Free The Very First Damned Thing by Jodi Taylor Page A

Dr Bairstow was alone again.
    He sat for a while, lost in thought, and then pulled his chair forwards, placed the bottle and glass in his bottom drawer, opened a file at random, and began to work.
    Cornered outside R&D and not having the speed for a quick getaway, Dr Bairstow smiled benignly on the two representatives of the Forces of Darkness, or the Society for the Preservation of Historical Buildings, as they probably preferred to be known.
    â€˜I have agreed the amendments to the new staff block. I have agreed that the hangar should be situated behind the main building so that the original façade may remain unspoiled. Please present me with today’s list of unreasonable demands, all of which will, apparently, have been designed to prevent my project ever coming to fruition.’
    An earnest young man whose cardigan had obviously been knitted by a loving mother, pushed his spectacles further up his nose and said nervously, ‘Well, to be honest Dr Bairstow, there is one area that causes Miss Spindle and me particular concern.’
    Miss Spindle, clutching an armful of folders, gazed adoringly up at him.
    â€˜Only one?’ Dr Bairstow said.
    The young man shifted his weight and mentally girded his loins. ‘Our understanding is that this will eventually be an educational establishment.’
    â€˜An eventuality that seems to recede further and further into the distant future with every passing day.’
    â€˜Sir?’
    â€˜A research facility, yes. Under the auspices of the University of Thirsk.’
    â€˜Well, I have to ask, sir …’
    â€˜Yes?’
    â€˜Blast doors?’
    â€˜Purely a precautionary measure. Nothing to alarm you in any way.’
    â€˜A precautionary measure against what?’
    â€˜Anything that could go wrong.’
    â€˜What could possibly go so wrong you need a set of blast doors? Are you splitting the atom?’
    â€˜Good heavens, no. Well, not on purpose, certainly.’
    Dr Bairstow paused for a reaction from the representatives of an organisation famed for its lack of humour. After a while, it became apparent their reputation would remain intact.
    â€˜Actually, they are there to protect the old building. We will have a fully functioning R&D department and their function is – well, you could say, practical history. I don’t know if you’re aware of Greek Fire? Or the ballistic properties of a trebuchet? The blast doors are here solely to protect this fine old building from anything untoward that may occur as the academic mind marches unstoppably forwards in its quest for knowledge.’
    He paused, leaned on his stick, and smiled benevolently at them again.
    They stepped back.
    â€˜But according to the plans, R&D will be lodged in the main building.’
    â€˜That is correct.’
    â€˜So – they will also occupy this space as well?’
    â€˜R&D personnel will certainly be present on many occasions.’
    â€˜But the structure is massive. It’s practically an aircraft hangar. What on earth could possibly require this amount of space?’
    â€˜My dear sir, have you ever tried to reconstruct the Battle of Hastings? You cannot possibly expect me to fit the entire Saxon fyrd into an area the size of a small bedroom.’
    â€˜You will be fighting battles inside the building?’
    â€˜Only if it’s wet outside.’
    They stared at each other, adrift in a fog of mutual incomprehension. In the future, Dr Bairstow was frequently heard to remark that any lighthearted frivolity he might possibly once have possessed had been leeched from his soul by prolonged contact with the Society for the Preservation of Historical Buildings and any complaints should be addressed to them. In triplicate. With full supporting documentation, together with the appropriate plans, diagrams, and projections all countersigned, dated, and stamped with official approval.
    He tried again. ‘Not if we cannot reach some