by Jodi Taylor
I woke later, vaguely aware of someone climbing in beside me. I hoped it was Leon but was too far gone to care. If this was one of those books, there would now be three pages of head-banging sex. The reality was that he pulled me close, whispered, ‘Mfhbnnntx,’ and I pulled his arm over me like a cover and muttered, ‘Trout,’ and that was pretty much it.
I woke reasonably early the next morning and slowly took stock. I could see a mop of dark hair on the pillow beside me. I lifted the sheet just to check I was in bed with the right man. Typical – our first night ever in a proper bed and both of us too knackered to do anything about it.
I listened carefully and could just faintly hear crockery being bashed about. Mrs De Winter was up and in the kitchen. I slipped out of bed, splashed water on my face, dressed and padded downstairs.
Pushing open the kitchen door, I was astonished to see the Boss limping around, laying the table for breakfast. He looked up. ‘Good morning, Miss Maxwell. Would you like some tea? The kettle has just boiled.’
‘Um …’
‘I didn’t get a chance last night to say how pleasant it is to see you again. Please, come in and sit a moment.’
I didn’t work for him any more and for a brief, suicidal moment considered asserting my independence and remaining standing. Good sense and cowardice prevailed.
‘You left abruptly last night.’
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘I was tired.’
‘Really?’
Time to put the record straight. ‘I’ve been dismissed, sir. I was chucked out. Hurled out, actually. On top of that, I’m guilty of stealing government property from a secure establishment, consorting with St Mary’s personnel after having been expressly forbidden to do so and contravening …Well, I’m always guilty of contravening something, so just fill in the blank space with the contravention of your choice.’
‘Miss Maxwell, you have been, still are and always will be a member of St Mary’s. I regard you as one of the key members of my unit and it would cause me considerable concern (and surprise) if, at any point, you weren’t contravening something, somewhere.’
I couldn’t look at him. He watched me for a while and then said quietly, ‘I understand.’ I snatched a glance. He was Dr Bairstow and because he was Dr Bairstow he really did understand. He leaned forward. ‘Return to St Mary’s and I’ll give you what you want.’
‘And that would be?’
‘Isabella Barclay.’
I used the long pause to pull myself together. Then I nodded. He refilled my mug, poured out a second one for the Chief and said, ‘Breakfast in one hour.’
I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ but also, because he was Dr Bairstow, he had to have the last word.
‘Miss Maxwell.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Grow your hair.’
‘Already on it, sir!’ and whisked myself out of the door before he could say anything else. Normal service had been resumed.
Back in my room he was just pulling himself into a sitting position and thumping his pillows. I handed him his tea and said, ‘Hi, how are you feeling?’
‘I was a little worried it was a dream, but no, here you are and with tea. Do you have to work at being so perfect?’
‘No, it’s effortless.’
I got settled and looked at him. He still looked thin and exhausted, but the awful grey look had gone.
‘I like the beard.’
He rubbed his raspy chin. ‘Oh, that’s going as soon as I can lay my hands on a razor.
I rubbed my spiky hair. ‘I know the feeling,’ and he laughed which was good to hear, but there was some awkwardness.
He said, ‘You don’t look so good.’
Now was the moment to say. Now was the moment to tell him. Say something. Now. I bottled out. ‘Chest infection, but all gone now,’ and sipped my tea.
To break the silence, he said, ‘I know what happened to me. What happened to you?’
I cuddled my tea. ‘Oh, you know … bitchfight with Barclay, chucked out, flat in Rushford, Mrs De Winter, found the remote, stole the pod, came to rescue my boys. Same old same old.’
He grinned at me from under his tousled hair. His eyes looked very bright. ‘I’ve got to know – tell me about the bitchfight. Were you wearing leather? Was there mud?’
I couldn’t help laughing. ‘You wish! It was quite dull actually. Nowhere near fantasy standards.’
‘I don’t understand why you went to Rushford. Why on earth didn’t you go to Thirsk like good ex-employees are supposed to do?’
I snapped in justifiable exasperation. ‘Well and so I would have done if I had known, but since I got marched out of the place with less than an hour’s notice and with barely the clothes I stood up in, there wasn’t time to say goodbye to anyone, let alone conduct an exit interview.’
No sooner were the words out than I realised I had said too much. I’m hopeless.
‘Wait! You didn’t get the month’s notice?’
‘No.’
‘The twelve months employment at Thirsk?’
‘No.’
‘The references? The employment history?’
‘Again, no.’
He was angry now. I could see it in his eyes.
‘So now tell me what really happened.’
My natural instinct is to keep secrets. Not to make things any worse. On the other hand, he’d told me his secrets. Now I should tell him mine. To make it easier for me, I didn’t look at him. He got nearly everything, although I did try to play it down a little. In this quiet, warm room it didn’t seem real. I described the black mould, trying to make that funnier than it was, too. Some vain attempt to divert the conversation, I suppose.
He said nothing the whole time and even though I knew better, I kept talking to fill the silence.
‘So the mould got bigger and annexed the bedroom, but that was OK because I was into one room living by then anyway, so I could lie in bed and watch TV. And I thought it was working, because I woke one night feeling quite hot and although I had a bit of a temperature, I was quite pleased because I was warm. Which was really stupid, because it was a chest infection and it got worse and my chest hurt a bit and I got hotter so I thought I’d better go and maybe get some antibiotics. So I went to the free clinic and I thought they’d just give me something and chuck me out again, but they didn’t and I was in there five days, I suppose because of all the upheaval and not eating much which wasn’t really my fault and I was too fat anyway.
They kept me as long as they could, but they wanted the bed, so I went into town because it didn’t matter any more and met Mrs De Winter, who offered me a room here for a little while. I felt a bit guilty, but she insisted and I was glad not to have to go back and face the mould again. And she gave me the photo and your Trojan Horse, which I’d had to leave behind and I was so happy to have them and then the remote fell out onto the table, so I worked out the co-ordinates while Mrs De Winter got the supplies together. But I couldn’t get any closer than eleven days, no matter how hard I tried, because the computer just wouldn’t accept it. So I whopped in the closest co-ordinates I could get, crossed all my fingers and punched it and when I saw the devastation outside I really thought I was too late; but I’m not good enough to override your computer’s safety protocols and I just couldn’t get any nearer than eleven days and I’m really sorry.’
I stopped then because I was going blue.
There was the most appalling silence. I mean, really awful. It wasn’t just him not saying anything; it was things not being said, if that makes sense. And it went on for ages. I wondered what, out of my pathetic catalogue of catastrophe, he would pull out first. I put my fist to my chest and tried not to cough.
‘What do you mean, ‘Because it didn’t matter any more’?’
Of everything, I hadn’t expected that. ‘What?’
‘You said, ‘I went into town because it didn’t matter.’ What was that all about?’
All that gabble and he picked on that one little ph
rase. Tell him. Tell him now.
I drew a ragged breath and said, ‘Because you were gone. St Mary’s was gone. Everything was gone. I had no money, no job and no way of getting one. I was cold and ill. I was head sick and heartsick and nothing really mattered any more. You said, ‘I knew you would come,’ as if I’d done something marvellous, but I got it all wrong. You guys are alive through your own efforts, not mine.’
‘So, you get discharged from hospital, still not recovered from a serious illness at … what … eleven am? You stop for a quick lunch, meet a friend, steal a pod from a top-security establishment, do a series of complex equations and an hour later you’re skipping around the Cretaceous, rescuing four men and facing down the world’s greatest predator with a can of pepper spray and a hard look. I think you’re pretty amazing.’
I smiled, shook my head, had a good cough and finished my tea. We weren’t talking about what we really should be.
‘So Max, how are you? Really?’
Now was the moment to tell him. I bottled out – again.
‘Really, really glad to see you again.’
The moment passed. He leaned over and took the photo from the bedside table. ‘I remember this.’
I took it from him and traced my finger around the frame again, then gave it back to him.
‘Is this all you brought from St Mary’s?’
‘No, they wouldn’t let me take it away.’ We both knew by ‘they’, I meant Bitchface Barclay. ‘I only saw it again yesterday.’
He smiled, looking down at the photo. ‘That day seems such a long time ago now. I never forgot your face. I saw it every time I closed my eyes. Whatever you say, I knew you would come. I told the others you would come. You may not think so, but you were saving us long before you arrived with just a bad attitude and a photo to remind you of what I look like.’
‘I don’t need a photo to know how you look. I know how you look. I know how you sound. I know when you enter a room without lifting my head. I know how I feel when you touch me. I don’t need a photo for any of that. I love the photo and I love the horse because you gave them to me.’
In the silence I thought, Shit, shit, shit. There must be women on this planet who know when to shut up. Why can’t I be one of them?
‘Max, look at me. Look at me.’ There was something wrong with his voice. I looked at him. There was something wrong with my eyes.
And I still didn’t tell him.
Breakfast was a lively meal. I listened with one ear to the banter, helped Markham as he scattered his food over the table, caught Leon’s eye occasionally and all the time I was thinking.
Finally, after about an hour and just as the toaster began to overheat, we got down to talking about how to get back to St Mary’s. I had something tickling at the back of my mind. It had been in there for months and I’d been too apathetic to chase it out. I knew though, that if I dived in after it then it would vanish in a puff of smoke, so I left it and drifted into my own world.
I was jolted back by a shout of laughter and Peterson saying, ‘…so after that, the four of us went south again …’ And I suddenly knew what it was and it was far, far worse than anything I could have imagined.
I sat quietly while I worked it out in my head, not wanting to speak before I was sure. I really thought I kept my face fairly neutral, but silence made me look up. Everyone was staring at me.
‘Sir, can I speak to you for a moment please?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, rising from his chair. ‘Shall we get some fresh air?’
‘Back in a minute,’ I said vaguely, following him out.
We walked slowly around the garden. It was cold but sunny. We reached the end of the path and stared at the compost heap. It seemed appropriate.
I took my time and let it out slowly. No gabbling this time. And I moderated my language. This was business and it was important. I described what happened after he was carted off to Sick Bay. He didn’t seem much surprised so I guessed he’d heard most of it before.
I talked about Barclay’s appearance, her throwing up, her refusal to send a search party, her insistence they were dead.
He shifted his weight. ‘What’s your point, Miss Maxwell?’
I was reluctant to make it. ‘Well, sir, as far as I can remember her exact words were, ‘They’re dead. All four of them.’’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, the thing is, how did she know there were four of them? Markham was one of mine. I reported him missing before she arrived back. I’m reluctant to say this, sir, because I loathe the woman, but I think at some point during that night, she must somehow have seen them, the four of them out there in the chaos, heard you were down, seized the opportunity and jumped back alone. In one stroke she cleared you, Farrell and Guthrie out of her way. She appointed herself Caretaker Director knowing full well there was no one else and it would be made permanent. The only impediment was me and she’d sacked me less than twenty minutes after her return. She had to. I’d have been back to the Cretaceous as soon as her back was turned and she knew it. And as for Miss Black, I’m guessing she just wound her up until she snapped and left, taking Mr Dieter with her. You’ve got to admit sir, it’s flawless. Ruthless but flawless.’
He stared at me. ‘One moment please.’
He took out his phone, moved away from me and talked quietly for a few minutes. I turned tactfully away and watched a robin jumping about. He put his phone away and came back, his face empty.
‘Are you aware Miss Barclay has filed a report claiming she saw the bodies?’
‘Has she indeed? Then we’ve got her.’
‘As per our previous conversation, Miss Maxwell, I would like you to deal with this matter. In public and with prejudice.’
‘Happy to oblige, sir and with extreme prejudice.’
We spent the rest of the day talking things over and making a plan. We could, of course, just march through the front door but that wouldn’t be half so much fun. We were going to do things the St Mary’s way.
Ian Guthrie took me to one side. ‘If you have any trouble with security,’ he said quietly, ‘just say, “Hawthorn”.’
‘Why? What does it mean?’
‘Just say it and they’ll leave you alone. Don’t ask any more questions or I’ll have to kill you.’
‘Hawthorn!’
‘Very funny!’
The next day we all crowded into the pod, even Mrs De Winter, who refused point blank to be left behind, and who could blame her. We arrived in the paint store and silently dispersed to our various positions.
This part of the building was deserted as everyone finished breakfast and assembled for the now daily staff briefings, during which, presumably, they discussed all the things they wouldn’t be doing that day. She did like the sound of her own voice.
I made my way up to the attic floors and across to the other side of the building. Quietly opening a door, I could hear a single voice, three floors down. She’d just got started. I checked my watch. Perfect.
I stepped off the threadbare carpet and began to walk slowly down the wooden stairs, knowing from personal experience just how noisy they could be. I walked very slowly, partly to buy time and partly to build suspense.
Reaching the landing, I turned and started down the next flight. My slow unhurried footsteps echoed ahead of me. Downstairs, I heard her voice pause for a moment and then resume on a slightly sharper note. People’s attention was wandering, which was probably punishable by death under the new regime.
Now I walked along the gallery, keeping close to the wall so I was still invisible from the Hall. Another half dozen steps and I would be at the top of the stairs.
I took a deep breath, pushed my hands deep into my coat pockets for that Clint Eastwood look, stuck my chin in the air and started down the stairs.
Showtime!
Chapter Fourteen
‘You left them, you cowardly bitch! You ran away and left them. You murdered them as surely as if you pulled a gun an
d shot them dead yourself.’
She whirled around, jaw dropping and just for an instant, I saw the panic and fear in her eyes and I knew I was right. I felt my heart-rate drop and I got very cold. This bitch was going down.
‘Maxwell! How did you get in here?’
I spoke very quietly because the more quietly you speak, the more people listen. Convinced it was about to hear something good, St Mary’s collectively leaned forward.
‘I regret that due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been unable to present my final report on what has turned out to be St Mary’s last mission.’
I moved to her lectern, picked up her pile of notes and dropped them contemptuously on the floor without looking at them. Dr Bairstow never needed a lectern.
‘Allow me to rectify this omission.’
She made a sudden movement and then stepped back. She’d obviously decided to allow me enough rope to hang myself.
I took a long, deep breath and forced myself to speak slowly and deliberately, as if I really was presenting my report.
‘At approximately 2200 hours local time, three pods, Numbers Three, Five and Six touched down at a pre-programmed location in the Cretaceous period, some 67 million years ago.
‘Acting on instructions, Miss Barclay, now Director Barclay, of course, assembled and fired an EMP device and once our opponents were rendered electronically helpless, security teams were despatched to inflict as much damage as possible during the 20 minute length of the mission.
‘An unforeseen result of the firing of this pulse (although possibly not unforeseen by Director Barclay), was that it caused the cages containing the captured dinosaurs to unlock, thus releasing some 20-30 dangerous predators into the scene of operations.
‘As you can imagine, St Mary’s personnel began to make their way back to their pods with all possible speed.
‘However …’ I paused. You could have heard an earthworm sneeze. I had everybody’s rapt attention.