1. Just One Damned Thing After Another (20 page)

I couldn’t help laughing. ‘You wish! It was quite dull actually. Nowhere near fantasy standards.’

‘I don’t understand why you went to Rushford. Why on earth didn’t you go to Thirsk like good ex-employees are supposed to do?’

I snapped in justifiable exasperation. ‘Well and so I would have done if I had known, but since I got marched out of the place with less than an hour’s notice and with barely the clothes I stood up in, there wasn’t time to say goodbye to anyone, let alone conduct an exit interview.’

No sooner were the words out than I realised I had said too much. I’m hopeless.

‘Wait! You didn’t get the month’s notice?’

‘No.’

‘The twelve months employment at Thirsk?’

‘No.’

‘The references? The employment history?’

‘Again, no.’

He was angry now. I could see it in his eyes.

‘So now tell me what really happened.’

My natural instinct is to keep secrets. Not to make things any worse. On the other hand, he’d told me his secrets. Now I should tell him mine. To make it easier for me, I didn’t look at him. He got nearly everything, although I did try to play it down a little. In this quiet, warm room it didn’t seem real. I described the black mould, trying to make that funnier than it was, too. Some vain attempt to divert the conversation, I suppose.

He said nothing the whole time and even though I knew better, I kept talking to fill the silence.

‘So the mould got bigger and annexed the bedroom, but that was OK because I was into one-room living by then anyway, so I could lie in bed and watch TV. And I thought it was working, because I woke one night feeling quite hot and although I had a bit of a temperature, I was quite pleased because I was warm. Which was really stupid, because it was a chest infection and it got worse and my chest hurt a bit and I got hotter so I thought I’d better go and maybe get some antibiotics. So I went to the Free Clinic and I thought they’d just give me something and chuck me out again, but they didn’t and I was in there four days, I suppose because of all the upheaval and not eating much which wasn’t really my fault and I was too fat anyway. They kept me as long as they could, but they wanted the bed, so I went into town because it didn’t matter any more and met Mrs De Winter, who offered me a room here for a little while. I felt a bit guilty, but she insisted and I was glad not to have to go back and face the mould again. And she gave me the photo and your Trojan Horse, which I’d had to leave behind and I was so happy to have them and then the remote fell out onto the table, so I worked out the co-ordinates while Mrs De Winter got the supplies together. But I couldn’t get any closer than eleven days, no matter how hard I tried, because the computer just wouldn’t accept it. So I whopped in the closest co-ordinates I could get, crossed all my fingers, and punched it and when I saw the devastation outside I really thought I was too late; but I’m not good enough to override your computer’s safety protocols and I just couldn’t get any nearer than eleven days and I’m really sorry.’

I stopped then because I was going blue.

There was the most appalling silence. I mean, really awful. It wasn’t just him not saying anything; it was things not being said, if that makes sense. And it went on for ages. I wondered what, out of my pathetic catalogue of catastrophe, he would pull out first. I put my fist to my chest and tried not to cough.

‘What do you mean, “Because it didn’t matter any more”?’

Of everything, I hadn’t expected that. ‘What?’

‘You said, “I went into town because it didn’t matter” What was that all about?’

All that gabble and he picked on that one little phrase. Tell him. Tell him now.

I drew a ragged breath and said, ‘Because you were gone. St Mary’s was gone. Everything was gone. I had no money, no job and no way of getting one. I was cold and ill. I was head sick and heartsick and nothing really mattered any more. You said, “I knew you would come,” as if I’d done something marvellous, but I got it all wrong. You guys are alive through your own efforts, not mine.’

‘So, you get discharged from hospital, still not recovered from a serious illness at … what … eleven a.m.? You stop for a quick lunch, meet a friend, steal a pod from a top-security establishment, do a series of complex equations, and an hour later you’re skipping around the Cretaceous, rescuing four men and facing down the world’s greatest predator with a can of pepper spray and a hard look. I think you’re pretty amazing.’

I smiled, shook my head, had a good cough, and finished my tea. We weren’t talking about what we really should be.

‘So Max, how are you? Really?’

Now was the moment to tell him. I bottled out – again.

‘Really, really glad to see you again.’

The moment passed. He leaned over and took the photo from the bedside table. ‘I remember this.’

I took it from him and traced my finger around the frame again, then gave it back to him.

‘Is this all you brought from St Mary’s?’

‘No, they wouldn’t let me take it away.’ We both knew by ‘they’, I meant Bitchface Barclay. ‘I only saw it again yesterday.’

He smiled, looking down at the photo. ‘That day seems such a long time ago now. I never forgot your face. I saw it every time I closed my eyes. Whatever you say, I knew you would come. I told the others you would come. You may not think so, but you were saving us long before you arrived with just a bad attitude and a photo to remind you of what I look like.’

‘I don’t need a photo to know how you look. I know how you look. I know how you sound. I know when you enter a room without lifting my head. I know how I feel when you touch me. I don’t need a photo for any of that. I love the photo and I love the Horse because you gave them to me.’

In the silence I thought, Shit, shit, shit. There must be women on this planet who know when to shut up. Why can’t I be one of them?

‘Max, look at me. Look at me.’ There was something wrong with his voice. I looked at him. There was something wrong with my eyes.

And I still didn’t tell him.

Breakfast was a lively meal. I listened with one ear to the banter, helped Markham as he scattered his food over the table, caught Leon’s eye occasionally, and all the time I was thinking.

Finally, after about an hour and just as the toaster began to overheat, we got down to talking about how to get back to St Mary’s. I had something tickling at the back of my mind. It had been in there for months and I’d been too apathetic to chase it out. I knew though, that if I dived in after it then it would vanish in a puff of smoke, so I left it and drifted into my own world.

I was jolted back by a shout of laughter and Peterson saying, ‘… so after that, the four of us went south again …’ And I suddenly knew what it was and it was far, far worse than anything I could have imagined.

I sat quietly while I worked it out in my head, not wanting to speak before I was sure. I really thought I kept my face fairly neutral, but silence made me look up. Everyone was staring at me.

‘Sir, can I speak to you for a moment please?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘Shall we get some fresh air?’

‘Back in a minute,’ I said vaguely, following him out.

We walked slowly around the garden. It was cold but sunny. We reached the end of the path and stared at the compost heap. It seemed appropriate.

I took my time and let it out slowly. No gabbling this time. And I moderated my language. This was business and it was important. I described what happened after he was carted off to Sick Bay. He didn’t seem much surprised so I guessed he’d heard most of it before.

I talked about Barclay’s appearance, her throwing up, her refusal to send a search party, her insistence they were dead.

He shifted his weight. ‘What’s your point, Miss Maxwell?’

I was reluctant to make it. ‘Well, sir, as far as I can remember her exact words were, ‘They’re dead. All four of them.’’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, the thing is, how did she know there were four of them? Markham was one of mine. I reported him missing before she arrived back. I’m reluctant to say this, sir, because I loathe the woman, but I think at some point during that night, she
must
somehow have seen them, the four of them out there in the chaos, heard you were down, seized the opportunity, and jumped back alone. In one stroke she cleared you, Farrell, and Guthrie out of her way. She appointed herself Caretaker Director knowing full well there was no one else and it would be made permanent. The only impediment was me and she’d sacked me less than twenty minutes after her return. She had to. I’d have been back to the Cretaceous as soon as her back was turned and she knew it. And as for Miss Black, I’m guessing she just wound her up until she snapped and left, taking Mr Dieter with her. You’ve got to admit sir, it’s flawless. Ruthless but flawless.’

He stared at me. ‘One moment please.’

He took out his phone, moved away from me, and talked quietly for a few minutes. I turned tactfully away and watched a robin jumping about. He put his phone away and came back, his face empty.

‘Are you aware Miss Barclay has filed a report claiming she saw the bodies?’

‘Has she indeed? Then we’ve got her.’

‘As per our previous conversation, Miss Maxwell, I would like you to deal with this matter. In public and with prejudice.’

‘Happy to oblige, sir, and with extreme prejudice.’

We spent the rest of the day talking things over and making a plan. We could, of course, just march through the front door but that wouldn’t be half so much fun. We were going to do things the St Mary’s way.

Ian Guthrie took me to one side. ‘If you have any trouble with Security,’ he said quietly, ‘just say, “Hawthorn”.’

‘Why? What does it mean?’

‘Just say it and they’ll leave you alone. Don’t ask any more questions or I’ll have to kill you.’

‘Hawthorn!’

‘Very funny!’

The next day we all crowded into the pod, even Mrs De Winter, who refused point blank to be left behind, and who could blame her. We arrived in the paint store and silently dispersed to our various positions.

This part of the building was deserted as everyone finished breakfast and assembled for the now daily staff briefings, during which, presumably, they discussed all the things they wouldn’t be doing that day. She did like the sound of her own voice.

I made my way up to the attic floors and across to the other side of the building. Quietly opening a door, I could hear a single voice, three floors down. She’d just got started. I checked my watch. Perfect.

I stepped off the threadbare carpet and began to walk slowly down the wooden stairs, knowing from personal experience just how noisy they could be. I walked very slowly, partly to buy time and partly to build suspense.

Reaching the landing, I turned and started down the next flight. My slow unhurried footsteps echoed ahead of me. Downstairs, I heard her voice pause for a moment and then resume on a slightly sharper note. People’s attention was wandering, which was probably punishable by death under the new regime.

Now I walked along the gallery, keeping close to the wall so I was still invisible from the Hall. Another half dozen steps and I would be at the top of the stairs.

I took a deep breath, pushed my hands deep into my coat pockets for that Clint Eastwood look, stuck my chin in the air, and started down the stairs.

Showtime!

Chapter Fourteen

‘You left them, you cowardly bitch! You ran away and left them. You murdered them as surely as if you pulled a gun and shot them dead yourself.’

She whirled around, jaw dropping and just for an instant, I saw the panic and fear in her eyes and I knew I was right. I felt my heart-rate drop and I got very cold. This bitch was going down.

‘Maxwell! How did you get in here?’

I spoke very quietly because the more quietly you speak, the more people listen. Convinced it was about to hear something good, St Mary’s collectively leaned forward.

‘I regret that due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been unable to present my final report on what has turned out to be St Mary’s last mission.’

I moved to her lectern, picked up her pile of notes, and dropped them contemptuously on the floor without looking at them. Dr Bairstow never needed a lectern.

‘Allow me to rectify this omission.’

She made a sudden movement and then stepped back. She’d obviously decided to allow me enough rope to hang myself.

I took a long, deep breath and forced myself to speak slowly and deliberately, as if I really was presenting my report.

‘At approximately 2200 hours local time, three pods, Numbers Three, Five, and Six touched down at a pre-programmed location in the Cretaceous period, some sixty-seven million years ago.

‘Acting on instructions, Miss Barclay, now Director Barclay, of course, assembled and fired an EMP device and once our opponents were rendered electronically helpless, security teams were despatched to inflict as much damage as possible during the twenty-minute length of the mission.

‘An unforeseen result of the firing of this pulse (although possibly not unforeseen by Director Barclay), was that it caused the cages containing the captured dinosaurs to unlock, thus releasing some twenty to thirty dangerous predators into the scene of operations.

‘As you can imagine, St Mary’s personnel began to make their way back to their pods with all possible speed.

‘However …’ I paused. You could have heard an earthworm sneeze. I had everybody’s rapt attention.

‘However, this retreat was further hindered by a massive and completely unexpected explosion, which threw everything into confusion and, according to Director Barclay here, resulted in the deaths of Chief Farrell, Major Guthrie, Mr Peterson, and Mr Markham.

‘On her return to this unit, Director Barclay reported the deaths of her colleagues, forbade any rescue attempts, appointed herself Caretaker Director, and has, ever since, been presiding over the gradual decline of this unit.’

I paused, looked around at her and pitched my voice so that it rang around the Hall.

‘You now have a choice to make … Director. You can, with immediate effect, remove yourself from my sight, thus effectively saving your life. You have ten minutes to leave this building. You may take absolutely nothing with you except your life. And you will be grateful. Or …’

I left it hanging.

She put her fists on her hips and stared me out. ‘Or what?’

She’d pulled herself together and was going to make a fight of it.

Good.

‘Or … Director … I will drag you down to Hawking by your hair. I will take you back to the Cretaceous Period. I will hurl you out into the night and slam the door behind you and I will leave you there, alone for ever, screaming for help that will never, ever come. I tell you now … Director … if I do this, no one here will lift a finger to save you. Your choice.’

‘I choose neither. Security – arrest this woman and hold her until I can arrange her incarceration.’

Behind her, Murdoch, now presumably Head of Security, and two or three others rose slowly to their feet.

I looked him in the eye. ‘Hawthorn.’

He froze, did nothing for long seconds, and then gestured to the others to sit down again. He himself moved quietly to the end of the row and stood, waiting to see what would happen next.

I turned back to Barclay. ‘That was your version of events. Now let’s hear the truth.’

She said, through gritted teeth, ‘That was the truth. They died. All four of them.’

I spoke directly to her, standing so that to face me, she had her back to the room.

‘Let’s talk about what actually did happen, shall we?’

‘I’ve told you already. Security –ʼ

I cut across her.

‘At approximately 2205, the security teams left the pods. At approximately 2212, the explosion occurred. Of these facts, there is no doubt.

‘At 2215, Director Barclay despatched Mr Peterson to locate Chief Farrell and Major Guthrie, leaving her alone in the pod. At 2220, she ordered Miss Black to return to base, taking an injured Dr Bairstow with her. Two minutes later, she ordered me to return to St Mary’s; before I had time to report a missing Mr Markham.’

A stir ran through the hall. Murdoch lifted an arm and they fell silent.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘All this is on record. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘I’ll tell you something I don’t know,’ I said, quietly. ‘I don’t know how you were so sure four of them were missing.’

‘I don’t understand.’

But she did. She’d gone so white I could see the freckles under her makeup. My heart-rate picked up. ‘Mr Markham was on my team, not yours. I reported him missing before you got back. I repeat – how did you know there were four men dead?’

Silence.

‘I’ll tell you what happened,
Director
.’ I made the very word an insult. ‘They came out of the smoke and explosions, running towards your pod, running for their lives, and you slammed and locked the door in their faces. You left those men there to die. Did you even hear them banging on the door? Did they scream your name? Beg to be let in? Do you ever hear them in your head, kicking at the door, hammering with their empty weapons? How long did you wait? You couldn’t jump too soon, could you? You had to be the last back. So you waited and waited and they screamed and screamed and then
you
pressed the button and
you
jumped to safety and
you
left those men. In the middle of a feeding frenzy; in the middle of a battleground, with no food, no water, and no shelter;
you left them!
’

Someone, I think it was Helen, drew a shuddering breath.

Barclay said, ‘It wasn’t like that; I swear it wasn’t like that.’

Which was true, but I wanted her to dig herself in even deeper.

Never knowing when to shut up, she obliged me.

‘I …’ She paused and swallowed hard, tearfully brave. My fingers itched. ‘I went outside to check. I know it was against Dr Bairstow’s orders, but I had to know for myself. There … there wasn’t much of them left, but it was certainly them.’

She suddenly remembered she’d despatched Peterson after the explosion. ‘Peterson lay a little distance away. He’d been shot.’

She uttered these blatant lies without hesitation, knowing there was no way they could be disproved. No one ever went back to check.

Except me.                                                                                                                         

‘You’re telling me you saw
four
dead bodies?’ I let uncertainty bleed into my voice, just to draw her in a little further.

She lifted her chin and said clearly and without hesitation, ‘Yes. I saw four bodies. They were damaged, but recognisable.’

‘So you knew them?’

‘I did.’

‘These four dead bodies you saw – would these be the same four people standing behind you now?’

She didn’t move. A small, disbelieving smile crossed her face.

I said softly and with complete contempt, ‘You still don’t get it, do you? And that’s why you’ll never be one of us. We’re St. Mary’s. We never, ever,
ever
leave our people behind.’

And finally, she got it. She turned slowly. They stood quietly at the back of the Hall, headed by Chief Farrell. I had, like everyone else, always seen the gentle, likeable man, but I swear the look on his face chilled my blood.

In the silence, someone swore softly.

Helen rose shakily to her feet, hanging onto the back of a chair. ‘Peterson?’

He shouted ‘Helen!’ and started climbing over chairs and people to get to her. It broke the spell and people surged forward, laughing, cheering, and shouting. We’re a noisy bunch.

I remembered where I was and turned around to face Bitchface Barclay. She stared at the Chief, her mouth still open.

I said softly, ‘Hey!’ and she jerked her head around. Suddenly, we were face to face, our eyes only inches apart. I could feel the hatred coming off me in waves. For two pins, I could have ripped her head off there and then. The Hall was packed with shouting, cheering people, but for me, there was only her.

I watched a thousand emotions chase across her face. It took several efforts, but eventually, she got the words out.

‘You stole my life.’

In a million years, I hadn’t expected that.

‘All this.’ She jerked her head backwards, whether at Leon Farrell, the noisy horde behind her or St Mary’s in general, I never knew.

‘You took my life. I was the one with the golden future. I worked so hard … He would have seen me eventually. Seen what I could offer. All this – it should have been mine. It could have been mine.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘One day it will be.’ Spit flew from her lips. She quivered with suppressed fury. ‘One day, Maxwell, I will finish you. I swear it.’

I should have let it go but I thought of what I’d lost already and something, somewhere, demanded revenge.

My fist, travelling at the combined speeds of rage and retribution impacted hard on her nose. There was a glorious cracking and squelching noise and a great big gout of blood darkened the front of her beautifully pressed uniform. She went over backwards, fell onto her stupid lectern, and the whole lot crashed to the floor.

I looked up at the gallery. ‘Was that how you wanted it done, sir?’

The Boss came slowly down the stairway, to huge applause. Such a showman! Standing beside me, we both surveyed the wreckage of the lectern, which had bits of Izzie Barclay sticking out of it.

‘Very satisfactory,’ he said, and went to speak to Mrs Partridge.

I was joined by the Chief. He stood looking down into my eyes, smiling his slow smile. We had one of those conversations where you don’t need words.

After a while, he said, ‘Broke your hand, didn’t you?’

‘Yep.’

‘Forgot to un-tuck your thumb?’

‘Yep.’

‘Hurts like buggery?’

‘Yep.’

The Boss cleared his throat. ‘To clear up a few minor points: I am Dr Edward Bairstow and I am the Director of St Mary’s Institute of Historical Research.’

His unit cheered. He bent over the vaguely stirring Barclay.

‘Madam, you are relieved!’

We all got shunted off to Sick Bay, even Barclay. Apparently, there’s something in the Geneva Convention or the Human Rights Thingy about leaving people lying around bleeding. I was going to require some convincing.

I got shoved into the scanner thing and, as I knew she would, Nurse Hunter took one look at the printout and went out. I sighed and tried one-handed to unlace my boots. Hunter came back and helped. I sat in the stupid white gown and waited for the storm to break. They were bringing someone into the next cubicle. It struck me that directly or indirectly, I was responsible for everyone currently in Sick Bay. That had to be some sort of record. Hunter finished putting the Flexi Glove on my hand. It began to cool and gently flex and the pain retreated.

Helen bustled in. ‘OK, Max. I want to listen to your chest.’ I did a bit of breathing; in and out – the traditional way. ‘And hold it please. And out again.’ I leaned forward and she tapped my back a lot. I breathed in and out again. I coughed a bit. Then I coughed a bit more.

‘Can you lie down, please? Knees up.’

‘Is this legal?’

She just looked, so I did it.

‘I’m impressed, Helen. This is just the sort of thing real doctors do.’

She ignored me, stripping off her gloves. ‘Hunter, could you organise some tea, please?’

It got very quiet in the cubicle after Hunter had gone. Helen sighed heavily. ‘You’re really not fit to be allowed out on your own, are you?’

‘So, what’s the damage?’

‘How do you want it? From head to toe? Alphabetically? Chronologically?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘Well, your feet are holding up well.’

‘Glad to hear it. I’ll be on my way then.’

‘So tell me what’s been happening here.’

‘Exactly what your scan tells you.’

‘No, I want to hear it from you and you will remain here until I do.’

So I trotted it all out again. Hunter brought in some tea. Helen handed her the chart and she disappeared again.

Helen lit a cigarette and took her usual place at the window. ‘OK, you are malnourished. You will eat at least four meals a day. You will eat portions of fruit and vegetables at every meal. You will drink plenty of fluids. You will not drink alcohol. I’m prescribing more antibiotics for the infection and you will complete the course. You are anaemic. You will eat iron-rich foods. I’ll give Mrs Mack a list. You will go to bed for eight hours a day, even if you don’t sleep. You may read, but no TV, holos, or computers. You will take one week’s sick leave during which you will not work – at all. You will take a little gentle exercise in the grounds every day. You will not ride. You will not run.’

I looked at the cubicle floor.

‘You will not argue or you will spend the next seven days here in Sick Bay. I will release you under your own recognisance if you agree to the above. Either way, Max, you will comply.’

‘Bloody hell, I knew it. You’re Borg, aren’t you?’

Silence.

‘OK. Sleep, read, eat, shit, got it.’

‘Are you going to tell him?’

And that, as they say, was the sixty-four thousand dollar question. I honestly didn’t know. ‘Probably not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t want to. Because it’s my problem. Because either it will hurt him badly, or he won’t care at all, which will hurt me. Because I don’t want to add to his total of dead children. Choose any or all.’