A Symphony of Echoes

by Jodi Taylor

  I couldn’t believe it. I thought he was happy. I thought he enjoyed his job. That he’d come to terms with his life. How could I have missed this?

  I dashed an angry sleeve across my eyes, sniffed and walked quietly into the room. Helen followed me in.

  ‘It’s difficult for him to speak.’

  I nodded, sat carefully on the bed and leaned forward so he could see me.

  ‘Hey.’

  He tried to smile. He looked ghastly: his face was grey, his lips bloodless and he had dark shadows under his eyes. His breath rasped in and out, as he struggled to breathe. I’d always known he was vulnerable to infections; this looked like pneumonia. How could it be so quick? For how long had he been ill and I hadn’t noticed?

  I gently took his hands and leaned into his face.

  ‘David.’ His eyelids flickered. ‘You have to come back to the office right now. I can’t find the Pericles file.’ He caught his breath, which I guessed was a kind of laugh.

  I said, ‘Stop that. You know Dr Foster doesn’t like patients laughing.’

  He smiled and gripped my hands feebly.

  I lowered my voice. ‘You were right about me and Leon, David. I’m going to fix it. Now you have to get better, so you can tell me you told me so. Let Helen treat you. Please. I can’t do without you.’

  His eyes never left me.

  I kept whispering, ‘Don’t die. Don’t die. David, don’t die,’ as if I could talk him back to health. As if by sheer force of will, I could prevent him leaving us. Leaving me.

  ‘David. You’re my friend. Please don’t die.’

  His lips moved and I leaned close to hear him. Faintly, oh so faintly, he said, ‘Knock … knock.’

  I swallowed and said, ‘Who’s there?’

  But he never spoke again.

  I sat and held his hands, unable to comprehend what was happening, as he quietly faded away.

  After an age, Helen touched my shoulder. ‘Let me see to him, Max. Come on, up you get.’

  I got stiffly to my feet as Helen and Hunter moved around the bed. I walked slowly out of the room. The Boss and Mrs Partridge were still there.

  I said, ‘I’d like his name to go up on the Boards.’ They nodded. ‘He should be buried in his blues as well. He was an historian and a good one.’

  Dr Bairstow said, ‘Of course.’

  I walked off down the corridor, down the stairs, through the doors, along the corridor, through the hall, up the stairs, around the gallery, turned right instead of left, up a different set of attic stairs, tapped at a door and went straight in.

  He was sitting in an armchair, open files spread on his lap and around his feet. We looked at each other. He scooped up the whole lot and tossed them on the floor. I kicked the door shut behind me, walked across the room, climbed onto his lap, curled into a tight ball, and wept the tears of a lifetime.

  I woke the next morning feeling absolutely dreadful. My eyes felt gummy, my throat raw, and I appeared to have slept in my clothes. I tried to sit up and found I was cocooned in blankets, which had somehow wound themselves around me. Then I discovered I wasn’t in the right bed. Or the right bedroom. Then I remembered why.

  David …

  I thrashed around a bit, got my arms free and dragged myself into a sitting position. Pushing my hair behind my ears, I looked around. There was a note propped up on the bedside table.

  No one expects to see you today. I won’t be back before noon, so take your time. LF.

  There was a flask of tea next to the clock. It was only just gone nine. I had plenty of time. So long as I was gone before he got back. I poured a cup, thumped the pillows a bit, sat back, and sipped. It was hot and sweet and just what I needed. I was just taking another gulp when, after a brief tap on the door, Chief Farrell walked in.

  We looked at each other for a while and then I picked up the note and read aloud, ‘I won’t be back before noon.’

  ‘I lied,’ he said calmly and sat down in the armchair. We looked at each other some more.

  ‘I’m sorry about David,’ he said at last.

  I felt tears prick my eyes and blinked them away. I wasn’t doing that again, but I knew what he meant, so I nodded.

  I sipped a little more and he looked at his feet.

  ‘You’ll miss him.’

  My lip quivered and I buried my face in my mug. I don’t know why I was so bothered about crying in front of the man whose T-shirt had been stiff with snot by the time I’d finished last night.

  ‘Max, you gave him dignity and self-respect. You gave him a purpose. He loved working with you. He was always talking about you.’

  ‘Not enough to put up a fight at the end.’

  ‘He always knew it would come to this. He just chose sooner rather than later.’

  I finished my tea, shook the flask to see if there was anything left, and poured myself another.

  ‘I’ll be gone in a minute. I’m just very thirsty.’

  ‘No, stay. I wanted to talk to you.’

  Well, it had to be done. I had promised David. I leaned back. ‘Go on then.’

  ‘This is not an excuse. I just wanted to tell you what happened and why. And to apologise, which I’ve tried to do, but … Max, you must know how sorry I am.’

  I made a gesture to stop, but he ignored me.

  ‘When I walked out into that little garden at The Red House, I honestly thought Knox had hit you. Your face was – I hadn’t seen that look since Sussman died. I was still a little groggy and bewildered, but I could see something had happened. But before I could pull myself together and ask, you were gone. I sat down and Knox got me a glass of water. He seemed rather concerned about you. He said having seen the both of us, he was of the opinion that you were in greater need of help than I was. He said there were some – issues – and you were putting up barriers. He said in the normal course of events this would not be a problem; in time, these could be overcome. But since he had only two weeks in which to work, he needed to take action that I might consider somewhat drastic. He asked if I would be willing to assist and I said yes, of course.’

  He paused, drew a deep breath, and still looking at his feet, went on.

  ‘He said he wanted to give you a huge jolt, then kick down your defences, get straight to the heart of the matter and spend the rest of your time there more or less putting you back together again. He said it would, be brutal, but it could be very effective, especially in cases where time was an issue and was I still willing? I said maybe and what would it entail? He told me and I said no. I want you to know this, Max; it’s important that you know. I did say no. I kept saying no. He said he’d expected that response and went on to explain how it would work. Why it had to come from me. Why it had to be swift and shocking. The more he spoke, the more reasonable and logical it sounded. He assured me, repeatedly that it needed to be done because he had concerns about your mental state. I kept saying no. He went on and on. He had an answer for every objection and in the end he made it seem a necessary course of action.’

  He sighed. ‘As we now know, it was all lies and I still can’t believe I agreed to it. I can’t believe I said yes.’

  I suddenly remembered Ben, the doctor, saying, ‘You will need to be careful for a while. He will be very suggestible.’ I could easily picture the scene – that warm, peaceful, drowsy garden and Knox’s voice droning on and on …

  He started up again. ‘Well, you know what happened next. When I discovered you’d gone I … well … He was very soothing, apologised, and said if I wanted to leave too then that was fine with him. He said it was important that I spoke to you as soon as possible. To force you to listen, if necessary. And I would have, but Guthrie got hold of me first and said that was rubbish, to leave it for God’s sake, because at the moment it was only my car that was floating face down in the lake …’

  Guthrie had saved his life. The mood I’d been in, crushed between the twin rocks of humiliation and rejection, if he’d approached me I would have killed
him. Knox would have known that. Bastard!

  He smiled, tired and sad.

  ‘I thought you’d calm down, that one day I’d be able to explain, but you became very – impregnable – and I couldn’t think of any way to make things better. I tried to talk to you. I’ve tried to write, but I can’t find the words, because really there aren’t any, are there? And things have just limped on, until here we are.’

  And here we were indeed.

  I said, ‘Before you go any further there’s something you need to know. You won’t like it but you need to hear this. Knox wasn’t completely wrong. Something bad had happened and obviously I wasn’t doing as good a job at dealing with it as I thought I was.’

  I put the mug down, pulled the blanket around me like a barrier and punched the words at him.

  ‘It was me who killed Isabella Barclay. I shot her in the back. I gave her no chance. Then I shot her in the head. I killed her without hesitation, hid the body in the lift, and sent it down to the basement.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ His voice was very neutral.

  They say the ground opens before you …

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘We worked it out. Me, Guthrie, Peterson. It was fairly obvious.’

  I stopped, stricken. ‘Does everyone know?’

  ‘No.’

  I didn’t know what to say. ‘I …’

  ‘Max, you saved our lives. On behalf of both of us, me and Katie, I thank you.’

  ‘I …’

  No words would come.

  He moved to the window seat and sat down. This brought him closer to me, but meant he was just a dark shape against the window. Behind him, raindrops dribbled down the windowpanes. He said and I could hear the hurt in his voice, ‘Why didn’t you talk to me about this?’

  Because you rejected me.

  ‘It was too raw. And then we got overtaken by events.’

  ‘I didn’t mean any blame. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I should have seen … This was what I wanted to say to you Max. If we knew each other better …’

  I thought of some of the things we’d been through together.

  ‘I think we know each other very well.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I don’t mean it that way.’

  I went to pick up my tea and then had second thoughts and fought my way out of the blankets again.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he said, alarmed.

  It’s all very well having these emotional moments, but eventually after two cups of tea, someone has to go to the bathroom. I washed my face and hands as well and stared in dismay at my hair.

  When I came out, he was waiting for me.

  I sat on the bed and started to pull on my boots.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Shower. Breakfast. Office. In that order.’

  ‘Is that it? You’re going? Why do you do this? Why can’t you talk to me?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. I’ve been talking solidly for the last hour. What do you want from me?’

  Suddenly, he was angry.

  ‘More. I want much more. I was afraid of what you would say and now, suddenly, you’re not saying anything at all. Why are you leaving now?’

  ‘I’m tired. I have a lot to do. People to talk to. About David, I mean.’

  ‘No! No, you don’t do that. You don’t drag David Sands into this because you don’t want to talk.’

  Now I was angry too. Time to go before something was said that couldn’t be unsaid.

  ‘You don’t get to call the shots. I make the decisions in my life. No one else.’

  ‘Really? How’s that worked out for you so far?’

  ‘I’m doing OK.’

  ‘Liar!’

  Now I was beginning to get really angry. I could feel the blood pulsing in my head. I had to get out fast before I lost control.

  He continued. ‘You’re a sad and lonely woman, Maxwell. You always will be.’

  ‘Takes one to know one.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  This was getting ugly. It was time for one of us to take a step back.

  ‘I’m leaving now.’

  ‘No, you’re not.’ He caught my arm as I tried to brush past him. I raised the threat level to Defcon 3.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Trying to stop you running away again.’

  ‘And from what am I running away?’

  ‘Everything. Yourself. Your past. Your emotions. Your regrets.’

  ‘I don’t have any regrets. My life is fine. I love my life. Let go of me or lose your arm.’

  ‘Your life is not fine. It’s not fine now and it certainly wasn’t when you were young.’

  ‘I’ll say it again. I have no problems with my life now and the past is over and finished. All right, I’ll grant you my childhood wasn’t the best, but it was part of the path that brought me here. It was the price I had to pay for my life now and I’m happy to pay it. Understand?’

  He shook me slightly.

  ‘No, you’re wrong.’

  ‘I assure you I am not.’

  ‘No, I mean you didn’t actually pay the price, at all, did you?’

  ‘What? Let go of me right now. I’m warning you, Chief Farrell, senior officer or not, I will deck you if you don’t get out of my way.’

  Far from letting go, he grabbed the other arm. I kicked out viciously and it had to have hurt him, but he didn’t let go.

  ‘You’re very fond of saying that because it distances you from your childhood, Max, but you didn’t actually pay the price, did you? You’re strong, noisy, grown-up, over-achieving Maxwell. You’re the Maxwell who was born at the University of Thirsk and went on to have the life of her dreams. The person who paid the price wasn’t you – it was little Maddy. Do you ever remember her at all? Little Maddy, sitting alone in the dark, hiding in her wardrobe with no one to turn to.’

  How did he know that? How did he know about the wardrobe?

  I opened my mouth, but he hadn’t finished.

  ‘It’s poor, forgotten, little Maddy who paid the price for your success today and you just left her behind without a backward glance, didn’t you?’

  It took everything I had not to rip his head off his shoulders. I drew a deep breath, made myself relax and stood still, eyes on the floor. For a long time, nothing happened. The only sound was our breathing.

  It came to me suddenly. He knew about the wardrobe. The wardrobe where, long ago, I’d found a book about the Battle of Agincourt. The book that set my feet on the path to St Mary’s. Now I knew how it had got there. He’d left it. Somehow, he’d left it for me to find all those years ago.

  I couldn’t look at him. It was taking everything I had to deal with the maelstrom of guilt, remorse, grief, rage, and hurt I was experiencing. For someone whose proud boast was that she’d never had more than two emotions in her entire life and those not for very long – this was mind-shattering. I concentrated on keeping myself together. Walking and talking could come later.

  I became aware of him speaking in a low, dull voice.

  ‘I don’t understand you. I’m beginning to think I never will. That worthless piece of shit Sussman throws you off a cliff and you forgive him. Your father makes your childhood a living hell and you pretty well take that in your stride. But not me. I’m trying to make this right and you won’t even look at me, let alone talk to me. Why can you forgive them and not me?’

  I hadn’t meant to answer him, so initially I had no idea where the voice came from. It ripped out from my clenched teeth, harsh with rejection and betrayal.

  ‘Because Davey Sussman and John Maxwell – they don’t matter. They’re not important. But you – you were supposed to be different. You were the centre of my world. I adored you and you hurt me, Leon Farrell. You hurt me more than anyone in my entire life. You taught me to love you and trust you and when my last barrier went down, you just killed me. You worse than killed me. I wish you’d killed me so
I didn’t have to be alive and feel this pain every moment for the rest of my life.’

  I stood stock-still and listened to words which should never have been spoken reverberate around the room. Neither of us moved. Neither of us knew what to do next. We listened to the rain outside for quite a long time.

  He dropped his arms and let me go.

  ‘So,’ he said heavily, ‘where do we go from here, Max? What now? Is there any way we can make this right again?’

  I found a voice. ‘I don’t think there’s any way this can be salvaged. I think the best thing to do now is draw a line underneath it and move on.’

  From the way his shoulders slumped, I could see he had misunderstood me, so I added, ‘Together. Perhaps, somehow, we could start again. Maybe we could do it better next time.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Yes, that would be good. Perhaps, in a day or so, after David’s service?’

  I nodded, and because he looked so – broken – I touched his forearm gently before I left the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  David’s service was very simple. Everyone attended. The Boss spoke. Outside, afterwards, I looked at all the headstones. I saw Kevin Grant, my fellow trainee who died on his first assignment. Tom Baverstock, who died on the floor of his own pod. Just their names, we never did dates. Their stones were beginning to weather. David was in front of Big Dave Murdoch and Jamie Cameron, who both died at Alexandria. It occurred to me I knew nearly as many people dead in the churchyard as I did living at St Mary’s. Peterson glanced at me, and I could see he was thinking the same thing.

  The next day we got on with things again. Slowly at first, but with my office door open I could hear the increasing buzz in the hall downstairs.

  It was very quiet in my office. I was not looking at the empty desk by the door.

  I was dealing with my post – one of the many things David had done for me when Mrs Partridge marched in. She had ‘new assistant’ written all over her. I wasn’t sure I wanted another one.

  ‘Good morning, Dr Maxwell.’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Partridge. What can the History Department do for you today?’

  ‘Well, as you’ve guessed, I’m here about your new assistant.’