Just as the other St Mary’s had taken in that lost, lonely girl all those years ago, so had this one done the same. And, all right, the new colour scheme in this room was disgusting, and the toilets were further away, but, whatever the minor differences, the characters of the people here were exactly the same and what a relief that was. To have something familiar to cling to. To know that, in this St Mary’s, Tim was still his own gentle self. That Dr Bairstow could still freeze your blood at twenty paces. That Markham was still engaged in his unending quest for Hunter’s affections. That Mrs Partridge would still look up from her scratchpad with that expression of resigned exasperation …
I resurfaced to find they were discussing Prentiss’s love life. Or lack thereof.
‘It’s quite easy, really,’ Hunter was saying. ‘You just talk to them. These days, men can understand even quite complicated words. Watch.’
She turned to Markham, who had recently returned to the orbit of her affection like an erratic comet, and smiled dazzlingly at him. As always, whenever she was near, he sat up and looked like an expectant spaniel.
She dropped her voice an octave or two. ‘Well, hello there, big boy. And how tall are you?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Five foot six.’
‘Well, let’s forget about the five feet and talk about the six inches, shall we?’
I thought he was going to faint. He made the faint gobbling noises of one whose blood has fled south for the winter.
Hunter regarded him complacently and then turned back to Prentiss.
‘See? Easy. Give it a go.’
‘I will.’
She looked around. Major Guthrie was just walking past.
‘Good afternoon, Major. How tall are you?’
‘Um, six feet and half an inch,’ he said, and stood bewildered, as, to a man, St Mary’s slid to the floor and laughed its head off.
‘What on earth …?’ said Leon, turning up half a minute later and surveying the scene.
I wiped my eyes. ‘Tell you later. Did you want me?’
‘Yes. Have you got a minute?’
I got up to go and paused. It would have taken a better woman than me to resist the temptation.
‘Leon, how tall are you?’
‘Five foot ten inches.’
What can you say?
We sat outside at one of the tables overlooking the gardens. The sun shone. Birds sang. In a few minutes, they’d start the institutionally approved violence known as football, when the Technical and Security sections relieved the week’s tensions by kicking the living shit out of each other in the name of sport. But just at the moment, all was peace and tranquillity.
We sat in the warm sunshine for a while and then he said, ‘I think the time has come to talk.’
I nodded. It had. I looked at him. He was wearing the old jeans and sweater from when the Time Police had first turned up and disrupted our lives. I was in historian blues. I wondered if that meant anything.
‘I think we need to talk about what we want to do. If you like, I’ll go first.’
I nodded again.
He reached over and took my hand. Right in front of anyone who cared to look. He turned to look at me and his blue eyes were very bright.
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that this is too important to mess about with. We’re too important. So no more of this, Max. I’m going to say what I want. Then you can do the same. Then we’ll talk about how to achieve it. We’ll talk honestly and say the things we really feel. All right?’
I nodded again.
‘Here goes, then. I don’t care. I don’t care whether we live here at St Mary’s, or whether we go back to Rushford. I really don’t care. So long as I’m with you, I’ll live in a box in Tesco’s car park, if that’s what you want. I’ve learned that happiness is too fragile and fleeting to be messed around with. You have to grab it while you can. So, you say what you want to do and I’ll happily go along with it. Just so long as you want to do it with me.’
I looked at his battered hand holding mine. I thought about life here at St Mary’s. A unit to put back together again. I thought about Peterson and Markham and Guthrie. I thought about the noise, the arguments, the solid feeling of good friends. I thought about how I felt every time the pod door opened and I stepped out into the unknown.
Then I thought about his little flat. I thought about sitting at the kitchen table, watching him cook while I sipped wine and just enjoyed being with him. I thought about the paintings I could produce. I thought about all the pictures in my head that might never see the light of day if I stayed here. I thought about staying in bed with him on Sunday mornings, reading the papers and getting toast crumbs everywhere. I thought about waking up every morning and he would be there, beside me, smiling.
I looked across at the football pitch and the battle lines being drawn up there. ‘I don’t mind, either. I just want to be with you. But happiness is like grains of sand. The more tightly you clench your fist, the more it just slips through your fingers. I think that if we just come to rest somewhere and wait quietly, then one day we’ll look up and it’ll be there. So, like you, I don’t care. Whatever you want to do, I’ll do it with you.’
‘Well, we’re a hopeless pair, aren’t we? It looks as if I’m going to have to deploy the decision-making apparatus again.’
He delved in his pocket, pulling out half a crown.
‘Heads we stay. Tails we go.’
‘Fine with me.’