— I was.
— Now I’m not there anymore.
— I see that. You’re here.
— That’s good. I’ll tell her when she phones.
— Did she phone?
— Oh she did.
— When?
— Oh I don’t know.
— It’s a while since she phoned.
He bought Noanie a doughnut. Noanie cuts it in half.
When she eats her piece of the doughnut, Noanie shrivels her lip up and sucks at her teeth. It’s the first time he notices her teeth are gone very bad.
— It’s a long time since I had one of those, she says.
He brought the doughnut to make conversation. Now he is stuck with Noanie for the regimented three hours. He asks if they can watch the teletext on the television. You can. You can, she says. She has to do the washing-up and then she’ll be in to him.
He brought me a doughnut and he watched the teletext. There could be nothing more normal than that, figures Martin John.
~ ~ ~
They found him by his foot.
He was removed to St Thomas’ Hospital.
Knee abrasions.
Martin John has made mistakes.
When the fireman from the Lewisham Fire Brigade tugs him crudely by his ankles, Martin John remembers he has made mistakes.
Fucking hell, the fireman says.
That’s how it is with Martin John.
That’s how it was with Martin John.
And now, ever wary of firemen.
When the Lewisham Fire Brigade entered the home at 7 Cluny Place, which they described as an unremarkable South London mid-terraced dwelling in their paper report (two paper clips: they don’t like them to come apart) — they faced a thick barrier of piled-up material.
Smoke. Someone called it in. There’s a man living in that house. He hasn’t seen him in months but he exists. He’s not all there, but he exists was likely how the neighbour described him. He may have added harmless, weird, eccentric — kindly adjectives. Were they deserved? You’ll decide amongst yourselves. As Martin John’s mam says, We’ll answer to the man who knows him best.
Someone called in a report of smoke.
They are still referring to him as The Occupant at this point.
— The Occupant fenced himself in.
— We don’t know how he survived.
The firemen speculated that The Occupant would have suffocated if he hadn’t been rescued. Martin John is irritated by such rescue stories. The firemen were an interruption.
Did you ask that fella being cut from the wreckage of the car; did you ask him if he wants to be saved? Martin John likes to shout at the television, at innocuous radio reports that mention the word: firemen. He does not like cat-rescue stories either. He gets that from mam. For the love of God, she’ll say, there is sometimes a very good reason a cat goes up a tree. It’s the only thing they agree on. Cats go up trees for a reason: don’t go up after them. Martin John does not have a cat. He does not have a cat because he doesn’t want people going up trees after his cat. He cannot guarantee that people will not go up trees.
Also, he does not like cameras on bridges. If a man or woman wants to go over the side of a bridge, for the love of God let them go peacefully. He does not believe that people who go off bridges can be saved. He believes it’s reasonable to want to go over the side of a bridge. He does not believe people fundamentally change. He has struggled with this himself. Has he tried? We do not know. There are some things we aren’t going to know about Martin John. He may have concluded people can’t change because he tried to change, or he may have concluded it because he cannot be bothered to find out, preferring to cave in to his urges rather than heed the instruction he cease with them. Or it may be Baldy Conscience who forced him to conclude this.
He doesn’t do well with interruption.
We know that about him. We’ve learnt that about him. We have swallowed it. We accept this about him.
We do not accept his other stuff. The behaviour, the girl — did he, didn’t he? Would he, wouldn’t he? Would you or wouldn’t you if you were his mother?
We found it hard to believe someone could be living there, the firemen said in the official kind of places firemen say such things: into each others’ ears, into a camera, into a phone. It’s the heavy boots that make them confess. That pull their conscience to the ground.
You aren’t allowed to dislike firemen. There’s a law against it. They’ll save your life, even if you don’t want saving. Ssssh. That’s Martin John speaking.
Would there be a reason why a man might not want saving? Could that reason be as simple as not wanting to visit someone on a Wednesday? Would you accept that?
Someone’s in there.
Fuck off.
Serious, someone’s in there.
It was thick, thick with papers, boxes. Crap one man called it. Place is full of crap. Can’t see anything except crap. Just crap, crap, crap. Nothing here but crap. Smouldering, toppling, moulding, indescribable crap. Crap, crap, crap. We called out. We were ready to give up when Ted here remained convinced there might be someone in there. I was convinced, Ted says.
Martin John has noticed they used the words thick and convinced twice. Did you notice that? They are speaking very formally for firemen, except for the fuck off. It’s the camera and the newspaper quotes that do it. They are on the hose ready for the quotes. Martin John has seen this. He’s been around cameras in his job. He has a relationship with the papers. And now we’re back to Ted.
Ted shuffles forward as the other men back off. He shuffles forward to have his moment. Usually firemen have monosyllabic football-player moments. Not Ted. This is his situation. He found the foot. He tugged it. It’s his foot now.
— I saw his foot first. When I saw the foot I knew we had him.
— Did he call out?
Here come the questions.
— Not really. To be honest I thought he might actually not wanna be found. He made so little noise. But that’s sometimes how these cases are.
These cases?
Martin John is incredulous.
He didn’t become a case until later on.
Ted has it wrong.
But he’s lying here on this stretcher facing a diagnosis of severe knee abrasions.
Martin John was not a case until the Chair. When mam put him in the Chair and he removed himself from the Chair that time, then he became A Case. It’s important we maintain the correct timeline here. Martin John is on to us.
I wasn’t a case at that point, he rages.
Chronology is important to him.
He wants it in sequence. But it won’t be told in sequence because these things never happen in a sequence, do they now Martin John?
If you ask him anything directly he will go quiet, retreat. Did you do it? Did you touch her? Who else did you touch?
See, he’s gone quiet.
The one fireman asks the other fireman how many years?
How many years do you think it takes to make this mess?
The other fireman is not listening because he’s thinking about having a wank.
That is not necessarily a fireman thing. Except Martin John believes it is. They are masturbators, chronic with their hoses. If that fireman had not been in such a hurry to get home to attend to himself, Martin John believes he never would have persevered and believed someone was within, in the house. See how the sequence troubles him? See how he knows things are controlled? See? See? See?