‘I’m angry because something similar happened to me. I found something that changed my life and I was just thinking how bad my own life would have been if the person who delivered my – thing – couldn’t even be bothered to turn up.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but I think you’re over-dramatising this. Anyone from St Mary’s could do it. It doesn’t have to be me. So long as it does get delivered, it doesn’t matter by whom.’
‘Oh, Leon, for God’s sake. You just don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what?’
‘That it has to be you. Because you’re special.’
Something big clattered against the side of the pod.
He took a deep breath. ‘I think you’re confusing me with someone else.’
‘I don’t think so.’
He said bitterly, ‘There’s nothing special about me.’
‘I disagree.’
‘I think perhaps gratitude has caused you to exaggerate my abilities, somewhat.’
When you’ve really screwed something up, the secret is to jump in with both feet and make it worse. It’s called The Maxwell Way.
‘I don’t think so. I can see that at the moment life for you is – not very good. But you’ll get past this. There is a possibility you’ll go on to have a wonderful life, full of achievement. Respected professionally. Liked by everyone. Loved.’
He sat very still in the darkness. The storm raged outside while I played Russian Roulette with our futures inside.
I went on. ‘You maybe haven’t been around long enough to realise that cause and effect are interchangeable. If you don’t do this thing – this assignment with the book – then you may not have that life. But if you do, if you save this one person, the result could be your own salvation.’
‘I didn’t say it was a book.’
Shit! Shit, shit, shit!
Shut up, Maxwell. Just shut up now. Never speak again. There is no way you can make this right.
‘Yes, you did.’
‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t.’
‘You must have, otherwise how would I have known?’
‘What did I say?’
‘I don’t remember your exact words. Was it supposed to be a secret? I promise not to tell anyone.’
He was just young enough and inexperienced enough for me to get away with this. I could almost hear him running through our conversation in his head, asking himself if maybe he had mentioned a book …
I had to deflect him and what better way than to ask him to talk about himself.
‘Leon, tell me what’s wrong.’
As I hoped, the question threw him.
‘Nothing’s wrong. Why should it be?’
‘Perhaps, when you look in a mirror, you don’t see what I see.’
He said, in a quiet, deadly little voice that would have silenced anyone with an ounce of common sense, ‘I don’t look in mirrors.’
The wind rose to a shriek and the pod trembled.
I could tiptoe around this or jump straight in. Not much of a choice, really. I’m an historian.
‘Afraid to look yourself in the eye?’
Even over the racket outside, I could hear the hiss of indrawn breath.
‘Who are you?’
Your worst nightmare was the answer to that one. As he was mine, at the moment.
Sitting in the dark, I took a huge gamble.
‘I’m the person to whom you are about to tell everything.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘We’ll see.’
I settled back and closed my eyes. He still crouched nearby. If he went back to sit in his seat – if he distanced himself from me, I’d lost.
He lowered himself to the floor and sat alongside me.
I let the silence drift on.
Outside, something shrieked briefly in the storm. He made a slight movement.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I said, without opening my eyes. ‘You’re quite safe in here. I won’t let anything hurt you,’ and held my breath.
‘Too late,’ he said, bitterly. ‘Far, far too late for that.’
I could say something profound, like – ‘It’s never too late,’ and lead him gently through his maelstrom of grief and rage. Or – ‘For God’s sake, Leon, stop being such a wuss. I don’t know what your problem is but get over it, will you? You’ve got a job to do.’
A long time ago, he’d once told me that this had been the worst time for him. He’d been continually drunk, picking fights with anyone who would oblige him. It dawned on me now that I was deliberately provoking a man who was not, at present, enjoying the most stable period of his life. A man, moreover, with whom I was trapped in a small space with the world’s most hostile environment outside. Good job we historians don’t have any sort of death wish.
I tensed my muscles, ready to move quickly, should I have to.
I’d underestimated his self-control. I was going to have to push some more. I assembled every insensitive cliché I could remember and let rip.
Poking his arm, I said, ‘You need to lighten up, mate. Stop being such a misery. Pull yourself together, for God’s sake. It can’t be that bad.’
He said nothing. Damn.
‘Look, I don’t know what’s bothering you, but you need to get over it. It’s not fair on other people, you know, to have you trudging round with a face like a slapped arse. Have some consideration for others, will you?’
Still nothing.
I poked him again.
‘Come on, give us a smile.’