Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [57]
Jo glanced around. Benton had brought the car in through the gates. There was a strange patch of some kind of foam on the concrete by the fence. It reminded Jo of cuckoo-spit. She dismissed it and turned away.
‘But we still haven’t got any proof,’ she sighed. ‘I suppose it suddenly doesn’t seem to amount to much. Apart from the Wing Commander going missing, it’s all a bit flimsy.’
The Doctor shrugged. ‘Well, we know one thing for sure.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Jo.
‘Bliss isn’t who she says she is.’ He moved off towards the car.
The Brigadier trotted behind him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The capital of the Transvaal,’ said the Doctor over his shoulder, ‘is Pretoria.’
With the sun at its zenith, Culverton’s village green shimmered in a heat haze. Mr and Mrs Neesham’s little green sweet shop, tucked between two cottages like the filling in a sandwich, was doing a roaring trade. Children streamed in and out, clutching sherbet fountains or paper packets of midget gems. One boy, bigger than the rest and faintly absurd in his grey school shorts, was twisting another youngster’s arm behind his back in an attempt to steal his Action Transfer of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow. The other boy was putting up a good fight and had even sacrificed his bag of flying saucers which had fallen and split on the hot pavement.
Sherbet blew from their hollow innards.
Other boys ran around squealing excitedly, getting grass stains on their knees and letting ice lollies drip unnoticed over their clenched fists. Little girls did handstands on the parched green, giggling and tumbling as their friends egged them on.
Close by, Graham Allinson and Anthony Ayre stood side by side. The other children were surprised that they seemed to be friends, but had to admit they looked pretty good in their matching black sunglasses...
The sound of kazoos and marching feet filled the air, accompanied by the strange, distant echoes of a public address system as the winners of the sack race were announced.
The Reverend Darnell watched the proceedings with a slightly uneasy look on his bland features. Among the familiar stalls – pin the tail on the donkey, the tombola, win-a-goldfish
– stood a huge and elaborate structure, tall and jet black like a mausoleum. Black curtains covered the entrance and the only clue to its function was the jolly, colourful placard standing on the grass just outside it. It showed happy, smiling children on the shoulders of Legion International personnel.
Darnell thought of his recent encounter with the troopers and shuddered.
Miss Plowman, who was standing next to him, set down a lemonade jug and frowned. ‘Something the matter, Vicar?’
He managed a smile and shook his head.
Ted Bishop leaned over his son and closed the window.
Despite the heat, he didn’t want the booming sounds from the fête to disturb Noah who was now sleeping peacefully.
Sighing, Ted rubbed his face and sipped at his tea. He’d had no luck with Max, who seemed determined not to explain himself.
He’d gone over to take charge of the fête now, smiling happily as though nothing at all had happened.
Ted’s ears pricked up as he heard activity downstairs.
Swiftly, he crossed the room, closing Noah’s bedroom door behind him with a soft click. He was down the stairs in a few seconds and found the Doctor, Jo and the Brigadier coming inside.
‘Hello,’ said Jo, apologetically. ‘Sorry to barge in.’
‘All I’m saying Doctor,’ cried the Brigadier. ‘is that given the amount of top-level obfuscation regarding this matter, it’ll take a lot more than we’ve got to persuade the powers that be to act.’
The Doctor threw himself down into an armchair.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Bishop,’ he offered, before battle was rejoined.
‘May I remind you, Brigadier, that it was you who requested my involvement in this matter in the first place.’
The Brigadier put a hand to his perspiring brow. ‘Of course. But if you yourself were to speak to the Defence Minister...’
The Doctor’s cry of exasperation could have been heard outside, despite the marching of the Culverton