And the Rest Is History(63)

He smiled sadly. ‘I have always been an advocate of tradition.’

I got up to go. I had a great need to be alone. ‘Was there anything else, sir?’

‘Not today, no. I understand you are off to Hastings next week.’

‘Yes, sir.’ I pulled out my scratchpad. ‘Mr Dieter says we can use Pods Six and Eight.’ He already knew this. Again, he was easing me back into the real world. ‘It’s cutting things a bit fine, but Mr Dieter has confirmed he can have both the pods and their plinths serviceable in time. After that, everything is on hold until permanent repairs can be effected.’

‘If you feel you would rather not…’

‘No, thank you, sir. I’d like to go.’

Because when everything else has gone; when everyone else has left you; when all you had is lost for ever – there is always duty. For me, the one certainty in this world that was without Leon.

‘As you wish. By the way, at their request, I have given a copy of the tape to the Time Police.’

‘Why?’

‘There was a third person in their pod. The driver.’

Oh God, I hadn’t even thought.

‘Sir, I’m so sorry. Please tell me it wasn’t Captain Ellis. Or Miss Van Owen.’

‘I’m sorry, Max, I can’t do that.’

‘Who?’

‘Miss Van Owen was piloting the pod.’

Poor Greta Van Owen. Her life ruined once. And then taken from her too soon.

‘They wish to conduct their own investigation and I welcomed the opportunity to be able to assist.’ He sighed. ‘Relations between us are good at the moment. I would be happy if they could remain that way, but our two organisations do seem fated to misunderstand each other.’

I nodded. We did, didn’t we?



It had rained for Helen’s funeral, but the day of Leon’s, Guthrie’s and Markham’s service was fine and warm, with the sun shining on bright, fresh green leaves and shy spring flowers. The sort of day when it was good to be alive. A nice kick in the teeth from Mother Nature.

Lingoss had taken Matthew to the cinema in Rushford. Which he adored. They would be back in time for tea.

The Time Police had sent a delegation. Captain Ellis and Charlie Farenden escorted Elspeth Grey. She, I, and a white-faced Hunter sat together. It crossed my mind that it wasn’t so very long since we’d sat here for Helen.

There were three coffins. I felt a dreadful laughter bubbling up inside me. An explosion that size wouldn’t have left anything worth burying. Were we solemnly interring kitchen waste? Or builder’s rubble? Or unwanted files? I pressed my mouth together and looked at my hands and struggled not to give way completely. I looked up at the Boards of Honour. At the three names, freshly inscribed underneath Helen’s name. Our four top people gone in only a few months.

I thought of Leon – all he’d ever wanted was a family. I thought of Dr Bairstow and his lifelong unspoken grief for Annie Bessant. I thought of Helen Foster, and of Mary Schiller. Of Jamie Cameron and Big Dave Murdoch. Of Ian Guthrie, who had saved me at Troy. And of Markham – always just one surprise after another. They had, all of them, been good people. People who had left this world a better place. People who had died before their time.

I looked around. Sunshine streamed in through the stained-glass windows. Glorious pools of blue, green and red reflected off the walls and floor, contrasting with St Mary’s – a solid mass of black in our formal uniforms. A few people were crying but most stood, stony-faced and still.

Outside in the cruel sunshine, the three of them were laid alongside each other. I was saying goodbye to Leon for ever. I couldn’t get my head around it at all. Leon was gone. I stood quietly while something inside me howled like a wounded animal. I thought of the words of Henry Vaughan.

‘They are all gone into the world of light. And I alone sit lingering here.’

After the service, people drifted away, leaving the three of us together. We stood, still and silent, like so many monoliths under a winter moon. I can only remember the disbelief. He was gone. Leon was gone. He was just – gone.

Grey stirred. ‘I always thought it would be me,’ she said.

I nodded. ‘I always thought it would be me, too.’

Hunter sighed. ‘I always knew it would be him.’

There was a small gathering afterwards. I can’t begin to say how kind everyone was, and it really didn’t help at all. The worst moment was when someone said, ‘You’ve had a really shit year, Max.’

And someone else said, ‘Yes, a real annus horribilis,’ and we waited for Markham to make some comment about a horrible anus and there was a sad little silence, because the hole left by his death – all their deaths – was unfillable.



That evening, after the service, I was in my room with Matthew. I asked him to tell me about the movie he’d seen that afternoon and he managed to outline the entire plot in about four words. We’d done half an hour on the jigsaw, watched a programme about a boy who had adventures with his robot, which I suspected was giving him ideas I wasn’t going to be able to cope with later on, and we’d had the book at bedtime. I’d told him to clean his teeth – something he couldn’t see the point of at all, and he’d stumped into the bathroom in a bit of a mood.

He emerged from the bathroom. I wiped the foam off his mouth.