Dead of Winter - James Goss [40]
Look, while I’ve been ranting along like this, well… not much has happened really. I mean, that’s a lot of thinking going on, but it only takes a couple of seconds – all these thoughts are whizzing through my head at like a million, million miles an hour. So heaven knows what it’s like in the Doctor’s brain. I imagine it’s like someone built a large hadron collider in a candyfloss factory.
It’s clear we’re not saying anything. We’re just sat there, on a sofa. The Doctor and Amy Pond. Not currently saving the universe. Not currently shouting at each other, either. So there’s progress.
Prince Boris got up. ‘No, no, stay there,’ he protested, with a theatrical cough. ‘I am only a dying Prince, of course it’s absolutely no trouble at all for me to make you some more fresh tea.’
That broke the mood.
We bustled around making the tea. All this time, Maria had been sat watching us, her eyes as wide as saucers. Big curious saucers.
She tugged at the Doctor’s sleeve. ‘Is this all real?’
The Doctor crouched down. ‘Does it feel real, Maria?’
She nodded solemnly.
The Doctor tapped her ever so gently on the nose. ‘Then it is real. Remember that for ever.’
‘But…’ she looked at him, almost scandalised that a grown-up was saying this. ‘It just…’
The Doctor, still somehow squatting, grinned. ‘Maria, you’ve seen it all with your own eyes. Don’t doubt it for an instant. When you grow up – remember that. If you see it, it is real.’
She nodded, very solemnly. Frankly, he was giving it 110 per cent, but it was only inches away from ‘always let your conscience be your guide’. But I could tell that, from that moment on, the Doctor had a friend for life.
Maria carried on looking at him. ‘I like Monsieur Rory very much. He was very kind to me. Please don’t leave him on his own.’
The Doctor stared at her, blinked, and grabbed a cup of tea from Prince Boris. He dropped three cubes of sugar into it, drained it in a gulp and winced.
Then he glanced at me. Not the full Oncoming Truck brilliance, but a sly little look. The closest he’ll ever give me to ‘you win’. Very, very quietly the Doctor spoke.
‘Amy Pond, Tiddles will have to wait. We’re going to go and rescue your husband.’
The Story of Rory
Hello. My name’s Rory, and I’m dying.
I’ve not really said much so far. I’ve kept out of it. To be honest, I’d much rather let everyone else get on with it.
But it’s complicated. I mean, Amy always knows exactly what to do. Even if she doesn’t, she acts like she does. Running through a burning spaceship, laughing. Trust me, she’s just the same down the supermarket.
Every now and then, I get left behind.
I love you, Amy Pond. I know that.
I really think you love me too. Sometimes. Well, I wonder if it’s just that you really, really, really love me because you do, and sometimes if it’s just that you slightly love me just because of the way that meeting the Doctor meddled with your childhood. If you see what I mean. See, now, that bit makes me cross. Cross because I don’t like that thought as it works out badly whatever way you look at it. I’m cross that the Doctor messed up your head, but if he hadn’t, perhaps we wouldn’t be married. So maybe I should be grateful. The next thing I tell you is a lie, the last thing I told you was the truth. Bang.
Of course, now the Doctor’s messed with my head too, and I really don’t know what to think any more.
The Doctor once told me off for dropping litter. We were on a lovely alien planet. Walking through a park of singing purple trees. And I dropped something. Now don’t get all cross, not a tin can or anything. Just a banana skin.
It was like I’d dropped a grenade. The Doctor can’t have heard it, but he stopped walking and turned around, glaring at me.
‘What did you just do?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No, really, what? No one does nothing, not ever.’
I shrugged.
The Doctor took a step closer.
I felt my mouth go dry and wondered if this was how Daleks felt. Sudden urge for a wee.
His eyes drifted down, pointedly at the floor.
I followed his