Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [112]
‘Oh yeah?’ Chris couldn’t meet Tilda’s gaze. Instead he stared over at the boy on the sofa. ‘Like what?’
It was Tilda’s turn to look away, her mouth forming into a tight line. ‘It’s not for me to say. It really would be best for you to hear the truth from her.’
‘Fat chance of that,’ he spat and turned on his heel.
Jack watched as the tall broad-shouldered man in the old-fashioned clothes left. ‘Who was that?’
‘Christopher?’ Tilda said, glancing back at the door, whilst she bounced the little Chinese boy on her hip. ‘Oh he’s a friend of the Doctor’s. From the future.’
The future? ‘Blimey! Do you think all the men in the future look like that?’
Tilda only arched an eyebrow in reply.
A large sign above the club bore the legend Ronnie Scott’s. Chris pushed open the door and walked into the foyer of the club. There didn’t appear to be anyone about. Framed posters on the wall advertised a month of Sundays of rock-and-roll. The names of the singers were all unfamiliar to Chris. Bright young faces with toothpaste smiles and quiffed hair.
A set of tall double doors at the back of the foyer led into a large dancehall.
Chris paused in the doorway. The room was decorated with streamers and balloons and a small stage at the far end of the room had been set up for a band. Chris caught sight of someone moving at the back of the hall, carrying a bundle of streamers.
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‘Christopher,’ the Doctor beamed, catching sight of his friend. ‘So tell me, how are you finding the rock-and-roll years?’
The Doctor handed Chris a bunch of brightly coloured balloons, that he’d inflated and tied together with ribbon. ‘In the far corner, I think. All right?’
‘Whatever,’ Chris replied without thinking and set about hanging the balloons. ‘I was looking for someone.’
‘Oh, the young woman. Patsy, isn’t it?’ the Doctor said. ‘She said she was going to see if the drink had arrived.’
‘Oh.’
‘Oh?’ the Doctor said, puzzled by his tone. ‘Are you all right? I understand that you’ve been helping Tilda free the Toys.’
‘Yes. You too. That’s quite a coincidence.’
The Doctor didn’t reply.
‘It is a coincidence, isn’t it?’ Chris asked.
‘What?’ the Doctor said, wrestling with party streamers. ‘Oh, yes, I should think so. Although, these days I can never be absolutely sure. Are you all right, Chris? You seem distracted if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Chris ignored the question, countering it with one of his own. ‘Doctor, why are you organizing a party?’
‘Does it bother you?’
‘No. It’s just not the sort of thing I’d expect to find you doing, under the circumstances. That’s all.’
The Doctor dragged a stepladder over to the wall; with both hands occupied, he held on to one end of the long party streamers with his teeth. ‘Could you hold the ladder steady while I sort these out,’ he spluttered, his mouth full of brightly coloured paper.
Chris nodded and gripped the base of the ladder as the Doctor climbed to the top.
‘It’s a long story. There’s a short version and a long version.’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Well, the short version is I’m helping organize a singles night for some escaped inmates of a mental hospital.’
‘That’s the short version?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
‘You do? Oh good, you won’t need the long one then.’
‘Actually, I think I probably do.’
Chris listened as the Doctor explained about his discovery of the injured boy in Soho, about his meeting with Jack Bartlett and their abduction by the 195
monstrous vehicle. Chris interrupted the Doctor when he began to describe his trip to Healey and the Institute.
‘But I’ve been there, Doctor. I helped bring back two of your escaped inmates. We were attacked on the way back, but we finally got back to London yesterday.’
‘Well if you’ve been to Healey, then you must know all about the Toys.’
Chris