JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER

by Jodi Taylor

He nodded and sighed. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Tim – thanks.’

  He glowered at the Chief. ‘Don’t take any crap from him,’ and wandered unsteadily away.

  I managed to get myself up the stairs and into my room. It was still a bit of a shock to see how bare it looked. I’d made the bed and my smelly sports bag lay in the corner. I heard Mrs Partridge. ‘Do your laundry, Miss Maxwell!’ My books still littered the floor where Peterson had left them.

  I didn’t sit down. I stood in the middle of the room so he would make it quick, folded my arms and said, ‘How can I help you?’

  He leaned a hip against the couch for support and seemed unsure what to say. I hated this. I didn’t want any more messy emotions or feelings. Just get it over with. But he didn’t, so I said, ‘Chief, I can understand why you want to go. I want to leave, myself. We both need a new beginning. It was fun, but it was a mistake and I can see now why the Boss discourages workplace relationships. Surely we don’t have to make this any more difficult than it is. I’m sorry you feel you have to go. St Mary’s loss is the Space Programme’s gain. I hope, not too far into the future, you’ll be able to look back at – everything – and find a few happy memories.’

  OK, not my best, but I was drunk, battered, stressed and distressed. Full house again! He jerked upright, stared at me a moment and then said, in a voice that cracked so much I hardly recognised it, ‘I don’t want to be only a memory. I know you can’t … you don’t … it’s not easy for you, but it’s not easy for me either. I don’t want much. I just want you to tell me you love me sometimes.’

  I shook my head. ‘Yes, you see, I can’t do that.’ He turned his head away. ‘I love you all the time.’

  He made to speak, but suddenly his chest heaved and he collapsed onto the arm of the couch, coughing out terrible, racking, dry sobs. He covered his face with his hands. I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t know what to do. I walked up to him, put my arms around him and rested my cheek on top of his head and made a discovery.

  Some behaviour is contagious. Yawn in front of me and I’m at it for the rest of the day. And vomiting. If I so much as hear someone heave I’m barfing up everything I’ve eaten in the past ten years. Now I discovered a third behaviour. Crying. Even as I stood with him, something forced its way up through my chest. And again. And again. It was uncontrollable. I couldn’t stop. He put his arms around me and we cried together.

  It wasn’t romantic. This was no gentle mingling of tears. This was painful and raw and wet. My tears ran down into his hair, his were soaking the front of my T-shirt, which was pretty well covered in body fluids anyway. After a while, we slowed down, but he didn’t let go. He really was in a bit of a state and he hadn’t been in good condition when he came in. I couldn’t let anyone see him like this.

  I persuaded him to let go, went into the bathroom and wet a flannel with warm water. I gently washed his face and hands, got his boots off and put him to bed. He went out like a light.

  Things were a bit more difficult for me. I’d never cried like that before and it was every bit as unpleasant as I’d always thought it would be. My head throbbed (although that may have been the drink), my sinuses were blocked and my throat raw. I looked terrible and my chest and hands hurt. I wasn’t going to be doing that again anytime soon. I made a quiet cup of tea and sat down to pack up my books again. Half an hour later I’d finished and there was still no way I was going to be able to sleep and, besides, my bed was occupied. I looked round for something else to do.

  My sports bag. I pulled it over and began to sort out the stinky mess inside. The bag itself went out on to the roof to air. I clumsily turned out all my pockets and stuffed everything into my laundry bag. That left my jacket; burnt and ripped, but still the only one I had. I started to feel the pockets, but something had gone down a hole in the lining. I fished around, finally locating it in an armpit, yanked it out and everything in the world changed. For ever.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I honestly thought I was going to faint.

  What a day this was turning out to be.

  I held on to the back of the couch and tried to breathe deeply. It didn’t help. I sat down and leaned forward, putting my head between my knees. It works better if you put your head between someone else’s knees, but after a while my head cleared. I sat up and opened my hand. You would not have thought such a tiny thing could change the world.

  I was looking at a fir cone. Not a big one; about three or four inches long and having easily as bad a day as me. It was almost completely burned away on one side and quite badly charred on the other. I put it gently down on the table, rubbed my face with my hands and tried to think. A few minutes later, I got up and quietly put the kettle on again. My thoughts were all over the place so I sat back and let my mind wander as it wanted.

  About twenty minutes later, I got up and found pen and paper. I jotted words at random. I drew lines to connect them. It took an hour because I was slow and clumsy. My hands hurt too much to type so I fired up my data table and dictated quietly. It was the middle of the night. I sat in a little pool of light and changed the world.

  I took what I had, awkwardly built my data stack, indexed and colour coded. My thoughts were on fire and the words just presented themselves as I needed them. I read it through, drew a couple of organisational charts, wrote the introduction and a conclusion and sat back. Only now was I conscious of how cold and tired and stiff I felt. I read it through again and couldn’t think how to improve it any more. I headed the file, Boss – this will rock your world! Obviously not completely sober yet then and sent it off to him.

  Dawn was not far away and I was far to strung-up to sleep. I made another cup of tea and took it into the bathroom. I lay in hot water for an hour, wondering if I’d missed anything, got out and dressed in the old sweats which were all I had left. Farrell still hadn’t moved, so I checked he wasn’t dead, grabbed my battered old jacket and quietly let myself out.

  Sitting on the stairs I activated my com and called the long-suffering Peterson. It took a while but eventually his voice said, ‘What?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Strangely, I’m in bed.’

  ‘Get up, I need you.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Something important and I need to speak to you as soon as possible.’

  ‘Dining room. Five minutes. Have coffee.’

  He looked awful. Wet hair standing on end and still in last night’s rumpled clothes. I handed him coffee.

  Jenny Fields, the kitchen assistant, was on earlies. I said, ‘Bacon sandwiches please, Jenny. Quick as you can.’

  I took him to a table.

  ‘Tim, are you with me? I need you to concentrate. This is vital.’

  Something in my voice must have got through to him because he took a good swig of coffee, closed his eyes briefly and then said, ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Cast your mind back to the Cretaceous.’ He nodded. ‘Ok, you’re at the tree line, looking towards the pod. I’m holding up the blaster.’ I mimed holding up a blaster. He nodded. ‘I’m racing off away from the pod. There’s a bloody big lizard chasing me and the Chief and Guthrie are chasing the lizard. You get Markham into the pod. Are you with me so far?’ He nodded.

  I leaned forward. ‘What happened next? Tell me everything. In as much detail as you can.’

  He was such a good friend. He asked no questions. Closing his eyes, he said, ‘I got him into the pod and sat him down. I went back to the door which I’d left open because you’d be coming back in a hurry but I didn’t want anything else getting in. I could just see you ducking and diving. You were in a hollow and –’

  ‘Never mind me. What did you do?’

  ‘I stood by the door and watched. I smelled burning. Your jacket was beginning to smoulder. I stamped on it.’ He stopped.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I heard shouting. I looked over and everything was running back towards the pod. I grabbed your jacket off t
he ground, shook out the all the wood and cones and checked around quickly to make sure everything was inside – worst FOD plod ever. I threw your jacket into the pod and jumped in after it. The three of you appeared – you fell in through the door. I went down and you landed on top of me and Guthrie fell on top of you. Someone got the door closed and said –’

  ‘No, never mind. That’s the bit I wanted.’

  The bacon sandwiches arrived and we both realised we were famished. He cut my sarnie up for me. He had more coffee. I had more tea. He went back for more sarnies. When he sat down he asked, ‘Any chance of knowing what this is all about?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said and opened my hand to show him the burned pine cone. For a long while he just stared – as I had done. I watched the blood drain from his face – as mine had done. ‘Oh my God,’ he gasped. ‘Oh my God. Oh my God.’

  ‘Sh!’ I said looking over my shoulder as people started coming in for the early shift.

  ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘Well, I have a theory. This is what I wanted to talk to you about. Come into the library.’ We found a quiet corner. The place was deserted anyway, but I was feeling cautious. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever said that. I spoke for about half an hour, just giving him the outline. At the end I asked ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Bloody hell, Max, what do I think? I think this changes everything. I think … I think we won’t be leaving in three days.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed.

  ‘When are you going to tell the Boss?’

  ‘I already have. I was up all night writing a proposal, outlining future developments and restructuring his unit. He’s going to have a hell of a shock when he opens his emails this morning.’

  ‘Wish I could see his face.’

  ‘You will. This is all your doing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you’re the one who somehow got this little fellow caught in my jacket lining, thus bringing something out of its own timeline for the first time ever. You did this, Tim. All I did was get in the way.

  ‘Just think. It gets caught in my jacket. I bring it back to Rushford. I’m too lazy to give my jacket to Mrs De Winter to clean as she asked me to. We might have lost it then. I’m wearing it when I go to Sick Bay. If I’d changed there, as they wanted, we might have lost it again. I’m still wearing the jacket when Weasel has a go at me and it gets kicked across the room. Suppose someone had trodden on it. And finally, I can’t sleep. I’m looking for things to do and I hear Mrs Partridge, clear as day, say, ‘Do your laundry Miss Maxwell,’ and then and only then do I find this little chap – on his last legs but hanging in there, safe in St Mary’s at last.’

  We regarded the little chap fondly. ‘Yes,’ said Peterson, ‘but that’s just it, isn’t it. It’s the fact that he’s on his last legs that made it possible.’

  He’d got it!

  ‘I’m going to take some coffee upstairs,’ I said, casually. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘You don’t drink coffee,’ he said suspiciously.

  ‘No, can’t stand the stuff.’

  I picked up a flask of coffee and two more bacon butties from the kitchen and took them upstairs. He was still sleeping like the dead. I checked him again and left them on my bedside table.

  I’d just rejoined Peterson when Mrs Partridge appeared again; clearly another woman who never slept.

  ‘I did my laundry,’ I said, before she could speak. I meant it as a joke, but the most extraordinary expression of relief spread across her face. Interesting. I would think about that later. In the meantime apparently, the Boss was requesting the pleasure of our company again.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Peterson as we bounced up the stairs.

  He regarded us from behind his desk.

  ‘I can’t remember a time when you two weren’t standing in front of me.’ I couldn’t think of a response so I grinned at him, just to annoy him some more.

  ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘I want to go through this with you both. Step by step, line by line. Firstly, I want to be absolutely certain this – object – originated from the Cretaceous period and not from the local municipal park. May I see it, please? And the jacket?’

  I spread the jacket on the desk and showed him the tear in the lining. I described how I’d bought it, lining intact, from a charity shop about a month ago. I laid the fir cone on the desk. I told him how I’d collected the cones and wrapped them in my jacket. Peterson described throwing it into the pod.

  The Boss said, ‘I’d like the Professor to take a look at this. I know there’s not a lot to work with but maybe he can identify the species, hopefully to something that hasn’t existed in the last million years or so. That would really nail it. Now, let’s get to work.’

  For two hours we went over my proposals. He challenged every line. I had to justify every word. He pushed. I pushed back. I made my case from every angle possible, advanced every argument I could think of. It was tough – the Boss takes no prisoners.

  Peterson, bless him, stuck with me every inch of the way as we slogged through it. I watched the shadows move across the carpet. Lunchtime approached. My mouth got dry and Peterson grew hoarse. I wouldn’t give an inch. I stopped defending and went on the offensive. I questioned St Mary’s established practices and challenged existing thinking. I was in mid-rant when he raised his hand.

  ‘Enough.’

  He stared out of the window for a while. ‘I will speak to my senior staff this afternoon. Please report to me at six this evening. Thank you for your time.’ And that was it.

  ‘What do you think?’ I asked Peterson as we headed for food and drink.

  ‘I think I’m hungry.’

  ‘But is he going to do it?’

  ‘Of course he is. It’s genius. He was just testing your commitment. Try telling him we’re leaving now!’

  Mrs Mack handed me a plate of leaves.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Mushroom omelette and salad. Doctor’s orders.’

  ‘But it’s green.’

  ‘Green food is good for you’

  ‘Can’t I have mint choc-chip ice-cream instead?’

  ‘And this is a glass of orange juice.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And you too, Mr Peterson.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘And if you eat it all up, there’s a gooseberry crumble with your name on it.’ I knew she wouldn’t let us down.

  ‘I’m off to see Helen,’ he said, when we’d finished. I looked at him. He blushed slightly. ‘We have more catching up to do.’

  ‘You’ll go blind,’ I said and we parted.

  He was sitting up in bed drinking coffee from the flask I’d brought. The bacon butties had vanished. He looked much better, as people tend to do when they’ve got fat, calories, salt, sugar and cholesterol inside them. Bleary and unshaven, but better. I dragged up a chair and put my feet up on the bed. We looked at each other and proceeded to tread carefully.

  He raised his mug. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ I took a deep breath. ‘How did you know?’

  He sighed. ‘I went to debrief her. There’s something we need to know. Whissell was guarding her. I thought there might be a problem getting her to talk. As it turned out, I couldn’t shut her up. She couldn’t wait to tell me. I don’t know what you ever did to her, but she really doesn’t like you.’

  ‘How did she know?’

  ‘She was in the next cubicle receiving treatment. Whissell was with her. They heard every word you said.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  I thought I might pay her a little visit.

  He was evasive. ‘Not here.’

  Actually, did I care?

  ‘So,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘What’s happening in the world?’

  ‘I’ve submitted a proposal to the Boss and he’s considering it. He wants to see his senior staff this afternoon.’

  ‘I’ll finish this and take myself off.’
r />   ‘No rush.’

  A pause.

  ‘So, how are you?’

  I started to say, ‘Absolutely fi–’ and then realised my mistake. I took a deep breath. ‘I’m tired. Really, really tired. Tired to the bone. I’m lost. I don’t know where I am in the world. I don’t know if I’m a hero or a villain. I do know my world is full of grief and loss and pain and that nothing will ever be the same again.’

  He nodded.

  ‘And how do you feel?’

  His eyes went dark again. ‘Ashamed. I broke the thing I loved most in the world. I can never get that back.

  I remembered again the anger and fear I’d felt with Weasel, the red urge to destroy everything in my path. To assuage my own pain and hurt by lashing out at those around me.

  I said, ‘Yes you can. It never went away,’ and sat next to him on the bed. He put his arm round me and laid his head on my hair.

  He said quietly, ‘I’m very sorry.’

  ‘You weren’t yourself. None of us were. I think everyone went a little crazy.’

  ‘Please, tell me. Tell me what really happened to you, Lucy.’

  I took a long, deep breath. ‘I’m not sure. By the time I could understand what they were telling me, it was too late.’

  I closed my eyes and talked and talked and pretended not to notice his tears plopping down into my hair.

  When I woke, he was gone. I showered and shot off to see the Boss.

  Peterson was waiting for me with Mrs Partridge. We went straight in. The Boss sat with Major Guthrie, Professor Rapson and Chief Farrell. The table was covered with disks, cubes, sticks, scratchpads, papers, files. They had the look of people who’d been at it all afternoon.

  ‘Good evening,’ said the Boss. ‘As you can see we’ve discussed everything very thoroughly. Gentlemen, does anyone have anything to add? No? Miss Maxwell, there will be an all-staffer at eleven tomorrow morning, at which you will present your proposals. Then we’ll take things from there.’

  I was surprised. ‘I think it will be better coming from you, sir, ‘I said.

  ‘No, I want you to do it.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said.

  Bloody hell!