I forgot my ribs and tried to sit up and even the medication couldn’t cope with that.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ he said. ‘I know you’re from St Mary’s but do the words just lie still not mean anything to you?’
‘He’s awake?’
‘He is.’
‘He’s talking?’
‘Well, his mouth is opening and closing but he’s not actually making any sense at the moment.’
‘No, that’s quite normal.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. We’re not sure he’s much aware of what’s going on around him, which means he probably won’t know about the enormous sexual harassment suit coming his way from at least three of my nurses. One of whom is male.’
‘He can’t help himself,’ I said. ‘I recommend you put something in his tea to calm him down.’
‘We can do better than that. We’ve sent for a…’ He consulted his gizmo again. ‘… Nurse Hunter, who is, I believe, his significant other.’
Peterson would want me to ask. ‘Do you mean his wife?’
He started bashing his gizmo again. ‘Is he married?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Well, if you don’t know then how should I?’
Good point, I suppose.
‘Dr Bairstow will also be here sometime this afternoon, together with Dr Stone who will form his own assessment of the situation with a view to shipping you all back to St Mary’s and out of my medical centre as soon as possible.’
‘Thank you for making us feel so welcome.’
He flashed me a brief smile. ‘Not at all, Dr Maxwell. Would you like to give me a gentle cough now?’
I closed my eyes. Doctors. I hate them.
Leon remained unconscious. I spent as much time with him as they would allow me. He hadn’t woken up next to me for a long time and I was determined I would be there when he eventually opened his eyes. He lay motionless, barely visible through all the equipment surrounding him. Occasionally he seemed to sigh. I held his hand and waited.
Two days later they told me I was much better. I could barely move and barely breathe so this was obviously some Time Police definition of the word better – as in ‘not actually dead’. I was commanded to exercise and there was no arguing with them, so twice a day I allowed myself to be pried away from Leon’s bedside to roam the corridors, keeping my eyes peeled in case I came across anything that could be used against them in the future. Because, of course, they were just the sort of organisation to leave top-secret stuff lying around where any prying historian could get her hands on it, weren’t they?
Anyway, I was shuffling painfully down yet another anonymous beige corridor, worrying about Leon, when two officers appeared, walking towards me. The corridor wasn’t wide enough for all three of us abreast and since it was obvious I had the manoeuvrability of a super-tanker with the handbrake on, they were going to have to step aside for me.
As I limped past, I heard one of them say, ‘Bloody St Mary’s – they think they own the place.’
I stopped dead.
There are those who say that violence is never the answer. Apparently, having a massive punch-up is not the mature way forward. The response to any sort of conflict, they say, is a fair-minded discussion in which both sides are able to state their grievances in an attitude of tolerance and non-judgmental what-not. All parties are supposed to discuss their feelings and agree a solution. According to these people – who, let’s face it, are not normal – conflict resolution should proceed thusly:
Giant, scarred, muscle-bound Time Police officer: I am upset that so many St Mary’s personnel are currently in our building. It makes me feel threatened and afraid.
Small and only slightly less scarred St Mary’s historian: I recognise and understand your feelings. I am upset that my husband is possibly dying and your hostility makes me feel vulnerable.
TP: I regret my attitude has caused you to react in this manner. Your feelings are understandable and I will endeavour to keep my insecurities in check.
St Mary’s: I am grateful for your endeavours. I accept the validity of your feelings and will keep my appearances to a minimum. Perhaps later we could embark together upon a session of meditation and relaxation to embrace feelings of mutual tolerance and respect.
TP: I endorse your suggestion and would like to offer you this small phial of lavender and tea-tree oil which I find to be extremely beneficial in times of stress. I am also in possession of a mantra which, when chanted regularly, induces feelings of great calm and tranquillity.
St Mary’s: I am most grateful for this show of understanding and pleased that a resolution to this conflict has been proposed. I look forward to joining you later.
TP: Would you like to borrow my leg-warmers?
St Mary’s: What a kind thought. Which way is the bar?
And then, of course, there’s the proper way of doing things.
I spun – well, lurched – around and was in his face, demanding to know what his problem was.
He replied that I, along with every other member of St Mary’s, was his problem and that every time he turned around there was another of us scuttling along the corridor. Like rats.
I replied that we were here only because the Time Police make such a piss-boiling cock-up of everything they touch that they need St Mary’s to sort it all out for them.
Any reservations he might have had about thumping an injured historian went straight out of the window. They were closely followed by any sensible qualms I might have had about taking on two enormous, state-sponsored bullies while in less than perfect health myself. We squared up to each other. I was all set to go. My boys were upstairs in pieces, and now the god of historians had presented me with two of the people responsible for that, an empty corridor, and just the sort of mood to do some damage. I take back everything I’ve ever said about the god of historians. As deities go – top banana!
Fortunately for all of us, at that moment the lift door opened revealing Captain Ellis on the threshold with Matthew at his side.
Damn and blast. Obviously, I didn’t want Matthew to see his mother brawling in public. We all stepped back, held a small competition to see who could summon the falsest smile, while making it absolutely clear that hostilities had only ceased because of the presence of a senior officer and a small boy, and began to edge past each other.
‘Are they going to shoot Mummy again?’ piped Matthew. I thought I detected a slight note of anticipation.
‘No one’s shooting anyone,’ said Ellis reassuringly, and stared across at his men, who said nothing but managed to convey their disappointment at this sad state of affairs.
‘Where are you off to?’ I said, donning my mother hat.
‘Time Map,’ said Matthew simply, obviously losing interest now he’d ascertained no one was about to shoot Mummy.
Ellis just grinned. They disappeared around a corner, the officers cast me unloving looks, and I pushed off while I still could.
Obviously someone had a word with Commander Hay. I suspect she had a word with Dr Bairstow. Who turned up to have a word with me. Apparently, we were all to be shipped back to St Mary’s. Even the still unconscious Leon. I think it was felt that relations between our two organisations would be immeasurably improved if we saw much less of each other for a while. A bit like marriage, I suppose. Anyway, mutual relief at seeing the back of each other caused us all to be quite civil to each other and, by the end of the week, we were back at St Mary’s. I felt better at once, although Dr Bairstow warned me that any fighting in the corridors would result in his extreme displeasure. I was so happy to be home that I was easily able to ignore the injustice of his comments and just smiled and nodded.
I wasn’t around when Hunter and Markham were reunited, but I was sitting with Guthrie when Peterson and Grey turned up.