‘Why? What did I do?’
Gone now was any pretence. With no witnesses present, she really let rip. Spit flew from her mouth with the violence of her words.
‘You don’t get it, do you? The great Maxwell. Except you’re not. You’re not great and you’re certainly not Maxwell. You’re just a rather silly girl who’s completely out of her depth.’
I felt myself begin to grow cold, but I’d come too far now. With an assumption of ease I was far from feeling, I said, ‘Talking rubbish as usual, Izzie. What don’t I get?’
This was her moment and she seized it, spitting the words she knew would destroy my world.
‘It wasn’t Leon, you stupid cow. It wasn’t Leon who lifted that contemporary from Troy. Only one person would ever do anything that stupid.’
My world slid away from me but I had to ask anyway.
‘Who was it then?’
‘It was you. Her. Maxwell. Maxwell did it. You did it because you’re arrogant and conceited and full of yourself and you think you’re wonderful and you can do anything you want. And everyone covered for you. And then you died so it didn’t matter any longer and I thought we were safe. And he was getting over you. One day he would have seen me. And then you turned up and ruined everything. And now we’re all at risk. Again. Do you wonder people hate you?’
We all have our own self-image. A picture of ourselves as we hope we appear to others. Mine was based on my work. I saw myself as I hoped others saw me – professional, hard-working, dedicated, competent – all the usual stuff. To have that blasted away in an instant … To know that I had committed a crime so terrible … to know that it was me. It was me who had done it. I had endangered the timeline, St Mary’s, my colleagues … Had Leon run away? From me? My world crashed down around my head.
I felt as if I had plunged into a bath of icy water. The shock took my breath away. She'd kicked away the foundations of my world and suddenly, I wasn’t the person I thought I was. The last thing I owned in this world – my sense of self – had been stripped from me.
I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t know what to do. How to feel. What to say. No wonder Leon had told me to say nothing. This was the reason Leon had hidden me in the toilet. So that I couldn’t talk to Helios. So that I wouldn’t find out. That in this world it hadn’t been Leon. It had been me. The person who had threatened the timeline, risked everything, had been me.
It was a measure of how much I identified now with this life I had taken over – I felt every bit as frightened and ashamed and horrified as if I had done it myself. Maybe I should hand myself over to the Time Police – admit my crime and take my punishment. Was that why I was here? To provide the Time Police with a scapegoat? But no, that wouldn’t save Peterson or Guthrie or the Boss. Far from it. Because if I was guilty then so were they.
What was I going to do?
What could I do?
I don’t know how long I stood, lost in thought and panic, but when I looked up, she was gone.
I sat heavily on the little bed. The springs chinked beneath me. I tried to think, but the same three words ran through my mind. ‘It was you. It was you. It was you.’ I don’t know for how long I sat there. The overhead light flickered. Shadows danced. Time passed. I should be preparing for this hearing. Preparing my defence. Except I didn’t have one. If I were Maxwell then they’d shoot me. And Guthrie and Peterson and the Boss. And Leon if they ever found him.
And even if I weren’t Maxwell – would that save anyone? Who would believe I was from another world? I couldn’t prove it. And they couldn’t dig up a body because I’d been cremated and my ashes scattered. No mouldy earth for me. Just a small stone with my name.
I didn’t care about me. Knowing what I’d done, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to survive. If I hadn’t come here …
I was so completely in my own dark world that I never heard the quiet footsteps in the passage. When she spoke, I nearly had a heart attack.
‘Good afternoon, Dr Maxwell.’
The voice had the majesty of millennia.
I wasn’t in the mood.
‘Push off, Mrs Partridge.’
Perhaps I could goad her into finishing me off now.
‘I can see that you are considerably distressed, but there really is no need for discourtesy.’
She was in full battledress, her dark hair looped around her head and held in place with silver pins. A long, gracefully draped robe fell around her sandaled feet. She held a scroll in one hand. This was obviously a formal occasion.