by Jodi Taylor
‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m responsible for all this. The idea was mine – as was all the planning, the allocation of personnel …’
‘ … And the responsibility is mine.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Yes, the mission was your idea. You are the Chief Operations Officer – it was supposed to be, but the final approval for every mission is mine. Always mine. Only mine. And the responsibility for the tragic aftermath of the Old St Paul’s assignment, up to and including your being shot – is also mine.’
He looked out of the window for a moment and then the moment passed.
‘However, the responsibility for raising morale in your department, ensuring that it continues to operate as usual, coming up with something to get us all back on track, and placating our overlords rests solely with you. Why are you still sitting there, Dr Maxwell?’
Not having the strength to face the maelstrom of paperwork on my desk, I took a cup of tea into the library, sat by the empty fireplace in one of the big armchairs, and had a bit of a think.
We should never have gone for Old St Paul’s. I could see that now. If only my normal vision was as good as my hindsight. The risk/reward ratio had been all wrong. Braving the flames for a few unimportant artefacts had been a mistake. My mistake. Now I had to put it right.
We needed something more spectacular. In terms of reward, that was. Something with a big reward and comparatively small risk. Maybe this time, not so much a citywide conflagration – more a small bonfire.
The jolt of inspiration nearly blew me out of my chair.
I went off for another cup of tea and to find some paper.
I made a list, stared at it for a while, and then started to delete. Occasionally, I added another line. Then deleted it again. After thirty minutes, I had just one remaining item.
I drew a square, carefully coloured it in, and started to write. I scribbled thoughts all over the page and then joined them together. A route through our next assignment.
Pulling a selection of books from the shelves, I made notes, thought for a while, and then began to build my data stack. I listed the aims and objectives, the client, the personnel, the pods, the equipment, the methodology.
I was still at it when Leon came looking for me. Apparently, I’d missed a meal and he was concerned I might be dead. He looked at the stack for a while, rotated it slowly, and said, ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Of course I’m not. It’s perfectly doable.’
‘Yes, but not by you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Where have you been for the last four weeks? Do you not remember being in hospital at all? Because I remember it very vividly and I really don’t think I could do that again.’
‘You won’t have to. She’s dead.’
‘And so is Schiller. And Ronan’s still out there, somewhere.’
‘Leon, I’m not hiding at St Mary’s for the rest of my life.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you should take it easy for the next month or so. By all means plan assignments, but let others take the strain for a bit.’
‘I can’t do that. I don’t have any senior historians left. Clerk is the most experienced historian I have at the moment, but there’s only one of him. Prentiss and Roberts are brilliant but still inexperienced. There’s no way around this. If the Boss presented me with half a dozen fully qualified trainees tomorrow, someone would still have to supervise them. And we have to get moving, Leon. As far as Thirsk is concerned, we’re back to being a bunch of certifiable nutters. All our good work over the years, Alexandria, Troy, Nineveh, the Cretaceous period – it’s not counting for very much at the moment. We have to get back out there and we need something spectacular for them. If we can pull this off …’
‘I understand all that. I’m just saying it shouldn’t be you pulling it off.’
‘It won’t be. I intend that my role will be purely supervisory. I’ll point. Others will do the heavy lifting. That’s what junior staff are for. Come on. I’m hungry.’
He sighed. He wasn’t happy.
That wasn’t the only thing he wasn’t happy about. Back in my room, he caught me balancing on the back of the sofa trying to change the overhead light bulb. I stopped listening after a while.
He wouldn’t let me lift anything heavier than a teaspoon and when he heard I’d started running again, I thought I’d never hear the end of it. This wasn’t like him at all. I tried to be patient. I know it’s not easy, waiting beside a hospital bed for someone to wake up, but it wasn’t as if he hadn’t done it before.
The final straw was when I reached for him one night and he drew back. I sat up and switched on the light. ‘Are you ill?’
‘No, of course not. I’ve just had a long day and so have you. You need to take things easy. Go to sleep.’
I lay down again and listened to him breathe in the darkness. He wasn’t asleep either.
We had a problem.
I should have realised this might happen. I’d been injured before and he usually coped with it by offering his own brand of bracing hard work and verbal abuse, but this time I’d been badly hurt. He’d spent a few days sitting by my bed, not knowing one way or the other. Despite my assurances to the contrary, I knew I wasn’t yet fully up to spec, but he was being overprotective. A natural enough reaction – but annoying.
Normal people talk through their problems. Alternatively – first choice as far as I as concerned – I could arrange a practical demonstration.
I thought I’d better check first with Helen. Just to be on the safe side.
Did I just say that?
She was sitting on the windowsill of her office, puffing cigarette smoke out of the window. She scowled heavily as I entered, but I ignored her. Since it was Helen and she has the people skills of a root vegetable, I went straight to it.
‘Am I dying?’
‘We are all dying,’ she intoned, blue smoke wreathing around her head. The effect was more than disconcerting. No wonder people will only visit Sick Bay in a pack. ‘The path of men is thorny and filled with pain.’
‘Well, it is if you have anything to do with it. No, listen – is there anything you’re not telling me?’
‘The world is full of things I’m not telling you, Max. Be more specific.’
‘Well … um … I am fine now, aren’t I?’
‘As far as I know,’ she said, lighting another cigarette and puffing her smoke out of the window.
I looked up at the smoke detector. She read my mind.
‘Of course it’s got a battery in it. To have a detector without a battery would be irresponsible.’
‘And does the battery work?’
‘God, I hope not. Looking after you lot has got me up to thirty a day again.’
‘Speaking of looking after us …’
‘Yes. Right. No, as far as I can see by running my eyes over you, you’re fine. About ten pounds overweight, of course, and I want to test your eyes sometime, and your left knee isn’t up to spec, and your bowels move slightly more slowly than continental drift …’
‘Yes, all right,’ I said, interrupting this depressing litany. It would be a miracle if I made it through the night at this rate. ‘The thing is …’
‘Yes?’
‘The thing is …’
‘Yes?’
I struggled for words. ‘Leon is being … cautious.’ I sat back, quite pleased with my choice of words.
Complete waste of time.
‘You’re not getting any, are you?’
‘No. I thought you could help.’
‘Forget it. I’m not having sex with you.’
‘I don’t want sex with you. I want sex with Leon!’
I hadn’t realised I’d raised my voice until Hunter stuck her hear round the door. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, it’s just Maxwell going through a dry period.’
I said coldly, ‘Don’t let me keep you from your duties.’
Hunter grinned and pushed off.
‘Have sex.’
‘Yes, very helpful.’
‘What else do you want from me?’
‘I wondered if you could do me a certificate or something.’
‘What sort of certificate?’
‘I don’t know. Something to say I’m roadworthy.’
‘This is not an MOT centre.’
‘Helen …’
‘Look, I’m not saying you’re as you were – you’re not. However, you are perfectly capable of having sex without anything dropping off. Well, not dropping off you, at any rate. Just sit down and talk to Leon. He’s just a little nervous about you at the moment.’ She hesitated a moment. ‘Perhaps you don’t know what it was like for him, sitting by your bed, waiting for you to wake up.’
‘But what has that to do with not wanting to have sex. Does he think it’ll kill me?’
‘He might not be thinking very clearly at the moment. Talk to him. Tell him you can’t die of sex.’
I said darkly, ‘You can the way I do it.’
‘Just get out of here and take your ego with you.’
‘I’m going to tell Leon your battery’s flat.’
‘Do that and I’ll have you flat on your back and your legs akimbo while I do something interesting with ten feet of rubber tubing.’
‘I thought you said you didn’t want to have sex with me.’
She blew more smoke. ‘Just … go, will you?’
All right, that could have gone better, but it had given me an idea. Racing off to the kitchen, I found Mrs Mack. ‘Do we have any doughnuts left?’
‘I think so, yes, three or four.’
‘I’ll take two please.’
I spent rest of the afternoon doing everything I could to wind him up.
‘Look,’ I said, ‘I have a major assignment coming up and I don’t want to be let down by the Technical Section.’
‘What?’ he said, outraged.
I went on to demand immediate updates on the readiness state of every pod in the place. I argued over the servicing schedule. I showered him with unreasonable demands. He was everything that was patient and reasonable and I really had to work at it, but by close of play, he was hanging on to his self-control by a thread. There would be Words later on.
Back in in my room, I showered and put on my old Thirsk sweats. I was just pulling out two wine glasses and a plate when he banged on my door – rather more vigorously than I thought necessary.
‘Come on in.’ I said, apparently oblivious of today’s thundercloud look. ‘Can you open this for me?’
We sat at the table, sipping. The wine was rather good, but I didn’t want to give him time to relax. The more wound up he was, the better for my purposes. I looked at him. He’d showered too and was wearing the most dilapidated sweats I’d ever seen and that included even mine. They were obviously cherished. The logo was so faded as to be indecipherable. I stared at it. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘This?’ He squinted down at his sweatshirt. ‘These were awarded to – well, there’s only six in existence.’ He smoothed the material gently with his hand.
I snorted derisively. ‘Yes, but they’re not Thirsk, are they?’
‘Well, no, they were awarded by a French establishment.’
‘Oh,’ I said politely, ‘French. Well, never mind, so long as you like them.’
He twitched a little but let it go.
‘Cheer up,’ I said insensitively.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Your face says otherwise.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
I leaned back in my chair and sipped my wine, wearing the expression I use on the Boss occasionally.
He frowned. ‘What is the matter with you today?’
‘There’s a coincidence. I was just about to say the same to you.’
We sipped in silence.
I got out the doughnuts and put them on a plate.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Well, it’s rude to scarf them straight out of the bag. Just because you’re in a bloody awful mood today doesn’t mean I should let standards slip.’
‘Are you going to eat both of them?’
‘Yes, I am, because I don’t think you’re yet ready for – Ta-Dah! The Doughnut Challenge!’
‘The what?’
‘Ta-Dah! The Doughnut Challenge! Do you not have doughnuts in the Technical Section?’
‘Yes,’ he said tersely and knocked back his wine. ‘I’m just not familiar with The Doughnut Challenge.’
‘You mean – Ta-Dah! The Doughnut Challenge! Well, you wouldn’t be, really, would you? This one really separates the historians from lesser mortals.’
‘Oh. Really?
I nodded and gazed absently out of the window. The two doughnuts continued to occupy their place in the space-time continuum.
He sighed. ‘All right, I’ll ask. What is – Ta-Dah! The Doughnut Challenge?
‘It’s not easy …’
‘To explain or to do?’
‘OK, it’s this.’ I pushed the plate to the middle of the table. ‘You pick up your doughnut. You’re the beginner, so you get first choice.’
He nodded, apparently taking this Himalayan-high pile of crap seriously.
‘You pick it up with your right hand – unless you’re a leftie of course. You take one bite, just one, and put the doughnut back on the plate. Your opponent – that will be me – does exactly the same thing at exactly the same time.’
There was a pause. ‘And … that’s it?’
‘What were you expecting?’
‘Well … more.’
‘Just one tiny thing. You cannot, must not, under any circumstances, lick the sugar off your lips. Lip-licking is forbidden.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Well, when you’ve finished your mouthful you take another bite obviously, but yes, that’s it. The challenge is to eat an entire doughnut without once licking your lips.’
‘You’ve done this before?’
‘Every Friday, in the History department. The Weekend Starts Here sort of thing.
‘Who usually wins?’
I looked as smug as I could, which is a lot, leaned forward and said softly, ‘I’m very, very good. You’re going down, buster.’
His eyes darkened. ‘We’ll see about that.’
‘So, you’re up for it then?’
‘Bring it on,’ he said, grimly.
‘OK, get your top off.’
‘What?’
‘It’s the stake. Thirsk versus – whatever that thing is. Did I not mention that?’
‘No.’
‘Changed your mind?’
Silence.
‘Welching on a bet?’
He sighed. ‘No.’
I indicated that he should hand it over.
Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled it over his head and tossed it to me. It was still warm and I could faintly catch his smell on it. It had been a long time … Concentrate, Maxwell.
‘What are you going to do with it?’
‘Nothing much. I’m just going to nail it to the wall and torture it.’
I dangled his cherished sweat carelessly from one finger and let it drop to the floor. He watched it fall and set his teeth. I tilted my head to one side, gave him the full, shit-filled grin, and wondered how much longer he’d let me get away with this.
‘And what about you?’
I unzipped mine and shimmied it off. Breasts – Nature’s built-in advantage. I had also made sure I wasn’t wearing the regulation grey sports bra that looked as if it could double as the Humber Bridge in its spare time, but my favourite wisp of satin and lace. The catalogue described the colour as ‘crushed raspberry’. Just about the same shade as his suddenly flushed face, and, if truth be told, just slightly too small for me. My cups runneth over. Do I like to win or what? He went very quiet and very still. I saw him glance at the door and shoved the plate in his direction bef
ore he could make a run for it.
‘On three. Remember, first one to lick their lips is the loser.’
‘I really don’t think you should …’
I mocked. ‘Giving up without a struggle. How typically techie,’ and pulled the plate towards me.
He pulled it back again and took his doughnut.
Here we go …
‘One, two … three,’ and bit into my doughnut.
The secret is to avoid the jam. I chewed slowly and carefully and concentrated on ignoring the increasing desire to lick my lips, which, actually, is not easy. Try it sometime, but pick a different partner. You’re not having mine.
He never took his eyes off me. To distract myself I found myself staring at his chest hair and the way that intriguing dark line disappeared down his belly to all points south. Very useful; even someone with my poor sense of direction rarely lost her way. I lifted my eyes and watched his mouth, then let them wander across his face to those eyes; those blue, blue eyes, then back down to his lips again. His sugar-encrusted lips.
Oh God … He wasn’t supposed to have this much control. I’d deliberately left a giant loophole in the rules. How much longer before he picked up on it?
He stood up suddenly and for one nasty moment, I thought he was going to make a run for it and I was going to have to chase him through St Mary’s in my bra, but no, St Mary’s was safe. He knocked his chair over backwards with a clatter, shoved the table roughly out of the way, and grabbed me. Not gently. He ran his tongue across my bottom lip and sucked off the sugar. My world slid sideways and flew into a million shining pieces.
‘You never said I can’t lick the sugar off someone else’s lips,’ he whispered and we concentrated on removing every last grain. I ran my hands over him. He was broad and solid. I ran a fingernail across his chest and he shuddered, I hoped for all the right reasons. My own breathing was suddenly all over the place. He was hard and hot and I couldn’t wait any longer. I slid my hand inside his pants. His breathing was fast and shallow, like a cat, and he was very, very pleased to see me.
I started to ease down his pants. He caught my wrists and said into my hair, ‘It’s too soon. I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘Oh Leon, don’t you know by now? I don’t break that easily.’
Which was true enough, but that didn’t stop him touching me as if I was the most precious object on this earth. His hands, always sensitive, glided feather-light over my body, leaving me gasping and shuddering for more. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, feeling all control slip away. He was everything that was gentle and considerate and after five minutes, I slapped his arm and told him to get a move on.
