Just One Damned Thing After Another (The Chronicles of St Mary's, #1)

This required some thought. The standard ‘I’m fine,’ wasn’t going to cut it, but I still couldn’t talk about things in a non-wobbly voice. However, he’d brought me here to get myself together, so at least I should make an effort. I gave him an honest answer.

‘I’m better. I was … sad … when he died. Then angry with him, but now I’m back to sad again.’ I smiled. ‘It’s because I’m shallow. I can only do one emotion at a time and even that not for very long.’

He didn’t smile back. ‘You’re more generous than I think I would be.’

‘Yes, well, he’s dead and I’m not. If it was the other way around I’d probably be a bit miffed.’

‘So, what will you do now?’

‘I’ve got my presentation to Thirsk coming up so I’m concentrating on that for the time being.’

He drew a pattern in the dust. ‘No, I mean, will you stay?’

‘At St Mary’s? Yes, of course.’

He nodded.

‘Kal and I will probably share Peterson for a while and the new intake will be fully qualified before too long. So, not a problem, I hope. I certainly don’t want to be anywhere else. This is my dream job.’

The pattern became more intricate. ‘Is that your only dream?’

‘I did warn you I’m shallow.’ Time to deflect attention from my dreams. ‘What about you? What’s your dream?’

‘Actually I’m living one of my favourites now.’

It was very quiet in the hot afternoon sun, just the chirp of insects and the distant sounds of the sea. ‘Only it hasn’t turned out quite as I intended.’

I chugged back more fruit drink and found some Dutch courage.

‘So what did you intend?’

‘I did think your first time here would be under happier circumstances. I thought we could watch the sun set.’

We both looked up at the sun, which remained obstinately high in the sky.

‘We would drink champagne.’

We both looked down at the gloop in our glasses.

‘And I thought maybe you would be cleaner.’

He leaned down, looked into my face and smiled gently. ‘And sober.’

‘Don’t worry. I think it’s perfect. And,’ said the slivovitz, ‘there will be other dreams and other times.’

He took my hand. I rested my slivovitzy head on his shoulder and fell asleep.

After we’d eaten I said, ‘So tell me about this Ronan. The one who …’ I found I couldn’t actually say, ‘… who killed Sussman,’ and changed it to ‘… back in the Cretaceous.’

He moved away from me slightly.

‘It happened before my time,’ he said and stopped. I sat quietly and waited. You couldn’t rush him. Eventually, he said, ‘I was brought in – afterwards.’

‘After what?’

Just when I began to think he might never speak again, he said, ‘There were three of them: Edward Bairstow, Annie Bessant, and Clive Ronan. People said they were the dream team, but it was more like a triangle. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes.’

‘The assignment was James VI. Annie got caught. You know James and his witches. Suspicion everywhere. Maybe she was careless – used her com perhaps and someone saw her, maybe some little modern mannerism. They rescued her eventually but she’d been knocked about a bit. Broken arm – concussion.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And she’d picked something up. It came on fast. She said she was fine, but the rules are very clear about this sort of thing.’

I nodded. They were. They were very, very clear. It was our nightmare, letting loose some God-awful infection on an unprotected world. The Boss was paranoid about it. I began to see why.

‘She was coughing and had a fever, which meant she couldn’t return immediately for treatment. They should have stayed put, done the broad-spectrum antibiotics thing, kept her warm, you know the drill. Ronan grew frantic. He insisted on returning so she could get treatment for her injuries, especially the concussion. Edward argued. Annie tried to argue, started to cough, couldn’t stop, and that was it for Ronan.’

He stopped again.

‘What happened?’

‘He shot Edward in the leg and pitched him out of the pod, returning to St Mary’s with Annie, who was by now unconscious.’

I sat appalled. He’d left the Boss to die! I tried to imagine Kal or Peterson doing such a thing. Or me, even. What would we do? I’d like to think we’d do the right thing but I suppose you never know until it actually happens to you. And after Sussman, I was beginning to think I didn’t know anyone very well.

After a long while he continued. ‘He brought Annie back. Edward, he said, was dead; killed in the rescue. Obviously, they got her to Sick Bay as soon as possible. When they realised she was contaminated, they moved her into isolation. Well, you know us – we’re St Mary’s. We never leave our people behind. A search team went back for Edward and found him in a bad way, lying under someone’s cart. They brought him back, operated, and he’s limped ever since.’