Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [110]
190
‘Patsy,’ he said, quietly. ‘When did your husband die?’
‘Just leave it, Christopher, all right.’
And then he knew for certain it was true.
Jack Bartlett finished packing the last bottle of Tilda’s cheap Italian wine into a cardboard box ready to be taken down the road to the nightclub Tilda had commandeered for the party. He collapsed into one of the sagging sofa’s in the Tropics. He still couldn’t believe that the Doctor’s response to all the trouble they were in was to organize a fancy dress party.
The sofa was warm and incredibly comfortable after the drive back from Healey in the back of Tilda’s car. The journey back to London had been without incident, but still filled with tension. The Doctor and Gilliam had barely said a word to one another for the whole trip. As soon as they had arrived in London they’d gone their separate ways. The Doctor had begun to plan the party and Gilliam had left, announcing that she was going to spend the day exploring the city. The Doctor had tried to appear unaffected by Gilliam’s rejection of him, but Jack could tell that the little man was deeply upset. Jack couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of the intensity of feeling between the two of them.
Jack curled up on the sofa and pulled a cushion under his head. After the events of the last few days he felt ready to sleep for a week. Maybe if he stayed quiet Tilda wouldn’t notice that he’d finished with his latest task and he’d be able to catch a quick nap. He found Tilda a deeply intimidating person.
Eddy had always spoken of her in a devoted, almost reverent way and Jack had always felt more than just a little jealous of the special relationship they shared. At least now he understood why they had been so close. Jack was still finding it hard to accept the truth about Eddy.
Tilda strode purposefully into the room and glared at him. ‘What are you doing on your arse, Jack Bartlett? There’s work to be done. This party is not going to organize itself.’
Jack was about to get to his feet, when he decided to risk getting an earful.
‘Give us a break, I’m knackered.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘The worm turns. I approve. Do you want a drink?’
Jack fancied a pint. ‘Have you got any pale ale?’
‘Pale ale?’ Tilda said, rolling the words around her mouth experimentally before shaking her head. ‘Means nothing to me. There’s red wine or red wine.
I’m saving what spirits I have left for the party.’
Jack had never tasted red wine. He had an Aunt in Darlington who used to get merry on Stone’s Ginger Wine. He’d stolen a swig from the bottle one Christmas and almost thrown up. ‘I won’t, thanks all the same.’
191
‘You ought to broaden your horizons, deah. It’s a wonder we chose you at all.’
Jack felt a bitter wash of resentment come over him, and before he could stop himself, he exclaimed, ‘So why did you? I didn’t ask you to. I wouldn’t have said yes if you had.’
Jack felt sure Tilda was going to shout at him. Much to his surprise and relief she only pulled a bottle of red wine from one of the boxes, retrieved two glasses from behind the bar and came and sat down next to him on the sofa.
‘I didn’t choose you, the Major did. After a night at the Upstairs Room when you helped clean up after hours.’
Jack remembered the evening. It was the first night he’d ever danced with a man. A sailor called Barry who’d wanted to go back to Jack’s place with him, but Jack had been too nervous. Too nervous and too scared of Mrs Carroway finding them and throwing him out; or worse still, calling the police.
Jack shrugged. ‘The Major was on his own, his barman had let him down.
I just tidied up a bit, that’s all.’
Tilda opened the wine and poured two glasses. Jack felt unable to refuse.
He took hold of the glass and peered down at the mysterious dark liquid. He started to feel queasy at the idea of drinking it.
Tilda took a large gulp from her glass. ‘I wasn’t at all sure whether you were the right material to join with one of us, but something the Major said changed my mind.’
‘Oh, yeah?’