A Catalogue of Catastrophe, page 34
part #13 of Chronicles of St. Mary's Series
I said, ‘How are you?’ at exactly the same time as Markham said, ‘Thought I’d lost you there.’ We both looked at each other. Apart from the occasional spark from the fire, this room – wherever and whenever it was – was very quiet.
‘Did we do it?’
He hesitated.
I struggled to lift my head. ‘Tell me. What happened? Did we do it? Did the plot succeed?’
‘No, no, relax. We did it.’
I let my head fall back again. ‘Was your wound that bad?’
He looked down at his sling. ‘This? Oh, no. Once you stopped the bleeding – thank you very much – it was fine. I got this when I tried to lift you up. How much do you actually weigh?’
I ignored this.
With the air of one steeling himself for an ordeal of some sort, he sat forwards in his chair and took my hand in his unslinged one.
‘Max – I’m glad you’re awake. I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.’
I panicked. ‘Goodbye? Where are you going? Why are you going? What’s happening? You’re leaving me?’
‘For God’s sake, keep your voice down or we’ll have Mrs Brown in here, and while she doesn’t shout, she has a very nasty way about her when she’s not happy about something.’
‘Ah – well, that answers where and when I am.’
A vague memory. A blow. Out of nowhere. I raised a wobbly hand to my face. ‘You hit me.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You hit me.’
‘It was the only way.’
‘You hit me.’
‘I had to, Max. You don’t know your own strength. Time was running out. There were soldiers everywhere, kicking doors in and dragging people out into the street. It was only a matter of time before someone ran into our pod. And then everyone would be crowding around and the pod wouldn’t be able to jump. And I swear that Insight were there. Do you remember that bloke you once pointed out – the one with the two-tone hair? The light wasn’t good but I’m sure I caught a glimpse of him. I think they’d come to check out what had gone wrong. They didn’t look very happy about something and I wasn’t going to hang around to find out. I couldn’t take the risk of them discovering us. I was slowly bleeding to death. You were battling something that didn’t exist so yes, I did hit you. But not very hard. In fact, I think you were already on your way groundwards before I gave you what was really no more than a gentle tap.’
I felt cold air on my face. It was only a draughty Victorian house but the bad memories were too recent. For a moment I was lost again. I scrabbled at Markham’s free arm. ‘Oh my God – he’s here. We brought him back with us. He’s here.’
He put his hand over mine. ‘No. I know what you’re talking about and we didn’t bring anything back with us. Just you and me. It’s all in your head, Max. Dr Stone will explain it to you.’
‘Dr Stone is here?’
‘He will be. Leon’s fetching him now. It’ll be his second – no, third – visit.’
I looked down at myself. ‘Am I hurt?’
He shook his head. ‘You haven’t been well.’
Now that he mentioned it . . . ‘I feel terrible.’
‘I’m not surprised. You were in quite a state but they tell me you’re on the mend.’ He looked at me and then away again. ‘Max . . .’
My stomach turned over. ‘You said you were leaving. You can’t do that. Why would you do that?’
‘Max, it’s over. I brought you here because we were both hurt and didn’t have anywhere else to go. But I’m worried about Hunter and Flora. We’ve seriously annoyed Insight and I have to make sure they’re safe.’
I didn’t get it for a moment and then I did. He wasn’t talking about leaving our flat in London. Or Home Farm. He was talking about leaving me.
I felt my eyes fill with tears. We’d been through so much. How could he leave? ‘No. You can’t go.’
‘I have to. You don’t know what’s happened, do you?’
My stomach turned again. I could taste the sweet stuff in my mouth. ‘Leon? Matthew?’
‘No, no – not that bad but still not good. Home Farm’s been attacked again. One end’s completely gone. The roof has caved in. There’s obviously been some sort of titanic struggle.’
‘Smallhope and Pennyroyal?’
‘Not there.’
‘Not even in the bunker?’
‘No.’
‘Insight came back?’
‘Possibly. Either Insight or some of the millions of people they’ve managed to piss off over the years. Could be anyone from the Time Police upwards. The farm’s still working and the Faradays are all over the damage but there’s no sign of our employers anywhere.’
‘Any blood?’
He paused. ‘A lot. Max, I think you’re missing the point. If we’d returned to Home Farm as we originally planned, then we’d have been caught up in it, too. Whatever has happened to Smallhope and Pennyroyal would have happened to us as well. Electing to remain in London to see things through probably saved our lives. As it was, we didn’t hang around and got out as quickly as possible.’
‘We?’
‘Me and Evans. We went to look for clues as to our employers’ whereabouts.’
Shit.
‘I managed to scrape together most of your gear. A few clothes, books, your Trojan Horse, your teddy bear. In a bag in the wardrobe.’ He nodded at the overdecorated structure on the far wall. ‘Anyway, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could say goodbye.’
‘But you’ll be back,’ I said, with more hope than conviction in my voice.
He tried to smile. ‘Max . . .’
‘No – it’s nothing. I feel fine now. I just need a day or so.’
‘No, you don’t. Look at us, Max. You’re out of the game for the foreseeable future. I’m wounded. Our base is wrecked. Our employers are missing, presumed badly hurt. If not actually dead. I can’t risk Di and Flora. I have to go back to make sure they’re safe.’ He tightened his grip. ‘This is the one we didn’t win, love. Let it go.’
I groped for words but nothing came out.
He stood up. ‘I’m off now. I’m not sure when I’ll see you again. Get well and be happy.’
No. I tried to throw back the covers and get out of bed. Even sitting up made the room spin.
‘You need to listen to what Dr Stone tells you.’
‘You can’t leave me . . .’
‘I’m not abandoning you. They’re all here. The Boss, Mrs Brown, Leon, Matthew, Evans, Mikey, Adrian, Professor Penrose. You’ll have a whole army with you.’
I could feel the tears running down my cheeks. He didn’t look too dry-eyed himself.
‘But what about us? What about Pros and Cons? What about investigating Insight? Flying Auctions? Being bad-ass bounty hunters? I don’t think I can do it on my own.’
He took my hand again. ‘You’re not doing it at all, Max. Listen to me. It’s finished.’
‘Fine,’ I said, flinging his hand away because I was too angry to think straight. ‘I don’t need you. I can do it on my own. In fact, I’ll be better off without you.’
I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth but you can’t ever unsay things.
He looked at me sadly, bent and kissed my forehead and walked out of the room.
I’d have cried properly but I didn’t have the strength.
Next in was Leon. Back from fetching Dr Stone, presumably. An hour later and I might have been calmer. Less distressed at losing Markham. Less pissed off with people in general. No, I wouldn’t. Who are we kidding? The only thing I can say in my own defence is that my temper wasn’t Leon-specific. The next person coming through the door – whoever it was – would have had the bed thrown at them. Chance decreed it would be Leon. A tired and worried Leon.
He began with a simple query I chose to regard as criticism and things went downhill fast.
‘Why didn’t you tell me how sick you were?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘You’re complaining about not being told something important? Welcome to my world.’
Strangely, these words did not have a mollifying effect on my husband.
‘All right – if that’s how you want to play it.’ He compressed his lips. ‘You just had to do it, didn’t you?’
‘Do what?’
‘All this.’ He gestured around at the innocent bedroom. ‘You could have just walked away. You could have let well alone. Ronan was finished. It was over. We were all set for a happy ending, but no, you had to find something else to get involved with, didn’t you?’
I wasn’t going to let that go. ‘Not my fault Dr Bairstow got himself captured and I had to save the day. If people . . .’ mere print cannot possibly convey the sarcastic emphasis I put on the word, ‘if people had kept me in the loop, given me just the faintest idea of what was going on, where the threat would come from, then I might have acted differently, but I only say “might” because I’m sure you and Bairstow would have found another way to manipulate me into yet another hazardous situation and then blame me for it afterwards.’
I would have swept on but sadly I haven’t yet evolved past needing to breathe occasionally when yelling at my husband.
He didn’t actually wave his arms around because he’s not a windmill but there was a certain amount of angry pacing by one of us.
Hint: it wasn’t me.
‘You were sacked and safely out of St Mary’s. Why couldn’t you just have waited quietly with Ian Guthrie for me to . . . ?’
He stopped. I think most husbands have some sort of fail-safe mechanism somewhere – deep in their brains, perhaps – which kicks in and shuts down their mouths before they can complete potentially life-ending sentences.
Fortunately, I don’t have one of those. ‘. . . to rescue me,’ I finished for him.
‘I wasn’t going to say that.’
‘What were you going to say?’
‘Well, I can’t remember now. You shouting at me like that has driven it out of my head.’
‘So your inability to remember more than three words is also my fault.’
‘I wasn’t going to say that either.’
‘As far as I can see, you’re not saying anything other than to drop a whole shedload of shit on my head simply for doing my job.’
‘You don’t have a job.’
‘I have a very good job, actually. I’m doing quite nicely and earning considerably more than you.’
‘But you don’t need to do that any longer – I . . .’
He stopped again.
‘I . . . what?’ I said, dangerously. ‘I’m here now? I’ll make everything better?’
Belatedly, his fail-safe mechanism ground into first gear and he said nothing.
Strangely, this was even more infuriating. ‘Nothing to say?’
‘Plenty to say,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s your inability to listen that usually defeats me.’
‘You should be grateful,’ I said nastily. ‘When my husband complains because I’m a high-achieving, high-earning wife, my ears just pack up in self-defence. Otherwise I’d be out of this bed and clattering your head against the coal scuttle. And before you give way to another bout of husbandly indignation, I’ll say it again: I don’t work for St Mary’s any longer.’
People say women who argue are shrill. That may be true – I don’t know. I do know that when I’m angry – really, really, head-burstingly furious, I get Exorcist voice. Not often, because it hurts like hell afterwards, but this was one of those occasions. If you want to imagine the windows rattling and horses bolting in the streets below then that’s fine with me.
There was a long silence, during which more optimistic readers might like to imagine us stepping back from the brink.
He took Markham’s seat and said slowly, ‘I’ve never told you what you can and can’t do. I’m not that stupid. But you’ve always said that if I don’t want you to do something then all I have to do is ask. I’m asking now. Please stop. This is killing you. And that’s not a figure of speech. It really is killing you and I need you. Matthew needs you. Please – stop.’
Dammit – with one mighty leap he’d gone from being an arsehole to being everything that was reasonable and patient and fair.
I, on the other hand, was not. They say it takes two to quarrel. No, it bloody doesn’t. It’s harder work, of course, but with a little flair, imagination and a complete disregard for the damage done, one person can have a really good quarrel.
‘No,’ I said, flatly.
He looked puzzled. ‘What?’
‘I’m keeping it simple so there’s no possibility of anyone misunderstanding my intentions. No. I’m in the middle of something, and this time tomorrow I’ll be gone again.’
‘No,’ he said flatly, obviously having learned from the master. ‘You won’t.’
Well, Mr Reasonable and Patient and Fair didn’t last long, did he?
I sat up straighter and pretended the room wasn’t whirling about like a bicycle going down the plughole. ‘You want to put money on it?’
‘Dr Stone says . . .’
‘I don’t care what Dr Stone says. I’m fed up with people controlling and manipulating me. For my own good, of course.’
‘Dr Bairstow agrees with me.’
‘Really? That makes sense, I suppose. He has no more use for me so I’m just discarded. Like an old glove. Sent here, there and everywhere while I’m still useful, and abandoned when I’m not. Well, it’s not going to happen this time. I shouldn’t have to tell you this, Leon, but I make the decisions in my life. Not you, and definitely not the old man downstairs. For whom I no longer work.’
‘Max . . .’
‘You can’t keep me here.’
‘I thought we could spend some time together,’ he said, quietly. ‘With Matthew. He’s getting ready for his exams. Don’t you want to be here with us?’
Have you ever been in one of those stupid arguments where every word you say gets you more deeply entrenched in a position you really don’t want to be in? I’d love to spend some quiet time with Matthew and Leon. Enjoy the really large meals I suspect were regularly served in this house. Just sit back for a few weeks and let someone else take the strain.
I shrugged. ‘Not particularly. Job to do, remember? The one everyone was briefed on but me.’
‘We’ve all had a job to do.’
‘But only some of us knew that. The rest of us just bimbled around in the dark, didn’t we?’
‘If you won’t listen to me then perhaps you’ll listen to . . .’
‘I’m done with listening to Dr Bairstow.’
‘I was going to say Dr Stone. He’s here. That’s where I’ve been. To St Mary’s. Will you at least listen to him?’
‘Why should I? He’s only Dr Bairstow by proxy.’
He opened his mouth to say something and someone tapped at the door.
‘And here he is now,’ I said brightly. ‘Another one who won’t listen to a word I say.’
Silently, Leon got up to let him in. They passed each other in the doorway. I could just imagine the superior, masculine she’s being difficult again looks they exchanged.
I folded my arms.
Dr Stone took Leon’s seat. That chair was certainly getting a lot of use this morning.
‘Well now, Max, you have got yourself into a bit of a pickle, haven’t you? Again.’
I said nothing.
‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Too angry to talk to me.’
I said nothing.
‘I suspect you don’t realise just how sick you are.’
I opened my mouth to say probably not. Certainly not without some big strong man to explain things to me – and then stopped because even an argument is a form of communication. A word of advice to those who frequently find themselves in holes of their own digging – silence is much more difficult for your opponent(s) to deal with. And yes, I am aware there’s a lot of crap talked about passive-aggressive behaviour and the value of open and frank communication, but you can take your open and frank communication and shove it where the passive-aggressive sun never shines.
Some of this must have shown in my face.
‘I can see you’re not happy,’ he said, ‘because I’m a highly trained and competent medical professional. Would you like to take it all out on me instead of laying waste to your nearest and dearest?’
‘I’d love to,’ I said, ‘and it’s so sweet that you think sacrificing yourself will save these alleged nearest and dearest. Trust me, I will kill them all and raze this house to the ground before I believe a word anyone ever says to me again.’
He rubbed his nose. ‘I’m not making a very good job of this, am I?’
I let the silence speak for itself.
‘Well, I’m going to carry on anyway no matter what the personal risk. Max, you’re going nowhere for quite some time. And that’s not a threat – that’s a medical diagnosis. At this moment, I’d be astonished if you could even get out of bed. But whatever you do when you leave here – and we can talk about that another time – you have to heal first. You have no choice. Like it or not, you’re here for at least a couple of weeks. When you’re more recovered – and complete recovery will take some time and there’s nothing you can do to change that so don’t bother arguing – when you’re on the road to recovery, that will be the time to discuss . . .’
‘That will be the time for me to leave,’ I said, growing angrier by the moment.
He sighed. ‘I can see I’m not getting through.’
‘No, you’re not. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, doctor, but I don’t work for St Mary’s any longer.’
‘No, I haven’t, but that doesn’t make what I’m about to say any less relevant. You need to reset your personal clock so your body knows what’s going on. You can’t be at midnight one moment and ten past three in the afternoon the next. Dark – light – winter – summer – often all on the same day. Do that too often and for too long and this is the result, Max. I’m guessing this has been coming on for some time and for some reason you haven’t mentioned it to anyone, but you need to talk about it now. You need proper days followed by proper nights. You need regular meals at regular intervals. A solid routine. Something your body can work with. And it will take time. You cannot run before you can walk. In fact, I would be surprised if you can walk at all at the moment. Stay in bed and get as much sleep as you can.’ He stood up. ‘And try to relax. Stress will not help.’
