A Second Chance

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘Well, who’s too precious to get down and dirty with the rest of us?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How long have you been at St Mary’s? Long enough, surely, to realise the importance of what we do. Do you seriously think they’d send you on a mission – any mission – that wasn’t absolutely vital?’

  I was really angry now. I’d sometimes wondered what my life would have been like if I’d never got away. None of the scenarios ended well. The thought of one of them becoming my reality was too much for me to think about calmly. I rushed to speak.

  ‘Get over yourself, Leon. Who are you to say what assignment is or isn’t too trivial to undertake?’

  Even in the dim light, I could see him flush. Whether with anger or embarrassment, I was unable to determine. But I’d said too much. Shut up, Maxwell.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ he began.

  ‘Oh yes I do. Historians get down and dirty, Leon. Get used to it. We go where we’re told and do what we’re told.’ Astonishingly, this barefaced lie did not get me struck down by the god of historians. I made a gesture of disgust. ‘This is what happens when you give the job to a bloody engineer.’

  Much more of this and the engineer was going to open the door and fling the historian back out into the storm. And maybe he should. I was so disappointed in him. We’d never talked much about his early years at St Mary’s. I’d always assumed he didn’t want to relive that dreadful time after his family died. I’d imagined him struggling on, slowly rebuilding his life with the quiet courage so characteristic of him. I struggled to reconcile this haggard, unhappy, bitter individual with the quiet, gentle man who had made my soul sing.

  He was angry. ‘Who are you to judge me? What gives you the right? Bloody smug, self-satisfied, better-than-everyone-else historians! May I point out that in this case, the historian would be dead if it wasn’t for the engineer?’

  True. I sat silent.

  ‘Nothing to say?’

  ‘I don’t really know what to say. I thought … It doesn’t matter. I’m just – disappointed.’

  I finished the water, swivelled the seat away from him, and contemplated the dark screen. God knows what damage I’d just done. He’d drop me off, storm back to his own St Mary’s, stamp straight out of the gates, and drink himself to death, just as he was doing when St Mary’s found him.

  Perhaps it would have been better if I had died with Ronan. People can live too long. Edward III lived long enough to see his vast French possessions slip from his senile grasp. His great-grandson, Henry V, had the sense to die young. It was too late for me to die young, but I could at least die youngish.

  I can’t describe the sour taste of disillusionment.

  I got up and sat on the floor, in the corner, as far from him as I could get. I’d wait here until the storm ended, go back to St Mary’s, give in my notice, and run far and fast from my inevitable fate. It wouldn’t work. If he didn’t leave that book for me to find then there would be no escape for me.

  It was dim inside the pod, but something must have shown in my face, because he got up, paused for a moment, and then crouched beside me.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I’m absolutely fine is the standard St Mary’s response to any crisis, ranging from a broken fingernail to decapitation, but not this time. Maybe now was the time for complete truth.

  ‘I’m angry because something similar happened to me. I found something that changed my life and I was just thinking how bad my own life would have been if the person who delivered my – thing – couldn’t even be bothered to turn up.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I think you’re over-dramatising this. Anyone from St Mary’s could do it. It doesn’t have to be me. So long as it does get delivered, it doesn’t matter by whom.’

  ‘Oh, Leon, for God’s sake. You just don’t get it, do you?’

  ‘Get what?’

  ‘That it has to be you. Because you’re special.’

  Something big clattered against the side of the pod.

  He took a deep breath. ‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  He said bitterly, ‘There’s nothing special about me.’

  ‘I disagree.’

  ‘I think perhaps gratitude has caused you to exaggerate my abilities, somewhat.’

  When you’ve really screwed something up, the secret is to jump in with both feet and make it worse. It’s called The Maxwell Way.

  ‘I don’t think so. I can see that at the moment life for you is – not very good. But you’ll get past this. There is a possibility you’ll go on to have a wonderful life, full of achievement. Respected professionally. Liked by everyone. Loved.’

  He sat very still in the darkness. The storm raged outside while I played Russian Roulette with our futures inside.

  I went on. ‘You maybe haven’t been around long enough to realise that cause and effect are interchangeable. If you don’t do this thing – this assignment with the book – then you may not have that life. But if you do, if you save this one person, the result could be your own salvation.’

  ‘I didn’t say it was a book.’

  Shit! Shit, shit, shit!

  Shut up, Maxwell. Just shut up now. Never speak again. There is no way you can make this right.

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t.’

  ‘You must have, otherwise how would I have known?’

  ‘What did I say?’

  ‘I don’t remember your exact words. Was it supposed to be a secret? I promise not to tell anyone.’

  He was just young enough and inexperienced enough for me to get away with this. I could almost hear him running through our conversation in his head, asking himself if maybe he had mentioned a book …

  I had to deflect him and what better way than to ask him to talk about himself.

  ‘Leon, tell me what’s wrong.’

  As I hoped, the question threw him.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Why should it be?’

  ‘Perhaps, when you look in a mirror, you don’t see what I see.’

  He said, in a quiet, deadly little voice that would have silenced anyone with an ounce of common sense, ‘I don’t look in mirrors.’

  The wind rose to a shriek and the pod trembled.

  I could tiptoe around this or jump straight in. Not much of a choice, really. I’m an historian.

  ‘Afraid to look yourself in the eye?’

  Even over the racket outside, I could hear the hiss of indrawn breath.

  ‘Who are you?’

  Your worst nightmare was the answer to that one. As he was mine, at the moment.

  Sitting in the dark, I took a huge gamble.

  ‘I’m the person to whom you are about to tell everything.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  I settled back and closed my eyes. He still crouched nearby. If he went back to sit in his seat – if he distanced himself from me, I’d lost.

  He lowered himself to the floor and sat alongside me.

  I let the silence drift on.

  Outside, something shrieked briefly in the storm. He made a slight movement.

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ I said, without opening my eyes. ‘You’re quite safe in here. I won’t let anything hurt you,’ and held my breath.

  ‘Too late,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Far, far too late for that.’

  I could say something profound, like – ‘It’s never too late,’ and lead him gently through his maelstrom of grief and rage. Or –

  ‘For God’s sake, Leon, stop being such a wuss. I don’t know what your problem is but get over it, will you? You’ve got a job to do.’

  A long time ago, he’d once told me that this had been the worst time for him. He’d been continually drunk, picking fights with anyone who would oblige him. It dawned on me now that I was deliberately provoking a man who was not, at present, enjoying the most stable period
of his life. A man, moreover, with whom I was trapped in a small space with the world’s most hostile environment outside. Good job we historians don’t have any sort of death wish.

  I tensed my muscles, ready to move quickly, should I have to.

  I’d underestimated his self-control. I was going to have to push some more. I assembled every insensitive cliché I could remember and let rip.

  Poking his arm, I said, ‘You need to lighten up, mate. Stop being such a misery. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake. It can’t be that bad.’

  He said nothing. Damn.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you need to get over it. It’s not fair on other people, you know, to have you trudging round with a face like a slapped arse. Have some consideration for others, will you?’

  Still nothing.

  I poked him again.

  ‘Come on, give us a smile.’

  Finally …

  He seized my wrist in a bone-crushing grip. I sat very still and tried not to gasp in pain.

  ‘Shut up, will you. Just – shut up.’

  I carried on, apparently clueless.

  ‘There’s no need to take that tone. I’m just trying to help. I mean to say, Leon, at the end of the day, sometimes, it does us good to talk, so why don’t you tell me. I’m sure you’ll find, once you do, that it’s not so very bad after all and then –’

  ‘What do you know? What do you know about anything? What do you know of pain? Unbearable pain … that just goes on. And on. And endless grief. That never stops. Because it hurts. Everything hurts. Everything … hurts so much. It never stops. Ever. It never goes away. And I can’t bear it. I just can’t bear it any longer.’

  His voice cracked. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about, have you? You’re just some empty-headed historian …’ His voice broke. ‘I lost them. They’re gone. How can you understand what it’s like to be left behind? To be the one who has to carry on. You don’t know. You can’t possibly know. You can’t possibly …’

  He caught hold of my other arm, shaking me in time with his words. ‘You can’t know … you can’t possibly know …’

  His heart was breaking.

  So was mine.

  Something wet splashed on my hand. It might have been his tears – it might have been mine. Too dark to tell.

  He caught his breath. ‘They’re gone. They left me.’

  I know, love. You left me.

  I remembered I wasn’t supposed to know any of this.

  ‘Who’s gone? Tell me. Who left you?’

  ‘All of them.’ It was a shout. ‘They all left me. They – died. That bitch. It was her fault. When I find her …’

  Suddenly, the atmosphere inside the pod curdled. Before, it had been grief. Now grief had turned into something else. Something black and dangerous. All at once, I was more afraid than I had been with Ronan.

  He pulled me close in the dark.

  ‘When I find her … and I will … she’ll pay.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ I said, sarcastically. ‘Because that will bring them back, won’t it.’

  He threw me. Effortlessly. I crashed against the locker doors. He picked me up before I could move and threw me again. This time I crashed into one of the chairs and it hurt.

  He grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and hauled me to my feet.

  I said nothing. I didn’t struggle. I placed all my faith in the good man I knew was in there somewhere.

  His face was in mine. Dark and dangerous.

  ‘I can’t find her, but I have found you. And you’re no innocent, are you? Somewhere along the way, you’ll have deceived and lied to some poor sod. It’s what women do. And when I’ve finished, I just throw you outside and tell people you were already dead and no one will ever know.’

  He had one hand at my throat and the other under my sweatshirt. I made myself stand very still. He was hurting me, but I had to stand still. His breath came in hot gasps.

  I said quietly, ‘Oh, Leon, you poor man. You poor, poor man.’

  At first, I didn’t think he’d heard me. Then his hands dropped. He took in a longer, deeper breath. Then another. He stepped back and saw, I think for the first time, what he had become.

  He dropped. As if everything in his body had suddenly given way. As if he had just fallen apart. He fell to the floor and I went down with him. I pulled him into my arms, laid his head on my chest, and rested my cheek on the top of his head.

  His silence frightened me.

  I said softly, ‘Leon, let go. Just let go. I promise I’ll catch you, but it’s time to let go now.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Much, much later, things had calmed down a little.

  I’d ignored his protest, flipped the trip switch, and given us enough power for a cup of tea. There was no alcohol in the pod. First thing I’d checked.

  We’d had the lights on only for a minute, but long enough for me to catch a glimpse of his white, worn face and haunted eyes. We weren’t out of the woods yet.

  I sat alongside him on the floor. I’ve no idea why we were ignoring the seats. We sipped our tea.

  He picked up my wrist.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. I deliberately pushed you.’

  ‘I could have hurt you a lot.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t.’

  I felt him turn and look at me. God knows what he thought he could see in this dim light. We’d need to snap another lightstick soon.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Lucy.’

  ‘Not helpful.’

  ‘I never am.’

  A pause. ‘You helped me.’

  And I wasn’t done yet.

  I drained my tea.

  ‘Tell me about it, Leon.’

  A longer pause.

  ‘It’s not a – good – story.’

  I knew that. And no happy ending, either. He’d told me this story, long ago, in a hotel room in Rushford, on a night I would never forget and couldn’t tell him about. This time I must listen carefully and not make that stupid ‘book’ mistake again. Come on, Maxwell, you’re supposed to be a professional.

  ‘Tell me.’

  He sighed and sat back.

  ‘My mother was a teacher. In France. I never knew my father and probably because of that the two of us were very close. I joined the army, as an engineer. I was posted around the place and served some time on a carrier. I met and married a pilot, Monique. I don’t know what she saw in me and, after a while, neither did she. She left, suddenly, leaving me with two small boys. Alex and Stevie. Stevie wasn’t much more than a baby.’

  He sighed again. ‘I did my best, but it wasn’t easy. Sometimes, when you have small children, overflowing love is not enough. Anyway, my mother joined us. She gave up her job, but it enabled me to carry on with mine, and life got better for all of us. And Monique had been home so rarely that I don’t think the boys really missed her all that much. I took leave whenever I could. We went on trips. We had holidays. We … were a happy family.’

  He stopped for a long time. I waited quietly. When he was able to continue, he said, ‘And then, one year, there was a big flu epidemic. A really vicious strain this time, that attacked the most vulnerable – the old and the young. My mother was the first. My maman. I loved her. When I think of what she sacrificed for me and then just as I was able to make her life more comfortable, she died.’

  He drank some tea. I waited.

  ‘Then the boys got it. Alex first. He was … he was always a quiet boy. He just … went to sleep. Stevie got it badly. He was only a baby and he suffered so much. I nursed him, but he wanted his grandmère. He kept calling for her. He didn’t know me. He died not knowing me.’

  He put down his mug on the floor and carefully lined up the handle with the locker door, taking his time about it. I waited. I knew there was more.

  ‘While the boys were in hospital, they took blood for all sorts of tests. There was talk of a vaccine … when the d
octor came to see me, God help me, I thought there was a chance … that we could save them … that they’d found a cure.

  ‘But it wasn’t anything like that. She came to tell me the boys weren’t mine. Neither of them. In fact, they weren’t even full brothers. Different fathers. My precious, beautiful boys. Only they weren’t.’

  This was a much more bitter tale than the first time he told me. Time had not yet healed. Not even a little.

  ‘I spent six solid months looking for her. Although I was so drunk most of the time she could have passed me in the street and I wouldn’t have known her. Then St Mary’s found me. Teddy knocked me out cold and I woke up at St Mary’s …’

  He turned the mug around so the handle pointed the other way.

  ‘They saved me. I know that. So you could say it’s time I paid something back.’ He looked at me. ‘In fact, knowing you, you probably will.’

  I shook my head. ‘Don’t take any notice of that. I wound you up deliberately.’

  ‘You’re a bad woman, Lucy.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. I’ve put a lot of time and effort into it.’

  I felt rather than saw him smile.

  ‘So, what now?’

  ‘Well,’ I said. ‘You must be knackered. Why don’t you get some sleep and I’ll keep an eye on things for a bit.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not tired at all. I want to talk to you. Do you mind?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ I said, somewhat surprised. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘You. Tell me about you.’

  ‘There’s not a lot actually. As you can see by my battered appearance, I’ve been an historian for some time. In fact, I’ve been round the block several times now.’

  ‘It doesn’t show.’

  ‘Why, Leon Fa– for heaven’s sake, you silver-tongued charmer.’

  He looked at me for a moment, and then moved his mug again. Had he caught my slip?

  ‘So, is there anyone in your life?’

  Now what did I say?

  ‘Not at present.’

  He messed around with the mug a bit more.

  ‘You should find someone. You deserve someone good in your life. Or someone should find you.’

  I sighed, deliberately misunderstanding him.