Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [115]
I’m gonna go for a walk.’
Jack turned and ran out of the dancehall. Too wrapped up in his own emotions to see the expression on the Doctor’s face.
The Doctor strode on to the empty dancefloor, dug his hands into his trouser pockets, and tried to look nonchalant as he surveyed the circle of costumed mannequins which surrounded him. He noticed Gilliam sitting on the stage, scrutinizing him. He winced, inwardly.
‘Pre-party nerves?’ she asked. ‘Or are you just at a loose end?’
The Doctor forced a smile. ‘Both, I think. I’ve got just one last thing to do for the party and then I’m done,’ the Doctor said, fingering the party invitations which were still in his pocket. ‘So,’ he began, ‘what do you think of the 1950s?’
‘Well it makes a change from the deserts of Kr’on Tep. A welcome change.’
The Doctor didn’t miss her tone. ‘I thought you were happy there. I was told you were in love.’
‘Well, you were misinformed. I was so sure that you would return, I made Yr’canos wait on Thoros Beta for a month. And even when we finally left I didn’t once stop believing that you would come back. Right up until the day of the wedding I was certain that you would come for me.’
‘It wasn’t my choice. Please believe me. I was snatched out of time by my own people. Imprisoned. Forced to stand trial. It was a drumhead. If I’d had a choice –’
‘You did have a choice. You could have come back afterwards. Isn’t that the whole point of being able to travel in time?’
‘Yes, yes I probably could have. But by then I’d learnt that you were a Warrior Queen and I was caught up in other battles. Time runs away with 199
itself. It runs away with me.’
‘I thought we were friends.’
‘We were. We are.’
She shook her head. ‘That’s the trouble with you, isn’t it, Doctor? You’re so busy trying to deal with the big picture, the big conflict, that you can’t see anything else. You can’t see what it does to the people around you. Like your friend Christopher or –’
‘Why am I the only person who seems to care whether an entire species is given the chance to survive?’ the Doctor interrupted, bitterly. He took his hat off and fiddled with the brim. More quietly, he added, ‘I just can’t bear the idea of anyone else dying, that’s all.’
‘I heard that you’d lost someone close to you,’ she said, coolly. ‘And I think, to be really honest, it’s clouding your judgement.’ Gilliam gestured around them at the mannequins. ‘They’re not exactly alive now, are they? They’re just possibilities. You can’t just expect people to take them on without knowing what they are. You’ve got to offer people a choice. Look at what the deception has done to Chris and Jack. They’re hurting, Doctor. What’s the point in bringing this lot to life if it ends up creating so much pain?’
‘I. . . don’t know,’ the Doctor mumbled and turned and hurried from the room.
‘You’re a human being, aren’t you?’
‘Is that a trick question, darling?’
The Doctor smiled, uneasily, at Tilda’s barman. ‘I mean you’re not one of Tilda’s people? You’re not a Toy?’
Andrew gave him a puzzled look. ‘Does it make a difference?’
The Doctor exhaled heavily. ‘That’s the question. Would you sit with me for a moment, I need some company and my friends are all. . . busy.’
Andrew nodded. ‘All right. I could do with a ciggie. I’ve been working flat out all afternoon. Well,’ he added, grinning a bit sheepishly, ‘for an hour, at least.’
The Doctor found himself smiling. He guessed that Andrew was in his late twenties. The young man wore his hair cropped close to his head, and had light blue eyes that sparkled with good humour.
They sat huddled in their jackets on the cold front steps of Ronnie Scott’s watching the Soho evening begin. Every now and then, Andrew would pass comment on the young men that walked past the club. He offered the Doctor a cigarette before lighting his own.
The Doctor shook his head. ‘They’re terribly bad for you, you know. Cancer, bronchitis, premature hair loss.’
The young man didn’t seem to hear.
200
The Doctor pulled the thick wad of envelopes from his pocket. ‘I’ve still got all