1. Just One Damned Thing After Another (13 page)

‘You didn’t have to see that,’ he said quietly.

‘Yes, yes, I did. I did this. I locked my pod. He couldn’t get to safety.’ My voice was hoarse. I swallowed once or twice. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, warm and comforting. The silence in the room sounded very loud. I could hear my own harsh breathing. I stood tense and still, willing it to slow, to regain control. Gradually, I unclenched one muscle at a time. As I relaxed, so did he. I laid my head back against his shoulder and closed my eyes briefly, then let my head hang forward.

‘Getting back into the pod would not have saved him. He was bleeding to death. Nothing could have saved him.’

‘He was my friend. The first one I made here. We’ve been friends for years. We were partners. We trained together. We cheated together. I wrote papers for him. He held my hair when I threw up. We were friends …’ I hadn’t realised I was speaking aloud.

‘Really? I saw someone who pinched your work and took the credit. Holding your hair was the least he could do. I saw someone who never hesitated to use you for his own gain. How many times have you covered for him with the Boss? And that last business in the pod? He met a bad end and I’m sorry for that, but I’m sorrier to see you blaming yourself for this. It’s nothing you did. It’s not your fault.’

I shook my head. ‘He couldn’t get into the pod to save himself. I killed him.’

‘No, you didn’t.’ His voice sounded crisp and authoritative. ‘You need to be very clear about this, Miss Maxwell. His death was the result of his own actions. And if his plans had not gone wrong it would have been you in that clearing, not him.’

‘But why did you go back? You couldn’t interfere. What was the point?’

‘After we saw the tapes, the Boss sent me back to do some checking. Initially, we thought Sussman was just being … well, Sussman. We were wrong. We think it’s starting.’

I shook my head again, too distressed by all this to speak.

‘I don’t want to leave you alone here, especially when anyone can barge in. Would you like to come with me?’

‘Where to?’

‘To the place I go when I need a little peace and quiet. Come on.’

I remembered what Mrs Partridge had said.

Unsure, but not up to argument, I followed him along corridors and down stairways, through the paint store to his pod. I sat quietly in his seat while he punched in some co-ordinates and then the world went white.

I don’t know why I expected rest and relaxation. I suppose I thought I was entitled to a little gentle cherishing. Was I buggery!

It started well. The door opened on to a sparkling turquoise sea and cloudless blue sky. Fragrant pines marched down to the shoreline and cast dark pools of shadowy purple. Their apple-green foliage clashed beautifully with the brick red rock. I’d never seen such colour and light.

‘Where is this? When are we?’

‘A small island in the eastern Med, about five thousand years ago.’

I hesitated, still in the doorway. Old Cretaceous habits die hard.

‘It’s quite safe. There won’t be people here for a thousand years or so yet. What’s the problem?’

I stuck my chin in the air. ‘No problem,’ and stepped outside. The light on the sea dazzled and I was allowed to admire it for very nearly a whole second.

‘Can you get some wood?’

‘What sort of wood?’

‘What do you mean, what sort of wood? Why do historians always have to overthink everything? Wood wood.’

‘I mean dry wood? Wet wood? Firewood? Building wood?’

‘Building wood?’

‘Well, it’s you. Are you going to knock together a hotel? Build a suspension bridge? Install a spa? Will there be grouting?’

‘What?’

‘Isn’t that what men do? You know, grouting, sawing, sitting in sheds. Men things.’

‘Just wood for a fire.’

‘A fire? It’s warm. Even I’m warm.’

‘To cook lunch.’

‘We have to cook lunch?’

‘No, first we have to catch lunch.’

I shifted uneasily.

‘Is there another problem?’

‘I’ve just come from a time when lunch catches me.’

‘Well, this is your chance for revenge.’

‘Don’t we have rations?’

‘Yes, but you’ve eaten rations for the last three months. Don’t you want fresh food?’

‘Well, the way I look at it there’s some poor little fish out there having a nice lazy day and making plans to meet its mates down the pub tonight and I don’t want to be the one getting the reproachful stare as I knock it on the head.’

He stared at me.

‘I’m just saying,’ I said defensively. ‘I don’t like killing things.’

‘You eat fish. And meat. And eggs.’

‘I know, but I don’t actually go out and club a baby lamb when there’s already a pack of chops in the freezer, do I?’

‘All right, point made. Go and get wood.’

‘But we don’t need a fire now.’

‘But we will later.’

‘Why?’

‘Because it’s cool at night.’

‘We’re sleeping outside?’

‘Is there yet another problem, Miss Maxwell?’

‘No,’ I said in the voice which means ‘
yes
’.

He sighed even more heavily than usual. ‘We’ve been here ten minutes. No wood, no fire, no lunch. Remind me again how you survived three months in the Cretaceous.’

‘No fires, no cooking, and no sleeping outside.’

There was a long, long silence.

‘What?’

‘Just go and get some wood!’

The reason I can’t deal with sympathy is because I never bloody get any.

I sat beside him on a blanket, leaning back against the warm rock. Ahead of me, the sea flashed and sparkled like a giant glitter ball. I closed my eyes and heard a glass clink.

‘Here.’

‘What’s this?’

‘Slivovitz.’

‘What?’

‘Plum brandy to you.’

‘What?’

‘Think of it as a kind of fruit drink.’

‘Great. I’ll put it towards my five a day.’

I sipped, got my breath back, and listened to the enamel on my teeth erode. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. I said so. 

‘Just don’t get it near any metal; and for God’s sake don’t spill it on the console.’

We sat sipping and silent.

‘How are you feeling?’

This required some thought. The standard ‘I’m fine
,
’ wasn’t going to cut it, but I still couldn’t talk about things in a non-wobbly voice. However, he’d brought me here to get myself together, so at least I should make an effort. I gave him an honest answer.

‘I’m better. I was … sad … when he died. Then angry with him, but now I’m back to sad again.’ I smiled. ‘It’s because I’m shallow. I can only do one emotion at a time and even that not for very long.’

He didn’t smile back. ‘You’re more generous than I think I would be.’

‘Yes, well, he’s dead and I’m not. If it was the other way around I’d probably be a bit miffed.’

‘So, what will you do now?’

‘I’ve got my presentation to Thirsk coming up so I’m concentrating on that for the time being.’

He drew a pattern in the dust. ‘No, I mean, will you stay?’

‘At St Mary’s? Yes, of course.’

He nodded.

‘Kal and I will probably share Peterson for a while and the new intake will be fully qualified before too long. So, not a problem, I hope. I certainly don’t want to be anywhere else. This is my dream job.’

The pattern became more intricate. ‘Is that your only dream?’

‘I did warn you I’m shallow.’ Time to deflect attention from my dreams. ‘What about you? What’s your dream?’

‘Actually I’m living one of my favourites now.’

It was very quiet in the hot afternoon sun, just the chirp of insects and the distant sounds of the sea. ‘Only it hasn’t turned out quite as I intended.’

I chugged back more fruit drink and found some Dutch courage.

‘So what did you intend?’

‘I did think your first time here would be under happier circumstances. I thought we could watch the sun set.’

We both looked up at the sun, which remained obstinately high in the sky.

‘We would drink champagne.’

We both looked down at the gloop in our glasses.

‘And I thought maybe you would be cleaner.’

He leaned down, looked into my face and smiled gently. ‘And sober.’

‘Don’t worry. I think it’s perfect. And,’ said the slivovitz, ‘there will be other dreams and other times.’

He took my hand. I rested my slivovitzy head on his shoulder and fell asleep.

After we’d eaten I said, ‘So tell me about this Ronan. The one who …’ I found I couldn’t actually say, ‘… who killed Sussman,’ and changed it to ‘… back in the Cretaceous.’

He moved away from me slightly.

‘It happened before my time,’ he said and stopped. I sat quietly and waited. You couldn’t rush him. Eventually, he said, ‘I was brought in – afterwards.’

‘After what?’

Just when I began to think he might never speak again, he said, ‘There were three of them: Edward Bairstow, Annie Bessant, and Clive Ronan. People said they were the dream team, but it was more like a triangle. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes.’

‘The assignment was James VI. Annie got caught. You know James and his witches. Suspicion everywhere. Maybe she was careless – used her com perhaps and someone saw her, maybe some little modern mannerism. They rescued her eventually but she’d been knocked about a bit. Broken arm – concussion.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And she’d picked something up. It came on fast. She said she was fine, but the rules are very clear about this sort of thing.’

I nodded. They were. They were very, very clear. It was our nightmare, letting loose some God-awful infection on an unprotected world. The Boss was paranoid about it. I began to see why.

‘She was coughing and had a fever, which meant she couldn’t return immediately for treatment. They should have stayed put, done the broad-spectrum antibiotics thing, kept her warm, you know the drill. Ronan grew frantic. He insisted on returning so she could get treatment for her injuries, especially the concussion. Edward argued. Annie tried to argue, started to cough, couldn’t stop, and that was it for Ronan.’

He stopped again.

‘What happened?’

‘He shot Edward in the leg and pitched him out of the pod, returning to St Mary’s with Annie, who was by now unconscious.’

I sat appalled. He’d left the Boss to die! I tried to imagine Kal or Peterson doing such a thing. Or me, even. What would we do? I’d like to think we’d do the right thing but I suppose you never know until it actually happens to you. And after Sussman, I was beginning to think I didn’t know anyone very well.

After a long while he continued. ‘He brought Annie back. Edward, he said, was dead; killed in the rescue. Obviously, they got her to Sick Bay as soon as possible. When they realised she was contaminated, they moved her into isolation. Well, you know us – we’re St Mary’s. We never leave our people behind. A search team went back for Edward and found him in a bad way, lying under someone’s cart. They brought him back, operated, and he’s limped ever since.’

‘And Ronan?’

‘They tried to arrest him for breach of medical protocol and attempted murder. Knowing St Mary’s, probably in that order. He didn’t wait around. He took Annie from Sick Bay and attempted to reach Hawking with her. Shot two techies. One died. She put up a fight. He tried to force her into a pod. She wouldn’t go. They struggled. Security turned up. She was caught in the crossfire. He stole Number Nine – and vanished.’

‘Did she recover?’

‘No.’

‘She died?’

‘Yes.’

‘Does he know she’s dead?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he blames himself?’

‘No. He blames Edward and St Mary’s and just about everyone but himself.’

‘So it’s – revenge?’

He shrugged.

‘And the Boss?’

‘Never mentions it. Go and get the blankets. It’s getting chilly.’

His voice was final. There would be no discussion.

We did sleep outside. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stared up at the stars. Something moved nearby. I sat up and stared into the darkness. A muffled voice said, ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I thought I heard something.’

On the other side of the fire, his breathing deepened.

I got up, picked up my blanket, and walked round the fire. ‘Move over.’ He shunted over. I lay down beside him and he covered us with the blankets. I lay with my back to his front and pulled his arm over me like a cover.

He said, ‘Rumour has it you snore.’

‘You don’t know the half of it.’

I fell asleep listening to his heartbeat.

We stayed for two days and he never stopped winding me up. He gave way on the rations but I became chief wood-gatherer, water-getter, tea-maker, and anything else he could think of. We bickered our way through the days. I felt my thoughts sharpening again and climbed out of my pit of self-pity.

Ronan was never mentioned.

We snuck back to St Mary’s. I had a sunburned nose. No one noticed.

I found Kal and Peterson sitting on the stairs. I tried to remember that although it was two days for me, for them it had only been a couple of hours. The routine of St Mary’s closed around me.

They helped me organise my material while I gave them the details. I expected all sorts of ‘I told you so,’ especially from Kal, but she only rubbed my arm briefly, expressed regret she’d been unable to tear him apart herself, and changed the subject. I described everything. We always do this. It helps us get our heads together for our report and presentation – the next big event on my horizon.

After lunch, I got down to it. Fortunately, I’d done so much work on-site there wasn’t a huge amount still to do, which was just as well because I’d had an idea.

I went to see the Boss. Mrs Partridge waved me through.

‘Good afternoon, sir. Can I talk to you for a moment please?’

‘Of course. Please sit down. What can I do for you today, Miss Maxwell?’

‘I’ve had an idea, sir.’

He nodded, but said nothing.

‘Do you remember, a long time ago when we met, I said it was a good idea there was no such thing as public-access time travel?’

He nodded.

‘Because of the damage that could be done to the public themselves, to the timeline, and to History?’