‘When I joined they were full of how important the work was and my vital contribution. So far, all I’ve done is a bit of bread and butter stuff with Teddy. And this, of course.’
‘Well, I’ll say it again, Leon. No matter how trivial you think today has been, I’m still grateful. I wouldn’t have lasted long out there. If the storm hadn’t got me then the indigenous fauna would. Thank you.’
He shrugged again.
I asked, ‘So, what’s next?’
I meant – what’s next now? As in something to eat, maybe, but he misunderstood me.
‘The next assignment is even worse. I have to leave something somewhere for some schoolgirl to find. Doesn’t matter. I’ll be gone by then.’
I stared at him, struck dumb with shock. That schoolgirl was me. I was that schoolgirl and he was saying that the defining event of my life didn’t matter? The one event on which my whole future depended and he couldn’t be bloody bothered? I felt a surge of fear and anger that surprised me. Delayed shock from Ronan, I guessed.
Years ago, when I was a kid, I was hiding in my wardrobe when I discovered a book about Henry V and the Battle of Agincourt. It changed my life. It probably saved my life. I read it until it nearly fell apart. It awoke my love of History. That book set my feet on the path that led to St Mary’s. And here was the man who supposedly left it for me saying he couldn’t be bloody bothered.
‘Well, who’s too precious to get down and dirty with the rest of us?’
‘What?’
‘How long have you been at St Mary’s? Long enough, surely, to realise the importance of what we do. Do you seriously think they’d send you on a mission – any mission – that wasn’t absolutely vital?’
I was really angry now. I’d sometimes wondered what my life would have been like if I’d never got away. None of the scenarios ended well. The thought of one of them becoming my reality was too much for me to think about calmly. I rushed to speak.
‘Get over yourself, Leon. Who are you to say what assignment is or isn’t too trivial to undertake?’
Even in the dim light, I could see him flush. Whether with anger or embarrassment, I was unable to determine. But I’d said too much. Shut up, Maxwell.
‘You don’t understand,’ he began.
‘Oh yes I do. Historians get down and dirty, Leon. Get used to it. We go where we’re told and do what we’re told.’ Astonishingly, this barefaced lie did not get me struck down by the god of historians. I made a gesture of disgust. ‘This is what happens when you give the job to a bloody engineer.’
Much more of this and the engineer was going to open the door and fling the historian back out into the storm. And maybe he should. I was so disappointed in him. We’d never talked much about his early years at St Mary’s. I’d always assumed he didn’t want to relive that dreadful time after his family died. I’d imagined him struggling on, slowly rebuilding his life with the quiet courage so characteristic of him. I struggled to reconcile this haggard, unhappy, bitter individual with the quiet, gentle man who had made my soul sing.
He was angry. ‘Who are you to judge me? What gives you the right? Bloody smug, self-satisfied, better-than-everyone-else historians! May I point out that in this case, the historian would be dead if it wasn’t for the engineer?’
True. I sat silent.
‘Nothing to say?’
‘I don’t really know what to say. I thought … It doesn’t matter. I’m just – disappointed.’
I finished the water, swivelled the seat away from him, and contemplated the dark screen. God knows what damage I’d just done. He’d drop me off, storm back to his own St Mary’s, stamp straight out of the gates, and drink himself to death, just as he was doing when St Mary’s found him.
Perhaps it would have been better if I had died with Ronan. People can live too long. Edward III lived long enough to see his vast French possessions slip from his senile grasp. His great-grandson, Henry V, had the sense to die young. It was too late for me to die young, but I could at least die youngish.
I can’t describe the sour taste of disillusionment.
I got up and sat on the floor, in the corner, as far from him as I could get. I’d wait here until the storm ended, go back to St Mary’s, give in my notice, and run far and fast from my inevitable fate. It wouldn’t work. If he didn’t leave that book for me to find then there would be no escape for me.
It was dim inside the pod, but something must have shown in my face, because he got up, paused for a moment, and then crouched beside me.
‘Are you all right?’
I’m absolutely fine is the standard St Mary’s response to any crisis, ranging from a broken fingernail to decapitation, but not this time. Maybe now was the time for complete truth.