A Symphony of Echoes (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #2)

‘Put the money back in your account,’ said Peterson, coming in behind me.

So I tried and that wasn’t easy. Hot with embarrassment, I explained it was exactly the same money I’d drawn out a few days ago. Remarks were made about abnormal wear and tear. I was sick of the whole bloody business by now. If he wanted reimbursing, he could come and ask for it. Otherwise – forget it.

‘It worked then,’ said Peterson.

I stared at him blankly.

‘Well, look at you. You’re hot, cross, you’ve wasted a whole afternoon at the bank, and they think you’re an idiot. You’re frustrated because you can’t ease your conscience by just giving him money. He wanted to wind you up and he certainly succeeded. It’s his way of revenge. I know this is not possible for you, but the best response is to remain calm and dignified and rise above it.’

‘I’m not a bloody hot-air balloon.’

He remained silent.

‘Oh, all right then.’

It was fear and loathing at St Mary’s, or annual staff appraisal, as it was sometimes known. I had files spread all over my desk and was not in the best mood. David was banging industriously at his keyboard – he never usually worked that hard. I suspected he was looking up new knock-knock jokes. On the plus side, he hadn’t tried to tell me one all day. It was warm and snug inside, cold and wet outside. I was about to mention tea when something made me look up and Chief Farrell stood in the open doorway.

‘Can I come in?’

‘Yes, of course, Chief. How can we help you?’

‘I’d like a word. Mr Sands, could you excuse us a moment, please?’

Bless him, David didn’t move but turned his chair to look at me, raising his eyebrows.

‘If you could, please, David…’

He grinned. ‘I have to see Professor Rapson anyway. He says he can fit blades to my wheels. You know – Ben Hur? How cool will that be?’ He disappeared before I had time to veto the blades.

‘Please sit down, Chief. What can the History Department do for you today?’

Keep it polite and distant. It was vitally important not to be angry. Hate and love are pretty much the same thing. Someone you hate is as much the centre of your world as someone you love. Indifference is the killer.

He sat for a while, looking at his feet. Rain lashed against the windows. He looked up.

‘For how long are you going to keep punishing me?’

I finished stacking the files, taking my time, then picked the whole lot up and dumped them on David’s desk. That would keep him quiet for a bit. Ben Hur!

Finally, I sat back down, clasped my hands on the desk and said, polite and distant, ‘Oh dear, I think I owe you an apology, Chief Farrell. I’m so sorry if you thought I was just indulging in some sort of grand sulk or having a snit. I thought I had made things perfectly clear and if I haven’t then that’s my fault. I had no idea you felt there was still something to be salvaged from the wreckage. Obviously, I was in error and I’m sorry if this is painful for you, but it must be said. I’m not punishing you. I’m not doing anything at all to you. As far as I’m concerned, it’s all over. I’m sorry, but I’ve moved on.’

‘Well, I haven’t. I’d like to apologise.’

‘I’m really not interested.’

‘And explain.’

‘Still not interested.’

‘You need to hear this.’

‘I doubt it.’

He banged the desk. ‘Listen to me!’

I sighed, threw myself back in my chair and looked out of the window. ‘Whatever.’

The wind hurled more rain against the glass and the window rattled. It sounded very loud in the silence. There was no expression on his face. Endless moments passed.

Suddenly, he pushed himself up from his chair and walked out, leaving the door open behind him. I sat back in my chair, feeling suddenly cold. David came back in. He ignored his own desk and plonked himself in front of mine.

‘What?’

He banged the arms of his chair in frustration.

‘For God’s sake, Max, are you insane?’

I said, ‘What?’ in a completely different tone of voice.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

‘I work for an organisation that manipulates time. Do you think that every day I don’t try to think of a way I could go back and warn myself, leave a note, disable my car, do anything, anything at all to change the thing that ruined my life? But I can’t and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s too bloody late. But for you, this can be fixed. All one of you needs do is swallow your stupid pride and find a way. Because this is not unchangeable and one of you has to do something before it’s too late. Suppose one of you dies – there’s nothing at all you can do then. It’s too bloody late. But it’s not now. This can still be fixed. So I’m saying, Max, don’t you spend the rest of your life regretting …’