Aiden
The smoke comes billowing through the back door of the cafe, propped open because of the heat, and everyone panics. The customers are straight out the front door, Abi races up stairs, muttering something about photos, and Josh looks dumbfounded.
"Call 999!" Aiden snaps at him and heads out back.
In the courtyard, it's immediately obvious where the smoke is coming from. There's a huge bonfire in the centre of it. A man about forty is chucking paintings on it, and it seems that's mainly what the bonfire is made of.
"Are you fucking mad? Put this out! You'll have the whole block up!"
The man looks at Aiden. It's barely a glance. Then he turns back to the fire and throws another canvas on. He's wearing a soft, threadbare denim shirt and baggy cords, and a pair of paint-splattered carpet slippers. His hair has a few flecks of gray, but mostly it's short, wavy, dirty blonde.
Aiden briefly thinks 'he'd be hot if he weren't clearly fucking mad.'
The wind changes and instead of blowing the smoke into the back of the street of shops where the cafe is, it wafts it down the alley into the street. The man disappears back into a building nearby.
Aiden just stands there and gawks. Eventually the older man re-appears with more paintings. He gets a glimpse of stars reflected in water, before that goes on the crackling pile, too, embers swirling.
"If you shut that door," the man says, like he's talking to a child, "the smoke won't go in."
He hates to do anything the guy has told him to, but it's hard not to do it once he's pointed it out. Aiden ducks into the cafe. He eventually finds Josh ineffectively trying to waft smoke out with a tray. Abi is peering nervously in from the front window, clutching a shoebox that barely contains all its photos, her phone to her ear.
"One of your neighbours has lost it. He's burning a load of art in the courtyard." Aiden tells Josh between coughs, who looks concerned.
"He alright?"
"Who fucking cares? He could have set us all alight."
Josh nods half-heartedly.
"Fire service is on their way."
"I'll go wait for them," Aiden says, heads out, and closes the door behind him.
He can already hear the sirens, echoing over the city. Who ever he is, this guy is going to be in big trouble after the summer they've had, what with the wildfires and all. It doesn't seem to be bothering him. He just breaks a larger canvas into pieces and throws it on the fire. He doesn't acknowledge Aiden.
Eventually the firefighters appear at the alley mouth. They rush down it into the courtyard, and stop, seeing what's going on. The one in front stops nearby and flips up his visor.
"Jase? What the fuck are you doing?"
Aiden sighs. Typical. They know each other. He needs to move to a bigger city.
Jason looks up from the fire. It seems like he's run out of paintings to burn.
"Oh, hey," he says, as though they're meeting at the supermarket. "Thought you'd retired."
"Mate, you've got to put this out." Two more firefighters rock up with the hose and Jason and Aiden step out of the splash zone.
"Sure. There aren't any left," Jason says as the hose turns the orange and yellow blaze into a steaming, smoking pile of charred wood and wet ash.
"What are you doing? Where's Rob?" the firefighter asks.
"Trying to burn the street down," Aiden supplies helpfully, while Jason stares at the mess.
"Who're you?"
"Aiden. My friends own that cafe. They called you when he," he nods at Jason, "filled the whole place with smoke."
Jason suddenly claps his hands together and dusts them off, like he's satisfied with a job well done. Then he looks at Aiden.
"Sorry. Didn't think the wind'd change."
The firefighter looks pretty concerned by now.
"Jason. Where's Rob? There's no way he'd let you burn all your paintings."
"He's dead," he says, without emotion, and turns and walks back into the building behind him. The firefighter's gone pale; it isn't something that Aiden has actually seen in real life before.
The firefighter goes after Jason, and Aiden follows instinctively. He's still mad. He wants to make sure that this guy doesn't get off lightly.
The short steps and the ragged door lead to a dusty, shadowy basement room, empty now, save for dust cloths.
Aiden follows them up another flight of stairs, and into a light, airy kitchen. There's a large oak-topped island in the middle, oat coloured subway-tiles on the wall and a vast, forest green Aga.
"Yesterday," he hears Jason say as he stands in the doorway to the basement.
"Yesterday..." the firefighter sounds hollow. Now that he's got his helmet off, Aiden can see he and Jason are of an age. Probably went to school together. He's all round; short hair, on a little round head with a big round cheeks. "Bloody hell," he says under his breath.
"I'm really sorry," he says, and Aiden can tell he means it. There's a pause, and then he carefully says. "I can't imagine how you're feeling right now." Jason is staring into middle distance while the kettle boils behind him. "But, you can't go starting fires like that. You could have had the whole street up in smoke."
"I'm done," Jason replies. "Nothing left to burn; it won't happen again."
"I'll do my best with the law, but they're really not going to like this. There might be a fine. Maybe even court. Sorry to pile on."
"It had to be done," Jason says, with a wan smile, finally looking at the firefighter. "And you've got to do what you need to. It's okay." The firefighter nods.
"No, it's not!" Aiden pipes up. "What about the cafe! It'll be hell to get it right. We'll have to clean everything!"
Jason grimaces. The firefighter spins, surprised, not even aware that he'd been there.
"I really am sorry about that. I like your friend's cafe. I'll pay for the clean up. I'll come round tomorrow morning."
"You'd better," Aiden says. "Like, sorry for your loss and everything but you can't-"
"C'mon," the firefighter says, cutting right across him. It doesn't help calm him down. Aiden lets him steer him back down the stairs. "I'll make sure he makes it right, but you've got to cut him some slack. They were together since they were teenagers."
Aiden sighs. He's furious, but he's not an asshole.
"Fine," he snaps, as close to letting it go as he can get.
They stop in the courtyard, and look at the gently steaming, blackened pile in the centre of it.
"Almost twenty years up in smoke," the firefighter says. "Crazy."
"Is he famous or something?"
The firefighter looks as though he's about to say something, stops, and lets out a short laugh.
"Him? Jason Watts? Not famous at all," he says and walks off, before Aiden can say another word. Aiden just holds his hands out like 'the fuck was that?' but it's pointless. He turns back to the cafe.
Caught up against the closed door is a foot long, six-inch wide strip of canvas, all singed along the edge. It must have floated free before it could burn properly.
It's gorgeous. It's only a sliver of a larger work, but it's a stunning recreation of the stars reflecting in the river in the park.
Aiden is sure he's seen it before. He holds it out in front of him in both hands, marveling at the way the water looks and the stars and the lights in the trees. It's the city park, for certain. He looks a bit longer. It's the city park during the festival of lights, at Christmas.
And he's sure that he's seen it before, but he can't place it. Maybe it's just because he's been to the festival, and the park before, and that familiarity is what he's feeling, but he's sure he's seen this painting before. He really can't place it, like deja vu.
His dad will know.
Panic spikes. He drags his phone from his pocket, realises he's fifteen minutes late. His shirt and trousers reek of smoke. He doesn't throw down the scrap of painting; it remains in his hand as he tears into the cafe to tell his friends what's up, before racing off to meet with his father.