Chapter 1
Pippa
If I read the article one more time, I’m going to take steps that could get me arrested.
Not for arson. That feels thematically inappropriate.
Possibly for assault with a rolled-up newspaper.
Amanda reaches across the kitchen table and calmly puts her hand over the page.
“No.”
I look up.
“What?”
Her expression doesn’t change. “You’ve already read it six times.”
“Seven.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Sorry. Seven. That changes everything.”
I pull the paper back anyway.
Outside the kitchen window, my nephew Jamie is standing beside the appliance in a child-sized fire helmet and talking very seriously to Kev. Jamie is five and has all the confidence of someone who has never once had to consider whether he might be wrong.
Kev is crouched down listening attentively.
I can’t hear the conversation through the glass but I’d bet good money Jamie is explaining how fire engines work.
Incorrectly.
My niece Samantha, who is three and therefore largely operates outside accepted societal structures, is walking around the bay carrying a clipboard someone has irresponsibly given her. Every few seconds she points at something and one of the firefighters moves it.
Amanda follows my gaze and smiles.
“They love coming here.”
That much is true.
The crew loves them too.
Officially, children aren’t encouraged to roam around operational areas. Unofficially, everybody here has collectively decided Jamie and Samantha are community engagement.
Jamie has been obsessed with fire engines since he learned the word emergency.
Samantha mostly enjoys giving instructions.
She fits in alarmingly well.
Amanda wraps both hands around her tea.
“I’m serious, Pip.”
I look back at her.
She nods at the article.
“Stop reading it.”
I sigh and lean back in my chair.
The kitchen smells faintly of toast and industrial-strength coffee. Someone has left a half-finished crossword on the side. There’s a whiteboard near the fridge listing appliance checks and somebody has drawn a smiley face next to hose testing.
Normal.
Completely normal.
Which is probably why this article annoys me so much.
I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours trying to work out whether I’m overreacting.
I hate not knowing.
“I understand why you’re upset,” Amanda says diplomatically.
Upset.
Interesting.
“But I’m not sure I’d read this as sexist?”
I stare at her.
Not offended.
Just… surprised.
Because Amanda has known me my whole life.
She knows this isn’t normally something I go looking for.
I fold my arms.
“It doesn’t read as sexist.”
I nod at the paper.
“That’s the point.”
My sister scans the article again. “They’re questioning decisions.”
I snort. “Yeah.”
I reach over and tap the quote.
Maybe she was following procedure. I don’t know. But you expect someone to take charge quicker in situations like that.
“Tell me why they wrote she.”
She frowns. “Because they knew it was you?”
I shake my head.
That would almost be easier.
“When I joined, people assumed I worked in admin.”
Amanda studies me.
“When I got promoted, somebody asked whether older men would struggle taking orders from me.”
Her face changes slightly.
“When I transferred from Manchester somebody asked whether rural incidents would be more physically demanding.”
She frowns.
I shrug.
“When I turned forty somebody asked whether I was planning to slow down.”
Amanda’s snort is immediate and deeply unhelpful.
“At no point has anyone ever asked Josh if he’s planning to slow down.”
I look back at the article.
“If Josh had run this incident, people would say command was cautious.”
I tap the paper.
“If one of the lads had run it, people would say procedure was followed.”
I point at the quote.
“I get she and first female watch manager.”
Amanda takes a moment before answering, her eyes moving over the article again.
“Oh.”
I nod.
Amanda sets the paper down.
“I didn’t notice that.”
I shrug.
“That’s because you’ve never had to.”
The words come out sharper than I mean.
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch. She only nods.
I stare at the article.
I know exactly what the journalist thinks he’s done.
Local interest.
Context.
Human angle.
Fair reporting.
But now I’m not the officer in charge.
I’m the female officer in charge.
Again.
I rub a hand over my face.
“I’ve been a firefighter for twenty years.”
This time, Amanda says nothing.
“I passed the same assessments. I made the same call Josh would’ve made.”
I swallow.
“And somehow one article later we’re discussing whether maybe she should’ve taken charge quicker.”
Her hand reaches across the table and squeezes my wrist.
I look out at Jamie and Samantha.
Jamie is laughing.
Samantha is currently directing two fully grown firefighters carrying traffic cones.
“When does it stop?” I ask quietly.
Amanda’s gaze comes back to me.
I shake my head.
Not at her.
At all of it.
“When do I just become the person doing the job?”
“Probably never,” Josh answers. He is standing in the doorway holding a mug and wearing the expression of someone who has heard enough to know he’s walking into something.
His glance moves from Amanda, to me, to the article.
Then he walks in and sits down.
Amanda gives him a small smile.
“Hi.”
He nods.
“Morning.”
Then he looks at me.
“What’s happened?”
I slide the paper across.
He reads.
Once.
Then again.
He folds it neatly and puts it down.
“You’re right.” Josh shrugs. “If this had been me, the article would’ve said Station Manager Josh Walker.”
He taps the line again.
“Not county’s first anything.”
Josh doesn’t say things lightly.
He also doesn’t hand out sympathy to make people feel better.
Before he became Station Manager, Josh had been Watch Manager here. At the time, he’d been the youngest one the station had ever had. Then, at forty-four, he moved up and left a space behind him.
And a chance for me to move up to watch manager.
I still remember the interview panel. The questions. The careful way some people said things without saying them.
Different background.
Different culture.
Big adjustment from Manchester.
Nobody said woman.
Nobody needed to.
Josh had sat in those meetings and pushed anyway.
Not because he wanted to prove a point or make history. He just kept repeating the same annoying sentence until people ran out of arguments.
She’s the best candidate.
I got the job.
The first female watch manager in county history.
Which sounds much more glamorous than twenty years of shifts, exams and occasionally smelling faintly of smoke at family events.
I’ve never forgotten that he put his reputation behind me before I’d had the chance to prove him right.
So when Josh says I’m not imagining something, I know I’m not imagining it.
Josh takes another sip of tea and glances at the article.
Then he sets his mug down and says, carefully enough that I know he’s thought about this before opening his mouth, “I don’t think we should leave this.” Josh shrugs.
“I think I should call the editor.”
Josh isn’t somebody who goes looking for arguments. He’ll have difficult conversations if they need having, but he doesn’t enjoy them and he definitely doesn’t collect them recreationally.
I fold my arms.
“To complain?”
His expression stays neutral.
“To talk.”
I narrow my eyes.
Amanda makes a suspicious choking noise into her tea.
Josh ignores both of us.
“I think somebody should explain why this article isn’t as neutral as they probably think it is.”
I glance at the paper.
He adds, quieter this time, “But I’m not going to steamroll you.”
He gives me a moment to think about his words before adding, “If we challenge it, there’s a decent chance it gets bigger before it gets better.”
I already know what he means.
Complaint.
Response.
Follow-up article.
People discovering opinions they didn’t know they had.
And suddenly I’m not Watch Manager Hart anymore.
I’m the emotional feminist who complained.
Josh watches me for a moment before continuing.
“I don’t want you feeling like you have to make some big stand if you don’t want to.” Josh wraps his hands around his mug. “And if you’d rather let it go because you don’t want more attention, I’ll support that too.”
I turn towards the window.
Jamie is now sitting in the passenger seat pretending to drive while explaining something with sweeping arm movements.
Samantha has acquired a high-vis vest that reaches her ankles and is directing traffic cone placement with complete confidence.
Two grown firefighters appear to have accepted her authority.
I watch her for a moment.
Then I say, “I don’t want to become some modern-day Joan of Arc.”
Amanda lets out a quiet laugh.
“Fair,” Josh says.
I slide my fingers through my cropped hair making it stand up in messy spikes.
“I don’t want statements and discussions and inspirational LinkedIn posts about resilience.”
Amanda nearly snorts tea.
Josh’s mouth twitches but he recovers quickly.
I shake my head.
“I don’t want to become somebody who gets invited onto panels because she once complained about an article.”
The words hang there for a second.
Then I look back outside.
Samantha is explaining something to Kev with complete certainty.
He’s listening with the expression of a man being briefed before a major operation.
I watch her and say quietly, “But I also don’t really want her dealing with the same crap in thirty years.”
I shrug.
I’ve never thought of myself as particularly trailblazing.
Mostly I think of myself as somebody trying to get through shifts, pass assessments and occasionally remember to buy washing-up liquid.
But suddenly I picture Samantha older.
Walking into meetings.
Getting introduced as the female engineer. The female manager. The female whatever.
And I hate how familiar that feels.
“I’d quite like her biggest workplace issue to be somebody stealing her yoghurt from the office fridge.”
Amanda reaches over and squeezes my arm.
Josh studies me for a second.
Then he nods once.
Slow.
Decided.
He picks up his mug and says, in the same tone somebody might use to discuss weekend weather:
“Right.”
I narrow my eyes.
His mouth edges upwards.
“I’ll call the editor.”