1. Just One Damned Thing After Another (3 page)

Bunches of cables ran up the walls to disappear into a tiled ceiling.

In amongst this welter of slightly scruffy but undoubtedly high-tech equipment, I was amazed to see a small kettle and two mugs nestling quietly on a shelf under a rather large first aid locker.

‘Yes,’ he said, resigned. ‘Show me a cup of tea and I’ll show you at least two historians attached to it.’

The tiny space smelled of stale people, chemicals, hot electrics, and damp carpet, with an underlying smell from the toilet. I would discover all pods smelt the same. Historians joke that techies take the smell then build the pods around it.

‘How does it work?’

He just looked at me. OK then, stupid question.

‘What now?’

‘Is there anything else you would like to see?’

‘Yes, everything.’

So I got the ‘other’ tour
.
We went to Security where green-clad people were checking weapons and equipment, peering at monitors, running around, and shouting at each other.

‘Is there a problem?’ I asked.

‘No, I’m afraid we’re a noisy bunch. I hope you weren’t expecting hallowed halls of learning.’

I met Major Guthrie, tall with dark blond hair, busy doing something. He broke off to stare at me.

‘Can you shoot? Have you ever fired a weapon? Can you ride? Can you swim? How fit are you?’

‘No. No. Yes. Yes. Not at all.’

He paused and looked me up and down. ‘Could you kill a man?’

I looked him up and down. ‘Eventually.’

He smiled reluctantly and put out his hand. ‘Guthrie.’

‘Maxwell.’

‘Welcome.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I shall be watching your progress with great interest.’

That didn’t sound good.

We finished with a tour of the grounds, which were very pleasant if you discounted the odd scorch marks on the grass and the blue swans. Even as I opened my mouth to ask, there was a small bang from the second floor and the windows rattled.

‘Hold on,’ said Chief Farrell. ‘I’m duty officer this week and I want to see if the fire alarms go off.’

They didn’t.

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ I said.

He sighed. ‘No, it just means they’ve taken the batteries out again.’

This really was my sort of place.

Chapter Two

They say owners get to look like their dogs but this was a case of the trainees getting to look like their institute. St Mary’s was shabby and battered and after a few weeks, so were we.

Only seven of us trainees turned up on Day One. Apparently, there should have been ten. It seemed an average of only 3.5 trainees actually graduated from each course.

‘You’ll be the point five, then,’ said a tall guy to me, presumably alluding to my lack of height. I ignored him. He rammed paperwork into his folder, seemingly not noticing most of it falling out of the bottom as he did so. His nametag said Sussman. He had dark eyes and hair and looked almost Mediterranean – the sort who gets a tan just by looking out of the window.

Next to him stood Grant, a stocky lad with sandy hair and steady blue eyes. He stacked his paperwork neatly with broad, blunt hands and inserted it carefully into his folder, his square, pleasant face thoughtful. He stood next to Nagley, listening as she spoke. She had a clever, intense face and her eyes and hands moved continually. She was as highly strung as he was placid. They made a natural team.

The other girl, Jordan, like me, stood slightly apart, but she looked almost poised for flight, her body language uncertain. I guessed she wasn’t sure she wanted to be there. I was right. She remained aloof and left in the first week. I don’t know what happened; one day she was there and the next day she was gone. There was no point in asking because they never told you. I can’t remember even hearing her voice.

The other two, Rutherford and Stevens, talked together as they sorted their papers. Stevens was a little older than the rest of us, small, chubby, and enthusiastic. He looked excitedly round the room, taking it all in. Rutherford had the big, blunt look of a rugby player.

The first shock was that we lost our academic titles and I became Miss Maxwell again. Only heads of departments had titles. I quite liked it. I could see Miss Maxwell would have far more fun than Dr Maxwell would.

We were shown to our rooms in the newly built Staff Block. Mine was small and shabby and I shared a bathroom with the two other girls, Nagley and Jordan. Laid out on my bed were sets of grey jump suits, possibly the most unflattering garments in history. A neat electronic scratchpad fitted snugly inside a knee pocket. Heavy-weather gear, wet-weather gear, grey T-shirts and shorts, socks and boots completed the set. I unpacked my few belongings and changed. Surveying myself in a mirror, I looked like a small, excited, ginger sack.

We met again downstairs and shuffled off for our medicals. I didn’t bother trying to hide my dislike of doctors because Dr Foster didn’t bother trying to hide her dislike of patients. To me, she looked slightly incongruous with her white coat and stethoscope. I always felt closely fitting black leather, a short hunting crop, and a stern expression were more her natural accoutrements.

I filled out endless medical paperwork. My life had been comparatively blameless so far, but despite that, I was vaccinated for and against everything, and I mean everything. I was encouraged to give blood regularly – an investment for the future.

We trooped back to the Hall, rubbing the bits that still throbbed and sat while Dr Bairstow gave his welcome speech.

‘Congratulations to those of you here today. You constitute the best of the candidates interviewed, but only the best of you will complete your training. You should be aware that not all of you will make the grade. You have tough times ahead of you. Of course, you may resign whenever you wish. There is no compulsion; you are all volunteers. If you wish to leave, you will be asked again to sign all the confidentiality documents you signed today and, again, the consequences of divulging any information of any kind to anybody will be made very, very clear to you.’

He paused and eyed us all individually. I made myself stare calmly back.

‘We work in conjunction with the University of Thirsk, whence some of you graduated. We enjoy considerable autonomy, but, at the end of the day, we are answerable to them for our funding. They in turn answer for us to a small and discreet government body who, as far as I can tell, answer to no one below God.

‘You, however, answer to me.’

He paused again for this to sink in.

‘Our public image is of a charmingly eccentric historical research organisation which is of no harm to anyone but itself. This view is particularly prevalent in the village, especially as the echoes of our latest explosion die away. Strive to maintain this image please, ladies and gentlemen.

‘I hope to get to know you all better over the coming months.’ His eyes crossed slightly and he said, in the voice of one who has committed something distasteful to memory, ‘Please remember my door is always open.’ Then he was gone.

We grappled with yet more hand-outs, schedules, organisational schematics, and even more forms to complete. The concept of the paperless office never really made much headway at St Mary’s. I leafed through the papers in my folder until I found my timetable. The first lecture started at 0900 tomorrow morning with Chief Farrell, whom I remembered, followed by a session with the Head of IT, Miss Barclay, whom I didn’t.

I suppose that because, with the exception of Smartarse Sussman, I’d rather liked everyone I’d met so far, I was lulled into a false security when it came to Barclay. My own fault. I could have kept my mouth shut. I should have kept my mouth shut, but I’m stupid and never learn. Third in command at St Mary’s after Dr Bairstow and Chief Farrell, in contrast to everyone else’s easy-going style, she was unpopular, self-important, and lacking the sense of humour gene.

We assembled, bright-eyed and enthusiastic, the next morning. Chief Farrell, calm and authoritative was easy listening and pretty easy on the eyes as well. Izzie Barclay was another matter, rendering her subject so completely devoid of interest and relevance that you could practically hear people’s eyes glazing over. I listened with only half an ear while watching her pose in the sunshine so everyone could admire the glints in her red hair.

Without warning, she wheeled and pounced. ‘You! Stevens! What did I just say?’

If he did have any idea of what she’d been boring on about, it fled straight out of his head with the sharpness of her question. He stared at her; a small furry woodland animal hypnotized by a ginger cobra. The silence lengthened.

I looked up. ‘You were describing the position of a point as relative. No point can ever be regarded as solid or fixed but must always be viewed in relation to everything else.’

More silence. ‘Is your name Stevens?’

Good God, it was like being back at school.

‘No,’ I said, helpfully. ‘I’m Maxwell.’

‘I suppose you think you’re clever.’

More silence.

‘Answer me.’

‘I’m sorry; I didn’t hear a question there.’

Mercifully, the clock struck, signifying the end of the lecture and lunchtime. No one moved.

At last, she stepped back. ‘Dismissed.’

So that was my card marked; second period on the first day. Way to go, Maxwell.

St Mary’s consisted of a warren of dark corridors and small rooms. Only the Staff Block, Hawking Hangar, and the kitchens were less than two hundred years old. The walls showed barely a lick of paint below shoulder height. The lovely old panelling was gouged and scraped and successive generations had carved their names and dates all over it. Such carpet as remained was old and worn. All the furniture sagged. We could see through the curtains they were so thin, and an overall smell of damp stone and whatever we’d had for lunch that day always hung in the air.

Regular soft explosions from R & D really didn’t help much and, one memorable day, Professor Rapson put his head round the door and said, mildly, ‘If it’s not too much bother, may I recommend you evacuate the building right now, please.’

Chief Farrell paused from revealing the secrets of the universe and said, ‘Right, everyone out. Immediately. No, not the door, Miss Nagley, use the windows. Move!’

We clambered out of the windows and joined the rest of the unit on the South Lawn. Major Guthrie’s team, wearing breathing apparatus, threw open windows around the building. Something greenish wafted out. We all got the afternoon off.

It was exhausting. It was exhilarating. And uncomfortable. I hadn’t realised how closely together we would live and work. The circumstances of my life had made me solitary and wherever I looked there was Sussman. He and I were the only unallocated singles so we seemed to be stuck with each other.

‘What’s the problem with working with me?’ he demanded, after I’d spent an entire day trying to avoid him. ‘Have I said something? Do I have bad breath? What is it?’

I tried to marshal some words. ‘It’s not you …’ I started to say.

‘Oh, come on, you’re not going to follow that up with, “It’s me,” are you?’

‘Well, yes,’ I said, stung. ‘But I can lie to you if you prefer,’ and went to step past him.

‘No, look, I’m sorry. Just wait a minute. Have I done something? Sometimes, you know, I can be a bit …’

‘No, I’m …’ I struggled for words.

He smiled and said, ‘You’re not a team player. Yet. You don’t trust people enough to place your safety in their hands. You don’t like relying on other people and you especially don’t want to rely on me because you don’t know me, you don’t like me, and you don’t trust me. At this very moment you’re wishing I’d drop dead so you can vanish back to your room and enjoy your own solitary self, doing whatever you do in there every night.’

‘Well, nearly right. I’m actually trying to vanish to the dining room, but the rest was spot on.’

He stood silently as my words sank in and I regretted them almost at once. He was right. I was afraid, but unless I changed my attitude, I wasn’t going to survive here. He stepped aside to let me pass and the minute I could do so, I didn’t. He was a very clever young man, was Davey Sussman.

‘Look, we two are on our own here. I’ve been watching you, Maxwell, and you’re as good as I am. And I don’t say that often because I’ve got a big head as well as a big mouth. At the moment, we need each other, and I think together we could be pretty good. You want to be the best and so do I, but we can’t do it separately. I’m not asking you to tell me your life secrets or sleep with me; I just want to work with you. What do you say?’

I’d once over-ridden my instincts and confided in Mrs De Winter and that had changed my life. Maybe I could do it again. Looking at his feet, I nodded. He was too clever to push it any further. ‘OK, I’ll see you tomorrow, at breakfast,’ and disappeared.

Once that barrier crumbled, others followed. On the whole, the people at St Mary’s were a good crowd. Volatile, noisy, eccentric, argumentative, loyal, dedicated, and impatient as well, of course, but also the best bunch of people you could hope to meet. I began to relax a little. The strange chaos of the first few weeks unravelled into order and routine and we began to get the hang of things.

The mornings were mostly devoted to lectures on temporal dynamics, pod procedures, maths, and the history and structure of St Mary’s. We spent our afternoons in the Library, keeping abreast of developments in our specialised areas – Ancient History in my case – the latest thinking in archaeology and anthropology, together with intensive research on the other two specialities in which we were required to be current.

‘What did you choose as your other two specialties?’ asked Sussman one Friday lunchtime as I staggered to my room, legs wobbling under the weight of books, papers, and boxes of cubes and sticks. My scratchpad was banging in my knee pocket and I was desperate for tea and a pee and not in that order, either.

‘Middle Ages and the Tudors,’ I said. ‘How about you?’

He opened the door for me. ‘Roman Britain and the Age of Enlightenment.’

I was impressed. His main area was Early Byzantine. These were big subjects. He wasn’t just a pretty face. I was glad now I’d taken a chance on him. He wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but I liked him better as I got to know him. Except on Fridays.

On Fridays, he was just a pain in the arse.

‘It’s Friday,’ he said, passing me a sheet of paper and we sat down.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Davey.’

‘Come on, Max, it’ll only take a minute.’

‘Why don’t you revise like the rest of us?’

‘That’s no fun. This is much more of a challenge.’

‘Not as much of a challenge as that blonde admin clerk you’ve been chasing all week. How’s that working out for you?’

‘I’m quietly confident,’ he said, rolling up his sleeve and picking up a pen.

Each Friday afternoon was devoted to a two-hour exam on all the topics covered that week. And we had to pass. Failure was not an option
,
as the famous saying goes. Fail just one weekly test and you were out. No re-sits, no second chances. You were gone. Sussman just didn’t seem to grasp that. He began to write on his arm.

‘Come on, Max. Read me that bit about temporal and spatial co-ordinates and I’ll buy you a drink.’

He found me one afternoon in the small classroom on the second floor where I was hiding from a cross-country run.

‘Have you heard?’

‘Obviously not,’ I said, marking my place with a finger so he would take the hint and go away. ‘Heard what?’

‘Rutherford’s broken his leg.’

‘What? Is he OK?’

‘Well, no. He’s broken his leg, you daft bat.’

I picked up my copy of McKisack and hefted it in a meaningful manner. ‘Is he here in Sick Bay or have they taken him away?’

‘Oh, they took him to Rushford. It was nearer. He’ll be back soon.’

But he wasn’t. We never saw him again. Rumour had it he went off to Thirsk as a post-grad assistant, which left poor Stevens pretty exposed. I really felt for Stevens. He wanted this so badly and he struggled with nearly everything. Academically he was fine, but with everything else he was a complete disaster and worst of all, that bitch Barclay, scenting blood in the water, was making his life a misery. This brought out the side of Sussman I didn’t like very much. I asked him to tone it down a bit. He couldn’t – or wouldn’t – see that careless brilliance and effortless achievement could be a bit insensitive with Stevens struggling so hard.