The Fireman's Pole

by Sue Brown

  Ben listened to her footsteps walk away. “I’m sorry, I know I said I’d clear my schedule, but I do need to talk to him. We’re still trying to sort out suitable housing for Mrs. Wilson.”

  Dale kissed him before he spoke. “That’s fine.”

  “Do you have to go home?”

  “Not if you want me to stay.”

  Ben nodded. “This shouldn’t take long.”

  Dale gathered Ben close and hugged him; then, almost reluctantly, Ben led Dale out of the room.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, Barry,” Ben said as they entered the study.

  “No worries, Mr. Ben,” Barry said. “Mr. Maloney.”

  “Call me Dale.” Dale shook hands with Barry. “I’m going to find Tim.”

  Ben was reluctant to let Dale out of his sight, but he nodded, and Dale vanished into the garden.

  For the next thirty minutes, Ben and Barry discussed where they were going to rehouse Mrs. Wilson. For anybody else it would be an easy thing to do, but Mrs. Wilson was Mrs. Wilson, and she demanded, and was freely given, a better level of care. They had a number of empty cottages in the village as people moved away, but some of them had steep steps and others catered to larger families. Ben’s great-grandfather, despite his profligate ways, had been a man with vision. And he had built the village to accommodate many types of residents, including those in their later years. When Ben’s grandfather took over the baronetcy, he continued his father’s vision to look after the residents of Calminster village.

  Ben and Barry had managed to pin down three separate cottages they thought might suit Mrs. Wilson. They went in search of her and discovered her making tea. She smiled at them when they entered the kitchen.

  “Just in time for a cuppa,” she said. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  “Barry and I found three cottages we think you might like. Do you have time to sit down and discuss it with us?” Ben asked.

  Mrs. Wilson continued to pour the tea and offer them homemade shortbread as though she hadn’t heard the question.

  Sandra bit her lip, then said, “Mum, did you hear what Mr. Ben asked?”

  “My hearing’s just fine, thank you, Sandra,” Mrs. Wilson said acerbically. “I was hoping to go back to my home.”

  There was a moment’s silence where Ben, Barry, and Sandra all looked at each other, and then Sandra said, very gently as if she didn’t want to spook her mother, “You haven’t seen the place, Mum. It really needs demolishing and starting again. It would be months before you could move back there.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s lips moved but she didn’t say anything, and she seemed to stumble backward, her hand out behind her. Everyone moved in so she wouldn’t fall over, but Barry got there first, steadying Mrs. Wilson and easing her down to the chair.

  “I hoped you were going to tell me it could be repaired,” Mrs. Wilson said brokenly. “Just like when the tank flooded. I only had to move out for a couple of weeks.”

  Ben sat down in the chair next to her and took Mrs. Wilson’s hands. “When the tank flooded, it only damaged part of the house. Now the whole cottage has gone. It would be better for me to demolish the place and rebuild it.” He felt her flinch as she processed what he’d said.

  “Has my home really gone?”

  “It’s just a shell.” Ben knew it was brutal, but he had to make her understand.

  Mrs. Wilson’s face crumpled and tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I only tripped over Sparkles and then burned the toast.”

  “I know, but the tea towel caught fire, and that spread to the rest of the kitchen.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ben.”

  “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was just an accident.”

  “What am I going to do? I’ve got nothing left.”

  “You’ve got us,” Ben said. “And Sandra. And the village. We’ll all take care of you, I promise.”

  Mrs. Wilson’s face crumpled. “I could take care of myself in my own home.”

  “And you will again, Mum, once we find you and that damn cat somewhere nice to live.” Sandra took her mother into her arms, and both men retreated to give them some space.

  “We’ll carry on with this later,” Ben said.

  Barry nodded and looked at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting with the gamekeeper.”

  “If you see Dale, tell him I’ll be at the stables.”

  “Will do.” Barry vanished, leaving Ben with the two women.

  Mrs. Wilson wiped her eyes and noisily blew her nose. “I’d like to stay with Sandra for a few days.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Ben agreed.

  “What about the kitchen?”

  “You leave Mr. Ben to worry about that, Mum,” Sandra said.

  Ben nodded in agreement. “We’ll all cope. You just concentrate on getting better.”

  Mrs. Wilson got to her feet with Sandra’s help. It was plain to see how traumatized she was now the shock was wearing off. For the first time, Mrs. Wilson looked her age, and Ben wondered if she would be able to return to the Hall. Perhaps it was time he needed a replacement cook. He sighed as the door closed behind them. Another piece of his past coming to an end. Ben knew he didn’t handle change all that well. Then Dale popped his head around the veranda doors and smiled at him. Ben smiled back, thinking maybe he could handle some change just fine.

  Chapter Eleven

  TEARS traced a path through the soot on Mr. Hamilton’s cheeks. “I’ve got to go to her. She needs me.”

  “Let the paramedic treat you,” Dale said. “I’ll bring Bonnie here.”

  To Dale’s relief, Mr. Hamilton stayed where he was, and the paramedic continued to wrap his hands in gauze as Dale went to Bertha. Mr. Hamilton had burns and scrapes from where he’d tried to rescue his friend from a burning shed. The fire crew had tried to save Bonnie by giving her oxygen, but it was too late, and now she rested on the grass, destined to hop no more.

  This was just the latest of a long week of callouts, which they were beginning to suspect were the work of one person. None of the fires were more than garden sheds, skips, and rubbish bins, but today the fires claimed their first victim—Bonnie, a beautiful blue lop-eared rabbit who had been Mr. Hamilton’s friend, and pride and joy. In the summer she lived in a hutch in his shed on the allotments, and he would spend his days sitting with her.

  Dale cradled the limp body of Bonnie in his arms and walked back to Mr. Hamilton. “I’m so sorry, sir. I wish we could’ve saved her.”

  Fresh tears spilled over as Mr. Hamilton awkwardly held out his hands for the rabbit. “You tried, son. You did your best.” Dale glanced at the paramedic, who shrugged, and Dale placed her in Mr. Hamilton’s lap. Mr. Hamilton gently stroked Bonnie’s fur. “You were the best, old girl.”

  Dale had to blink back tears of his own, touched by the old man’s grief. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Mr. Hamilton shook his head. “We’re fine, son. Thanks for asking.”

  Tank waved at Dale, attracting his attention, and pointed down the path. Ben strode toward them. Dale hadn’t expected to see him, but then nothing much happened in the village that Ben didn’t know about.

  “What happened here?” Ben asked as he joined them.

  “We’re all fine, except for poor Bonnie.” Dale nodded at the limp rabbit on Mr. Hamilton’s lap.

  “My Bonnie didn’t make it.” Mr. Hamilton petted Bonnie’s fur.

  Ben knelt by his chair. “I am so sorry, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “She was my family, Mr. Ben.” Another tear traced a sooty path down Mr. Hamilton’s cheek.

  “I know she was, sir,” Ben murmured, and Dale noticed how gentle he was with the old man. “Are you hurt?”

  “Burns and scrapes to his hands,” Dale said. “He couldn’t open the door to get to her.”

  “I have to talk to the fire officers, Mr. Hamilton, but I’ll be back in a moment. Colson’s going to be here with a cup of tea for you.”

  Ben stood and they mo
ved away from the grieving man. Ben growled under his breath. “I’ll take Mrs. Wilson to visit him this afternoon. She’s one of his friends.”

  Dale managed a yawn as a response. “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m tired.”

  Ben made a worried sound. “You sound exhausted. I’ll pick you up after your shift.”

  “I’m not really feeling that sociable, babe. I’m off tomorrow. I could come around then.”

  “You need food and sleep tonight,” Ben said. “Let me take care of you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Shut up,” Ben snapped.

  Dale smiled wearily at his bossiness. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

  “Maloney, hurry up,” Tank yelled.

  Ben brushed his hand, and then Dale left. The last sight he had as they drove away was Mr. Hamilton sitting in a folding chair, Bonnie still in his lap, and Ben sitting next to him, a comforting hand on Mr. Hamilton’s arm.

  DALE flopped wearily onto the sofa in the fire station break room, glad to close his eyes for five minutes. “Christ, I’m knackered.”

  Tank grunted something incoherent from one of the chairs. Mick was facedown on the other sofa and didn’t bother to say anything. The others had disappeared, and no one felt like talking.

  “Maloney, a word please.”

  Dale opened his eyes to see the station commander in the doorway. “Yes, sir.” He tried to hide a yawn as he walked into Fang’s office. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sit down, Maloney.”

  Dale sat in front of the desk, searching his brain for what he’d done wrong.

  Fang took his time before he spoke. “How long have you been here now?”

  Dale thought for a moment. “Uh, four weeks?”

  “And have you settled in? I know you got some hazing at the beginning.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Good, good.” Fang took a long time before he spoke again. “Lord Calminster….”

  “Yes?” Dale said warily.

  “You and he seem to be friends.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been here five years, and you’re the first person I’ve seen him relax with,” Fang said.

  Dale forced a smile. “He’s a nice guy.”

  Fang’s lips twitched. “I’m sure he is.”

  “What is it you’re worried about?” Dale wanted Fang to come to the point.

  “What makes you think I’m worried?”

  Dale held back his eye roll with an effort. “I’m in your office with the door closed. Something is bothering you. You don’t like that I’m friends with Ben?”

  “Are you friends or… something else?”

  Dale stared coldly at his station commander. “With all due respect, sir, that’s none of your business.”

  “With all due respect, Maloney,” Fang snapped, “anything that affects this station is my fucking business. You’re here five minutes, and now you’ve got your feet under the table of the lord of the manor.”

  “Are you worried about me or this station?”

  Fang exhaled a sharp breath. “I don’t mind who you make friends with, but did it have to be Lord Calminster?”

  “He’s a really nice guy, and he’s lonely.” Dale huffed. “Who the hell else has made friends with him in the village?”

  “He mixes in different social circles to the rest of us.”

  “Maybe it’s about time that changed.”

  Fang shook his head. “No matter how nice he is, Calminster isn’t one of us. If he gets pissed off, he could do us a great deal of harm.”

  Dale pressed his lips together, holding back the angry words before he talked himself out of a job. “Is that all?”

  “That’s all.” As Dale stalked to the door, Fang spoke again. “Dale, just be careful, okay? And if you need to talk, my door is always open.”

  Dale didn’t trust himself to respond.

  Tank glanced up as Dale entered the kitchen. “You okay, Maloney?”

  “No!” Dale said shortly.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No,” Dale headed for the kettle, “but thanks for asking.”

  Tank nodded. “Make us a cuppa.”

  Before they’d even finished their tea, they were called back out for another fire, this time in a shed full of wheelie bins at the back of the local school.

  “We’ve got to catch this idiot,” Tank growled as they drove back to the station.

  “He’s escalating,” Mick said. “We’re just lucky no one’s been badly hurt.”

  “Have you noticed all of the latest fires only started after Mrs. Wilson’s fire?” Dale said.

  “You think it’s connected?” Tank asked.

  “The cottage fire was an accident,” Dale said. “But these others have been dumpsters and garden sheds. Small stuff. I wonder if the arsonist saw the cottage fire and decided to try his hand. Start small, work his way up to something big.”

  “I’ll talk to Dan Verne. See if he’s heard anything,” Tank said.

  Dale knew Verne was the police constable who covered Calminster village, but he hadn’t met him so far.

  Mick snorted. “You’d get more information in the Crook.” Mick didn’t have a very high opinion of the local copper.

  “Someone’s going to get badly hurt soon,” Dale said.

  “Someone did,” Tank pointed out. “Poor Bonnie. She was Mr. Hamilton’s best friend.”

  “The fires only started when you moved into the village, Dale.” Mick’s grin confirmed he wasn’t being serious.

  Still, Dale growled because he was the last person to start stupid fires. “It ain’t me.”

  “We know that, snowflake.” Tank cuffed him lightly around the head.

  “Watch it!” Dale ducked, nearly crashing into equipment.

  “Kids, break it up!” It was Mick’s turn to growl as the bickering distracted him.

  They settled down, but still, it played on Dale’s mind enough that he forgot Ben was picking him up. Dale was halfway down the main road leading into the village when he jumped out of his skin as a car horn sounded next to him. He looked around, a scowl on his face, only to fade as he saw Ben waving at him. The Land Rover stopped and Dale got in.

  “Did you forget I was picking you up?” Ben said as he pulled away, an apologetic wave at the car behind for holding them up.

  “You were?”

  “We spoke? Earlier, at the allotments?”

  Dale groaned as he remembered. “I’m sorry. There was another fire, and it went right out of my head.”

  Ben frowned. “Another one?”

  “Yeah, at the school. No casualties this time. Hey, we’ve just passed my road.”

  “I know. You’re coming back to mine. Shut up and don’t argue,” Ben said as Dale opened his mouth.

  Much as Dale liked the Hall, all he really wanted was the quiet of his cottage and his own bed. Still, Ben meant well, and it would be nice to spend some time with him. Dale yawned and closed his eyes for a moment. The next thing Dale knew, Ben was shaking him awake.

  “Hey, Dale, wakey-wakey.”

  Annoyed at being disturbed, Dale moaned and tried to thump his pillow.

  “Come on, grumpy. You can’t sleep here.”

  Dale blinked and sat up. “Wha…? Did I fall asleep?”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “You’d better have been asleep. Otherwise you snore when you’re awake.”

  “I don’t snore.”

  “Of course you don’t, Dale.” Ben said it in the most condescending tone he could manage.

  Dale grumbled under his breath and reluctantly got out of the Land Rover. He was so tired, he was tempted to ask Ben to leave him there for a couple of hours.

  Ben must have realized how tired Dale was feeling because he came around the vehicle and slung his arm around Dale’s waist. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

  “I thought you were going to feed me.”

  “I am, but you can eat in bed.”


  He guided Dale into the Hall, shushing away the dogs when they swarmed around them, begging for attention. Tiredly, Dale bent down and patted each dog; then he let Ben take him upstairs.

  In Ben’s bedroom, Ben pushed Dale to sit down on the bed. Dale went to take his T-shirt off, but Ben stayed him. “Let me. You just sit.”

  Dale let Ben take off his shoes and undress him. Maybe it should have felt odd being undressed like a child, but Dale was too tired to care. Once Dale was naked, Ben encouraged him to stand briefly and pulled back the covers. Dale snuggled onto the pillows, and Ben covered him.

  “I’ll bring you food shortly,” Ben said.

  Dale mumbled that he’d better and was out like a light.

  THE light had changed in the bedroom when Dale surfaced again. He opened his eyes, blinking in the soft glow from the bedside lamp.

  “Hey. You’re awake.” Ben took his headphones off and smiled at him.

  “What time is it?” Dale squinted at the clock.

  “Just gone ten.”

  “I guess I missed dinner.”

  Ben chuckled. “Did you really think you were going to stay awake long enough to eat?”

  “Guess not.” Dale sat up and yawned, scratching his armpit.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “A bit.” Dale’s stomach growled. “Starving.”

  Ben hopped out of bed and brought over a tray. “Lisa made you a sandwich.”

  Dale tried to hide his disappointment because he was hungry; then Ben took the lid off the plate, and Dale’s stomach rumbled in appreciation. “That’s not a sandwich. It’s a skyscraper.”

  “She didn’t want you to be hungry.”

  Dale didn’t bother to reply. He had a mouthful of freshly baked bread and roast beef.

  Ben let Dale hoover his way through two sandwiches and salad and crisps, plus some of Mrs. Wilson’s carrot cake, before he spoke. “Feeling better?”

  Dale belched loudly.

  “I take it that’s a yes.”

  “I’m stuffed.” Dale burped again.

  “Classy! Do you want a drink?”

  “I could murder a cup of tea.”

  Ben leaned over and switched the kettle on. Dale had been amused the first time he realized Ben had a kettle and a fridge in his room, but he’d quickly grown to appreciate that traversing two flights of stairs to the kitchen in the Hall was not the same as walking the short distance in his cottage. In a couple of minutes, he slurped happily at a cup of hot tea.