by Jodi Taylor
‘That they stepped out for a better view. The only other person who knows that isn’t true is Peterson and he’s …’ My lips stopped working.
He put his hand on my shoulder. Just briefly. Just for a moment.
‘And the Time Police?’
‘Know that something was going on but chose to look the other way.’
‘One thing to be thankful for.’
We stood in silence for a moment.
‘You see to your people, Max and I’ll see to all the arrangements.’ He permitted himself a small, sad smile. ‘It’s going to be a long night for both of us.’
I sat with them while they ate. Or rather, while they picked at their food. Even I had no appetite. The smell of charred flesh was still in my nostrils. I had a quick word with Fortunata who came back with a small jar.
‘Here,’ I said, ‘try some of this.’
‘What is it?’ said Sykes, listlessly.
‘Menthol rub. Put a dab over your top lip.’
‘Smells awful.’
‘Better or worse than Joan of Arc?’
We dabbed away and soon the fresh smell of menthol filled the room.
I waited until they were settled for the night and then went out to the nurses’ station. Fortunata was there, writing up her notes.
‘Everything OK?’
I nodded. ‘I can’t sleep. You don’t mind if I wait here?’
‘No problem.’
Hours passed until finally, in the small hours, just when the human spirit is at its lowest, they wheeled Peterson back through. His face was the same colour as the sheet.
I waited some more until Hunter appeared, apparently for the express purpose of yelling at me for not being in bed, and then handed me a mug of tea.
I waited some more.
Finally, Helen appeared, still in her scrubs. I’ve never seen her look so tired. She stared at me for a while and then jerked her head in the direction of her office. Once there, she sank into her chair and put her head in her hands.
I rummaged through her desk until I found her secret stash. I knew she’d have one somewhere.
‘Here you go.’
She lit a cigarette. She’d obviously given up giving up.
I gave her time before asking, ‘How is he? Will he lose his arm?’
She shook her head wearily. ‘I don’t know. I’ve done my best. It may not be good enough. So yes, he may.’
She sat wreathed in smoke. I listened while she talked, blaming herself.
Then she blamed me. I sat quietly and let her get on with it. There wasn’t anything she could say to me that I hadn’t already said to myself.
Then she cried. Which was worst of all.
We sat for a long time in silence and I realised she’d fallen asleep. I carefully draped a blanket around her and went back to the nurses’ station. Telling Fortunata I needed some fresh air, I headed to the door. I was lucky. Hunter would never have let me get away with it. I slipped outside.
Shivering in the pre-dawn chill, I made my way towards the lake. I stood amongst the willows, took out the clip, and hurled it as far away as I could. I heard the faintest plop in the silence.
I never checked to see if any shots had been fired. I didn’t want to know.
We were released the next morning. I sent them for breakfast and went straight to see Dr Bairstow. From there I went to speak to the History Department. They were all in the Hall, waiting for me. I gave them the edited version, because, out of respect for Major Guthrie and the Security Section, no one was ever going to hear what Randall had done from me, and we talked for a while.
I was at a loss to know what to do next. No one was in a fit state to go out on assignment. And what of the trainees? I couldn’t leave them while I spent time with the History Department and I so badly wanted to see Leon.
I had a bit of a brainwave and called him up. Could he take the trainees off my hands and keep them busy for the rest of the day?
He could, so I sent them off to the Technical Section and then remembered Kalinda. She and Peterson had been partners once.
I spent a very careful thirty minutes on the phone with Kalinda and when I’d finished, Leon called me.
‘Leon, how are they?’
‘Losing heavily against my people at five-a-side, but they’re OK.’
‘Thanks for this. I appreciate it.’
‘Not a problem. It’s doing my people good, as well.’
‘How’s Guthrie?’
‘Not too bad. Markham and Evans managed to set fire to the oily-waste drum and by the time he’d finished shouting at them, I think everyone felt a little better. Why don’t you get something to eat and I’ll see you later.’
Doing as I was told – just for once – I wheeled into the dining room and the smell of roast meat hit me in the face and I wheeled straight back out again. I just wasn’t hungry. I still couldn’t get the smell of burning flesh out of my nostrils.
I went back to Sick Bay. They’d put him in the isolation ward. He was still asleep. Helen sat by his bedside. We looked at each other and then I pulled out a chair and sat at the other side.
Out of the blue, she said, ‘There was a problem with your last scan. The one from Thurii. Get another one.’
I nodded.
We sat for an hour, just listening to him breathe.
I was in that strange state between sleeping and waking when I heard the change in his breathing. Helen sat up, immediately alert.
He opened his eyes. Oh God, he opened his eyes.
Helen bent over him.
I left them together.
Chapter Seventeen
Half way along the long corridor back to the main building, I had a message that Dr Bairstow wanted to see me.
I toiled back up the stairs again. Leon seemed a very long way away for someone who was only just down the corridor.
Dr Bairstow was waiting for me in his office. Mrs Partridge sat behind him. She doesn’t often smile, but it’s always worth waiting for and she smiled gently at me now. The weight lifted a little.
Dr Bairstow began. ‘I understand Dr Peterson is awake?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Dr Foster says it’s too soon to be sure, but the early signs are good. We must be hopeful.’
I said again, ‘Yes, sir,’ and tried to be hopeful.
He continued. ‘I shall be appointing Mr Clerk as temporary head of the History Department, but you will supervise him. Together, of course, with your duties as Training Officer. I’m sorry, Max, but I think your period of light duties is over.’
‘Well, I wasn’t enjoying it very much, sir. Was there anything else?’
‘Actually, yes. Would you sit down, please?’
I didn’t like the sound of this. It got worse. I heard a tap on the door, and Mrs Partridge got up and ushered in Major Guthrie.
We sat in silence. What was this all about?
Dr Bairstow began. ‘As you know, all members of this unit lodge their wills with me, together with any private correspondence concerning matters that may arise after their death and it is my responsibility to carry out any instructions they may have for me.’
He paused, opened a drawer, and pulled out an envelope.
‘I have today, opened a letter Mr Randall left for my attention. I should warn you …’ He paused again and pulled himself together. After a moment, he continued. ‘I should like you to be privy to its contents and so I shall read you what he has to say.’
He paused, adjusted spectacles I never knew he wore, and began to read.
Dear Sir,
I left this letter to be opened after I’m dead. Also with this is my will as per your instructions.
This is very hard to say but if I’m dead, I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I have to tell you. If you don’t already know. It was me. It was me who told Ronan we were going to St Paul’s. I didn’t think at the time I had a choice because he knew something about me I didn’t want anyone else to know. I was afraid
of people finding out and he knew it. Then he said he’d give me money as well and I said I’d do it. I didn’t want the money for me. It was for someone else. I thought I could use it to put things right so I said yes. I swear on the Bible he told me no one would be hurt and as it happened I never got the money and when the bastard tried to kill us all at St Paul’s I saw what a fool I’d been but it was too late then.
I nearly went to the Major a couple of times to tell him what I done but then they found Schiller and after that I was too scared. So I just carried on as best I could. The only thing I could do is write it all down for you ready for when I was dead.
Before I was in St Mary’s I was in the army and something happened. She was a nice girl and too scared to tell anyone but we all knew who done it and one night we caught him behind the sports block and gave him a right good seeing to. Only we went too far and he ended up paralysed.
We were scared to death they would find us but they never did. We got away with it. We were never even questioned. A couple of years later I came to St Mary’s and I’d almost forgot what we did. Ronan must of found out somehow because I got a message saying he’d tell you unless I did what he wanted and I’d go to prison. I can’t lie. We went too far with that bloke but I thought maybe I could send him the money and it would make things better for him, so I told Ronan where and when we were going.
It was stupid. I know that now. He never kept his end of the bargain. I never saw any of the money and the next thing I was locked in St Paul’s with everyone else. He told me he was just going to steal our stuff and no one would be hurt. And then there was Schiller dead and I wish I’d of died myself. And I would of said something but everyone was so angry and I didn’t know what to do so I’m just going to try to do my job as best I can. Perhaps in some way that will make up for what I did.
I’m sorry, sir, because I’ve been with you since the beginning. Please tell the Major for me that I’m sorry and I let him down. If there’s any money coming to me please can you send it to the bloke we injured. The name of the place he’s at is in my box of things under my bed.
Yours,
William Randall.
He folded the piece of paper and put it back in the envelope. A dreadful silence followed.
‘Is it true?’ asked Guthrie, hoarsely.
Dr Bairstow nodded. ‘I have checked. Every word is true.’
Silence again.
I was staring at the faded pattern on Dr Bairstow’s carpet. I’d known Randall for years and I’d had no idea. If he hadn’t written the letter himself, I would never have believed it. I just knew him as a quiet, conscientious person who’d been on any number of assignments with me and never let me down. And when his own actions in Rouen had placed both him and Peterson in harm’s way, he’d managed to get them both back to the pod, probably at the cost of his own life. And yet, he and others had once beaten a man so savagely that he’d been permanently and badly injured. How could one man do both? Saint and sinner. Hero and coward. Perhaps his saving Peterson had been one last attempt to pay a debt that could never be repaid. I don’t know. Can a lifetime of hard work and dedication to your job pay for one mistake? And then I remembered he’d betrayed us to Ronan. And then I remembered the people he’d helped save over the years. And then I saw Schiller’s body again. And then I just didn’t know.
Beside me, Guthrie got to his feet and kicked his chair across the room, sending it clattering against the wall. I’d seen him angry before, but I’d never actually seen him lose control. It was over in a second.
Dr Bairstow sighed. ‘I have thought long and hard over this and I have come to the conclusion it is better to say nothing. Let people continue to think Randall died in the line of duty.’
Now I was angry. ‘What about Schiller? People should know who was partly responsible for her death.’
Guthrie turned to me. ‘No, Max. I’m sorry, but no. Dr Bairstow is correct. It’s vital that people feel they can trust the Security Section. We can’t have people staring at us and wondering whether another one of the very people responsible for keeping them safe will betray them for money. I’m sorry, but you must see that.’
I clenched my fists, fighting off an irrational desire to burst into tears.
Dr Bairstow said, ‘Please sit down, both of you. I’m afraid Major Guthrie is correct, Max. And we must also consider how vulnerable Mr Randall would have been to any future attempts by Clive Ronan to obtain information.’ He sighed. ‘You may, if you wish, share this information with Chief Farrell, but otherwise, nothing leaves this room. Is that understood?’
I nodded.
‘A small service will be held for Mr Randall, as usual. I would like you to attend, if you would. He did save Dr Peterson and perhaps that is the best way to remember him. I think, at heart, he was a good man. He just lost his way a little.’
Guthrie and I left together. We paused on the gallery, looking down into the Hall. The History Department was sitting around a table, talking quietly.
Guthrie leaned his elbows on the balustrade and sighed. ‘I should have picked up on this, Max.’
I couldn’t blame him. Now, far, far too late, I remembered that Randall had, on several occasions, asked to speak to me and I’d avoided him. Had he intended to confess? We’d never know now.
‘I should have seen what was happening right under my nose and I didn’t because my mind was on other things.’
I didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘You and Grey, you mean?’
‘How could I have missed this? I shouldn’t have missed this.’
‘It’s not going well, is it?’
Now he didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
‘I thought that when I saw her again – I thought we could just pick up where we left off and —’
‘And you’re not the person she remembered,’ I finished for him. ‘It’s been ten years, Ian – it would be a miracle if you were.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘God, all I ever wanted was to have her back and now she’s back and …’
He stopped again. His mouth turned down in a bitter grin. ‘We should be careful what we wish for.’
My heart went out to him. Can there be anything crueller than being reunited with your lost love after a ten-year separation, only to find she’s not as you remembered. Or imagined. To meet the right person in the wrong time.
I had what was, for me, an inspiration.
‘Ian, I think you should stop pursuing something that doesn’t exist any longer. End it. Draw a line and move on.’
He was shocked. ‘But …’
‘And then start again. Begin anew. She’ll come back from Italy. When she returns, introduce yourself as if you’ve never met. Don’t try to pick up where you left off ten years ago. Accept that you are not the same people and start again. See what happens.’
He stared at me. ‘You’re quite wise, aren’t you?’
Well, that was a surprise. People have used a ‘w’ word to describe me on several occasions and that word has never been ‘wise’. Deep down, I felt a small stirring of warmth. As if something good had finally emerged from this dreadful week.
That night I lay with Leon curled around me. After a while he said, ‘You’re not asleep, are you?’
‘No. Can’t sleep.’
‘Peterson will recover. He’s not going to die.’
‘I know. But his arm …’
‘It’s too soon to know. Wait until Helen can actually say.’
‘If he has to leave, I’ll probably leave too.’
‘No, you won’t. You won’t leave Dr Bairstow without any Senior Historians. You won’t leave the History Department without a Chief Operations Officer. You won’t leave four trainees half-trained. Like it or not, there’s no way you can leave at the moment.’
Unusually for him, there was a bitter note in his voice.
‘You’re wrong,’ I said, my voice trembling a little in the dark. ‘I would do any or all of that without a second thought if I had
to. What I won’t do is leave you.’
There was a short silence and then he said, ‘Would you leave if I asked you to?’
‘You know the answer to that one.’
‘I’m not sure I do.’
‘Yes, you do. It’s like the king and parliament.’
Now there was a different kind of short silence.
‘It’s like what?’
‘You know – the king and parliament.’
‘I am aware of both. I’m just slightly confused by their appearance in our conversation.’
I heaved a sigh. ‘The king has the power to say no, so parliament ensures he never has to. It’s constitutional something or other.’
‘I always thought your failure to comprehend the properties of electricity was the most frightening thing I had ever encountered. Today you have plumbed new depths.’
‘Hey. We did constitutional history at school, you know.’
‘I daresay, but did you actually attend any of the classes?’
‘Not the point right now.’
‘I’m rather at a loss to remember what the point of this conversation was.’
‘You were telling me to get some sleep and then for some reason you veered off and started jabbering on about the king, constitutional history, electricity, and my truanting past. You know I love you dearly but I do feel that sometimes you should strive for more focus.’
I could feel him smile in the darkness. ‘Feeling better now?’
‘A little.’
‘No need to thank me.’
‘Wasn’t going to.’
‘Ingratitude, thy name is Max.’
‘Can I ask you something?’
He sighed. ‘Sleep never really happens when you’re around, does it?’
‘Do you think I’m turning into Isabella Barclay?’
Even more silence. A very long silence.
‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’
‘I’m trying not to laugh.’
‘Thank you for taking my issues seriously.’
‘Is this about North?’
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Not at all, but the other day when you burst through the door, pitched your boots down one end of the room, threw your training notes up the other, and swore you would swing for that bloody woman one day, I had a bit of an inkling.’
