The Sh0ut

by Stephen Leather

  ‘You okay?’

  She looked up. Matt was looking down at her, holding a tray of empty glasses.

  ‘Yeah, all good.’ She slipped the business card into her pocket.

  ‘Drinking alone?’

  ‘I was just heading off.’

  Matt nodded at the door. ‘Be careful of journalists. You can’t trust them.’

  ‘How did you know she was a journalist?’

  ‘She was asking about you before you came in. Did I know you, did you come in here often, what were you like? I felt as if I was being interrogated, to be honest.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘I said you were in here every night getting as drunk as a skunk and that most nights we had to carry you out.’ He laughed at the look of surprise that flashed across her face. ‘Joking!’ he said. ‘Good grief, girl, you don’t think I was serious?’

  She laughed. ‘Sorry. I’ve had a hard day.’

  He sat down next to her. ‘She started asking questions about you, I asked her who she was, she said she worked for the Evening Standard and I said she’d have to talk to you because of bartender-customer confidentiality. Then you came in. That’s it. End of.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet, no.’

  ‘Fancy a pizza?’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  He grinned. ‘I don’t mean here. I’m finishing now, thought I might drop into Pizza Express.’

  ‘I do like their American Hot,’ Vicky said.

  ‘Do you want to come? My treat?’ He grinned. ‘No ulterior motive, just a pizza and some wine, save me eating on my own.’

  Vicky looked at her watch. It was just after eight. If she went home her mother would probably cook something, but a pizza sounded good.

  ‘If you’ve got something else planned, it’s not a problem.’

  She smiled at him. ‘No, I’m good,’ she said.

  ‘Give me five minutes,’ he said and headed for the bar.

  Vicky watched him put the glasses into the dishwasher and then leave through a staff door. She looked down at her gloved left hand and clenched and unclenched it. She needed to moisturise the skin, it was starting to stiffen. She took out her phone and called her mother. ‘Mum, I’ll be later than I thought,’ she said.

  ‘Work?’

  ‘I’m going for a pizza with one of the guys from the pub,’ said Vicky.

  ‘A date?’

  Vicky laughed. ‘Just pizza.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘What’s who like?’

  ‘You know very well who,’ said Barbara. ‘The mystery man.’

  ‘His name’s Matt. He works in the bar next to the station.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And?’ repeated Vicky.

  ‘Tall? Short? Details, please.’

  ‘Mum, we’re going for a pizza, that’s all.’ Her mother didn’t say anything and eventually Vicky laughed. ‘Fine. He’s tall, fit, good-looking. And he’s sweet.’

  ‘Send me a picture later,’ said Barbara.

  ‘I will not,’ said Vicky and she ended the call. As she was putting the phone away, Matt reappeared in a black leather jacket.

  Pizza Express was a five-minute walk away and there were plenty of tables. Vicky ordered her favourite American Hot and he ordered a Sloppy Giuseppe – a pizza covered with hot spiced beef, green pepper, red onion, mozzarella and tomato. He asked her if she wanted red wine or white and agreed that red was the better choice. The waitress was so busy smiling at Matt that she didn’t even notice Vicky’s scars. ‘So how long have you been a firefighter?’ Matt asked when the waitress finally left them.

  ‘Ten years or so,’ she said.

  ‘Did the guys tell you I wanted to be a firefighter?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Wow. Why didn’t you join? You look fit enough.’ Her cheeks flushed as she realised what she’d said. ‘I mean healthy. Shit, that sounds worse, doesn’t it? I mean you’re in good condition. Shit.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m loving all the compliments.’

  ‘You know what I mean. You look like you work out.’

  ‘I do,’ he said. ‘I’m a bit of a gym rat. You?’

  ‘I used to be,’ she said. ‘I was always in the gym when I was a firefighter. These days not so much. Too many housewives using their phones and checking their make-up in the mirror.’

  The waitress reappeared with their bottle of wine. Again she only had eyes for Matt and waited for him to taste the wine as if his approval was the most important thing in her world. He sniffed, swallowed and smiled. ‘Perfect,’ he said.

  She beamed at him and touched him lightly on the shoulder as she walked by him.

  ‘Looks like you’ve made a friend,’ said Vicky.

  He picked up his glass and smiled. ‘You’re funny,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not trying to be,’ she said.

  He nodded at her glass and she picked it up. They clinked glasses. ‘Nice to meet you, Vicky Lewis.’ He was looking her right in the eyes and seemed oblivious to the scarring on her left cheek.

  She frowned. ‘I didn’t tell you my name. My surname.’

  Matt grimaced. ‘Guilty,’ he said. ‘I was talking to Des about you. Sorry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why sorry?’

  She tilted her head so that her hair swung over her scarred cheek. ‘Why were you talking to Des about me?’

  He put down his glass and held up his hands. ‘Just wanted a briefing on who you are, that’s all. The usual questions. Are you married? Are you a bunny-boiler? Lesbian? Free-fall parachutist?’

  ‘None of the above,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Good to know. Seriously, I just asked how you were getting on, how long you’d be around, and your name came up. And the fire. He talked about that.’

  ‘Did he now?’

  ‘You’re a hero, that’s what he said.’

  She pulled a face and covered her embarrassment by drinking her wine.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Now I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I’m such an idiot.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said, putting her glass down. ‘I’m oversensitive sometimes.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let’s try not to say that again, shall we?’ said Matt. ‘Neither of us have anything to say sorry about. So, my failed ambition to be a firefighter? It’s down to my knee.’ He tapped his left knee. ‘I hurt it playing rugby at school and it’s never been right since. I’m fine on the flat, I’m on my feet all day in the bar, but I’m no use on ladders. The strength just seems to go really quickly. And I can’t crawl. Not for any length of time. I went to see if an operation would help but the doctors said I just have a weak knee. They gave me exercises to do, which is why I’m in the gym such a lot. But at the end of the day if I put it under any sort of pressure it gives way.’ He shrugged. ‘Luck of the draw, I guess.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, then closed her eyes and shook her head. She couldn’t seem to stop apologising. Their pizzas arrived, which cut short her embarrassment.

  Matt laughed and reached over and touched her right hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m the same. Apologising for everything. I blame my mum.’

  Vicky nodded. ‘Me too.’

  ‘You’re blaming my mother?’

  Vicky opened her mouth to protest but realised he was joking. ‘You’re funny.’

  ‘I try my best,’ he said.

  The both started to tackle their pizzas.

  ‘So how are you getting on with Des?’ asked Matt.

  ‘It’s all good,’ said Vicky.

  ‘You know they call him the Grouch?’

  Vicky chuckled. ‘Yes. But he’s a sweetie.’

  ‘I wouldn’t call him that,’ said Matt. ‘But he’s a good customer. And I’m told he was a good firefighter, back in the day.’

  ‘Now that I didn’t know.’

  ‘Yeah, he was a watc
h manager but then, you know …’ He mimed taking a drink. ‘That’s what I heard, anyway.’

  ‘Lots of firefighters drink,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Yeah, but Des let it get the better of him. That’s why he kept getting divorced.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘Loads of firefighters drink in the bar,’ said Matt. ‘You can’t help but hear things.’

  Vicky sipped her wine. ‘And what did you hear about me?’

  Matt shrugged. ‘You’re a hero. And a first-class firefighter.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And?’ Matt repeated.

  ‘I’m just wondering what the office gossip is.’

  ‘I heard Des tell Danny that you were doing a good job.’

  ‘You did not.’

  ‘Day before yesterday. I didn’t hear much but it was clear he thinks you’re doing well.’

  ‘Good to know,’ said Vicky.

  They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. ‘How was Des that night you took him home.’

  She grinned. ‘Drunk as a skunk.’

  Matt laughed. ‘Yeah, I know.’

  Vicky’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  Matt leaned towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Just between you and me, I put a couple of vodkas in his lager.’

  ‘You did not!’

  ‘I could see he was getting competitive on the drinking front so I thought I’d level the playing field.’

  Vicky sat back in her seat. ‘Well that explains why he was so drunk. You’re a bad man, Matt.’

  ‘Guilty as charged. But he asked for it. He kept sending you to the bar, it was like he was trying to get you drunk.’

  ‘Isn’t that against the bartender’s code of ethics?’

  He laughed. ‘No such thing.’

  ‘Well it should be.’

  ‘Are you mad at me?’

  She chuckled and shook her head. ‘I guess your heart was in the right place. But spiking drinks? Please don’t do that again.’

  He crossed his heart solemnly. ‘I swear.’

  She drank some more wine and he topped up her glass and his own.

  ‘It was a funny night,’ said Vicky. ‘I ended up putting him to bed.’

  ‘Did you now?’

  ‘He could barely walk.’

  ‘Did you do a fireman’s lift?’ asked Matt.

  ‘There’s no such thing any more,’ said Vicky. ‘Health and safety insists that there are two firefighters for each casualty.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Seriously. But of course when the shit hits the fan, health and safety sometimes goes out of the window. If there’s a life in danger you do what you have to do.’

  ‘So did you throw him over your shoulder or not?’

  Vicky grinned. ‘I did.’

  Matt clinked his glass against hers. ‘You go, girl.’ He sipped his wine. ‘Don’t tell me you undressed him?’

  ‘Only down to his boxer shorts.’

  ‘OMG, you stripped the Grouch.’ He sat back in his chair, shaking his head. ‘Rather you than me.’

  ‘It wasn’t one of my greatest moments.’ She sipped her wine. ‘That was when it got really weird.’

  ‘Did he try something on?’

  Vicky realised she had said too much. Farmer was her boss and she was talking to a civilian. But she liked Matt and she desperately wanted to talk to someone about what she’d seen in Farmer’s spare bedroom. ‘It’s not that,’ she said. She shrugged. ‘Let’s change the subject.’

  He grinned. ‘Let’s not,’ he said. ‘This sounds far more interesting.’

  She shook her head. ‘I shouldn’t talk out of school.’

  ‘But it wasn’t at school, was it? You were in his house, that’s what you said. So what happened?’

  She shook her head and he laughed out loud. ‘Oh come on, Vicky, don’t be so mysterious. Did the Grouch pounce on you?’

  Vicky giggled. ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Then what happened? I swear your secret is safe with me, young lady. Cross my heart and hope to die.’ He reached over and touched her left hand and the gesture surprised her. It was the first time she’d been out with a man since her accident and she didn’t want to misread any signals. She loved the way he seemed totally unfazed by her scars, and didn’t react when other people flinched when they looked at her. It was as if he just didn’t see the damage. Was it possible that he was really interested in her? Didn’t he see the scars? They were the first thing she saw whenever she looked in the mirror.

  Vicky sighed. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘But don’t you ever say anything to Des, okay?’

  ‘You have my word,’ he said. ‘Bartender-customer confidentiality.’

  Vicky leaned towards him and lowered her voice. ‘He was out for the count. I went to get him a glass of water and I went into the wrong room. He had this display of girls who had been killed in fires. Thirteen of them. He had a map and pins in it and pictures and reports and post-mortem photographs. It was … weird.’

  Matt pulled away his hand. ‘What do you think he’s doing?’

  ‘I don’t know. I looked up two of the cases and they were accidents. It was really weird, Matt. He’d put a lot of time into it, that’s for sure. It gave me the goosebumps.’ She shivered and wrinkled her nose. ‘Maybe he’s planning a book? What do you think?’

  ‘Who would want to read a book about people who died in fires?’ asked Matt.

  Vicky shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It was just strange. Like he had OCD or something. There was all sorts of stuff on his walls, like he’d been collecting it for years.’

  ‘Have you told anybody?’

  ‘Only you. Why?’

  ‘I was just wondering if you’d told his boss. It does sound a bit weird.’

  ‘I don’t want to get him into trouble. Besides, it was his home, you know. I shouldn’t even have been there.’

  ‘He is a funny bugger, that’s for sure. But I never had him down as a nutter.’

  ‘It might be nothing,’ said Vicky. She sipped her wine. ‘I’m loving this pizza.’

  Matt grinned. ‘Me too.’

  ‘Anyway, enough about me,’ said Vicky. ‘You enjoy bar work?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, I do. But I don’t think anyone gets into bar work as a career choice,’ he said. ‘You sort of drift into it if you can’t do what you really want to.’

  ‘So what do you really want to do?’

  He averted his eyes. ‘You’ll laugh.’

  ‘You want to be a clown?’

  ‘My feet aren’t big enough.’

  ‘That’s funny.’

  ‘A poet.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Really?’

  He nodded. ‘I write poetry. But earning a living from poetry is next to impossible.’

  ‘You studied English?’

  ‘BA in Creative Writing and English Literature.’ He shrugged. ‘Not exactly the path to fame and riches.’

  ‘You do what you want to do,’ said Vicky. ‘You do what makes you happy. That’s why I want to fight fires. If writing poetry is what makes you happy, then that’s what you have to do.’

  He picked up his wine glass. ‘Thank you,’ he said. He clinked his glass against hers. ‘Thank you for not making fun of me.’

  ‘Well, let’s wait until I’ve heard some of your poems before we decide whether or not I make fun of you.’

  36

  The taxi pulled up outside Vicky’s house. She looked over at the upstairs bedroom window. The lights were off. ‘Looks like my mum might be asleep. I’d invite you in for coffee but she’d only come down and start interrogating you.’

  ‘I’m good,’ said Matt. ‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow and it’s getting late.’

  ‘Thanks for tonight. I had a really good time.’ Pizza and wine had turned into drinks at a cocktail bar followed by an hour listening to jazz in a small club in Soho where everyone, including the musicians, seemed to be gay. It had t
urned midnight before she had realised it, and Matt had suggested he drop her off on his way home. He’d been the perfect gentleman, and she still wasn’t sure whether he was interested in her as a friend or a girlfriend.

  ‘Me too. It’s been fun.’ He smiled and their eyes locked and before she knew what was happening he’d leaned towards her. She opened her mouth for a kiss but he moved to her side and kissed her softly on the cheek. Her right cheek. ‘You sleep well, yeah?’

  She nodded, wondering if he’d noticed that she was expecting a full-on kiss and not just a peck on the cheek. ‘You too.’

  He leaned across her to open the door for her and she was tempted to try for another kiss but before she could act he was sitting back, out of reach. She got out, closed the door and waved as the taxi drove away.

  She watched the taxi until it turned left and then she walked to the house. Her mother’s bedroom light was still off but Vicky was sure she saw the curtains twitch. She let herself in, closed the door and stood for a while staring at her reflection in the hall mirror. She turned her head to get a closer look at her mangled ear and scarred cheek. She’d almost grown used to her scars, thought it would be some time yet before she was completely dispassionate about them, and she knew that it was the first thing anyone saw when they looked at her. She took the glove off her left hand and removed the silicone gel sheets. She counted the blisters that had appeared since she had applied the sheets. Nine. That was a lot. She clenched and unclenched it. The skin had tightened. It wasn’t painful, just uncomfortable. She would have to pop the blisters and treat them with TCP and antibiotic ointment before she went to bed. And apply moisturising lotion to the scars on her face. She looked at her reflection again, then turned so that she could only see the right-hand side of her face in the mirror. She smiled. She did look pretty, from that side anyway. She turned to look at the left-hand side and her smile became fixed. It seemed as bad now as when she had first left the hospital, though Dr Adams had said the scars were diminishing week by week. She wished that were true but in her heart of hearts she believed that he was only telling her what she wanted to hear.

  She went upstairs, treading softly so as not to wake her mother.

  37