always ask.

‘No, I got off shift an hour ago, just finished in the shower.'

‘You work so hard; I worry about you.'

‘I'm forty-four, Mum. No need.' And why start now? Not mother material , wasn't that the phrase people used when a person was unsuitable for the role? He'd tried to accept what she was like over time because he was a grown-up, but she didn't make it easy.

‘You'll always be my little boys, both you and Marco.'

He didn't have time for a lengthy woe-is-me conversation, which he sensed she was about to embark upon. He knew exactly how it would go too – she'd say she would always be their mother, then she'd bemoan the fact that Gio and Marco didn't need her these days, then she'd tell him it was hard when you felt as though you had no purpose.

‘What's up, Mum?'

‘I just wanted to hear your voice.'

Pull the other one, he thought, but he'd go with it.

He gave her the gist of his day. It was something to talk about that distracted her from asking him for money or him asking her whether she'd quit drinking yet.

‘You saved a dog; that's so sweet! You always did love dogs. I hope that family were grateful to you all for putting your lives at risk.'

‘Kind of in the job description, Mum.'

‘Well, anyway… I have a bit of news.'

He braced himself for what was next: new boyfriend? (Usually a loser and down-and-out scrounger who'd leave her when they got bored.) Or perhaps she was moving. (The last time it was in with a friend but, translated, that meant sleeping on someone's sofa because she was behind with her rent.) Of course, the most frequent ‘news' she had was that this time it will be different . Which meant she'd stopped drinking – again – and it never lasted.

‘I have a job,' she announced with a great deal of glee for this time of night.

‘Mum, that's great.' And it was a relief.

But the doubts soon crept in. He could already anticipate the peak when she started work and loved it and the money coming in, then the trough when it went wrong. She'd never had much staying power, her track record was abysmal and the only saving grace she had in her corner was that she'd never pissed off an employer so much that she was left with only bad references. Usually, she walked away without much fuss, made an excuse for leaving so it wouldn't look to them like she just couldn't be bothered any more.

‘Aren't you going to ask me what it is?' she prompted.

‘Of course. What's the job?'

‘Now don't freak out.' She paused. ‘It's a cleaning job.'

‘Why would I freak out about that?'

‘It's in a pub.'

A pub. Great. Say no more.

‘I'm not drinking, Gio.'

‘Okay.' He'd heard that one before.

‘I'm not, I promise you.'

He wondered how long she'd last before this job went the same way as every other job she'd had over the last decade.

‘When do you start?' He didn't have the energy to voice his doubts. It never did any good.

‘In the morning… well, late morning. '

When there was an awkward silence, he almost made his excuses to hang up. He was sitting in a towel on the edge of the bed and was starting to get cold.

‘I bought some sparklers the other day,' she said, trying her best to carry the conversation on. It happened now and then – not every time – sometimes, she wanted to go almost the moment the call connected, even though she'd been the one to phone him, but tonight, it seemed she wanted to talk.

‘Sparklers?'

‘For bonfire night! Well, I've used them already even though it's only October, but they remind me so much of you boys. I'll bet Matilda and Billy love sparklers.'

Gio's brother Marco, also a firefighter, was married to Saffy and they had two kids: seven-year-old Matilda and six-year-old Billy. Gio's niece and nephew were real little characters and Marianne adored them when she got to see them. Marco, however, was reticent at having his kids spend too much time with their grandma given the times he'd taken them to visit and she'd either been on her way to getting drunk or she was hungover and a mess.

‘I'm sure they do, Mum.'

‘Do you think they go crazy for them like you boys did?'

Gio touched a hand to a sting on his upper lip that must've been hiding beneath all that grime on his skin. He went into the bathroom to check and it was a cut he hadn't realised he'd got, but man, it was sore now. He dabbed tissue against it to stem the small amount of blood that had come to the surface.

‘I used the whole packet. Of sparklers,' Marianne rambled on.

Gio could imagine her twirling around in her bedsit, holding her arm out like she was a kid with her own sparkler, not thinking of the fire risk, especially if she'd had a few drinks .

‘I tried to do what you boys used to and wrote my name in the sky.'

‘So you were outside?'

‘Of course I was outside. What sort of silly question is that?'

She'd bristled so he pulled it back quickly. ‘It sounds fun, Mum.'

Her voice gave away that this was upsetting her now. ‘You don't remember us doing it together.'

‘I do remember. But it was a long time ago.' And unfortunately, as well as remembering her giving him and Marco sparklers, he also remembered her being so drunk one time, she'd picked up a discarded sparkler and burnt her fingers. It had been her two boys who'd raced her inside and held her hand beneath the cool tap to reduce the pain, swelling and risk of scarring.

‘Do you remember that it was me who bought the sparklers, me who took you boys to firework displays?' she persisted.

‘Of course I do.' But that was before their dad upped and left more than thirty years ago. She'd been relatively together up until her husband Antonio left her and their sons without so much as a backward glance. He'd found a new life with another woman. That was when alcohol had wormed its way into Marianne's life and, by default, her boys'. Gio's older brother Marco had ended up being more of a parent to him than either of his actual parents. Marco had been the one to take Gio to after-school sports, he'd done the weekly shop, he'd helped Gio with his homework. Both of them had waited for the drinking to stop, waited for the toughest times to pass, but they never had. At least not until they both left home.

‘So will you get yourself some sparklers?' Excitement laced her voice once again .

‘I'm not twelve.' But he managed a laugh; she was so enthusiastic. ‘Maybe I will.'

‘Do they have a big display in Whistlestop River?'

‘They have one just outside town, but I'll be working.'

‘You work too hard.' She began to chuckle. ‘Remember all work and no play is bad for you.' She was teasing but it didn't work, not with their history. Because that laugh of hers made him want to crawl beneath the duvet and never come out again. He didn't associate it with kindness or happiness. It merely reminded him of his younger days when he'd stay in his bedroom, away from her and the chaos her drinking brought. And if she came into his room to say goodnight, drunk off her face, he'd pretend to be asleep.

He'd rather be dull than in the mess she'd got herself into. He'd rather be single and cruise through life than turn into either of his parents.

They'd tried as boys, tried to hold it together as a family. They'd thought their mum had hit rock bottom when their dad walked out on them but there was no upwards trajectory. Rock bottom had become a way of life for her. No matter how many times the boys bailed her out of situations – kept the house tidy, made her eat so she didn't get ill, fetched her medication when she did, made sure bills were paid on time, reached out to support groups on her behalf, only to be told by their mum that they were overreacting.

Marco had handled Marianne better in some ways – he was firmer than Gio, he'd started to say no to her more often, but as a consequence, Marco and Marianne barely spoke these days. Marco thought Gio was far too lenient with their mum. And maybe he was. But Gio had to believe there was a possibility that one day, she would wake up to herself. Unfortunately, it was akin to smashing his head against a brick wall, giving her chance after chance, listening to the same old gripes every time. Gio had given up lending her money when it became clear that the more he gave, the more she asked for. Some days, having her in his life in any way, even if it was just phone calls, felt as though he was trapped in a never-ending loop he couldn't escape from. But she was their mother. Neither Gio nor Marco, despite what he claimed, had it in them to turn their backs entirely.

‘Working won't be dull. Although I would rather it was. Let's just hope people aren't too stupid this year.' He'd attended more than one shout at a residential property around Guy Fawkes night where the homeowner seemed to think it was a good idea to blast off endless fireworks rather than go to an official – and far safer – display. Those fireworks often ended up on other people's roofs or in their garden. He'd once attended a scene where the fireworks hadn't launched into the air but towards the back of the house. The house hadn't been the only thing to suffer; a little boy had been hit by one of them and experienced horrific burns. And then you got the idiots that set them off in the street, endangering their lives and those of others. If he could ban the sale of fireworks to the general public, he would.

‘You're talking about me,' Marianne said snippily. ‘One mistake and you won't let me forget it.' Paranoia was another thing she suffered from, thinking everyone was out to get her.

‘I didn't mean you.' He should've kept his mouth shut, skated over her comment about work making him dull, but he'd gone into defensive mode, not something that usually ended well because it normally resulted in a verbal showdown.

‘I told someone off last year, you know.'

‘Yeah?'

‘Well, I didn't tell them off, I gave them advice which they took and I saved a life. Two, actually. The man was about to light an enormous bonfire and I'd read something about hedgehogs, how a pile of logs is an ideal nesting place; they could hibernate there. I told him he needed to check, that he could be killing innocent creatures. Anyway, him and his wife inspected the fire while I watched on, and blow me down, they pulled out two hedgehogs. They did it carefully, released them somewhere safe, and you know what? They were ever so grateful. The man said he would never have known if I hadn't spoken up.'

He didn't have to see her to know she'd be chuffed with the compliment.

‘Well done, Mum. Good on you.'

‘I know I haven't been the best mother,' she said. And now he pictured her face, full of worry. He couldn't reassure her that she'd been a good parent either because she hadn't been and still wasn't. It felt as though he and Marco were destined to always be the ones looking out for her rather than the other way round.

‘Tell me you remember some of the good times, Gio.'

She'd done this before too. She got emotional and needed to know she wasn't the worst person in the world and again, Gio's conscience got the better of him, as much as he wanted to hang up the ridiculously late phone call. ‘Of course I remember some.' All of which were way before his dad walked out and she fell apart.

‘Tell me.'

‘You took us to see the Christmas lights every year. We'd drive to the best streets and we'd be out for hours.'

‘You loved the Christmas lights. You'd wrap up all warm, mittens on, scarf across your mouth and nose – you needed it up north; it's colder there than where you are.'

Gio had joined the Whistlestop River fire brigade eighteen months ago, relocating from Lancashire to the county of Dorset. Last Christmas, he and the crew had been out on a shout and on the way back to the fire station, had driven down some of the best decorated streets he'd ever seen. Families crowded the pavements to take a look, fathers had kids lifted high up on their shoulders, mothers had their arms around excited toddlers, and everyone had a smile on their face. It had reminded him of the good times with his mum, when the three of them would take in the festive scene together in the local area no matter how cold it was, whether it was blowing a gale or pouring with rain. Their mum had always been excited for the Christmas lights every year – she'd never let the boys miss them either, not until the drinking started, anyway. Even the year he twisted his ankle, she'd insisted they still went out and she'd borrowed a wheelchair from the local hospice where she volunteered to read to patients once a week.

‘What are the lights like in Whistlestop River?' she asked, leaving him discombobulated that they were having a proper conversation. ‘I'll bet they're something to behold.'

Behold? His mother didn't use words like that and Gio's shoulders sagged with relief because he could always tell when she'd been on a bender and tonight definitely wasn't one of those nights. He wished he'd realised sooner so he could've enjoyed their conversation a little bit more but he'd been focused on keeping her calm, getting through the call from start to finish without a big blow-up.

‘Last year, they were pretty spectacular.' He almost wanted to add you should come and see them but the words couldn't quite reach his lips. Should he feel bad that although he loved his mum, she came with so much stress that it was better to hold her at arms' length?

He shivered again. ‘I have to go, I need to get to bed.'

‘Silly me, I forgot the time. I was chatting away…'

‘Mum, it's fine, honestly.'

‘Gio, I… '

A pause. Which wasn't a good sign.

She was going to do it, wasn't she? She was going to ask for money; that's what the whole rekindling of memories about the Christmas lights had been about, the talk about sparklers and triggering nice thoughts before she went in for the kill.

So he got in there first. ‘Goodnight, Mum.' And he hung up the call before switching his phone to silent to give himself a break.

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and an old top, too wired to sleep. He headed down to the lounge, pulled the curtains, flicked on the television for some company and made a cup of tea.

As the kettle boiled, he took the rubbish outside to the wheelie bin before the inside bin overflowed. The cold bit at his arms and woke him up all the more but not so much as the noise of the air ambulance flying overhead.

He looked up into the night sky; he couldn't help it. He wondered, was Bess inside the helicopter?

Bess, a friend. A really good friend. At least from her perspective.

Gio had no shortage of women interested in dating him, he'd had more flings than he cared to remember – the uniform helped – but the one relationship that had stuck was the platonic one he had with Bess. They'd known each other since they were in their twenties and they'd lived under the same roof. Over the years since the house share, whenever they met up, he found himself thinking more and more about her: the way she smiled, her laugh, her constant chatter, her confidence and her calm and the intelligence she seemed to downplay. That was the thing about a woman like Bess: her appeal was in the things she didn't realise about herself. He'd delivered compliments enough times but she only ever seemed to accept them in a friend capacity. And for a while, he'd been thinking about more than a friendship. Ever since they'd both attended the wedding of a mutual friend where they'd danced and he'd held her in his arms, his feelings had shifted. Did she feel that way too?

Who was he kidding? She'd danced with someone else right after him that night and he'd gone to the bar for a beer, watching her from afar.

It had been Bess who'd suggested a move to Dorset, after a conversation they'd had at the wedding that alluded to how much stress he was under still living close to his mother. And while the deciding factor to head this way to Whistlestop River was when he received a job offer, he never would have even looked to move had it not been for the way he felt about Bess.

Sometimes, he asked himself whether with Bess, it was the thrill of the chase. Was he after her because she didn't fall at his feet, flirt with him or make it obvious she was interested? Was that why he couldn't get her out of his head?

Surely he wasn't that shallow, even though some people probably thought he was.

When they'd both attended the road traffic collision a few days ago, even those snippets of time with her had been something he valued. He'd always thought she was beautiful, not just the way she looked with her dark curls and captivating green eyes but her personality. And it was a special form of torture being with her but knowing it couldn't go any further.

He thought about Bess's reaction to her mum being at the scene. She was good at her job, she hadn't let her personal life get in the way, even though seeing her mum with someone new had been a shock. He could understand what it felt like too – he and Marco had seen their mother with new partners more times than he wanted to recall. None of the men she'd picked had ever been right for her. He wished she'd stop trying to have a relationship, wished she'd sort herself out first before she brought anyone else into the equation, but it seemed neither of those things were on her agenda.

Back inside and settled on the sofa, his eyes grew heavier as he finished his tea. An American cop show carried on in the background and although he should've taken himself off to bed, he made the mistake of lying down and pulling the nearby blanket over his body.

He was out for the count until morning when a knock at the door woke him.

When he opened it, he thought he was seeing things.

Life had just become a whole lot more complicated than it had been less than twelve hours ago.