It was the smell that hit Dan the most. He had never been that close to a burnt-out building. He was standing next to the crime scene tape that was strapped across the shell of the office that was once his, to keep out the curious, fluttering in the light wind. Not that there was anything to see. The brickwork was blackened, the windows either blown out or smashed by the Fire Service. The sign with the firm’s name on was warped and bent, the paint bubbled and scorched, the word Molloys barely visible, but it was the stench of melted plastic and scorched furniture that dominated, acrid and cloying.
Dan preferred to look in the other direction, towards the view he’d had throughout his working life: a taxi office and a sandwich shop, a closed-down nightclub on one corner. Behind him was just ruins.
Margaret had left as Dan arrived. She’d turned up for work as normal, hearing the local news about a fire in the town centre but not realising it was where she worked. She hadn’t said anything to Dan. She’d been crying when he arrived and left as soon as he got close. He didn’t know why, except perhaps she didn’t want to dwell on her instant retirement. He’d call round later. She’d been with Molloys for years, even longer than Dan. She deserved to know what her future held.
There were some people further along, in fluorescent green jackets and white helmets. Eileen Molloy was with them, Pat’s widow, and Dan wasn’t looking forward to the conversation.
The group parted and Eileen walked towards him, her head down, her hands thrust into the pockets of her quilted jacket, her hair scraped under a headscarf.
‘How are you, Dan? You look a mess.’
‘It sounds stupid when I say it, but I feel lucky, when I think what they really wanted to do to me.’ He nodded towards the people in fluorescent coats. ‘What have the fire people said?’
‘It was deliberate, they think. They found some intense burning underneath the window at the back, in Pat’s old office. They think whoever did it smashed the window and poured petrol in, because there’s a melted jerrycan in there.’
‘They’ll find them, Eileen. Petrol has a signature, from the additives, and they’ll be able to work out from which company the petrol came. Once they know that, they can get the CCTV from last night and see who bought a petrol can and petrol.’
‘Dan, I don’t care about that, and that’s all part of the problem.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was a different time when Pat started out. He didn’t choose to do criminal work, because when he started out he did bits of everything. That’s what being a high-street lawyer was all about. Long lunches, houses in the country, being someone respectable. Now? I don’t know. It’s different somehow. You want to fight all the time. That’s what Pat liked about you, that you’ve got some anger inside you that he never had. It could be your background, always having this need to prove yourself. Is that what brought this on? Pat ran this place for more than thirty years without a threat. You’ve had it as your own for around a year and already you look like you’ve been kicked around Highford, and this place, well, it’s gone now.’
‘The insurance money will restore it. Molloys isn’t over.’
‘Oh, it is. At least in this building. I’m putting it on the market once it’s been rebuilt. You can buy it if you want it, but I want this place out of my life.’
‘You sound like you hate the office.’
‘I kept it on because it was what Pat wanted, but me? Where do I figure in this? For me, this building is about a wasted life. Yes, it gave me a comfortable living, but for what? So I could sit home alone all the time as Pat worked too many hours? Police station work, court work, schmoozing big clients, with most of that ending in drinking sessions, with Pat sleeping in places he’d never tell me about. No, when I look at this place, I see the reason why he was distant from his children, why we had so many wasted years.’
‘Being a lawyer is long hours, I know that.’
‘Don’t do it then. Do you know what my holidays were like? Tense, all the time, because Pat would be thinking about his cases non-stop. He’d be on the phone every day, just checking in, wanting to know what was happening. It was better when you started, because he had someone he could trust, but it still seemed like he preferred this place to home. And for what? To be cold and buried before he had chance to enjoy life.’
‘I’m sorry about that, Eileen.’
‘This place will be out of action for months, so you’ll need to find somewhere else anyway.’
Dan blew out and looked down. She was right. ‘I’ll keep the name though, Molloys.’
‘You don’t have to. I know that was Pat’s wish, but be your own man, Dan, not a younger Pat Molloy.’ She looked back towards the building. ‘This place has no sentimental value for me. Move on, Dan.’
A car pulled up and a man in a suit got out. He was carrying a clipboard.
Eileen got to her feet, grunting with the effort. ‘It looks like the insurance assessor is here. I’ve got to go.’ She bent down and gave Dan a hug. ‘Thank you for everything.’ And then she walked away.
Dan watched her go and felt numb.
This was it. All over.
He stayed for nearly an hour, watching people going in and out of the building, with builders trying to make it safe and assessors working out whether it was worth saving. Eileen left without saying any more goodbyes. There were a few gawkers, people stopping to stare, but they avoided Dan, wanting the spectacle without the human interest.
His thoughts were interrupted by the loud whirr of a mobility scooter and the clatter as it tried to negotiate the pavement and sideswiped a litter bin. It was the familiar cursing from the driving seat that drew his attention.
It was his father, his face pale in the sun, apart from the flush of anger as he tried to meander through some onlookers.
Dan was surprised. He stood. ‘You made it out at last.’
His father narrowed his eyes to focus on Dan’s face. ‘What happened to you?’
‘Just one of the perils of being a lawyer. It’s not all suits and ties.’
His father looked towards the burnt-out office. ‘I heard about this and had to come and see.’
‘How’s the scooter?’
‘A bit tricky, but I got here. It’s good to see the town again. It’s been a long time.’ He leaned forward over the handlebars. ‘What now though?’
‘Eileen is selling up, once she’s been paid out. My business is now homeless.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You sound defeated. Us Grants don’t do that. I know you think you’re different to me, but you’re not. Your job might give you softer hands, but you’ve got the same fight inside you. Don’t let them win.’ When Dan didn’t respond, he asked, ‘Was it to do with a case you’ve got? And that too,’ and he gestured towards his bruises.
‘I think so.’
‘Don’t give up on this, Dan. Don’t lose your fight.’
Dan thought back on what Eileen had said and wondered whether she was right, and whether his father was giving him bad advice.
It wasn’t the day to make plans. Instead, he said, ‘Have you been to a pub since your stroke?’
‘You know I haven’t.’
‘Let’s change your life for the better, and then we’ll work out how to change mine.’
Dan set off walking, smiling as the sound of the mobility scooter came from behind him.
Perhaps Eileen was right. It was time for a new direction. And right then, it would start by him drowning his sorrows.