I heard Ronan’s voice. ‘No Maxwell. You’re going to live. Everyone else in your world will die but you’ll live on. You’ll look back on today and wish I had killed you.’
Hawking had been built like a fireworks factory, with strong walls and a weak roof, so that in the event of any explosions, the blast wouldn’t spread outwards, but would be channelled harmlessly up through the roof. Because roofs can be replaced. And electrics. And pods. And equipment. Everything could be replaced. Except for Guthrie. And Markham. And Leon. They were gone for ever. Blown out of existence.
‘You’ll look back on today and wish I had killed you.’
I blinked, trying to see through the cloud of brownish yellow dust and smoke swirling upwards, taking with it everything that was left of Leon. Somewhere in all that murk, his scattered atoms and molecules were about to begin a new journey. Making their lonely way around the universe. On their way to become something else. In the fullness of time they might become a tiny part of a new star. Or a new planet. Or a new mountain. Or a new person, even. But no matter how long they travelled and no matter how long the universe continued, they would never again assemble in the combination that had been Leon Farrell.
On that bright sunny morning, I stared at the blurred picture and finally accepted that, dead though he might be, Ronan had won.
I don’t know for how long I sat there. I think it was some considerable time. At some point, Dr Bairstow had switched off the screen and was watching me.
I took a deep shuddering breath. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to expect me to say anything.
‘Listen to me Max. You and I have known each other for a very long time now. You may be wondering why I wanted you to watch that. You must understand that, no matter how painful it is to accept, Leon is dead. I know you well. Don’t tell me that somewhere, deep down, you weren’t convinced that somehow, against all the possibilities, Leon had not been killed. To continue to harbour such false hope is futile.’
He was right. I hadn’t even realised I was doing it, but I hadn’t accepted Leon was dead. A small part of me was still expecting the knock on the door that would tell me there had been some dreadful mistake and that they were all alive. Was that why I hadn’t told Matthew his father was dead? Because, deep down, I hadn’t really believed it?
He continued. ‘It would have eaten away at you and prevented you continuing with your life. Sooner or later – and you know as well as I, Max, that sooner is usually better than later – you must accept the fact that Leon is dead. That they are all dead.’
I nodded. The silence in his room was very heavy.
I sighed. ‘Ronan got them, sir.’
‘I prefer to think that they got him.’
I shook my head. ‘Too high a price.’
‘They didn’t think so. Neither did Mr Markham who died doing his duty.’
He sat in silence for a very long time. ‘They were almost the last you know. There’s only Mr Evans left.’
‘The last, sir?’
‘The last of those who walked through the front doors with me the day I opened St Mary’s. Guthrie, Murdoch, Ritter, Randall, Weller, Evans and Markham. Good men all of them. But yes, Max, for once we find ourselves in complete agreement. Too high a price.’
He looked out of the window.
I was suddenly aware of why the silence was so … silent. ‘Your clock has stopped, sir.’
‘What?’
‘Your clock, sir. It’s stopped.’
‘Oh yes, I’m afraid it has. It has been on its last legs for some time. I believe that the blast has dislodged or damaged some vital part.’
I knew how it felt.
‘You should fix it, sir.’
‘Should I? Why is that?’
‘Markham always said it gave him something to focus on when he was being … the object of your displeasure. It wasn’t that he wasn’t listening – although we both know he probably wasn’t – it just took his mind off things. It’s a kind of tradition with us, sir. We stand in your office, listen to your clock, accept our punishment, and survive to return another day.’
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.