‘Did you say there’s a dog, love?’ Krish asked her.
‘German shepherd.’ She ran back to the man on the grass, kicked him hard on the thigh. ‘Where’s Barney, you fucker?’
‘I shut it in the bathroom,’ slurred the drunk. ‘Bastard thing bit me.’
‘Not hard enough, you’re still alive, you waste of fucking space.’
Pete and Krish rushed back in, up the stairs. There was a door at the end of the landing with a ragged punch hole in it pulling in smoke. They could see a dark shape on the floor through it and when Pete went inside, he found it was the dog unconscious, lying in its own urine.
‘Come on, lad, I’ve got you,’ he said. The dog was wet, large and limp, a dead weight. Pete stumbled over something on the floor, a rug he thought, but managed to stay upright. Outside Pete put the dog on the grass, felt its chest; there was a heartbeat. A young, strong one at that.
The woman was in bits.
‘Oh Christ, my dog,’ she said. ‘He’s like me second kid.’
Jacko raced over with the pet oxygen mask. Pete held it firmly over the dog’s face, stroked the dog’s fur, willed the dog to start breathing in that fresh clean oxygen and clear its airways. He’d done this before to dogs, cats, even a rabbit once. It was always a glorious moment when their lungs chugged into life, but it hadn’t always happened. Pete concentrated, cut out the background noise of shouting and chattering. Come on, lad, breathe.
As if responding to the strangled cry of the woman behind him calling, ‘Barneeeee’, the dog’s tail gave a dull thud; then it seemed to come to life from the back to the front.
‘He’s with us again,’ Pete called to her.
When the dog’s paws came out to push off the mask and it staggered to its feet, a woman with no teeth in a pink dressing gown and slippers like tiger paws appeared at his side with a piece of rope.
‘I’ll take him for you, Emma love. You see to your babby,’ she said and hooped the makeshift lead around Barney’s neck, then explained to Pete, ‘We live next door but one. I sometimes go in and feed him when she’s working.’ In a surprisingly gentle voice she spoke to the dog, stroked his muzzle. ‘Come on, lad, you’ll be all right with your Auntie Christine and Uncle Dennis.’
Pete turned around and saw phones levelled at him. There was always someone ready to film someone else’s distress these days and upload it to YouTube. He turned away, caught up with Andy Burlap.
‘I thought everyone knew you don’t throw a jug of water on a chip pan,’ Andy said. ‘I didn’t even know people used them any more. They’re bloody dangerous when you’re sober, never mind when you’re ratted. That could have been so much worse. Looks like you’re going to be an internet sensation.’
‘I hope not.’
The fire took fifteen minutes to put out; the real hard work was making the building safe, stripping back the plaster and the burnt timbers. Then, when all that was done, they returned to base to restock the trauma packs, change the compressed air cylinders, making sure all the equipment was ready for the next incident. Then and only then did they have what was called their well-deserved ‘fire brew’. That cup of tea plus snacks was always extra sweet.
‘One of the neighbours was telling me that she only took him back last night after he’d finished an alcohol de-toxing programme,’ said Sal, talking about the house-dweller.
‘She seemed as upset over the dog as the kid,’ said Andy. ‘I’ve never really understood that.’
‘I can,’ put in Pete.
‘So can I,’ said Sal. ‘Some humans are shit to each other.’ She looked pointedly at Pete as she spoke. ‘There’s a lot to be said for the unconditional love of an animal.’
‘You’ve been watching too much Lassie,’ scoffed Andy. ‘Anyway, nice work, Pete.’
Sal led the applause and one by one the others drifted off, leaving just those two sitting at the table.
‘No idea why I clapped you after what you did to Karen after our Christmas party,’ said Sal.
‘Karen who?’
Sal shook her head slowly, amazed – and not in a good way. ‘Natasha’s sister. Can’t you remember her name? Did you even ask her what it was?’
‘I haven’t done anything to Natasha’s sister,’ said Pete.
‘Ghosting is what twats do, Pete. She was devastated. There’s me telling my girlfriend what a brilliant bloke you are and then you go and do that to her little sister.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Sal. We got together, had a nice evening, or so I thought, and that was that. What else should have I done – said thank you for the fuck?’
Sal studied him, her brow furrowed. ‘What’s happened to you in the last couple of months? Because something has.’
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Pete and slurped the last of his tea.
‘That, for instance. When did you slurp your tea like a scruff? Use words like “fuck” in that context? Your whole attitude stinks. You’re back in the job but you’ve lost your soul somewhere along the line.’
‘What are you, my mother?’
‘You’re not a son I’d be proud of.’
That stung. ‘Fuck off, Sal.’
‘A mate would tell you that you’ve been acting like a wanker.’
‘You a mate, are you, Sal?’ Pete sneered.
‘Yes, Pete, I am. And you’re acting like a wanker,’ said Sal, drained her cup and left.
*
No, he couldn’t even remember Natasha’s sister’s name. He didn’t want to. He’d just wanted to screw her and then walk out on her the next morning without a word. He would have done it to Ria if she’d ever come back, but she’d stayed away, not even sent him a Christmas card. He wished he’d felt shamed by what Sal had just said to him but he didn’t, it bounced off the impenetrable wall of his hate and anger. He’d never trust another woman again. He’d even flirted with Lucy, wondering if she’d respond, but all she had said was, ‘Are you drunk?’ and laughed it off and he’d felt relief much more than the burn of rejection.
He thought he’d seen Laurie the previous week in the supermarket across the till aisles, a woman with a long blonde plait. As soon as she turned and he saw her profile, he knew it wasn’t her, but his reactions were telling. He felt his heart thump hard as if it was trying to jump out of him and bound towards her, then a nuclear heat of fury overcame him that he’d had to let her go because of what Tara had done to him – and to her, fucking her man, getting pregnant by him even though Laurie didn’t know that. Please God don’t let her ever find out.
It frightened him how much bitterness had filled him. Recently it felt as if he was made up of it and nothing else.
Chapter 52
9 January
People were free to leave Molly’s Club without explanation or excuses, which is why she had never chased Pete the firefighter to find out why he had stopped attending the sessions last year. But then something had happened to make her change her mind on that and break her own ruling. She’d fallen asleep in front of the TV in her rocking chair when she was rudely awoken by her sister Margaret and brother-in-law Bernard, both in their dressing gowns and slippers, bursting into her front room.