Dead of Winter - James Goss [39]
‘Are you feeling all right, Mr Williams?’ I asked, stepping up to him.
He stood there, staring at me, hand still covering his mouth. He lifted his hand away and stared at it.
‘What’s happening to me?’ His voice was faint.
I put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Mr Williams…’ My tone was grave. ‘You are extremely ill.’
He was still staring at his palm. It was covered in blood.
What Amy Remembered
‘Rory’s not my pet dog!’ I yelled at the Doctor.
‘Well, that would be better.’ He was truly angry. ‘Dogs I can live with.’ He paused, suddenly hopeful. ‘Quite sure you’re not more of a cat person?’
‘This isn’t getting him back,’ I said.
He pulled a face. ‘Who said I wanted him back? I was just suggesting a few alternatives. Nice little ginger tom. Have to get it neutered, of course.’ He smiled winningly. ‘I’d let you name him.’
‘We’ll find Rory.’ I was firm. ‘And then neuter him.’ I flopped down on the bed. Prince Boris patted my arm sympathetically. ‘Have you been married long, my dear?’ I guessed he was making a ‘women, eh?’ face at the Doctor. I caught him at it, and he flushed slightly.
The Doctor pointed at the window. ‘Out there, Amy Pond, is an alien intelligence that is about to shred human history. Now, who do you want popping off to have a word with it – a thousand-year-old Time Lord or a mostly qualified male nurse?’
‘Don’t say it like that,’ I hissed.
‘Well, what do you want me to say?’ The Doctor was so angry he was almost hovering. ‘Well done on marrying the only male nurse not to have a full set of Barbra Streisand records? Why did you pick him, anyway? Were there no flight attendants in your village?’
‘Only Jeff.’
‘Ah.’
I stood up. I stood up quite a lot. It takes a bit to stand eyeball-to-eyeball with the Doctor. It’s not just that he’s taller. It’s that his eyes are like… it’s like looking into something you shouldn’t. When I was young there was a solar eclipse and we had to peer at it through cards or combs or some such in case you went blind – and everyone sneaked a peek directly at it, anyway. At this rolling, burning light that rubbed away at your eyes. The Doctor’s gaze is like that. Only with slightly kissable eyebrows.
‘I picked Rory, always Rory, because he is just like you,’ I yelled at him. ‘He is sweet and understanding and funny and he always tries to do the right thing. Plus you both run the same way.’
‘We do not.’
‘Do so.’
The Doctor and I both sank down onto a sofa opposite Prince Boris who was trying his best to look like he wasn’t there, poor sock.
The Doctor puffed up like he was about to shout, then flexed a leg. When he spoke again, his voice was soft. ‘You really think I’m like that? And you really think he’s like that?’
I nodded. Thing is, it was complicated. You can’t talk about these things with the Doctor because they always slide off the wrong way. He’s odd about emotions sometimes. Like he’s crossing them off in a Spotter’s Guide. ‘Ah, yes, that’ll be Anger, that’ll be Fear, and I’ve a hunch that’s Love. Tick tick tick.’ I imagine him sitting around chatting to his friends (does he have friends?), saying, ‘Humans, eh? Sometimes you can almost tell what they’re thinking.’ And yet at other times it’s like he’s spent a hundred years living out every emotion, one at a time.
Don’t even get me started on the whole Doctor-Amy-Rory thing. It’s kind of like… I dunno. Suppose you’d always fancied Ryan Reynolds. That’s fine, yeah. You meet someone else, who is maybe not Ryan Reynolds, but perhaps he’s got the same goofy smile. And you think, ‘Yeah, that’s it, I’m happy.’ Then Ryan Reynolds himself roars up in a camper van and says ‘Hey guys! Let’s all go on a road trip. Bring the boyfriend! It’ll be fun.’ Only Ryan Reynolds doesn’t save the universe. Well, not at weekends.
So I guess that’s my life. Crammed in a camper van, sneaking the odd glance at Ryan, squeezing the hand of my lovely husband,