And the Rest Is History(48)

‘Listen,’ he said softly, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea.’

‘You?’

‘And why not?’

‘Let me count the ways.’

‘Do you want to hear my brilliant idea or not?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘What rarely happens is always worth waiting for.’

‘Every night – when it’s ten o’clock for me, I’m going to take five minutes to think about you. Where you are, what you’re doing and so on. If you can do the same – at your ten o’clock every night, you stop what you’re doing and think of me – then just for five minutes every day, we can be together. What do you think?’

‘For a bloke who spends his days up to his elbows in machinery and gunk, you’re quite romantic, aren’t you?’

He picked up his pack and threw it onto the floor.

‘Speaking of romance.’

Once, we would have broken the furniture. Well, the bedside light, at least, but now he was gentle and loving and he made me laugh. I knew he was deliberately keeping things light. Because my heart was breaking.

They left at dawn. There was no reason for them to do so but as Leon said at the time, what was life without a little drama?

Two big black pods stood outside Hawking, their ramps down and waiting. I don’t know about anyone else, but they put the fear of God into me. As, of course, they were designed to do. There’s just something about their black, implacable immobility.

All of St Mary’s turned out to watch them go. I stood at the back – Leon and I had said our goodbyes in private, but Captain Ellis sought me out.

‘Max, would you like to walk to the pod with me. There’s someone who wants to say hello.’

Slightly mystified as to who it could be, I followed him. As we approached, a small, slim figure walked down the ramp. She removed her helmet as I drew near. I stopped dead in surprise.

‘Greta?’

It was indeed. Greta Van Owen. Former historian and now, it would seem, a member of the Time Police. Ellis politely wandered off to supervise loading procedures. Which basically consisted of stowing bags in lockers, but I appreciated the thought.

‘Max, how are you?’ Her voice was quiet; her manner reserved. It was hard to believe she’d emptied a gun into Izzie Barclay. Just for a moment, I was back in the barn, lying in the dirt, watching the bullets shred flesh already dead.

‘Fine, thanks to you. And you? How on earth did you of all people end up with the Time Police?’

She smiled a small, sad smile. I had the impression that was the best she could do these days. ‘I was lost for a very long time. Not physically, but … you know.’

I nodded. I did know.

‘And then the Time Police came for me. They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Gave me a purpose at last.’ She paused. ‘It’s so good to see you again.’

‘And you. I’m so glad you’ve found somewhere to belong. I never felt I really thanked you enough…’

‘Yes, you did. You thanked me more than enough. I’m sorry we’re meeting again like this. Maybe one day we can sit down and talk properly. Catch up.’

‘I’d like that.’

Captain Ellis appeared. ‘Time to go.’

I shook his hand. ‘Good luck, Captain.’

He nodded. ‘We’ll get him Max. I promise you.’

‘I know you will.’

I nodded to Leon boarding the first pod. He waved and disappeared. I turned back to Ellis and Van Owen. ‘Look after each other. And good luck.’

I turned away. There was no point in prolonging things. I joined the silent crowd standing outside Hawking.

The two pods just as silently disappeared. And that was it. Leon was gone.





And I was left with Matthew. We stared at each other. It had always been Leon he looked to. I wasn’t sure how he would react to me on my own.

‘Easy,’ said Hunter, to whom I had confided my fears. ‘Let him get him dirty, then clean him up at the end of the day. Give him something to eat and make sure he knows he’s safe when he goes to bed. That’s how I cope with Markham. Seems to work.’

It wasn’t easy to begin with. We’d discovered he had no concept of family life. He had no idea what bedtime was. Or why it should apply to him when he was wide awake and enjoying himself. Equally, he saw no reason why he should have to get up in the morning when he was fast asleep. He wasn’t yet brave enough to defy me, but there were a lot of hard looks. On the other hand, he’d almost stopped peeing in washbasins, so I had to be doing something right. In my darker moments, I wondered if that would be my sole contribution to his life.

We didn’t speak much. I resisted the temptation to gabble away – anything to fill up the silence. We had our routine and we stuck to it.

And then the nightmares started.

I don’t know if this sort of thing is hereditary. I had bad dreams as a child. I still do, occasionally. And so, apparently, did Matthew. I would make him a milky drink and sit with him until he slept again, but it kept happening and I wondered whether to mention it to Dr Stone.

One night, however, I had a bit of a brilliant idea. Before Matthew had been born, Leon had made a holo of the Time Map and rigged it to project around his bedroom. Every night, Matthew had lain in his cot and watched, wide eyed, as a mosaic of silver lines and coloured points swirled around him until he finally fell asleep. When he was taken, I’d put it away and forgotten all about it. Now I firkled around in a drawer until I found the plug-in that Leon had made.