Hope for the Best

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ I said. ‘But absence of bad news is good news so try not to worry.’

  But he would worry. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. I wondered how long Dr Bairstow intended them all to remain here.

  ‘I’m not worried,’ he said, after a pause that was just a fraction of a second too long. ‘Not worried at all.’

  I stared at him, but you don’t get anything from Markham unless he wants you to. Even so . . .

  ‘Is this to do with that letter you received? The one after the steam-pump jump? It’s not the results of some test, is it? There’s nothing wrong?’

  ‘No, no,’ he said, hastily. ‘Nothing like that.’ And more he wouldn’t say.

  To change the subject, I enquired as to the purpose of all the R&D activity down by the river.

  ‘Ah, you’ll be impressed by this, Max.’

  I doubted it. ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s making fuel. For the generators.’

  I frowned. This sounded like a typical R&D thing – quite harmless on the surface, useful, even, but with the capacity to generate a global extinction event.

  ‘How? Are you drilling for oil?’ Before he could reply, I followed through with the question I should possibly have led with. ‘From what is he making this fuel?’

  ‘Liver.’

  I might have staggered. All right, I did stagger. ‘You can make fuel out of liver?’

  ‘Professor Rapson says he can.’

  ‘Li—? Is that even possible?’

  ‘How should I know? Go and ask him.’

  I had a nasty thought. ‘For God’s sake, tell me it’s not human liver.’

  ‘All right. It’s not human liver.’

  ‘Could you say that with more conviction?’

  ‘No. That was my best shot.’

  I shook my head. ‘In that case, I’m going to leave it all in your capable hands. None of this is anything to do with me.’

  ‘Well, apparently, if he pulls it off then we’ll all be rich beyond our wildest dreams. Except you, of course. You’ll still be poor.’

  I found I couldn’t let it go. ‘Human liver?’

  ‘If it helps, I can assure you he’s not using anyone from St Mary’s.’

  ‘God, no,’ I said. ‘The alcohol content alone would surely render the mixture too unstable for safety.’

  ‘You wouldn’t specifically need liver for that,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Any body part from St Mary’s would do. But Dr Bairstow says it keeps him quiet and occupied. And here he is now.’

  Dr Bairstow was standing outside Number Three with Leon. I smiled for Leon alone and then greeted Dr Bairstow, who nodded.

  ‘Dr Maxwell, welcome. Do I gather your presence here means events are on the move?’

  ‘Faster than a cheese down Cooper’s Hill, sir. And about as controlled. I’ve come to report.’

  He motioned me into the pod. Leon followed us in and the door closed behind us. I breathed a sudden sigh of relief and let my shoulders sag. Until I was here, safe and being handed a mug of tea, I hadn’t realised how wound up I’d been.

  ‘Well, Dr Maxwell – your report, please.’

  ‘With your permission, sir, I’ll work through things chronologically and you yourself can decide their order of importance.’

  I took a deep breath and gave him everything from start to finish. The Time Map, Queen Jane, Wyatt’s Rebellion, Halcombe, Jerusalem, the Time Police, North still at TPHQ, Mrs De Winter, Sands and Roberts, Peterson – the lot. It took quite a long time.

  He said nothing throughout until eventually my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth and I ground to a halt. When I’d finished, he said, ‘Very well, Dr Maxwell, that seems quite satisfactory.’

  I wasn’t sure he’d grasped the full extent of my misdemeanours.

  ‘Are you sure, sir? We – the Time Police and I – actively sought to influence both Mary Tudor and the leaders of the Wyatt Rebellion. You might say that without us there might not have been a rebellion.’

  ‘I am perfectly cognisant of your rebellion-initiating talents, Dr Maxwell. Although I must say it is gratifying to see you using your powers for good, just for once.’

  ‘But we didn’t stop there, sir. We breached a Triple-S site and the Time Police turned up and now they know we’re having problems.’

  ‘An unexpected circumstance, but not, I believe, an insurmountable obstacle to our eventual success.’

  ‘Good of you to say that, sir, but if I hadn’t taken the pod back to St Mary’s . . .’

  ‘Max, you were not to know. You carried out your duties to the best of your ability. As you always do.’

  Leon had chosen to focus on a different part of my tale. ‘You climbed down the chimney?’

  ‘I fell down the bloody chimney,’ I said bitterly. ‘Climbing might be slightly exaggerating my involuntary descent.’ I looked back to Dr Bairstow. ‘Sir, I have some concerns for Dr Peterson’s safety. And the others.’

  ‘As do I,’ he said. He turned to Leon. ‘I think the time has come.’

  Leon nodded. ‘Then if you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll go and start things moving.’ He paused on his way out and then said meaningfully, ‘I’ll see you later, Max.’ He left the pod.

  Dr Bairstow regarded me. ‘I suppose you are aware of the most interesting part of your tale?’

  ‘I am indeed, sir. Where did they get the Jerusalem coordinates?’

  He looked at me for a long time. ‘I think a better question is who gave them the coordinates?’

  ‘Well, I think we both know the answer to that one. Mr Hoyle’s shadowy figures.’

  ‘And one shadowy figure in particular. Clive Ronan. He’s been too clever for us, Max. Somehow he’s ingratiated himself with the right people in London and is moving against us from behind the scenes.’

  ‘But you have friends in high places, too, sir. You had enough warning to evacuate everyone safely.’ I looked around. ‘Actually, as a matter of interest, where are we?’

  ‘We are somewhere on the left-hand side of the land mass that will one day be known as North America.’

  I nearly dropped my tea. ‘What?’ I looked around as if expecting catastrophe to strike at any moment and lowered my voice to a whisper. ‘Sir, the rules state very clearly that given North America’s current state, the slightest misstep in their past could have the most unfortunate consequences for the future. Their history has been overwritten so many times it isn’t stable any longer.’ I drew myself up and said, in my best Dr Bairstow voice, ‘Do you think this is wise, sir?’

  ‘I am always amused when you assume you are the only one who ever breaks the rules, Dr Maxwell.’

  I gave in. ‘As always, sir, I am in awe of your talents.’

  He waved this aside. ‘You report that you have taken it upon yourself to re-recruit Dr Roberts and Mr Sands.’

  ‘I have, but only temporarily. They may not wish to stay. Mr Sands has his writing career and Dr Roberts is Deputy Head of the History Department at the University of Ceredigion.’

  ‘Good heavens, that sounds almost respectable.’

  ‘Well, it is when comparing him with the bestselling writer of far-fetched and completely implausible time-travel novels, sir.’

  ‘May I enquire as to Dr Roberts’ area of expertise?’

  ‘History of the European Union.’

  He frowned. ‘Well, that can’t take him very long.’

  ‘I believe he goes in for an hour every other Thursday afternoon, sir.’

  He smiled and rose to his feet. ‘I think we need to bring things forwards, Max. We no longer have the luxury of waiting for events to unfold around us. We need to take the initiative. Are you ready for the next phase?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I definitely think it’s time St Mary’s comes out of hiding and goes on
the attack.’

  ‘Good. In the meantime, I need to call everyone together to apprise them of events. Will you join me, please?’

  27

  St Mary’s sat quietly through his briefing. Then I stood up and updated them on events in the 16th century and 1st-century Jerusalem. Excited chatter broke out everywhere.

  Dr Bairstow stepped forwards and held up his hand to forestall the avalanche of questions and comments.

  ‘Traditionally, I finish each briefing by asking if there are any questions. At this moment, I understand your professional interest and I regret that, at this moment, other matters must claim our attention. Time is now pressing. All department heads to report to me immediately on conclusion of this meeting, please. Thank you, everyone. Dismissed.’

  He limped away. I went in search of Leon and found Adrian and Mikey instead.

  These two were not formal members of St Mary’s. For a start, they were too young. They were still in their teens and both of them were whizz kids. Geniuses even. They’d built themselves an illegal time machine that closely resembled a teapot – which was probably what drew us to them in the first place. They’d turned up one afternoon to ‘visit’. To witness St Mary’s in contempor­ary time. Dr Bairstow had been greatly taken with the awe and respect with which they’d regarded him and offered them sanctuary should they ever need it. Given that they were being pursued up and down the timeline by the Time Police, who would certainly have them executed if they ever caught them, the offer had saved their lives. We’d taken them in again when Mikey was wounded, hidden them, lied like stink to the Time Police, and then, as Leon had said, ‘When you bring them home and give them a name you have to keep them.’ So, we had. And very useful they’d been, too. With their pod concealed somewhere so secret that Leon wouldn’t tell even me about it, Adrian was assisting in the Technical Section and Mikey had found a natural home with R&D.

  I was pleased to see the pair of them and I think they were pleased to see me. In fact, Mikey was grinning her head off. She was also very wet. ‘Max. Good to see you.’

  ‘Why are you so wet?’

  ‘Fishing,’ she said. ‘With Adrian.’

  I looked across at the even wetter and unbelievably dirty Adrian. ‘Are you using him as bait?’

  ‘Don’t need to,’ she said. ‘We’re very good. We have fresh fish most days.’

  ‘And Angus provides the eggs,’ said Sykes as she joined us.

  ‘Really? How many?’

  ‘Today? Or so far?’

  ‘So far.’

  ‘She’s a bit stressed at the moment,’ she said, which I suspected was Sykes-speak for none at all. Ever. Most of us were quite convinced Angus had never really got the hang of being a chicken.

  ‘Has anyone seen Leon?’

  ‘Over by Tea Bag 2.’

  I set off again and was accosted by Lingoss. Today’s hair was . . . a beanie.

  I blinked. ‘What are you wearing?’

  She fell in beside me. ‘It’s an old favourite.’

  ‘Yes, but why?’

  ‘My hair’s growing out. I look like a section of particularly chaotic geological strata. You know – different-coloured layers.’

  ‘Well, never mind, we’ll all soon be back at St Mary’s and you can celebrate with the complete rainbow.’

  She slowed. ‘Actually, I’m not so sure.’

  ‘About . . . ?’

  ‘Well, you know – my hair. I’m beginning to wonder if, somehow, it’s not a bit . . . over-exuberant.’

  I blinked. ‘What’s brought this on?’

  ‘Well, you know – some people might not like it.’

  ‘As far as I know, Dr Bairstow has no problems. He’s never said anything to me.’

  ‘No, not Dr Bairstow.’

  I was cunning. ‘I can’t think of anyone else who would object. Did you have anyone specific in mind?’

  ‘No,’ she said, much too casually. ‘No one in particular. But I wondered if . . . you know . . . someone quite senior might find it . . . well . . . not suitable.’

  I’d been away too long. I’d lost the ability to understand my own department. ‘Sorry – not with you.’

  ‘You know – they might be too polite to say so.’

  ‘I’m assuming this is not someone at St Mary’s.’

  ‘Well, yes, actually.’

  ‘Too polite?’

  She stared at the ground.

  I was firm. My own personal life is frequently in turmoil but I’m really good at organising everyone else’s. ‘Do you like your hair?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then there’s no more to be said. Changing your hair because you think someone else might not like it isn’t something you should do and, if that someone doesn’t like it, then it’s their hard luck, although if it’s the person I think it is, then he’s fine with it, so why are you worrying?’

  We both took a moment to disentangle that sentence.

  ‘Well, you know – he’s Deputy Director.’

  ‘His hair looks like a haystack on a windy day and no one ever says anything to him.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s . . .’ She tailed away.

  ‘Well, you can’t do anything at the moment,’ I said, ‘and I wouldn’t rush into anything when you get back either.’

  ‘OK,’ she said dubiously. ‘If we ever get back.’

  ‘You will,’ I said, with a confidence born of expectation rather than experience. ‘I’m working on it now. Have you seen Leon?’

  ‘With Mr Dieter, I think.’

  I could see them on the other side of the camp. They were a little apart from everyone else. Their heads were close together and it looked serious. I set off again.

  Sadly, I was so busy concentrating on Leon that I failed to dodge Dr Stone.

  ‘There you are,’ he said, beaming at me in a manner he probably thought made him appear benign and reassuring.

  ‘What do you want?’ I said, keeping a safe distance between us because I’ve been caught like this once or twice before.

  ‘I thought I’d just give you a quick check-up.’

  ‘Have you nothing better to do? Professor Rapson’s out there somewhere distilling probably-not-human livers. Markham’s almost certainly providing a welcome for every bug and parasite known to man – together with a few that aren’t – and you’re ­bothering with me? How is this good use of your time?’

  ‘I know,’ he said, motioning me towards a pod. ‘Sometimes my devotion to duty astounds even me. Shall we see what you’ve managed to pick up since I saw you last?’

  It didn’t go well. Not from my point of view anyway.

  ‘Well,’ he said, as I shrugged my jacket back on again. ‘Good job I checked. You have a ganglion.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I Googled it.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, huffily, ‘let’s see Google treat it then, shall we?’

  ‘It said you could give it a thump with the family Bible.’

  ‘I don’t have a Bible.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I said, gloomily. ‘I don’t have a family. And as things stand, I probably never will.’

  ‘Come and sit down, Max.’

  I was suspicious. ‘Are you going to hit me with The Boys’ Own Book of Doctoring?’

  He busied himself with something or other. ‘Just come and sit down a moment. I agree with you about the family thing, but you’re looking in the wrong direction, Max. Your mistrust of family life is not because of Ronan. It’s because you yourself don’t want it. I don’t think you’ve ever admitted this to yourself but you don’t. It’s understandable. Bad memories. Bad experiences. But – you could have left St Mary’s when Matthew was born. Or when you got him back from Ronan. Or at any time. But you hav
en’t. I know you’ve been blaming Ronan, but you know as well as I do that if you’d wanted to – if you’d really wanted to – you could have just walked out of the gates with Matthew and Leon at any time. You didn’t.’

  He paused and then said quietly, ‘I think you have to accept that normal life is not for you. It’s not your fault. Some of it is in your nature – some of it is based on your life experiences. The thing is, Max, you’d be a lot less conflicted if you faced this. Drag it out into the open and confront it. Ask yourself – what should I do? And then ask yourself – what do I want to do? Answer those questions, make a decision and you’re done. Doubt, uncertainty, fear, everything will just drop away. Yes,’ he continued cheerfully, ‘they’ll be replaced by a whole new raft of doubts, uncertainties and fears, of course, but you can deal with all that easily enough. There – all done.’

  ‘An ex-ganglion,’ I said, looking down in surprise. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, tidying his gear away. ‘I’m always terrified by this procedure so I need to gabble away to take my mind off things. Thanks for listening. Did I say anything stupid?’

  ‘Astonishingly, no,’ I said slowly, searching his innocently beaming face for signs of deviousness and finding none. Perhaps he genuinely had been nervous. ‘Happy to have helped. Have you seen Leon?’

  Leon was waiting for me. I was really pleased to see him. Now that he was standing in front of me, I realised just how badly I’d missed him. I cleared my throat and said cheerfully, ‘There you are. Where have you been?’

  ‘Scrounging off Mrs Mack.’ He looked down at me. ‘What have you been doing to yourself?’

  ‘Hardly anything,’ I assured him. ‘Almost nothing to concern you at all. You, on the other hand,’ I said, changing the subject, ‘look very well indeed.’

  And he did. Having a beard suited him. He’d lost his pallor and his light tan made his eyes look bluer than ever. He’d put on weight and muscle tone. There was no sign of his stick. He looked more relaxed and cheerful than for a very long time and, unwisely, I remarked upon this.