‘I agree, Mr Peterson. But there were several reasons why I did not wish to intervene. Firstly, you both are capable of looking after yourselves. And you needed to get some things out of your systems. You see, you can’t just order people to get along. You’re not children,’ he said, in the teeth of all the evidence.
‘Now, concerning your resignations, I understand completely the reason why you feel compelled to leave, Miss Maxwell and why you, Mr Peterson, feel the need to support her. I am not, at the moment, going to try to dissuade either of you. No one should be making important decisions today. However, this unit needs to start pulling together again and for that I need you both. And Miss Black too, if I can induce her to return. I am, therefore, not accepting your resignations at this time. Should you feel the same way in say, three days, then if I cannot change your minds, I will accept them with regret. Do you agree?’
Cunning old bugger!
‘I think I speak for both of us,’ said Peterson slowly. ‘We can agree to those conditions. I think it only fair to tell you though, that Max and I have spent the evening discussing our future, to which, I have to say, we are both greatly looking forward. We both feel it’s time for new beginnings. We only tell you this, sir, so you’re not unprepared for our departure.’
Cunning young bugger! The words, ‘considerable pay rise,’ though unspoken, were up there in neon lights. To support him, I did my best to look less battered and more like someone with a rosy future.
The Boss wasn’t having any of it. ‘In three days you may feel differently. We’ll discuss it then.’ he said, slowly getting to his feet. ‘In the meantime, I suggest you take yourselves out of harm’s way. And get that hand looked at tomorrow, Miss Maxwell.’ He limped off to his coffin.
Behind him, Professor Rapson stretched and got to his feet. ‘Not our finest hour,’ he muttered. ‘I do hope the two of you decide to stay,’ and wandered off. This left Ian Guthrie, who looked exactly as you would expect Weasel’s boss to look.
I said, ‘It’s OK, Major.’
‘No,’ said Peterson angrily. ‘It’s not.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘It’s not and I’m very sorry, Max.’ He left too. We watched him go.
‘I’m knackered,’ I said.
‘And me. I’m for my bed.’
And the day still wasn’t over.
We helped each other up the stairs. We had to stop twice to re-coordinate various limbs and stop giggling. We were rendering ‘Stairway to Heaven’, giving it everything we’d got and, as we turned the corner, we tripped over the Chief, sitting at the bottom of the attic stairs, forearms on his knees, head bowed.
‘Aha!’ said Peterson, obviously itching to thump someone.
Farrell got to his feet. ‘I wonder if I might have a word, Miss Maxwell.’
‘Fat chance,’ said Peterson, belligerently. ‘Look at her. That’s what happened last time you had a word.’
How much longer could this day go on?
The Chief did something he rarely had to do. He gave a direct order. ‘Dismissed, Mr Peterson.’
Peterson snorted. ‘You’re behind the times, mate. We don’t work here any more. You’re the one who’s leaving, so just fuck off out of it, will you?’
‘You’ve resigned?’
‘In three days,’ I said, ‘Tim and I are out of here.’
‘But you can’t go.’
‘Yes, we can.’
‘I really must speak to you.’
‘You’re not listening,’ said Peterson. ‘Do I have to thump you?’
‘There’s no need for that. I’ve come to tell you I’m leaving too, so you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’m applying to join the Space Programme.’ I spared a thought for the Boss, who wasn’t having the best day staff-wise. ‘I just wanted to …’ he tailed off. He didn’t know what he’d just wanted to.
Peterson turned to me. ‘This is up to you.’
‘I’ll be OK. He looks as if one good puff of wind would have him over.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘What else can happen today?’ I said, getting that wrong too.
He looked mutinous, but nodded. He looked dead on his feet. I said, ‘Why don’t you go and find Helen?’
He nodded and sighed. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Tim – thanks.’
He glowered at the Chief. ‘Don’t take any crap from him,’ and wandered unsteadily away.
I managed to get myself up the stairs and into my room. It was still a bit of a shock to see how bare it looked. I’d made the bed and my smelly sports bag lay in the corner. I heard Mrs Partridge. ‘Do your laundry, Miss Maxwell!’ My books still littered the floor where Peterson had left them.