Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [124]
Chris was making his way back to the TARDIS when he finally found her.
If it hadn’t been for the photograph outside the Top Ten Club he would never have thought to look for her there.
She had top billing. Her name spelt out in large glittering letters. The picture had obviously been taken when her husband was still alive. She looked alluring, but vacant. Presumably just how Robert Burgess had wanted her.
The foyer of the club looked dark and deserted through the window, but the front door was slightly ajar. Taking a final glance at the empty eyes staring out of the photograph, Chris slipped inside.
The Doctor, Tilda and Gilliam sat in a triangle around the blank-faced mannequin on the floor of the Tropics. The Doctor sat behind its head, the two women on either side of the creature. The solemnity of the occasion made 216
Gilliam want to giggle, just as she always had when girlfriends had staged seances at High School.
The Doctor reached over to Tilda and rested the fingers of one hand on her forehead. Tilda closed her eyes and a look of quiet enchantment crossed her face.
‘Oh!’ she breathed, opening her eyes a moment later, and smiling a little sheepishly. ‘Oh, I say.’
It was the first time Gilliam had ever seen the woman at a loss for words.
The Doctor’s eyes remained closed. He cupped the mannequin’s head in his hands, his brow creased in concentration.
And then the features of a young woman began to form on the empty face, pushing their way up through the flat surface of flesh. The woman the mannequin became was recognizably Tilda, only younger and more serene, lacking the worry lines of a mother. She was a fairy tale princess. A sleeping beauty.
Petruska.
The Doctor reached out his hand towards Gilliam to repeat the exercise.
However, he hesitated when he saw her anxious expression. ‘It’s your choice,’
the Doctor reminded her.
The idea of anyone – particularly the Doctor – having access to her thoughts scared Gilliam. ‘I don’t know if I trust you anymore, Doctor,’ she whispered.
‘I’ve been angry with you for so long now.’
The expression on his face was as expressionless as a mask but, somehow, perhaps precisely because of its stillness, Gilliam knew that he’d been really hurt by her words. He started to move, preparing to climb to his feet. ‘I understand. But there’s no longer enough of Petruska remaining in Tilda for this to work without you. We need to think of another way.
It wasn’t a trick. He was genuinely willing to make a new plan to defeat Moriah rather than compromise her feelings.
‘Wait.’ Gilliam reached out and grasped his hand, quickly bringing it to her forehead. Instantly, she felt his presence enter her mind, felt his surprise at her change of heart. And then he calmed, and slowly, delicately probed at her memories. She felt him hesitate when he encountered the bitterness she still felt towards him, and his shame when he glimpsed the isolation of the royal life to which he had abandoned her. He lingered for a moment over her achievements as a ruler, commenting on her wisdom and fairness – and Gilliam felt a quiet rush of pride – before he moved on to focus upon her discoveries of the last few days.
Looking through her eyes, he saw the hieroglyphs on the walls of Petruska’s chamber. She felt him, almost idly, give voice to the song the hieroglyphs contained even as he translated the meaning secreted beneath. Petruska’s 217
voice came to life with an individuality and clarity which Gilliam had never before heard. It wasn’t that her own translations were wrong, but they were crude; she’d missed the subtleties of Petruska’s language.
She felt Petruska’s defiance and anger more