by Jodi Taylor
‘Can I compliment you on your sensitivity and perception?’
‘You can. And what is this problem with North? You apparently deal quite successfully with Miss Lee so why not Miss North?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if it’s the voice, or that she never gets dirty, or that everything about her is perfect, I just don’t know. I do know that I’m beginning to look for faults where none exist. Like Barclay used to do with me. And I worry that I might be turning into her.’
He dropped a kiss on my shoulder. ‘Allow me to put your mind at rest. You are not turning into Isabella Barclay.’
‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’
‘And Peterson will survive.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I’m convinced of it. Anything else you want to get off your chest?’
‘You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’ve had a bad day, you know.’
‘That’s a relief. I was beginning to worry I wouldn’t be able to keep it up and now I don’t have to.’
Chapter Eighteen
I went to see Tim the next day. He was sitting up, his bandaged arm resting on a pillow. I’ve never seen him look so bad. Not even after he’d been lost in the Cretaceous Period. Or the time he was blown up by the Time Police. The pain in his eyes hurt my heart.
‘Hey.’ He tried to smile.
‘You look awful.’
‘Not half as awful as I feel.’ He turned his head on the pillow and looked out of the window.
‘The fault is mine, Tim. I should have stopped him leaving the pod..
‘Yeah? And how exactly would you have done that? You’re only about three foot six. Even in high heels. No, sorry, Max. Nice try, but this one’s on me.’
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what Helen had told him. He might not yet know that Randall had died of his injuries.
‘Can you remember what happened?’
‘Oh, yes. Every blood-soaked moment of it. I remember the smell of her burning and the sound of her screaming. I remember the way she slumped against the stake. I especially remember the sound of Randall’s skull breaking. Have you ever dropped a melon? It sounds just like that. You wouldn’t think so, would you? You’d think it would crack or crunch or something but no, it’s not like that at all. It’s a kind of splat and …’
‘Tim, stop it.’
He looked me straight in the eye. ‘By the time I got to him she was dead.’
I thought of the secret I was keeping and nodded.
‘And now he’s dead, too’ he continued. ‘Because I didn’t get to him in time. You can’t say that wasn’t my fault.’
‘He was the one who made the mistake,’ I said.
‘Well, he won’t ever do that again, will he? Thanks to me.’
I thought for a while and then said carefully, ‘Do you remember a conversation we once had?’
He stared at me, expressions of anger, exhaustion, self-loathing, bafflement, all slithering across his face. ‘What?’
I held his gaze. ‘I’m sure if you think carefully you will remember the one I mean.’
He turned his head away again. ‘Is there an award for worst hospital visitor ever that I can nominate you for?’
‘You must remember. I forgot them. The trainees. You had to remind me.’
I saw him frown for a moment. ‘Do you mean when we talked about …?’
I cut across him quickly. ‘When I forgot the trainees. Yes, that’s what I meant. That’s probably something I shouldn’t talk about. There are some things that should not get around the unit.’
He stared at me. ‘Yes, I remember talking about …’
‘That matter has resolved itself.’
I waited while he worked it out.
‘Are you telling me that Randall…Randall…was…?’
‘I mean, we wouldn’t want that getting around, would we? Imagine how people would feel if they knew what had happened.’
He was still staring at me. ‘Are we still talking about you forgetting the trainees?’
‘Obviously. What else could we be discussing? But sometimes, as I say, everything resolves itself. And now the matter is closed.’
I remembered those slurred, desperate words. ‘Trynunstan.’ Try to understand. I tried to soldier on, my voice wobbling all over the place.
‘I mean, such a dreadful mistake to have made. To have to live with. And such repentance afterwards. Nothing can change what was done, of course, but sometimes, it’s possible to pull yourself together and do your job as best as you can and ensure nothing like that ever happens again. To try to atone.’
My voice failed. He reached out and took my hand. I hadn’t realised there were tears on my cheeks.
‘I understand what you’re telling me,’ he said softly. He squeezed my hand feebly.
‘We all make mistakes, Tim. But you and I have friends to help us through them.’
Now, I needed to see my trainees. There were no lectures until next Monday, but I wanted to make sure they weren’t completely traumatised. Yes, people can deal with shock, but they have to be given time to process it. Our last assignment had been one hammer blow after another. I still felt my stomach slide sideways whenever I thought of Peterson. How must they feel?
We met in the small training room. They looked a little subdued, but none of them was actually clutching a letter of resignation.
‘Good morning, everyone. You’ll be pleased to hear Dr Peterson is awake and doing well. A service for Mr Randall will be held the day after tomorrow. Best uniforms for those attending. Our sessions will recommence on Monday at 09.30. Until then, your time is your own. My advice is to clear off to Rushford and do normal things. See a holo, visit a couple of bars, late-night curry. The sort of things normal people do. Does anyone have any questions?’
They shook their heads and filed out. Except for Mr Hoyle.
‘Mr Hoyle? Was there something you wanted to say to me?’
‘Yes.’
I sat at the data table next to his and hoped my people skills were up to the challenge. It struck me now that when I first arrived at St Mary’s all those years ago, that it was a struggle for me to look anyone in the eye and say good morning. These days, people actually sought me out and asked me for advice on personal relationships, romantic problems, and social issues which, quite honestly, is a bit like asking an anorexic for recipes.
We sat in silence while he wound himself up for whatever he wanted to say to me. I knew the signs. I couldn’t rush him.
He opened his mouth several times and nothing came out so I said gently, ‘What’s the problem, Mr Hoyle?’
‘Not a problem as such – it’s – well, I don’t want you to take this as a criticism but don’t you think this might not have happened if you all took your jobs a little more seriously. If everyone just stopped messing about?’
I was really, really angry. Really angry. Really, really angry.
I sat back, crossed my legs, adjusted my scratchpad as it bumped against my knee, and said quite mildly, ‘I’m not quite sure you really understand how things work at St Mary’s and that’s not something I can teach you. If you can’t work it out for yourself – and it doesn’t look as if you can – then there may be no place for you here after all. I do think, after everything you did to get here, that that would be a shame. A great shame. But I’m not surprised to hear your comments, Mr Hoyle. St Mary’s is the sort of place into which either you fit or you don’t. It has nothing to do with academic ability. We look for a certain type of person here. Mrs De Winter obviously thought you were the right match for us, but even she gets it wrong occasionally.’
So far so good. I was still giving him a chance to live.
He blew it. ‘But I’m so … disappointed in this place. There are important issues out there and you all behave like a pack of children. There’s no discipline, no serious research, no dedication – it’s all so – amateurish. Sometimes I don’t think any of you deserve
to work here.’
I resisted the urge to do him a serious injury. Even after the events of the last few days, he still didn’t have a bloody clue. My voice was icy.
‘Do you have any idea what it’s like to crouch under a cam net in the direct line of fire, waiting for the Light Brigade to charge, knowing that in an hour’s time, every bright, brave young man down there who is terrified out of his wits but doing his duty regardless, is going to be blown to pieces? Literally reduced to a pulp of flesh and bones before your very eyes? Do you have the imagination to know how that feels? And we can’t flinch or look away – we do our duty too. So as far as I am concerned, if St Mary’s wants to set fire to their own feet, or conceal a cat in a warming pan, or blow up the septic tank, then as far as I’m concerned, it is my privilege to allow them to do so.’
I paused and waited for my breathing to slow. ‘We have a few days before we pick things up again. Why don’t you spend the time thinking seriously about whether you have a future here.’
All right, I know I was furious, but I honestly thought I’d been reasonably gentle with him. Even so, I was completely taken aback by his reaction. I thought he was going to burst into tears.
‘No, no. I meant no criticism. Well, I did, but it was more of a question. I didn’t mean to cause offense. I certainly don’t want to leave. It’s just that the working methods here aren’t quite what I expected, but that’s not your fault. Perhaps I’ve just spent so much time abroad that I’m unfamiliar with the way things are done here. I apologise.’
He was practically gabbling by the time he’d finished.
I heard Captain Ellis’ voice in my head. ‘You have a problem. He’s too intense.’
He had been right. The quiet ones are often the worst.
I calmed myself down, forced a smile, and said, ‘Take your days off, Mr Hoyle. Come back on Monday. We’ll take things from there.’
He backed out of the door, still gabbling.
I really should have taken time to have a bit of a think about that.
I had lunch with Leon. We sat in the sun outside Hawking. He brought sandwiches for us both and chocolate for me. This was something we’d done on and off ever since I started at St Mary’s. Recently, because of the pressure of work, more off than on. It was good to feel the sun on my face, the warm wall behind my back, and breathe in the smell of fresh-cut grass as Mr Strong nurtured the pitiful remains of the South Lawn. Rumour had it he was petitioning Dr Bairstow for permission to convert the crater into an ornamental pool.
‘Is he insane?’ said Leon. ‘We’ll have Professor Rapson knocking up the Claw of Archimedes before lunchtime. Or breeding his own Plesiosaurs. Or recreating the sinking of the Mary Rose. It’s just asking for trouble.’
He unwrapped his sandwiches and passed me one. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Oh, I’m fine. Keeping my chin up.’
‘Keeping everyone’s chins up from what I hear.’
I smiled.
‘Don’t get so caught up with everyone else that you forget to take care of yourself.’
I smiled again. ‘That won’t happen. I know I’m a bit high maintenance sometimes, but I also know I always have you.’
He took my hand and kissed it and we sat together in the sun, holding hands and not talking very much.
I spent the afternoon with Clerk, looking over the History Department’s assignment schedule and then, in the evening, went back to Sick Bay to see Tim, who didn’t look much better.
I entered just in time to hear him say, ‘I might never be able to hold Helen’s hands again.’
‘You won’t have to,’ I said, closing the door behind me. ‘She’ll hold yours.’
‘Or draw a bow.’
‘Learn to use a sword,’ I said, although I just wanted to cry for him.
‘Or even peel an orange.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Markham in exasperation. ‘I haven’t peeled an orange for years. I just hand it to the nearest pretty girl and look pathetic.’
‘Second nature to you, I should imagine,’ I said. ‘Besides, who could possibly think anyone from the Security Section has the physical coordination to peel an orange without breaking a window?’
‘Ha! Well, I’ve got you there,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘When it comes to physical coordination you’re looking at this year’s winner of the one-handed-bra-unfastening competition.’
We stared at him.
I found a voice.
‘Security has a bra-unfastening competition?’
‘One-handed bra-unfastening competition,’ he said, reprovingly. ‘And it’s not easy, I can tell you.’
‘I’ll say,’ said Peterson, thoughtfully. ‘I struggle with two.’
‘I don’t want to hear any of this,’ I said.
Markham gently patted my back as if I was a nervous horse. ‘Calm down, Max. We don’t use real women, obviously.’
I’m not often struck dumb, but – seriously?
‘I don’t believe anyone can unfasten a bra one-handed,’ said Peterson, suddenly sounding tired. He lay back on his pillows. ‘And you’re the most cack-handed person I know.’
Markham sat back and grinned evilly. ‘Really? Max?’ He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
I stared at him for a moment and then gave myself a small experimental flex.
‘You bastard!’
I stormed into the bathroom to refasten my bra, slamming the door behind me. When I came out, Markham was rummaging through his many pockets, pulling out a black lacy specimen.
‘That’s a bra,’ I said, stupidly stating the obvious, but come on …
‘Whose?’ enquired Peterson. ‘It’s not …?’ and he nodded towards the space he imagined Nurse Hunter was currently occupying.
‘Well, of course it is,’ said Markham, indignantly. ‘It’s certainly not mine.’
‘Are you mad?’ I said in a strangled whisper, as if she could overhear me. ‘If Hunter finds out …’
‘She won’t. Now, Max, can you get me some tissues. And I need a pillow, too. Come on, don’t just stand there.’
‘I am a Chief Officer, you know,’ I said, haughtily, but no one was listening.
When I came out of the bathroom, trailing reams of toilet paper behind me, he’d fastened the bra around a pillow. I handed him the toilet paper and he began to tear off great handfuls, which he stuffed into the cups.
You want to look away, but you just can’t.
‘There,’ he said, head on one side, adjusting things to his satisfaction.
They propped the bra-wearing pillow up beside Peterson. Markham, having established his credentials, took on the air of a mystic, imparting the secrets of brassiere manipulation to an acolyte, but Peterson was laughing and had a little colour in his face.
‘Go on,’ said the Grand Master. ‘Give it a go. Just remember what I said about keeping your ring finger curled under.’
The door opened and I braced myself for a life-saving leap from the window, but it was Leon.
He stood stock-still. I didn’t blame him. Peterson and Markham on the bed together, wrestling with a bra-wearing pillow. You couldn’t make it up.
I stood up. ‘For God’s sake, Leon – take me away from all this.’
He held the door open for me.
‘See you, guys.’ I left them to it.
Outside, I bumped into Hunter.
She nodded over my shoulder. ‘How’s it going in there?’
Enlightenment dawned. ‘You and Markham set all that up.’
‘Well, of course we did, Max. You don’t seriously think I would let him wander around all day festooned with women’s underwear, do you?’
‘With you two,’ said Leon, darkly, ‘I never know what to think.’
She sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe what I had to promise him to get him to do that.’
‘Don’t tell us,’ said Leon. ‘Some things are better never spoken about.’
She laughed. ‘I have to go in there now
and yell at the pair of them. For their own good, of course. Come back tomorrow, Max. He looks forward to seeing you.’
We left.
I was half way down the stairs when the tears finally came. My legs gave way. I sat down with a bump and sobbed. Sobbed for Randall who had spent his life trying to atone for one mistake. Sobbed for Tim whose life would never be the same again. Sobbed for Markham and his peculiar ideas of physiotherapy, but who had said and done exactly the right thing, when I had been so useless. Sobbed for Leon, whole and healthy beside me, who scooped me up in his arms and held me until I was too tired to cry any longer.
Chapter Nineteen
I was busy these days. I now had two departments to manage, and I’d have to be careful how I went about it. Clerk was in nominal charge of the History Department and it was a great opportunity for him but they were still fairly shaken up over Peterson. I wanted to give him every opportunity to shine but not be overwhelmed. To feel he was in control but not exposed.
We’d spent time going over the assignment list and temporarily postponing anything that looked even mildly hazardous and now the rest of the department were on their way to help set up a tentative timetable.
I had, of course, re-inherited Miss Lee who, for some reason, was sitting on the floor of my office, apparently dismantling something with brute force and a lot of bad language. I just let her get on with it. Easier. Quicker. Safer.
The door opened and the rest of the History Department appeared, a little quiet, but ready for action. Mr Sands halted on the threshold and stared at her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Repairing my hairdryer.’
That was useful. If she was successful, she could fix mine.
He frowned. ‘Give it to me.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it – this is men’s work.’
He was suddenly a man alone. The rest of the department, showing a respect for Health and Safety I would never in my wildest dreams have suspected, was clustered in the far corner, geographically as far from him as they could get.
She was holding a screwdriver. I mentally reviewed the medical procedures for sharp-force trauma. To be fair, she did give him an avenue of escape. She must really like him.
