Chronicles of St Mary's 03 - A Second Chance, page 23
I stopped thinking about myself.
I could tell him to hold on. That he had a wonderful future ahead of him. That he was loved and would love again. That all this would pass.
No, I couldn’t.
I began to wonder if, instead of a golden opportunity—a second chance—this was some sort of punishment.
‘Do we have enough power for some tea?’
‘I’m afraid not. I can offer you some water, though.’
‘Thank you.’
Nearly being killed always makes me thirsty.
He passed me a mug of tepid water.
I sipped and thought. I couldn’t be that reckless. If I said or did anything to change his future, the whole of reality might just roll up and disappear. I’d been given a second chance. A chance to say goodbye to the man snatched from me with so much unsaid and I couldn’t take it. Life’s a bastard.
The wind roared again, or it might have been thunder. It was hard to tell the difference in here. The noise outside only emphasised the silence inside.
Well, if I couldn’t talk to him, at least I could look at him. I opened my eyes. He was looking directly at me. To find myself staring into those familiar blue-grey eyes was disconcerting. I tried to smile politely.
‘You seem familiar,’ he said. ‘I haven’t seen you at St Mary’s. Have we met?’
Not yet .
‘I don’t recall,’ I said, evasively. ‘Perhaps we’ve met in another time. Have you been on many assignments?’
He shook his head. ‘One or two. I’m only recently qualified.’
I looked around. ‘No wingman?’
‘No. I came alone.’
‘Well, I’m very grateful.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything better than water. With luck, this will soon pass.’
‘Sorry to have to tell you this, but it probably won’t. I’ve been here before. This could go on for days.’
He looked startled.
‘Is that a problem for you—Leon?’
‘No, it’s just …’
The words, What am I going to do with you for days? hung unspoken above our heads.
I didn’t dare smile.
I was slowly beginning to get myself back together again. The shock of his sudden appearance was subsiding as training and instinct took over. I told myself it was enough just to see him again. I should just accept whatever gift had been given me and be grateful.
A particularly loud crash of thunder made us both jump.
‘So, Leon, tell me about yourself.’
He met this invitation to chat with silence. I should have remembered he wasn’t good with open questions. I tried again.
‘Have you been qualified long?’
‘About six months.’
‘What’s your speciality? Mine is Ancient Civilisations.’
‘Engineering.’
‘Oh. That’s—unusual.’
He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.’
Oh, no. No, no, no. That wasn’t good. Never mind me changing his future—it looked as if he was about to do that all by himself.
‘Don’t you like it?’
‘When I joined they were full of how important the work was and my vital contribution. So far, all I’ve done is a bit of bread and butter stuff with Teddy. And this, of course.’
‘Well, I’ll say it again, Leon. No matter how trivial you think today has been, I’m still grateful. I wouldn’t have lasted long out there. If the storm hadn’t got me then the indigenous fauna would. Thank you.’
He shrugged again.
I asked, ‘So, what’s next?’
I meant—what’s next now? As in something to eat, maybe, but he misunderstood me.
‘The next assignment is even worse. I have to leave something somewhere for some schoolgirl to find. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone by then.’
I stared at him, struck dumb with shock. That schoolgirl was me. I was that schoolgirl and he was saying that the defining event of my life didn’t matter? The one event on which my whole future depended and he couldn’t be bloody bothered? I felt a surge of fear and anger that surprised me. Delayed shock from Ronan, I guessed.
Years ago, when I was a kid, I was hiding in my wardrobe when I discovered a book about Henry V and the Battle of Agincourt. It changed my life. It probably saved my life. I read it until it nearly fell apart. It awoke my love of History. That book set my feet on the path that led to St Mary’s. And here was the man who supposedly left it for me saying he couldn’t be bloody bothered.
‘Well, who’s too precious to get down and dirty with the rest of us?’
‘What?’
‘How long have you been at St Mary’s? Long enough, surely, to realise the importance of what we do. Do you seriously think they’d send you on a mission—any mission—that wasn’t absolutely vital?’
I was really angry now. I’d sometimes wondered what my life would have been like if I’d never got away. None of the scenarios ended well. The thought of one of them becoming my reality was too much for me to think about calmly. I rushed to speak.
‘Get over yourself, Leon. Who are you to say what assignment is or isn’t too trivial to undertake?’
Even in the dim light, I could see him flush. Whether with anger or embarrassment, I was unable to determine. But I’d said too much. Shut up, Maxwell.
‘You don’t understand,’ he began.
‘Oh yes I do. Historians get down and dirty, Leon. Get used to it. We go where we’re told and do what we’re told.’ Astonishingly, this barefaced lie did not get me struck down by the god of historians. I made a gesture of disgust. ‘This is what happens when you give the job to a bloody engineer.’
Much more of this and the engineer was going to open the door and fling the historian back out into the storm. And maybe he should. I was so disappointed in him. We’d never talked much about his early years at St Mary’s. I’d always assumed he didn’t want to relive that dreadful time after his family died. I’d imagined him struggling on, slowly rebuilding his life with the quiet courage so characteristic of him. I struggled to reconcile this haggard, unhappy, bitter individual with the quiet, gentle man who had made my soul sing.
He was angry. ‘Who are you to judge me? What gives you the right? Bloody smug, self-satisfied, better-than-everyone-else historians! May I point out that in this case, the historian would be dead if it wasn’t for the engineer?’
True. I sat silent.
‘Nothing to say?’
‘I don’t really know what to say. I thought … It doesn’t matter. I’m just—disappointed.’
I finished the water, swivelled the seat away from him, and contemplated the dark screen. God knows what damage I’d just done. He’d drop me off, storm back to his own St Mary’s, stamp straight out of the gates, and drink himself to death, just as he was doing when St Mary’s found him.
Perhaps it would have been better if I had died with Ronan. People can live too long. Edward III lived long enough to see his vast French possessions slip from his senile grasp. His great-grandson, Henry V, had the sense to die young. It was too late for me to die young, but I could at least die youngish.
I can’t describe the sour taste of disillusionment.
I got up and sat on the floor, in the corner, as far from him as I could get. I’d wait here until the storm ended, go back to St Mary’s, give in my notice, and run far and fast from my inevitable fate. It wouldn’t work. If he didn’t leave that book for me to find then there would be no escape for me.
It was dim inside the pod, but something must have shown in my face, because he got up, paused for a moment, and then crouched beside me.
‘Are you all right?’
I’m absolutely fine is the standard St Mary’s response to any crisis, ranging from a broken fingernail to decapitation, but not this time. Maybe now was the time for complete truth.
‘I’m angry because something similar happened to me. I found something that changed my life and I was just thinking how bad my own life would have been if the person who delivered my—thing—couldn’t even be bothered to turn up.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but I think you’re over-dramatising this. Anyone from St Mary’s could do it. It doesn’t have to be me. So long as it does get delivered, it doesn’t matter by whom.’
‘Oh, Leon, for God’s sake. You just don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what?’
‘That it has to be you. Because you’re special.’
Something big clattered against the side of the pod.
He took a deep breath. ‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He said bitterly, ‘There’s nothing special about me.’
‘I disagree.’
‘I think perhaps gratitude has caused you to exaggerate my abilities, somewhat.’
When you’ve really screwed something up, the secret is to jump in with both feet and make it worse. It’s called The Maxwell Way.
‘I don’t think so. I can see that at the moment life for you is—not very good. But you’ll get past this. There is a possibility you’ll go on to have a wonderful life, full of achievement. Respected professionally. Liked by everyone. Loved.’
He sat very still in the darkness. The storm raged outside while I played Russian Roulette with our futures inside.
I went on. ‘You maybe haven’t been around long enough to realise that cause and effect are interchangeable. If you don’t do this thing—this assignment with the book—then you may not have that life. But if you do, if you save this one person, the result could be your own salvation.’
‘I didn’t say it was a book.’
Shit! Shit, shit, shit!
Shut up, Maxwell. Just shut up now. Never speak again. There is no way you can make this right.
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t.’
‘You must have, otherwise how would I have known?’
‘What did I say?’
‘I don’t remember your exact words. Was it supposed to be a secret? I promise not to tell anyone.’
He was just young enough and inexperienced enough for me to get away with this. I could almost hear him running through our conversation in his head, asking himself if maybe he had mentioned a book …
I had to deflect him and what better way than to ask him to talk about himself.
‘Leon, tell me what’s wrong.’
As I hoped, the question threw him.
‘Nothing’s wrong. Why should it be?’
‘Perhaps, when you look in a mirror, you don’t see what I see.’
He said, in a quiet, deadly little voice that would have silenced anyone with an ounce of common sense, ‘I don’t look in mirrors.’
The wind rose to a shriek and the pod trembled.
I could tiptoe around this or jump straight in. Not much of a choice, really. I’m an historian.
‘Afraid to look yourself in the eye?’
Even over the racket outside, I could hear the hiss of indrawn breath.
‘Who are you?’
Your worst nightmare was the answer to that one. As he was mine, at the moment.
Sitting in the dark, I took a huge gamble.
‘I’m the person to whom you are about to tell everything.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll see.’
I settled back and closed my eyes. He still crouched nearby. If he went back to sit in his seat—if he distanced himself from me, I’d lost.
He lowered himself to the floor and sat alongside me.
I let the silence drift on.
Outside, something shrieked briefly in the storm. He made a slight movement.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I said, without opening my eyes. ‘You’re quite safe in here. I won’t let anything hurt you,’ and held my breath.
‘Too late,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Far, far too late for that.’
I could say something profound, like—‘It’s never too late,’ and lead him gently through his maelstrom of grief and rage. Or—
‘For God’s sake, Leon, stop being such a wuss. I don’t know what your problem is but get over it, will you? You’ve got a job to do.’
A long time ago, he’d once told me that this had been the worst time for him. He’d been continually drunk, picking fights with anyone who would oblige him. It dawned on me now that I was deliberately provoking a man who was not, at present, enjoying the most stable period of his life. A man, moreover, with whom I was trapped in a small space with the world’s most hostile environment outside. Good job we historians don’t have any sort of death wish.
I tensed my muscles, ready to move quickly, should I have to.
I’d underestimated his self-control. I was going to have to push some more. I assembled every insensitive cliché I could remember and let rip.
Poking his arm, I said, ‘You need to lighten up, mate. Stop being such a misery. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake. It can’t be that bad.’
He said nothing. Damn.
‘Look, I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you need to get over it. It’s not fair on other people, you know, to have you trudging round with a face like a slapped arse. Have some consideration for others, will you?’
Still nothing.
I poked him again.
‘Come on, give us a smile.’
Finally …
He seized my wrist in a bone-crushing grip. I sat very still and tried not to gasp in pain.
‘Shut up, will you. Just—shut up.’
I carried on, apparently clueless.
‘There’s no need to take that tone. I’m just trying to help. I mean to say, Leon, at the end of the day, sometimes, it does us good to talk, so why don’t you tell me. I’m sure you’ll find, once you do, that it’s not so very bad after all and then—’
‘What do you know? What do you know about anything? What do you know of pain? Unbearable pain … that just goes on. And on. And endless grief. That never stops. Because it hurts. Everything hurts. Everything … hurts so much. It never stops. Ever. It never goes away. And I can’t bear it. I just can’t bear it any longer.’
His voice cracked. ‘You’ve no idea what you’re talking about, have you? You’re just some empty-headed historian …’ His voice broke. ‘I lost them. They’re gone. How can you understand what it’s like to be left behind? To be the one who has to carry on. You don’t know. You can’t possibly know. You can’t possibly …’
He caught hold of my other arm, shaking me in time with his words. ‘You can’t know … you can’t possibly know …’
His heart was breaking.
So was mine.
Something wet splashed on my hand. It might have been his tears—it might have been mine. Too dark to tell.
He caught his breath. ‘They’re gone. They left me.’
I know, love. You left me.
I remembered I wasn’t supposed to know any of this.
‘Who’s gone? Tell me. Who left you?’
‘All of them.’ It was a shout. ‘They all left me. They—died. That bitch. It was her fault. When I find her …’
Suddenly, the atmosphere inside the pod curdled. Before, it had been grief. Now grief had turned into something else. Something black and dangerous. All at once, I was more afraid than I had been with Ronan.
He pulled me close in the dark.
‘When I find her … and I will … she’ll pay.’
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, sarcastically. ‘Because that will bring them back, won’t it.’
He threw me. Effortlessly. I crashed against the locker doors. He picked me up before I could move and threw me again. This time I crashed into one of the chairs and it hurt.
He grabbed the front of my sweatshirt and hauled me to my feet.
I said nothing. I didn’t struggle. I placed all my faith in the good man I knew was in there somewhere.
His face was in mine. Dark and dangerous.
‘I can’t find her, but I have found you. And you’re no innocent, are you? Somewhere along the way, you’ll have deceived and lied to some poor sod. It’s what women do. And when I’ve finished, I just throw you outside and tell people you were already dead and no one will ever know.’
He had one hand at my throat and the other under my sweatshirt. I made myself stand very still. He was hurting me, but I had to stand still. His breath came in hot gasps.
I said quietly, ‘Oh, Leon, you poor man. You poor, poor man.’
At first, I didn’t think he’d heard me. Then his hands dropped. He took in a longer, deeper breath. Then another. He stepped back and saw, I think for the first time, what he had become.
He dropped. As if everything in his body had suddenly given way. As if he had just fallen apart. He fell to the floor and I went down with him. I pulled him into my arms, laid his head on my chest, and rested my cheek on the top of his head.
His silence frightened me.
I said softly, ‘Leon, let go. Just let go. I promise I’ll catch you, but it’s time to let go now.’
Chapter Eighteen
Much, much later, things had calmed down a little.
I’d ignored his protest, flipped the trip switch, and given us enough power for a cup of tea. There was no alcohol in the pod. First thing I’d checked.
We’d had the lights on only for a minute, but long enough for me to catch a glimpse of his white, worn face and haunted eyes. We weren’t out of the woods yet.
I sat alongside him on the floor. I’ve no idea why we were ignoring the seats. We sipped our tea.
He picked up my wrist.
‘Sorry.’
‘It wasn’t your fault. I deliberately pushed you.’
‘I could have hurt you a lot.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t.’
I felt him turn and look at me. God knows what he thought he could see in this dim light. We’d need to snap another lightstick soon.
‘Who are you?’
‘Lucy.’
‘Not helpful.’
‘I never am.’
A pause. ‘You helped me.’
And I wasn’t done yet.
I drained my tea.
‘Tell me about it, Leon.’
A longer pause.
‘It’s not a—good—story.’
