A morning of oddities. We’re St Mary’s. It was lunchtime. I should be up to my withers in people clamouring for sustenance. It was Wednesday, too. Toad in the hole day.
The corridor to Hawking was deserted. I met no one. There should have been an advancing orange tsunami of famished technicians who hadn’t touched food for anything up to forty-five minutes. And yet, nothing.
I let myself quietly through the hangar doors and knew at once that something was wrong.
Silence.
Complete silence.
Hawking was never quiet. There was always the hum of electronic equipment, techies shouting to each other across the vast space, the tinkle of dropped tools, and, over everything, a tinny radio playing housewives’ favourites.
There was none of that. Just sound-sucking, heavy silence.
At least I’d found everyone. What seemed like the entire unit was standing around in twos and threes, all facing towards Number Eight.
No one spoke.
Without thinking, I let the door slip from my grasp and it banged behind me.
Heads turned.
Someone said, ‘Here she is now.’
Peterson weaved his way through the crowd.
He stood directly in front of me, masking whatever it was from my sight. And me from them.
His eyes were red and wet. He said, very gently, ‘Chin up, Max.’
I nodded.
He took my hand and threaded it through his arm.
We walked slowly towards Number Eight.
People fell back on either side.
No one spoke.
I saw Dieter sitting on the Number Seven plinth.
He was crying. Dieter was crying. His face was red and blotchy.
Polly Perkins had her hand on his shoulder. She was crying too.
I stepped carefully up onto Number Eight plinth.
Peterson ushered me into the pod.
Dr Bairstow stood in the back corner, his hands crossed on his stick.
I couldn’t see his face.
Helen was kneeling on the floor, packing up her kit.
My world did not end. It exploded. Exploded soundlessly into a million tiny fragments, spinning silently through space. And I suddenly realised I didn’t hate him. Had never hated him. And that it was now far, far too late.
He lay on his back, arms outflung. I could see his tool roll nearby. The console panel was off, exposing the innards.
Helen finished stowing her kit and began to speak. I heard only the words ‘sudden,’ and ‘massive’.
After she had finished speaking, the silence dragged on.
I felt nothing.
Dr Bairstow lifted his head.
I couldn’t look at his face.
‘I know that you and he were not … but I thought, perhaps, you might like a moment …’
How does he know these things?
They left, taking Peterson with them. I was alone. In every sense of the word.
Stiffly, I knelt beside him.
His eyes were closed. He looked asleep.
I took his hands and gently placed them on his chest. For the first time in living memory his hands were colder than mine.
I straightened his clothes and smoothed his hair.
I leaned forward and laid my head on his chest. There was no strong, steady heartbeat.
I don’t know for how long I sat beside him, holding his hand while he made his final journey. While he finally went somewhere I couldn’t follow. To some place from which I couldn’t bring him back.
Time disappeared.
Either a few minutes or a hundred years later, Tim touched my shoulder.
‘We have to let him go now, Max.’
Maybe he was expecting me to protest.
I said nothing.
He helped me to my feet.
They’d cleared the hangar.
Helen and her team waited at one end.
Tim took me through the doors.
I turned towards my office, but he stopped me. ‘Not today.’
He took me upstairs to my room.
I said my first words in this new life without Leon.
‘I’m fine, Tim.’
‘If you could see what I could see, you wouldn’t say that.’
The tea tasted odd. Very odd.
I closed my eyes.
I could see nothing.
I slept.
I did not dream.
Whenever it was that I awoke, Tim was still there.
He handed me a mug of tea.
‘Drink this. Then you need to tidy yourself up a bit. The Boss wants you. And Kal is on her way.’
‘Kal?’
‘Burning up the motorways as we speak.’
‘She should see Dieter. He’s not going to deal well with this.’
‘She’ll want to see you first.’
‘I’m fine.’
And I was.
No huge red rose of grief bloomed inside me.
No aching sense of loss.
No bitter regret for lost opportunities.
No guilt.
No self-recrimination.
No – nothing.
Tim said, ‘Max,’ and looked more distressed than I could ever remember seeing him.
It occurred to me that I should say something to help him.
I said, ‘Tim,’ and put my hand on his.
Tears slid down his face.
‘Tim, my dear old friend. Don’t cry. He wouldn’t want that.’