I lay on my couch and everyone turned up at once. Peterson, liberated from Sick Bay, arrived first with two cardboard boxes. ‘Some of your books,’ he said. ‘How do you organise them?’
‘By order of enjoyment.’
‘Yes, that’s helpful.’
‘Fiction goes on the top shelf, alphabetically, and everything else underneath in chronological order.’
‘Apparently various people grabbed bits of your stuff before Barclay got in here. Helen got your books and Kal got some of your clothes. It’s all slowly on its way back to you.’
Mrs Partridge was hard on his heels, clutching folders and trailing a printout.
‘Miss Maxwell, there is some paperwork to work through here.’ She sniffed and looked around the room. ‘I really think you should do your laundry.’
‘Before we start,’ I interrupted. ‘I want to thank you for saving those two items for me. They mean a great deal to me. Thank you very much.’
‘You’re welcome, Miss Maxwell. Shall we make a start? Now then, Dr Bairstow has approved the following expenditure. Firstly, unfair dismissal; you were inappropriately dismissed and the correct procedures were not adhered to. Secondly, there are subsistence payments for your period outside the unit. Thirdly, there is compensation for your illegally seized belongings and computer. I’m sorry we couldn’t save your artwork; it was all destroyed. Your computer has been sterilised and even the operating system is gone, I’m afraid. Fourthly, back pay from your day of dismissal to today, the date of your reinstatement.’
I said, ‘Um, isn’t there a bit of a discrepancy here? You can’t compensate me for dismissal and at the same time say I was on the payroll. Surely, it’s one or the other? And you’ve paid me at the wrong rate as well.’
Listen to me telling Mrs Partridge she’d made a mistake. Death-wish Maxwell, they call me.
She said evenly, ‘No, I believe Dr Bairstow’s figures are correct.’
‘But …’
‘They are quite correct, Miss Maxwell.’
‘But …’
‘Just sign, Max,’ said Peterson. ‘I’ve got a similar deal. Not as generous as yours but good enough. You’ve lost more than anyone else. Just smile and sign.’
This was the Boss. This was the Boss doing what he could to put things right. I looked at the column of figures. The total was huge; too huge. I shook my head and said, ‘But, Mrs Partridge …’
The door crashed back into my already pock-marked wall and Chief Farrell was suddenly in the room. He looked terrible. Even worse than when I’d left him a couple of hours ago. His face was haggard with purple-green shadows under his eyes, which were dark and glittery. I took a breath to speak but never got the words out. I realised with a sick lurch to my stomach that he knew. Somehow he knew and he was angry. No, beyond angry. I’d made a big, big mistake.
He interrupted me. His voice shook and I realised with a twist of fear that he was losing control and this was going to be ugly. It came out in an Exorcist-style rasp. My chest tightened.
‘When were you going to tell me? I thought we’d got past all this, but obviously we haven’t. You’re never going to change, are you? I’ve just been wasting my time with you. Why didn’t you tell me?’
I should say something. He paused to draw breath and there was an infinitesimal window of opportunity, but no words came. Peterson and Mrs Partridge seemed paralysed.
‘You weren’t ever going to tell me, were you? You can’t even talk to me now. What is it with you? Anyone would think – oh, I see, of course. How stupid do you think I am? I see it now. It wasn’t mine. Whose was it? What about you, Peterson? Was it yours? You two are pretty close. Oh, no, of course not. It was fucking Sussman’s wasn’t it? You never had eyes for anyone but that worthless piece of shit. And you were going to pass it off as mine, but luckily you lost it, so you didn’t need to mention it at all. And no one else was going to tell me. I had to hear it from Barclay. You called her a bitch. Well, it takes one to know one.’
He spun on his heel and was gone, taking all the air in the room with him. My world crashed around my head. Somehow, I got myself together and took a deep breath. The centre held. I could function.
I turned to Mrs Partridge and said lightly, ‘I’m so sorry, I’ve forgotten where you wanted me to sign. Can you show me again please?’
She silently pointed and I moved the pen blindly. Half the signature ended up on the table-top, but she made no comment. She gathered up her papers, caught my eye, said quietly, ‘Do your laundry, Miss Maxwell,’ and left, closing the door behind her. I turned to look at Peterson who sat among my books, looking like Lot’s wife.
‘Tim, what’s the matter?’
He had the thousand-yard stare that never bodes well. ‘Tim, look at me. Look at me.’ I took his cold hands. Finally, to my relief, his eyes focused on me, but he still looked half-blind. I knew what this was; one shock too many.