by Jodi Taylor
I seated myself with a reasonable degree of confidence. I’ve long since memorised the letters in the light box. There are three options and I had them all down pat. The secret is to stumble on about the fourth line down, squint realistically, correct yourself and carry on, faultlessly, to the end.
He entered, we smiled engagingly at each other, and he switched on the light box.
I stared, speechless. This guy was a complete bastard. If there’s one thing that really pisses me off, it’s people who look as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths and then cheat on an eye test. He’d changed the letters.
‘Off you go,’ he said encouragingly, while I tried not to squint. ‘Start with the third row down.’
The first symbol was either the old sign for British Rail, the Greek letter omega, or two ladybirds humping each other.
‘G,’ I hazarded.
There was quite a long pause.
‘I’m sorry, did I not make it clear? The whole row, please, Dr Maxwell.’
The next letter was a toss-up between the letter R, a floorplan of the Circus Maximus, the figure 8, the letter B, the German symbol for double S, or…
‘R,’ I said with confidence, because that’s half the secret.
Actually the next was easy because there’s no figure two on an eye chart.
‘Z.’ I stopped. It’s always a good idea to end on a high.
‘Continue.’
‘Could I have a glass of water, please.’
‘No.’
‘I don’t see well when I’m dehydrated.’
‘I’m beginning to suspect you don’t see well at all. You’re short-sighted.’
I pointed out of the window. ‘What’s that?’
Now he squinted. ‘The sky?’
‘No, that big yellow ball of flaming gas.’
‘You mean the sun?’
‘It’s ninety-three million miles away. How much further would you like me to be able to see?’
‘Shut up and read the next letter.’
‘B?’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Yes, it is.’
I went to get up so I could check personally – and possibly to have a quick gander at the rest of the chart as well – and he pushed me back into my seat.
‘It’s E,’ he said.
‘I was actually going to say that but you distracted me.’
‘Continue.’
‘How many more have I got to read?’
‘It’s taken you ten minutes to read three letters. At this rate, we’ll be here until next Thursday.’
‘Four letters actually.’
‘The last one was wrong.’
‘We could take an average.’
‘We could just get on with it.’
I sighed. ‘S. No Z. No S. Yes S. Or possibly Z.’
‘Make up your mind.’
‘I’m an historian. We like to keep our options open. But the next one’s definitely a Z. Which makes the previous one an S.’
‘It’s not a logic test. Next letter.’
I couldn’t decide whether it was a C or an O. ‘Seeoh,’ I said.
‘That’s not even a real letter.’
I decided to pass on that one and move on to the next.
‘Z,’ I said confidently, because we’d had that one before and I was beginning to recognise the blurry outline. ‘Are you sure this chart’s in English? Maybe that’s why I can’t read it. You’ve set up the Polish one by mistake. I can come back another day.’
‘Just two more left.’
‘And then I can go?’
‘I doubt you’ll be able to find the door on your own.’
I glared at the chart. What hadn’t we had yet? Vowels. The law of averages said the next one would be a vowel. Or would it? Or maybe a semi vowel.
‘Y,’ I said hopefully, watching his face for a clue, but he was tapping at his scratchpad. ‘What are you doing? I’m busting a gut here. The least you can do is pay attention.’
‘Looking up the contact details for Guide Dogs for the Blind.’
‘Dr Bairstow won’t let us have a dog. He says that a) it would be the most intelligent thing in the place and b) he doesn’t want the Security Section learning to cock their legs. Are we done?’
‘One more left.’
‘W. No – Y. No, we’ve had that. Not Z again, surely? No W. W. Definitely W.’
He sighed. ‘It’s K.’
‘Well,’ I said cheerfully, ‘one out of ten’s not bad.’
‘How did you even find your way here?’
‘Isn’t this the dining room?’
He sighed. ‘You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?’
‘I’m going to be making a spectacle of myself?’
His telephone rang and he picked it up. ‘Yes, I’ll tell her.’ He looked at me. ‘Dr Bairstow would like to see you in his office. It would seem the Time Police are here.’
This was not shaping up to be a good day.
It was a full senior officer meeting. Dr Bairstow sat at the head of his briefing table. Commander Hay on his right. On her right was her adjutant, Captain Farenden. Guthrie, still in Time Police gear, sat on the Boss’s left, with Leon next to him. I sat opposite Leon with Captain Ellis on my other side and Markham beyond him. Peterson’s place was empty. Mrs Partridge sat behind Dr Bairstow, scratchpad in hand. Dottle sat in her traditional place at the foot of the table. This looked serious. I felt a twist of unease, but Matthew was safely – if that word can be used to describe someone in Professor Rapson’s care – ensconced in R&D, doing heaven knows what.
The rain hammered on the windows again. This was turning out to be a shit spring.
‘Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for coming. I think we all know each other here, so, Commander Hay, if would you like to begin.’
‘Thank you, Director.’ She looked around the table. ‘We have, I’m afraid, been unable to locate and apprehend the renegade, Clive Ronan. I am now, therefore, designating this top priority. We are putting together a task force whose sole function will be his capture. This will be a long-term initiative. We simply cannot allow Clive Ronan to continue murdering his way through the timeline. Since we cannot spare as many people as I would like, we are calling on St Mary’s, present and future, for volunteers. Director Pinkerton has released four historians to us and only regrets that she cannot spare more. Before you call for volunteers, however, I should warn you now that I have no idea how long this operation will take. We will not stop until we find him, but it could be some considerable time.’
Dr Bairstow said, ‘I too, will not be able to release as many people as I suspect will want to volunteer. You will appreciate that after recent events, I cannot leave St Mary’s unguarded. However, I shall hold an all-staff meeting first thing tomorrow morning and anyone who wishes to volunteer will be considered. Department heads will report to me this time tomorrow to discuss whom we can spare.’
Guthrie spoke. ‘I’ll go.’
From the corner of my eye, I saw Markham’s shoulders slump. If Guthrie went, then he couldn’t.
Leon said, ‘I volunteer.’
Dr Bairstow nodded. ‘I thought you might. Thank you.’
I said, ‘Me too,’ and from the way no one looked at me I knew what they were thinking. Leon had already been accepted. We couldn’t both go. Leon was a soldier. He’d led the rebellion against the Time Police. If I forced a choice, then they would choose Leon. Of course they would. I would choose Leon. No matter how desperately I wanted to go – and I did desperately want to go – I couldn’t. Shouldn’t. I had to remain at St Mary’s and hone my mothering skills.
Still no one was looking at me. No one would say it. I shouldn’t make them.
‘I withdraw my application, sir.’
He nodded. ‘A wise decision, Max.’
I wasn’t the only one not allowed to go. Clerk and Prentiss were both denied. As were all of the Security Section, but Dr Bairstow let them down gently.
/> ‘I thank you for your willingness to volunteer. However, this mission has no end date. I cannot do without two senior historians or the entire Security Section for however long it takes to bring in Clive Ronan. My refusal to accept your generous offer is based on the fact that you are, all of you, too valuable to be absent from St Mary’s for so long. We must continue to function as normal or Ronan has won without even lifting a finger. If it in any way mitigates your disappointment, I would like to pass on my grateful thanks for your offer.’
So in the end, it was just Leon, Guthrie, and Grey. Again.
‘The ones not making any sort of valuable contribution,’ I said to Leon.
‘That’s us,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Always surplus to requirements.’
I felt a sudden wave of desolation wash over me. No matter how cheerful a face we were putting on things, the future was not looking good. I tried again.
‘Leon, it makes so much more sense for me to go. You’re the one who has the connection with Matthew. Let me go in your stead.’
He stopped packing up his gear, pulled me down to sit on the bed beside him and took my hands.
‘No. It has to be me. You know that. They don’t want me just for my military abilities – considerable though they are,’ he added modestly. ‘I’m going as Chief Technical Officer. It’s my job to keep the pods going. We can’t afford to keep returning for routine maintenance, so it’s going to have to be done on the hoof. That’s why I have to go. And if I go, you can’t. Markham has accepted it. You must too.’
I nodded drearily.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t have much comfort to offer. I don’t even know how long we’ll be gone, but I will try and get back to see you whenever I can.’
I nodded again. We both knew that wouldn’t happen often. If at all.
‘Listen,’ he said softly, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea.’
‘You?’
‘And why not?’
‘Let me count the ways.’
‘Do you want to hear my brilliant idea or not?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘What rarely happens is always worth waiting for.’
‘Every night – when it’s ten o’clock for me, I’m going to take five minutes to think about you. Where you are, what you’re doing and so on. If you can do the same – at your ten o’clock every night, you stop what you’re doing and think of me – then just for five minutes every day, we can be together. What do you think?’
‘For a bloke who spends his days up to his elbows in machinery and gunk, you’re quite romantic, aren’t you?’
He picked up his pack and threw it onto the floor.
‘Speaking of romance.’
Once, we would have broken the furniture. Well, the bedside light, at least, but now he was gentle and loving and he made me laugh. I knew he was deliberately keeping things light. Because my heart was breaking.
They left at dawn. There was no reason for them to do so but as Leon said at the time, what was life without a little drama?
Two big black pods stood outside Hawking, their ramps down and waiting. I don’t know about anyone else, but they put the fear of God into me. As, of course, they were designed to do. There’s just something about their black, implacable immobility.
All of St Mary’s turned out to watch them go. I stood at the back – Leon and I had said our goodbyes in private, but Captain Ellis sought me out.
‘Max, would you like to walk to the pod with me. There’s someone who wants to say hello.’
Slightly mystified as to who it could be, I followed him. As we approached, a small, slim figure walked down the ramp. She removed her helmet as I drew near. I stopped dead in surprise.
‘Greta?’
It was indeed. Greta Van Owen. Former historian and now, it would seem, a member of the Time Police. Ellis politely wandered off to supervise loading procedures. Which basically consisted of stowing bags in lockers, but I appreciated the thought.
‘Max, how are you?’ Her voice was quiet; her manner reserved. It was hard to believe she’d emptied a gun into Izzie Barclay. Just for a moment, I was back in the barn, lying in the dirt, watching the bullets shred flesh already dead.
‘Fine, thanks to you. And you? How on earth did you of all people end up with the Time Police?’
She smiled a small, sad smile. I had the impression that was the best she could do these days. ‘I was lost for a very long time. Not physically, but … you know.’
I nodded. I did know.
‘And then the Time Police came for me. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Gave me a purpose at last.’ She paused. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’
‘And you. I’m so glad you’ve found somewhere to belong. I never felt I really thanked you enough…’
‘Yes, you did. You thanked me more than enough. I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. Maybe one day we can sit down and talk properly. Catch up.’
‘I’d like that.’
Captain Ellis appeared. ‘Time to go.’
I shook his hand. ‘Good luck, Captain.’
He nodded. ‘We’ll get him Max. I promise you.’
‘I know you will.’
I nodded to Leon boarding the first pod. He waved and disappeared. I turned back to Ellis and Van Owen. ‘Look after each other. And good luck.’
I turned away. There was no point in prolonging things. I joined the silent crowd standing outside Hawking.
The two pods just as silently disappeared. And that was it. Leon was gone.
And I was left with Matthew. We stared at each other. It had always been Leon he looked to. I wasn’t sure how he would react to me on my own.
‘Easy,’ said Hunter, to whom I had confided my fears. ‘Let him get him dirty, then clean him up at the end of the day. Give him something to eat and make sure he knows he’s safe when he goes to bed. That’s how I cope with Markham. Seems to work.’
It wasn’t easy to begin with. We’d discovered he had no concept of family life. He had no idea what bedtime was. Or why it should apply to him when he was wide awake and enjoying himself. Equally, he saw no reason why he should have to get up in the morning when he was fast asleep. He wasn’t yet brave enough to defy me, but there were a lot of hard looks. On the other hand, he’d almost stopped peeing in washbasins, so I had to be doing something right. In my darker moments, I wondered if that would be my sole contribution to his life.
We didn’t speak much. I resisted the temptation to gabble away – anything to fill up the silence. We had our routine and we stuck to it.
And then the nightmares started.
I don’t know if this sort of thing is hereditary. I had bad dreams as a child. I still do, occasionally. And so, apparently, did Matthew. I would make him a milky drink and sit with him until he slept again, but it kept happening and I wondered whether to mention it to Dr Stone.
One night, however, I had a bit of a brilliant idea. Before Matthew had been born, Leon had made a holo of the Time Map and rigged it to project around his bedroom. Every night, Matthew had lain in his cot and watched, wide eyed, as a mosaic of silver lines and coloured points swirled around him until he finally fell asleep. When he was taken, I’d put it away and forgotten all about it. Now I firkled around in a drawer until I found the plug-in that Leon had made.
The Time Map is mesmerisingly beautiful. Two shining, iridescent cones of light and swirling colour. There’s a vertical axis – the Timeline – and a horizontal axis which represents Space. The constantly changing point where they intersect is Here and Now. Everything above Now is the future, and below Now is the past. Lines radiate outwards from Now and these delineate the boundaries inside which we must work. This is how we plot historical events, their coordinates and their relationship with each other. Because, as I’ve already said, nothing happens in isolation. It was the prospect of working with the Time Map that had seduced Miss Lingoss away from the stern purpose of the History Department and straight into the clutches of those irresponsi
ble catastrophe causers, Professor Rapson’s R&D section. Now I hoped it would make enough of an impression on Matthew to distract him from his nightmares.
He was sitting, as usual, bolt upright in bed, clutching his mug to his chest, his eyes scanning the room for whatever it was that had woken him up. He would never talk about his dreams.
I said, ‘Here, have a look at this,’ and switched it on.
Immediately, the bed was enveloped in a swirling vortex of light, shot through with a network of silver lines. He stared in amazement. I gently took his mug off him before he dropped it.
‘It’s the Time Map,’ I said casually, turning away. ‘You used to look at it for hours when you were a baby. Of course, I can switch it off if you’re too old for it now,’ and bent over to do so.
He made a faint sound of protest and I smiled to myself.
‘Shall I leave the door open in case you want me?’
I was talking to myself. He lay back on his pillows, quiet and still, all eyes.
I headed for the door, well pleased. Perhaps I wasn’t such a bad mother after all.
From that day onwards, things got a little better. Slowly, the nightmares became less frequent. I thought that eventually I would show him a few basic moves so he could learn how to manipulate the Time Map for himself.
So much for my simple plans. When I went in one morning, the Time Map was whizzing around the room like an hysterical elephant on greased roller skates. Huge lumps of it were out of place, or rearranged, or just not there any longer. It wasn’t a problem, this was only an old copy that Leon had put together to give our baby something to look at, but I hadn’t taught him to do this. He’d worked it out for himself.
I watched the conglomeration of silver lines and red blobs that had been our Troy assignment disassemble and reappear somewhere else. Surely he shouldn’t be able to do that? This was amazing. This was a Good Thing. Wasn’t it?
I felt some qualms at leaving him for our next assignment. Stamford Bridge. I know that if I’d gone to the Boss and asked to be excused boots for this one he would certainly have said yes, but Matthew had to get used to me disappearing at regular intervals. And, with luck, reappearing again.
