And then I was.
He wanted to talk. He wanted to talk to the only other person in this time who knew who and what Leon Farrell was. Someone who could comprehend the depth of his own loss. I imagined Peterson and me, on a long-term assignment, just the two of us, out of our own time for possibly the rest of our lives. How it would be if one of us died and the other had to carry on? Alone …
I said carefully, ‘So tell me, sir, what was he like when you met him? He once told me you knocked seven shades of shit out of him. Did you really?’
He barked something that wasn’t quite a laugh and topped up my glass. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
I listened. The bottle slowly emptied.
Two hours later, he looked exhausted, but better. He’d talked almost non-stop, his memories, brought out for my inspection, drifting insubstantially around my room before dissolving away in affectionate silence.
I saw him to the door.
He paused and put out his hand. ‘Max.’
I took it. ‘Dr Bairstow.’
Nothing more was needed.
The next day was Leon’s service, which I attended, along with everyone else in the unit. The Boss spoke. I can’t remember what he said. I remember only the rainbow light streaming through the Chapel’s stained-glass windows, falling in multi-coloured pools on the stone floor and the tears on Dieter’s cheeks. He’d asked for Leon’s tool roll – partly because he’d always coveted it and partly to remember him by. Kal sat on one side of him, Helen on the other, then Tim, then me on the end. The sense of loss filled the tiny Chapel. Tears were shed. But not by me.
I excused myself immediately afterwards and went back to my office. The tables were still laid out exactly as I had left them. When he’d still been alive. Filled with uncomfortable energy, I set up the schedules and assigned personnel. That done, I turned to my in-tray. I worked my way steadily through everything. Even the dross at the bottom, some of which had been there for months. I built data stacks, dictated reports, and caught up on my emails. I even did my filing because I was as sure as hell Miss Lee wouldn’t.
When that was finished, I turned my attention to my desk. Rarely opened drawers were turned out and ruthlessly dealt with. I rearranged my working area. I tore down old or out-of-date papers from my notice board.
When I finally finished, dusty and worn out, it was very late. Well past midnight. The building had fallen silent. I’d been at it for hours and hours. There was a mound of stuff on Miss Lee’s desk for her to deal with. Dr Bairstow was going to get a hell of a shock when he saw the number of reports I’d sent him, but my desk was clear and my in-tray empty.
I switched off the light and made my way along dim corridors, back to my room.
Tomorrow was a new day. A new beginning. A whole new life.
Chapter Fifteen
I threw myself at my work. I threw everyone else at their work, as well. I don’t think anyone sat down for a month.
We cleared the old schedule and embarked upon the new. Tim and I earmarked Julius Caesar for ourselves.
Dieter became the new Chief Technical Officer. I was pleased for him. Tim came to me and told me they’d offered him Leon’s old room and how did I feel about that? I don’t know how he thought I would react, but I’d always knew it would go to someone, and knowing that it would be Tim on the other side of the roof was – acceptable.
Helen dragged me in for my six-monthly medical, sat on the windowsill, and lit a cigarette. I stared up at the smoke detector and then realised I didn’t care any more. There would be no more battery battles.
She told me to slow down, that I’d lost too much weight too quickly. I pointed out she’d been telling me to lose 10lb ever since I walked in through the gates, and told her to make up her mind. Views were exchanged, culminating in instructions to sleep more and do less. We both knew that wasn’t going to happen.
She sighed heavily, chucked her dog-end out of the window, and continued with the questions.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Absolutely fine.’
‘Getting out much?’
‘Julius Caesar coming up and Dr Dowson says he has something for us next week.’
‘Not what I meant.’
‘I know.’
‘Anything even remotely resembling a social life?’
‘Talked to Kal on the phone last night.’
‘Still not what I meant.’
‘I know.’
‘Any sort of sex life?’
‘She’s not my type.’
She sighed and came right out with it.
‘Are you sexually active?’
‘No. I usually just lie back and think of the Spartans.’
‘Ticking the box marked ‘extra enemas’ and moving on …’
I should have been researching Caesar and Ancient Rome. Instead, I’d spent the last twenty minutes in the library, alternately looking out of the window or staring blindly at the half-completed data stack swirling in limbo in front of me.