An Argumentation of Historians

by Jodi Taylor

  Halcombe moved forward to take advantage.

  ‘Ah, Bairstow. I see your control over this rabble has not improved in my absence. With immediate effect, you will …’

  Dr Bairstow regarded him icily. ‘All my staff are handpicked.’

  ‘That’s quite true, actually,’ said Markham, sunnily. ‘I’ve been handpicked many times. Mug shots. Police line-ups. ID parades. People are always pointing at me and shouting, “That’s him.”.’

  I don’t think Dr Bairstow even heard him. ‘Mr Halcombe, you are here because the University of Thirsk has agreed to foot the bill for our recent damage and we are in their debt. You will, I am sure, remember that on your first, and what, I can assure you, was your last assignment with St Mary’s, you not only displayed appalling leadership qualities and a complete lack of a comprehension of the role required of you, but you abandoned half of your colleagues to cope as best they could in a potentially dangerous situation. You contravened our number one rule, Mr Halcombe – you left your people behind. It is perhaps fortunate for you that my staff are far too courteous to indicate the complete contempt in which you are held – to your face, anyway – and so that duty falls to me. Mr Halcombe, you are held in complete contempt. You do not have, as far as I can see, a single redeeming quality of any kind. There are no circumstances under which anyone – anyone at all – will ever get into a pod with you again – and you will, therefore, understand very clearly that, as far as you are concerned, your participation in this or any of our future assignments will not ever happen.

  ‘As far as I can see, your sole function here is to observe what is going on around you, draw the wrong conclusions and report these to a Chancellor who is actively seeking a reason to dismiss you. This frequently happens when one does not have the foresight to attach one’s wagon to the correct star. You have no friends either here or at Thirsk, and nor will you ever have. The knives are out, Mr Halcombe, and my advice to you would be to return to Thirsk with all speed and watch your back. Throughout my time as Director of St Mary’s, I have always endeavoured to employ the best and brightest people in their fields. I am not sure which particular field you occupy, Mr Halcombe, but I think it is very apparent to everyone that, whichever it is, you are very far from the being the best and brightest in it. I regret to inform you, therefore, that you have failed to achieve the standards required here at St Mary’s and I would be obliged if you would, from this moment, consider yourself dismissed from my unit. If you are suffering a lack of comprehension or there are other, simpler words I can use to make the situation clearer to you, please do not hesitate to apprise me of them.’

  Wow. In the silence that followed you could have heard a slipper-wearing mouse dance the fandango on a feather cushion.

  Dr Bairstow turned on his heel, shot Peterson and me a glance which clearly said, ‘Amateurs,’ and limped off into Wardrobe. The idiot Halcombe remained uncertainly for one moment and then stormed off to his office. Again, the door slammed behind him.

  Peterson, Markham and I grinned at each other. He was gone.

  An hour later, Rosie Lee reported she’d seen Halcombe’s car trundling down the drive and out of the gates and then took advantage of my jubilation by claiming I’d agreed to give her the rest of the day off. I told her to pull the other one. She spent the rest of the afternoon banging files around and I sat at my desk humming happily, just to get on her nerves.

  At four o’clock I sent her down to Wardrobe to enquire about progress on the Persepolis costumes. I could have gone myself, but I guessed she’d be gone for some time and I needed the time to think, because I was having second thoughts. Buyer’s remorse, I think they call it. Not about Persepolis – the whole burning-building thing was what St Mary’s was all about – but about the other end of things. Suppose, just suppose, Ronan did manage to get away with the crown. Just suppose everything went wrong for us and he actually stole the real crown and we were left with more than egg on our faces. Yes, the Time Police would be here and they’d nail the slippery bastard, I was almost convinced of it, but suppose they didn’t …

  I think, deep down, when I’d pitched my idea to Dr Bairstow I’d been convinced he’d say no. But he hadn’t. And if this went wrong … if Ronan succeeded … there would be no coming back from this. St Mary’s would be finished. And it would be my fault.

  This doesn’t happen very often – usually I can see quite clearly what should be done, even if I don’t want to do it – but it was happening now. I needed to talk to someone. I needed a sober and balanced point of view. And because he had enough on his mind at the moment, someone who wasn’t Leon.

  I tend to stay away from Sick Bay because every time I go near the place they find something else wrong with me. I often wonder if Dr Stone works on commission. I haven’t mentioned this before, but Guthrie was still in there, sitting up and looking better as each day passed. I was astonished at his progress but he was bringing the same single-minded determination to his recovery and rehabilitation that he brought to every task he undertook. He was walking every day. Not a lot, but a little further and for a little longer every day. He certainly wasn’t so sick that I would feel guilty about troubling him. But first, I needed to bear gifts.

  I raced down to the kitchen, braking just in time to avoid colliding with Dottle, who was making her careful way up the stairs with the biggest plate of sandwiches in the history of the world.

  She jumped a mile, to the detriment of the top layer. ‘Goodness me, Max, you startled me.’

  I picked them up and blew on them. They’d be fine. The five-second rule would apply. ‘Good God. Are you feeding the five thousand? Or just Markham?’

  ‘I’m working late tonight.’

  ‘You look as if you’re working until next Tuesday.’

  She smiled shyly. ‘Hopefully it won’t come to that, but I have to do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  She glanced nervously over her shoulder again, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘I have to do well. Now that he’s gone, this is my big chance. I have to show people what I can do. Dr Bairstow. The Chancellor.’ She glanced in the direction of Peterson’s room, said nothing, but the inference was clear. ‘Everyone here is so … passionate about what they do. I want the chance to be proud of myself and of my job as well. If you were me, you’d do the same.’

  ‘I would,’ I said, ‘but make sure you don’t overdo it.’

  ‘I won’t, don’t worry. I’ve made a start by putting some stats together for Thirsk, because I think it will give the Chancellor an argument for increasing our funding.’

  I noticed she’d said our funding, smiled and stepped out of her way. ‘In that case, have at it.’

  She smiled. ‘I shall. You just wait and see.’ She passed on her way, and I shot off, first to the kitchen to pick up a few things, and then on to see Ian Guthrie.

  Usually half the Security Section was in there, putting back his recovery by months. Leon too spends a lot of time with him. On this occasion, though, Ian was on his own.

  ‘What ho,’ I said, shouldering my way through the door into the men’s ward. ‘I’ve brought you a coffee and some of Mrs Mack’s apple cake.’

  ‘Oh, excellent – Mrs Mack’s cake will go a long way towards reconciling me to your presence. You talk. I’ll enjoy the cake and ignore you.’

  He looked so much better. His black eye-patch gave him the jaunty air of a pirate and he’d grown a beard which really suited him. Yes, he’d lost some weight and his face was very pale and he still had a cradle over his leg, but compared to the way he’d looked a month ago when he finally came back to us from the Time Police, he was another person. They’d set him on the road to recovery, they said; the rest was up to him.

  He was healing well. A tribute to his superior Caledonian stamina apparently. As opposed to all us non-Caledonian wimps and weaklings. He’d been up and walking a surprisingly short time after having his leg reattached, firstly with a frame and then just a stick. He was v
ery slow still and he had bad days, but he was recovering.

  Anyway, today he was miraculously alone so I plunged straight in with compliments and good wishes. ‘Oh my God, Ian, you have a badger on your face.’

  He fingered his beard. ‘Looks good, doesn’t it?’

  ‘If you’re comfortable with that delusion then who am I to argue.’

  ‘What do you want, Max? Why are you here?’

  ‘Major, I have – not a problem – but something I need to talk about.’

  He sighed. ‘This is the price I’m paying for the cake, isn’t it?’

  I had sudden second thoughts. He was still an invalid. I shouldn’t be burdening him.

  ‘No, the cake is free. And the other thing’s not important. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Good. As always.’

  Yes, that was what he always said. I got up to go.

  ‘Sit down, Max.’ And yes, all right, he wasn’t functioning properly and probably never would again and his life would never be the same, but he was still Ian Guthrie and when he spoke in that tone I did as I was told.

  ‘I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.’

  He finished his slice cake and started on his coffee. ‘I wish someone would bother me with something. It’s my leg that’s damaged – not my brain.’

  Good point.

  I pulled my chair closer. ‘OK – I have – not a problem, but an issue.’ I told him everything. My conversation with Captain Ellis, my idea, the plan – everything – and then asked him whether, this time, I’d gone too far. Did the possible favourable outcome outweigh the probable potential for catastrophe.

  He sipped his coffee, frowning. ‘Have you taken everything into account? Tried to foresee every possible contingency?’

  I thought of all my risk assessments. To say nothing of those dodgy moments at half past two in the morning when I lay next to Leon imagining Ronan wandering out of the building with the crown under his arm and laughing his head off. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the St Mary’s end of things – that’s completely outside your control?’

  ‘Yes, I’m on the Persepolis end.’

  ‘And you have faith in Ellis and his men?’

  I nodded. ‘I do, yes.’

  ‘And Dr Bairstow?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And Peterson?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘In that case, Max, let them all get on with it. They have their function – you have yours – concentrate on that. Put everything else out of your head and focus on the job in hand.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Tell me you’re working closely with Markham on this.’

  ‘I am,’ I said.

  ‘And you have complete confidence in him?’

  ‘I do. If I can’t have you or Leon then I’d rather have him than anyone.’

  He hesitated and then looked around the room as if he didn’t want to be overheard. Great – that was two of us at it now.

  ‘Do me a favour?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, thinking he just wanted another slice of cake.

  ‘Make sure he knows that, will you?’

  I stared at him.’ I don’t understand.’

  ‘He’s having problems.’

  ‘Markham?’

  He nodded.

  ‘What problems?’

  ‘He’s the new Head of Security.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘Some people are having difficulty accepting that.’

  ‘In what way?’

  He began to brush the crumbs off his covers. ‘Well, the thing is, Max, you and I, and Peterson and Leon, we all just walked into our jobs, didn’t we? We were the first. There was never anyone to measure us against. Markham is following me. I’m not big-headed, but comparisons are inevitable, aren’t they? He’s having some problems, which he’s ascribing to not being me. He sees himself as not being tall; he has no army rank to give him the authority he thinks he needs; he’s aware of his reputation as a bit of a clown – and so is everyone else.’

  ‘Really?’ I said grimly.

  ‘No, it’s nothing bad. No one is defying him or laughing at him, but there’s bound to be a bit of settling down to do.’

  ‘But he’s been Head of Security before.’

  ‘He has, but it’s always been temporary and short-term. This is permanent. His problem is that he thinks he’s not measuring up to me. What he doesn’t see is that he doesn’t have to.’

  ‘No,’ I said slowly, ‘I see what you mean. Dr Bairstow knows what he’s like – none better – and he obviously thinks he’s the best man for the job.’

  ‘Exactly. He could have gone outside the unit for my replacement and he hasn’t. The trouble is that everyone here remembers him running into that horse’s arse. And falling off the stable roof. And mucking around in that reindeer suit. They don’t always remember him saving Cleopatra from the asp …’

  ‘Or the two of you from Ronan last year.’

  ‘Exactly. And I’m tied here and can’t do anything.’

  ‘Leave it to me,’ I said.

  ‘I knew I could,’ he said smugly. ‘Leave the rest of the cake will you.’

  I got up to go. ‘Where’s Elspeth today?’

  He looked mysterious. No, I mean he looked exactly the same as ever – he just assumed a mysterious expression. I enquired if he needed a laxative. He said having me in the same room was all he needed on that score thank you very much and to close the door behind me on the way out.

  Well, that was something to think about, wasn’t it? I made my way slowly back to my office, pondering ways and means of putting things right for Markham. Of getting him alone somewhere and somehow bringing up the subject without embarrassing him. Or myself. As it turned out I didn’t have to because he was waiting for me in my office when I got back.

  I peered closely. There was nothing specific, but now that Guthrie had mentioned it I could see something was troubling him. I kicked myself for not having noticed anything was wrong. He was my friend and I should have noticed. Time for a tactful chat. On our own.

  I sat at my desk, picked up a file and said, ‘Miss Lee, please could you …’ and foreseeing I was about to ask her to do some work, she muttered something and disappeared out of the door. Result.

  ‘What ho,’ I said to Markham.

  He muttered something and stood staring out of the window.

  I waited. Something was definitely wrong. Normally a ‘what ho’ produces a long lecture on Heads of Departments having to maintain certain standards, although what standards he’s referring to is never really clear. It was obvious he had something on his mind and was having some difficulty getting it off again. With Ian Guthrie’s words still ringing in my ears, I thought I’d give him a gentle shove in the right direction.

  I got up and locked the door. Just to give him something else to worry about. And put the kettle on. We waited in silence as the kettle boiled.

  I handed him his tea and said, ‘No one cares that you’re not Major Guthrie, you know.’

  We stood together, staring out of the window.

  He said, ‘I …’

  I said gently, ‘I know, but the only person who thinks that is you.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No, you’re wrong. Dr Bairstow chose you over everyone else. He didn’t go outside for Ian’s replacement – he chose you.’

  ‘I …’

  ‘I know you’re not Ian Guthrie. No one is. Well, apart from Ian Guthrie, of course, so stop trying to be something you’re not.’

  ‘It’s …’

  ‘You have your own way of doing things. You have your own identity. You’re Markham. You do things the Markham way.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Yes, you’ve messed around in the past. And you’ve messed up, too. We all have. And yes, you have some giant shoes to fill, but you’re Markham. You’re more Markham than anyone I know. Be Markham. It’s always worked for you before.’

  ‘Max …’
<
br />   ‘I tell you now, with the possible exception of Leon, I’d rather have you at my back than anyone. And I’m not the only one.’

  ‘Actually …’

  ‘You need to embrace your Markham-ness. Life is really opening up for you. And I speak for Peterson, too. You know, don’t you, that if there’s anything either of us can do … we’d do it in a heartbeat.’

  ‘Actually … I just came to borrow the Persepolis file.’

  ‘Oh.’ The room was suddenly very hot. To hide my face, I reached across the desk and thrust it in his direction, too mortified even to look at him. He took it and headed to the door. I continued to stare out of the window in buttock-clenching humiliation. Perhaps in six months’ time – when the embarrassment began to subside … I’d be able to look at him again.

  He was flicking through the file, not looking at me. ‘But that other stuff was pretty good as well.’

  I made an indeterminate noise that could mean anything he wanted it to.

  There was a bit of a silence. ‘Thanks, Max.’

  ‘You’re welcome. And don’t lose that file.’

  ‘No, I mean about what you said.’

  ‘Oh … well … you’re welcome.’

  ‘No, I mean it. Hunter … well … things are a bit … you know … at the moment.’

  I did know. I remembered the panic, the elation, the terror, the overwhelming sense of responsibility … the knowledge it wasn’t just the two of us any longer …

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Well, early days yet, but she’s fine. Better than me, anyway. Everyone’s better than me these days.’

  ‘You’re going to be fine.’

  He smiled. ‘What are we talking about at the moment?’

  ‘Anything you want. You have a great future ahead of you. The Boss thinks so. And Ian Guthrie. And Peterson. And me.’

  ‘Thank you. That means a lot, but sometimes I think …’

  ‘Well, don’t,’ I said sternly. ‘You know it’s not your strong point. Look – it’s your section now. You have to do things your way. And your way is … are you even listening to me?’

  He was looking as if Newton’s apple had just landed on his head.

  ‘What? Yes, of course I am. Thanks, Max. You’re brilliant.’