Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [53]
‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘I’m the Doctor. He’s coming down now. We’d better get him inside.’
‘Okay,’ said John. Lizzie twisted up her mouth, but John said, ‘He’s a doctor. Come on in.’
The two women dumped Cris on the sofa and then just looked at him. He was skinny and eighteen, long hair matted over his face, big eyes squinting up at the wicker shade over the front room’s light. He wore ragged denim. His naked feet were desperately pale around the toenails.
The older woman was staring around at everything, smiling crazily. She started to ask a question, but the cat in the hat put a finger to his lips. ‘Socks,’ he told John, peeling the chlorpromazine derm from Cris’ wrist. ‘And something warm to drink.’
Lizzie hugged herself, saying nothing. The Doctor looked up at the black woman. Her eyes flicked away from him, moving over the flat, obviously unhappy with this new intrusion.
The front room was almost bare; an old milk crate supported a bowl of fruit, a couple of mattresses were stacked against the wall. There was a small record player and an asymmetric stack of LPs. It looked as though they had just moved in, or that they were ready to leave again at the drop of a hat. The air was rich with the smells of cooking and incense and marijuana.
‘Hippies,’ said Bernice, grinning like someone who had just discovered a new species of butterfly.
‘Yeah,’ said Ace.
‘Where’d Cris go?’ asked Lizzie.
‘We found him on Primrose Hill,’ said the Doctor, ‘in the snow.’
‘Told him he needed a co‐pilot,’ said Lizzie. ‘He’s new. Doesn’t know how much it can open out your head.’
‘How much did he take?’
‘Just one tab. But he always gets his mind blown away. It’ll be better when he gets more experienced.’ Lizzie sat down on the sofa and put Cris’ feet in her lap, starting to rub his toes, until the Doctor gently restrained her. ‘Just let them warm up slowly.’
Molly came into the room, bearing a pair of thick socks. The plump woman took one look at the Doctor and froze, sort of hovering in place, her fingers kneading the socks convulsively. On the sofa, Cris started, nearly pulling his feet out of Lizzie’s lap.
Lizzie gaped at Molly. Molly gaped at the Doctor.
John came out of the kitchen, put the cup of tea down on the floor, and extracted the socks from Molly’s grip. ‘Go back inside.’
Molly continued to stare at the Doctor, who raised an eyebrow at her, rummaging through his mental filing system to see if he recognized her. John took her arm and turned her around. ‘Go back in, Molly,’ he said firmly.
They got Cris sitting up, ensconced his feet in the socks and put the cup of tea into his hands. He sat there dopily. Lizzie kept looking at John, trying to catch his eye.
‘I want to thank you very kindly for bringing Cris home,’ began John. ‘Most people around here would have left him where he was lying. Or ripped him off.’
The Doctor shrugged companionably. ‘We’re not from around here. As a matter of fact, we’ve only just arrived in London.’
‘Got somewhere to stay?’ said Lizzie, too quickly, and John silenced her with a sideways glance.
‘Well, yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘Just up the road.’
‘I hope you’ll do us the kindness of coming to our Christmas party tomorrow night,’ said John evenly. ‘Our Happening. To say thank you, you know. Cris should be okay by the morning.’
The Doctor smiled, and there was a peculiar strain in his smile, as though he’d rather be burning the house down. ‘We’d be delighted.’ He looked over his shoulder at his companions, whose faces both said what’s going on here then? ‘What time?’
‘Any time,’ said John smoothly. ‘Any time you like.’
* * *
Chapter 9
Number Nine
Macbeth was stomping along an icy sidewalk, gnashing his teeth on an unlit cigarette. He was out of matches. Stomp, stomp, stomp.
‘Do you want a light?’ said a miniature voice beside him.
He stopped dead, managing at the last moment to prevent himself from slipping on the pavement. He pushed his hands into his pockets and grimaced at the five foot two woman. Molly peered up at him, one rounded hand holding out