Was he? Jodi took stock in the slow, measured way his OT had taught him.Can you walk? Can you talk? Do you need help?Yes, yes, and ... probably not. Jodi nodded slowly. “I’m fine. Just lost my balance.”
“Not surprising. Not long been outta King’s, have ya?”
“Um—”
“Don’t worry, Jodi, mate. Don’t worry. I’ll let you get on. Good to see you out and about, though. Your old fella’s not been himself since you got clobbered. Tell ’im I’ll buy him a pint next time he comes down the Chequers. You too. Look after yourself.”
With that, the gallant stranger was gone, swept away in the crowd of commuters who’d disembarked from the train that had pulled into the platform while Jodi had lost and regained his bearings. Jodi stared after him, watching the back of his head as it disappeared. His cockney slang was far from native, but Jodi knew enough to know “your old fella” could mean anything from someone’s dad to their—
Fuck.
Jodi staggered to a nearby bench and sat down. His pulse—which had slowed while he’d attempted conversation with the ruddy-faced man—roared in his ears.“Your old fella.” Jesus bloody Christ. Rupert wasn’t Jodi’s father, which left only one feasible reality, a reality that up until now had seemed nothing more than a perverted, twisted dream. A fantasy forced on him by having his skull smashed into Tottenham High Road. Rupert loved him, of that he was certain, and the affection, attraction, and addiction Jodi felt in return was real.
So fucking real.
Another train rumbled out of the dark tunnel and stopped at the platform. Jodi stood and mechanically boarded, drifting to a vacant seat. The journey passed in a blur of whiplash-inducing emotions he struggled to name, but he couldn’t deny the relief flooding through him. Nothing had made sense to him in months. Nothing had been tangible, like it was really his to feel.
The tannoy called out for Tottenham. Jodi stood, moved to the door, and jostled his way above ground. The flat was a stone’s throw from the Tube station, and he found himself home before he could blink.
Inside, a flashing red light on the landline phone caught his eye. Jodi checked the log and saw he’d missed three calls and a voice mail from the same number. He pressed the Play button. Rupert’s soft Irish brogue filled the hallway. “Jodi? Pick up your damn phone, will ya? I called you a million times. Fuck’s sake—”
The message ended abruptly. Jodi frowned. Rupert sounded stressed.“Pick up your damn phone.”Jodi patted his pockets. Shit. He’d left his phone in the bathroom when he’d taken a shower that morning and forgotten all about it.
He found his phone by the sink, the screen jammed with missed calls and messages from Rupert and Sophie. Jodi fired off a text to Rupert, then deleted his messages without reading them. He did the same with Sophie, trying to ignore the guilt tickling his veins. House rules were that he stayed in touch with Rupert and Sophie when they left him alone, letting them know he’d made it through another few hours without stepping in front of a speeding car. Most days he remembered, but not today. Today, it had been hours since he’d last checked in, and the fear that he’d worried them made him feel like a dick.
Sophie’s reply came through in minutes, but he found himself loitering, waiting for Rupert’s. And waiting, and waiting. He drummed his fingers on the countertop. His mind was abuzz with a million things he needed to say to Rupert, but, albeit briefly, for some reason a couple of electronic words felt like they’d be enough. If only he could think of anything coherent.
He stared at the phone, fixated. It was a while before he realised it had grown dark. Damn it. Some days he couldn’t care less if it was night or day, but the sensation of time disappearing while he languished in his chaotic thoughts was, at best, annoying.
At worst it was terrifying, but Jodi had too much on his mind to worry about the holes in his brain today. All he wanted—craved—right now, was any sign he was on Rupert’s mind as much as Rupert was on his.
Finally, Rupert’s name lit up his phone screen. Jodi swiped the message open, preparing himself for the subtle disappointment in him Rupert could never quite hide, even in the short messages they exchanged when he wasn’t around.
The whole-screen paragraph took Jodi aback. He scanned the message, and his heart sank. Far from the gentle admonishment he’d expected, Rupert had sent a list of things Jodi needed to do before he went to bed. Things Rupert usually helped him with. Things Jodi would have to do alone because Rupert wasn’t coming home.
Fourteen
The greasy, choking heat of burning oil came at Rupert from all sides. He crouched down and felt his way through the blazing chip shop, searching for any sign of the elderly owner who was still unaccounted for. His hand hit something that could’ve been a shoe. It wasn’t. Further inspection of the object revealed a chip scoop.
Rupert cast it aside and pressed on. He’d just searched the flat above the shop, but the smoke was thickening by the second and time was running out. Another few minutes and anyone still alive on the ground floor would be dead. And Rupert didn’t need a body on his hands. Not today. His crew had already attended a fatal industrial accident, and he wasn’t in the mood to lay another dead soul in the back of an ambulance.
So he pressed on, trying not to count how many chip-fat-based fires he’d attended over the last few months. Did people never learn?
He reached the service counter, creeping closer and closer to the heart of the fire. A window at the back of the shop blew. He ducked lower, dodging the surge in heat as the backdraft gusted through the burning shop. Adrenaline quickened his pulse. Six years on the job had dulled his fear of flames, but the thrill of dancing around them never got old. Running out of oxygen worried him more. His tank sounded its warning alarm. He didn’t have much left. Just another few steps—
The radio crackled. “Stand down, team one. Stand down. All persons accounted for. Withdraw. Repeat. Withdraw.”
Or not.
He picked his way out of the chip shop as the hose crews continued to tackle the blaze. It wasn’t the biggest the crew had seen that week, but they didn’t have long to get it under control before it spread to nearby homes. Rupert glanced back over his shoulder. Smoke still billowed from the roof and windows, but the flames were no longer visible. Green Watch had it covered.
At the rig, he stripped out of his breathing apparatus and scrubbed a clammy hand down his face. Briggs appeared from nowhere and passed him a bottle of water. Rupert took it gratefully. Whatever the weather, crawling through burning buildings was sweaty work. “So the old boy turned up then?”
Briggs grunted. “Old git, you mean. His daughter found him up the road in Corals. Reckons he probably left the fryers on in his hurry to catch the dogs.”
“Dickhead.” And Rupert meant it. He’d seen too many tragedies to forgive such blatant idiocy and knowing he’d risked his life searching for some twat who’d been in the bookies all along just about summed up his day.
Briggs moved off to check on the other crews. Rupert climbed into the rig and retrieved his phone from the dashboard while he waited for them to regroup. It had been a few hours since he’d had to tell Jodi a major incident with the station’s other rig meant he couldn’t come off shift until dawn. Jodi had replied with a flatOK, andwith calls rolling one after the other ever since,Rupert hadn’t had time to check that he really was okay, that he felt well enough to be by himself all night when he’d already spent the day alone, a day Rupert had spent reminding himself how to put his worries for Jodi to one side while he got on with his job.