And the Rest Is History(106)

‘Guthrie?’

He hesitated. ‘We have re-attached the lower part of his leg. Not sure yet how that’s going to turn out, but I’m reasonably optimistic. He has lost the sight of one eye.’

I closed my eyes. Ian, my friend…

‘And Van Owen?’

‘Pretty smashed up.’

‘That’s a medical term, is it?’

‘We tend to dumb things down for St Mary’s, but she’s stable. The other one, however…’

I panicked. ‘You mean Markham?’ I saw him again. Lying in the rubble. Broken, bloody … ‘What does “however” mean?’

‘Awake and talking.’

‘What?’

I forgot my ribs and tried to sit up and even the medication couldn’t cope with that.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ he said. ‘I know you’re from St Mary’s but do the words just lie still not mean anything to you?’

‘He’s awake?’

‘He is.’

‘He’s talking?’

‘Well, his mouth is opening and closing but he’s not actually making any sense at the moment.’

‘No, that’s quite normal.’

‘Well, that’s a relief. We’re not sure he’s much aware of what’s going on around him, which means he probably won’t know about the enormous sexual harassment suit coming his way from at least three of my nurses. One of whom is male.’

‘He can’t help himself,’ I said. ‘I recommend you put something in his tea to calm him down.’

‘We can do better than that. We’ve sent for a…’ He consulted his gizmo again. ‘… Nurse Hunter, who is, I believe, his significant other.’

Peterson would want me to ask. ‘Do you mean his wife?’

He started bashing his gizmo again. ‘Is he married?’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Well, if you don’t know then how should I?’

Good point, I suppose.

‘Dr Bairstow will also be here sometime this afternoon, together with Dr Stone who will form his own assessment of the situation with a view to shipping you all back to St Mary’s and out of my medical centre as soon as possible.’

‘Thank you for making us feel so welcome.’

He flashed me a brief smile. ‘Not at all, Dr Maxwell. Would you like to give me a gentle cough now?’

I closed my eyes. Doctors. I hate them.



Leon remained unconscious. I spent as much time with him as they would allow me. He hadn’t woken up next to me for a long time and I was determined I would be there when he eventually opened his eyes. He lay motionless, barely visible through all the equipment surrounding him. Occasionally he seemed to sigh. I held his hand and waited.

Two days later they told me I was much better. I could barely move and barely breathe so this was obviously some Time Police definition of the word better – as in ‘not actually dead’. I was commanded to exercise and there was no arguing with them, so twice a day I allowed myself to be pried away from Leon’s bedside to roam the corridors, keeping my eyes peeled in case I came across anything that could be used against them in the future. Because, of course, they were just the sort of organisation to leave top-secret stuff lying around where any prying historian could get her hands on it, weren’t they?

Anyway, I was shuffling painfully down yet another anonymous beige corridor, worrying about Leon, when two officers appeared, walking towards me. The corridor wasn’t wide enough for all three of us abreast and since it was obvious I had the manoeuvrability of a super-tanker with the handbrake on, they were going to have to step aside for me.

As I limped past, I heard one of them say, ‘Bloody St Mary’s – they think they own the place.’

I stopped dead.

There are those who say that violence is never the answer. Apparently, having a massive punch-up is not the mature way forward. The response to any sort of conflict, they say, is a fair-minded discussion in which both sides are able to state their grievances in an attitude of tolerance and non-judgmental what-not. All parties are supposed to discuss their feelings and agree a solution. According to these people – who, let’s face it, are not normal – conflict resolution should proceed thusly:

Giant, scarred, muscle-bound Time Police officer: I am upset that so many St Mary’s personnel are currently in our building. It makes me feel threatened and afraid.

Small and only slightly less scarred St Mary’s historian: I recognise and understand your feelings. I am upset that my husband is possibly dying and your hostility makes me feel vulnerable.

TP: I regret my attitude has caused you to react in this manner. Your feelings are understandable and I will endeavour to keep my insecurities in check.

St Mary’s: I am grateful for your endeavours. I accept the validity of your feelings and will keep my appearances to a minimum. Perhaps later we could embark together upon a session of meditation and relaxation to embrace feelings of mutual tolerance and respect.

TP: I endorse your suggestion and would like to offer you this small phial of lavender and tea-tree oil which I find to be extremely beneficial in times of stress. I am also in possession of a mantra which, when chanted regularly, induces feelings of great calm and tranquillity.