And the Rest Is History(24)

I pushed that thought out of my head and returned to the well-trodden path of procedure.

‘Right, Team William will wait outside, get shots of his arrival – numbers, horses, the grand entrance, and then follow him into the hall. I’m optimistic about it being open to the public. Count Guy is doing his overlord a favour and he’ll want everyone to know that.

Team Harold will be inside. I’ll want shots of the Hall layout and those present – Count Guy, his clothes, his entourage, others present. You all know what to do. If, for some reason, Team William can’t get in, Team Harold will split. Bashford and Sykes will stay on Harold and I’ll take William myself. I particularly want details of William and Harold’s first meeting. How they react to each other. Will they leave at once or is there a feast? Does William treat Harold as an equal? When they leave, how is he mounted? Is he a guest or a prisoner? Remember people, we’re witnessing the opening stages of events that still impact on us today. Any questions? OK, that’s it. Thank you, everyone.’

I dismissed them all, sent Rosie Lee home early, worked quietly for a couple of hours, and then went back to my silent room. I closed the door behind me, crossed to Matthew’s bedroom, and opened the door. The very emptiness of the room leaped out at me. There was his cot. Empty. His giraffe quilt was neatly folded at the bottom. There was the small chest of drawers with his clothes. His brush and comb sat on top. I picked up the brush. I could see dark hairs twisted among the bristles. I replaced it carefully. His ball lay on the rug. I picked it up. It was made of some soft, furry material, warm and brightly coloured. And slightly sucked. He loved his ball. I put it next to his brush. The room smelled of baby powder. It was very quiet in here. I switched out the light and closed the door.

I took a shower, pulled on one of Leon’s T-shirts and went to bed, where I lay and watched the moon travel past the window, and refused to give way.

And that was the end of the second day.





I was up at dawn the next morning, because Leon hadn’t said what time on Friday and, as far as I was concerned, Friday was any time after midnight on Thursday.

The first thing that happened was that Dieter banned me not only from Hawking, from outside, as well. I’d bounded down there, bacon sandwich in one hand, mug of tea in the other, and stood around waiting. I was prepared to wait all day and night if necessary. I was determined that whenever Leon turned up, I would be here. I would be the first thing he and Matthew would see when they exited the pod.

I turned around to find Dieter standing behind me, his early morning coffee clutched in one hand.

‘Max, go back to the main building.’

‘But I…’

‘There’s no need for you to be here. We’ve no idea when Leon will be back. You can’t stay here all day. It’s freezing.’

‘But…’

‘No. You can’t be here. Go back to your department. Find something to do. The time will go so much more quickly. You do yourself no good at all by waiting here. I promise you – as soon as the pod materialises, you’ll get the word. I’ll call you myself. They’ll take a minute or two to shut things down and decontaminate and then, when they open the door, you’ll be waiting for them.’

‘Dieter…’

‘Max, I’m doing you a favour. Don’t make me call Dr Bairstow.’

I trailed back down the long corridor. He was right. It was barely dawn. The security shifts were changing. I looked for Markham but couldn’t see him. Perhaps he was still with Peterson.

I went to my office, pulled my in-tray towards me, and lost myself in the comforting routine of work.

Dr Bairstow bombarded me with emails – all demanding instant responses, and when I next had time to look up, it was past noon. The morning had gone and there was still no message from Hawking. I tried to pick up my work again, but my concentration had fled. I tidied my desk and then went back to my room. I would get Matthew’s things ready for him. His clothes would be dirty. He would need clean stuff. I hesitated a long time over whether to lay out a blue babysuit or an orange one. It should be orange, surely, in honour of Leon who had brought him back safely. I laid out his clean clothes, changed my mind, chose blue instead, and then thought, idiot – he’ll have to stay in Sick Bay for a major check-up, so I put away the babysuits and pulled out his pyjamas. Unable to choose between Superman or Mr Happy, and in the end, gripped by a sudden panic that Leon would return and I wouldn’t be there, I unzipped my old sports bag and shoved in nearly everything Matthew owned. I would choose properly when he was safely in Sick Bay. When I could hold him again. Feel him wriggling on my lap. Feel his strong little back.

He held out his arms to me…

Shouldering the bag, I went downstairs again, walking around the gallery, looking down into the Great Hall.

We were planning our four assignments more or less simultaneously. The Hall – the traditional historians’ working area – was crowded with untidy, paper-strewn tables. There were whiteboards covered in scribbled notes in different colours, with maps, diagrams, and flowcharts pinned to the walls. On the face of it, there was chaos everywhere, but I could see a clear division between assignments. Everything relating to the shipwreck was over by the stairs; the oath-taking ceremony was in the corner by the library; Stamford Bridge was down the middle and Hastings over against the wall. We were very busy and in a week’s time, we were going to be even busier.