by Jodi Taylor
‘Yes,’ he said, smiling. ‘These wife-free weeks have worked wonders.’
‘Jolly good,’ I said. I looked around curiously. ‘Do you want to show me around the camp?’
‘No.’ He took my arm and we set off.
I was at a bit of a loss. ‘Oh. Is it all . . . secret?’
We speeded up. ‘No.’
‘Restricted areas?’
We speeded up again. ‘No.’ We’d finished up outside his pod. ‘This is where I live. Coming in?’
‘Of course.’
The tiny area was typically tidy. I looked around. ‘Are you here alone?’
‘Ian bunks with me.’
‘That’s nice. How is he?’
‘No idea.’
I looked around. ‘Where is he?’
‘No idea.’
‘Oh. Is . . . um . . . something wrong? You seem very tense.’
‘Ah. Is that what they’re calling it these days?’ He smiled down at me again and the penny dropped. We looked at each other. My heart began to thump. I was almost too afraid to move because if I’d read this wrong . . . if he wasn’t ready . . . I thought about how much hurt I could inflict on both of us if I was mistaken.
He reached out his hand and said softly, ‘Lucy . . .’
My legs turned to jelly. I’m such a wimp. I’m supposed to be a big, rufty-tufty, kick-arse, chimney-climbing historian and then my husband says my name and I just go to pieces. I took his hand and the next moment I was in his arms and he was holding me so tightly I was sure I could hear my ribs cracking again.
He was warm and solid and smelled of hot cotton, grass and oil. I breathed him in, suddenly filled with a sense of warmth and security and astonishment that this man loved me. And a sense of something else as well. I could feel him trembling against me.
‘Leon . . .’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, half laughing. ‘This is my big moment and I’m about to disgrace myself utterly.’
‘Just relax,’ I said. ‘You’ll be fine. In fact, with luck, you’ll be great.’
Now he did laugh. ‘I am relaxed.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone trembling with relaxation before.’
‘I just don’t want to . . . I don’t want this to be over too soon.’
I patted his arm. ‘Leon, I know you have a thing about ladies first but I really don’t think that’s the big issue just at this moment. Face it, if anyone deserves a free pass it’s you, so you go ahead and make a start and I’ll catch you up later.’
His eyes were very blue. ‘It’s not a race.’
‘Says the man who always comes second.’
He laughed. I buried my head in his chest. Because – at long last and quite unexpectedly – this was his big moment and it had been a long time coming and I was suddenly and very unaccountably afraid. Of what, I had no idea.
I could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Are you planning on coming out any time soon?’
I shook my head and burrowed even deeper. ‘No, never. I’m going to spend the rest of my life like this.’
‘Well, I don’t think it’s unpleasant, but I can see this could cause some comment throughout our working day.’
I shook my head again.
He laughed and stepped back.
I shut my eyes and refused to look at him because I was hot and bothered – natural consequences of spending time in someone’s armpit, I think everyone will agree – and my hair was coming down.
He began, gently, to tuck it behind my ears. ‘Look at me, Lucy.’
I did, briefly, and then shut my eyes again. My heart was thudding away and suddenly it was all too much and I was on the verge of disgracing myself.
He bent and whispered in my ear. ‘I have doughnuts. Ta-dah!’
My eyes flew open. ‘Are you serious? After what happened last time?’
‘The Technical Section never quits.’
I looked around. ‘They’re not here, are they?’
He grinned. ‘Would you like them to be? I could have them here in seconds.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ I said, gathering the faint remnants of my dignity around me. ‘We don’t want to frighten the horses.’
‘I do,’ he said softly, backing me against the console. ‘I want to frighten the horses into a fit of the screaming abdabs.’
I gathered my scattered thoughts. ‘Screaming what? Is that a technical expression?’
‘It is indeed. It’s what happens when we do this. And this. And . . . this.’
I took a deep breath and told my abdab to behave itself.
‘So, what about it?’
‘Sorry – I’ve lost the plot a little. What about what?’
‘Doughnuts.’
‘There was sugar all over the bed last time,’ I said primly. ‘We had to sleep on the floor.’
‘Not a problem this time. You won’t be sleeping at all.’
‘Are you sure? I’m very tired, you know.’ I yawned theatrically. ‘Time for bed.’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
I was swept off my feet. It wasn’t unpleasant. I put my arms around his neck. ‘Just in case you drop me.’
He set off towards the sleeping module.
‘Wait. Stop.’
He spun us around. ‘What? What’s the matter?’
‘You forgot the doughnuts.’ I nodded towards the bag on the console.
‘Seriously?’
‘You’re the one who brought them.’
‘That’s true, but I had imagined them more as an aid to foreplay than an actual snack . . .’
I seized the bag and peered inside. Two leaking jammy ones and a ring doughnut. All of them still warm. ‘What’s the ring doughnut for?’
He smiled down at me and my heart plopped about like a landed fish. ‘You’re really not bright, are you?’
‘Ah.’
I do know that the accepted method of describing this sort of thing is to warble on about spinning galaxies, crashing waves, towering passions and so on, with a fair sprinkling of the word thrusting. There’s usually quite a lot of throbbing, as well. My memories are exciting but jumbled so I wouldn’t know anything about that. I do know we broke a cupholder.
And anyone who experienced a brief moment of concern regarding the fate of the jam doughnuts was perfectly justified in doing so. Their treatment was beyond cruel and unusual. The ring doughnut, though, was a star.
Afterwards, we both cried a little. I’m not saying any more.
28
Leaving them all again was unexpectedly difficult. My friends were here. It was peaceful. The weather was lovely. There was no stress, no danger. No one was shooting at anyone. No one was dying. Why wouldn’t I want to stay here forever? I found I really didn’t want to leave. I especially didn’t want to leave Leon but, in the end, Leon left me.
‘No, I can’t tell you where I’m going,’ he said, cheerfully, pulling on his boots.
‘Why not?’
‘Every husband should have secrets from his wife.’
‘You’re going after the teapot, aren’t you?’
‘With Mikey and Adrian, yes.’
I said nothing. Because once the teapot was back in play, a series of events would be set in motion from which there would be no returning. There wouldn’t even be time to sit down and have a good think about what to do if everything went tits up. Once we did this – we were in it to the end. Whatever that end might be.
I took his hand. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t have longer together.’
He took mine in both of his. ‘Max, a lot has happened to us over the years. One day one of us is going to have to live without the other. One of us is going to have to spend the rest of our life alone. It will happen, but we can tak
e comfort from knowing that we never wasted a second of the time we had together. Every moment was worth it.’ He kissed my hair. ‘One day . . . perhaps not so long from now, this will be over and we’ll be together again. I promise you.’
Time to be brave. ‘I know.’
‘Our lives will get better, Max.’
‘I know.’
‘And I love you.’
‘I know.’
‘Will you come and see me off?’
‘Of course. Every wife always wants to know when her husband’s safely out of the picture.’
‘And I gather you’re on the move, too.’
‘Yes. Because of what’s happening at St Mary’s, Dr Bairstow’s moved the schedule forwards. I’m going back to TPHQ.’
‘Give my love to Matthew. How’s he doing?’
‘He broke the Time Map.’
‘The boy’s a vandal. He gets more like his mother every day.’
‘And then showed them how to put it right.’
‘The boy’s a genius. He gets more like his father every day.’ He began to lace up his boots again and then turned to look at me. ‘Max – if this doesn’t work . . .’
‘I’m not even thinking about it. It will work. It has to work – therefore it will.’
‘Is this the world according to the History Department?’
‘Hey – it works for us.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
We walked slowly to Number Six. Dieter, Adrian and Mikey were waiting for him.
‘Have you got the signalling beacon?’
They nodded at the enormous pile of crates standing nearby, ready to be loaded. ‘In there, somewhere.’
I blinked. ‘Are you taking the kitchen sink?’
‘Well, we’re not sure what condition it will be in so we’re taking everything we think we might need, plus supplies and items deemed essential by these two.’
‘And the signalling beacon,’ said Mikey. ‘Because it’s vital we can be tracked.’
Leon frowned. ‘And you will be. A little more confidence in the Technical Section, please. The signal will work perfectly.’
‘And it’s configured to give more or less the same signal as our old radiation leak,’ said Adrian, for whom the words ‘radiation leak’ in no way conveyed the same apprehensions of disaster as for normal people.
‘So, you’re back to a two-hour window then?’
‘Yes, but we’re used to that. It’s not a problem.’
I turned to Leon. ‘Will it still work?’
‘If you mean your magnificent plan, isn’t it a little late in the day for doubts?’
‘I meant the teapot. It’s been hidden for some time now.’
They all exchanged the glances common to those with a technical background. ‘Yes, we’re confident it will still work, but just on the off-chance it doesn’t, Number Six will be there.’
I frowned. ‘You can jump-start a pod?’
‘We hope so. If not, we’re taking Dieter in case we have to get out and push. Ready, everyone?’
I waved them off and went to find Dr Bairstow.
A day later, I would return to Rushford and Dr Bairstow was coming with me.
Markham escorted us back to Number Five. It was another lovely day which, somehow, made the damage to the back right-hand corner look even worse.
Markham recoiled – which I thought was a bit of an overreaction. ‘Good Lord, Max, what have you done to it? Did Leon see that?’
‘If he did, he was polite enough not to mention it.’
‘Oh,’ he said innocently. ‘Do you think he might have had other things on his mind?’
I ignored him, saying thoughtfully, ‘Do you think someone at TPHQ could slap a bit of duct tape on it?’
He grinned. ‘Yeah, cos Leon will never notice that.’
I called for the door.
Markham put his hand on my arm. ‘Just remember I’m not going to be around to rescue you this time.’
‘What do you mean, rescue me? Surely it’s always the other way around.’
He made a rude noise and then handed me a stun gun. ‘Just in case.’
I took it gratefully.
‘It’s registered to me so don’t lose it or it’ll come out of my pay.’
Dr Bairstow turned to him. ‘I am leaving you my unit, Mr Markham. Please try not to break it.’
‘Do my best, sir, but you know what they’re like.’
‘I have every confidence that you will succeed.’
They turned to face each other. I’d never seen Markham look so solemn. ‘Director, you are relieved.’
Dr Bairstow nodded. ‘Director, I stand relieved. Good luck, Mr Markham.’
‘Stay safe, sir.’
‘I shall endeavour to do so, but I make no promises.’
We stepped inside. I offered Dr Bairstow the driver’s seat but he refused, so I sat at the console and began to fire up the pod, very carefully laying in the coordinates. Partly because having him with me made me nervous and partly because this pod had made nine jumps – to Tilbury, London, Hunsdon, TPHQ, St Mary’s, Jerusalem, Rushford, to the remote site and now this one back to Rushford. Leon had charged the batteries for me but it wasn’t power that was the problem – it was accuracy.
Pods need servicing – there’s no other reason for keeping the Technical Section in beer and bacon butties – but mostly they need regular realigning otherwise they begin to drift. The pods, that is, not the techies, although now I come to think of it . . . Anyway, it’s not something we historians can do. We’re not even allowed to change a light bulb. I think someone did once and the pod kept drifting a decade to the left until they discovered the cause of the problem. We’d done what we could with Number Five but it was all rather in the lap of the god of historians. Not an encouraging thought.
‘Computer, initiate jump.’
‘Jump initiated.’
The world went white. It was doing a lot of that recently.
We landed in Mrs De Winter’s back garden again, to my secret relief. They must have been keeping a watch for us because the next moment we were through her back door and Sands was pouring the tea.
‘Thank you, Mr Sands,’ said Dr Bairstow, accepting a cup. ‘I trust you are well.’
‘Very well, thank you, sir.’
‘I understand work is progressing on the film of your latest book, The Time of My Life.’
Sands beamed. ‘Correct, sir.’
‘Well, that is very exciting, to be sure,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘And how is it coming along?’
‘Not too badly, sir. Obviously, a few small changes have had to be made. I think they felt St Mary’s as an organisation was rather too sedate for the image they were trying to project, because “It’s drama, darling”. And so in the film they operate out of an underground complex known as Chrono One, which is buried under a desert in Florida; they time travel by means of amulets discovered in a mysterious vault under a sinister temple in Outer Mongolia; everyone is extraordinarily good-looking and well under thirty; the women all have big bosoms and – for what I am assured are very sound production reasons – they walk around in tiny vests and tight combat trousers; everyone carries at least two weapons; their commanding officer is losing a battle against drink and drugs and her husband is a secret traitor; everyone is having huge amounts of inappropriate sex with everyone else; they kill contemporaries at a rate of seven an hour; no one ever decontaminates because it slows down the action; and they’ve changed the title to Split Second.’
There was a thoughtful silence.
‘I didn’t know they had deserts in Florida,’ said Dr Bairstow.
He spent the afternoon writing to the Time Police, inviting them to assist him in the recovery of St Mary’s and the apprehension of the person res
ponsible for the illegal Triple-S jump. We left him to it and sat in the garden for an hour. I tried not to keep falling asleep.
When he’d finished, Sands and Roberts went off to post the letter, Mrs De Winter tactfully disappeared and Dr Bairstow came to sit beside me in the sunshine.
‘Dr Maxwell, I think now would be a very good time for you to return to your colleagues at TPHQ. I think it is safe to say that over the next few days, their attention will almost certainly be focused here. You will never have a better opportunity.’
I stared. Clever, clever Dr Bairstow, utilising recent events as a legitimate excuse to get the Time Police to St Mary’s. Distracting them at the very moment when they should be paying most attention.
‘I said I would clear the way for you, Max, and I think this will do it.’
I nodded and said very carefully, ‘Sir, we are about to set in motion a series of events that, once initiated, cannot be stopped. I’m all set to go, but if St Mary’s, for whatever reason, is unable to make the rendezvous then a lot of people might die.’
‘I understand, Max. We’ll be there. You have my word on it.’
I nodded. If Dr Bairstow said he’d be there then he would be. I held out my hand. ‘In case everything goes tits up and I don’t get a chance to say it, sir, it’s been an honour and a privilege.’
‘Well. I sincerely hope it won’t go . . . er . . . tits up, Dr Maxwell, but St Mary’s thanks you for your service anyway.’
I sighed. ‘It’s a shame, though, sir. I’d rather looked forward to having a go at the idiot Halcombe myself. I had plans to pull his brains out through his nostrils with a crochet hook.’
‘I believe you may safely leave that with me, Dr Maxwell.’
‘I was going to do it really, really slowly, sir.’
‘Again, you may safely leave that with me, Dr Maxwell.’
‘With added twist, sir.’
‘Must I keep repeating myself, Dr Maxwell?’
‘Sorry, sir.’
Sands dropped me off at TPHQ that evening. We landed in a quiet corner of Battersea Park. Somewhere near the little zoo.
‘Wow,’ he said, peering at the screen. ‘The future.’
‘Not for your eyes. You’re too young.’
‘I’m a bestseller,’ he said indignantly.