Doctor Who_ Nightshade - Mark Gatiss [58]
becoming overly affectionate and shaking him by the hand Only one of his sisters still lived near to his parents and she as though he were grown up. Then out would come the beer would dutifully stay over on Christmas Eve, even obeying and attempts would be made to introduce Tim to the the old tea-making ritual. But he imagined it a lonely serious business of alcohol.
Christmas now, the echoes of then-frantic race to the When Christmas Day dawned, young Tim and his brother presents replaced by a grown-up shamble downstairs at ten and sisters would wake ridiculously early, creeping into or eleven o’clock. Slippers and hankies instead of toys and their parents’ room and jumping on the bed. Then there magic.
were rituals to be observed. First, the Christmas morning Of course, when Julia came into his life, all the old joys cup of tea (an annual treat this; probably the only time the returned. He found himself staying up late on Christmas kids made their parents one). They would stand on the Eve, wrapping tiny presents in expensive paper. Buying a freezing kitchen lino in their pyjamas, hopping from foot to huge, fragrant tree as a deliberate antidote to the pallid one foot and willing the old kettle to boil. Pans of vegetables, of yesteryear.
sliced and put in water the night before, already crowded Then he and Julia would stroll along the banks of the the cooker.
Thames, hugging each other in affection as lights Tim would peek through the closed doors of the living shimmered on the water.
room where the piles of presents had magically appeared.
Once, they’d made love during the Queen’s speech, Even the skinny, tinselly artificial tree, normally a poor giggling and grinning the whole time, ignoring the pine 162
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DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE
DOCTOR WHO: NIGHTSHADE
needles which insinuated themselves into their buttocks.
Medway wrapped the blanket around Mrs Holland. There He’d never quite been able to take Her Majesty seriously were now about fifteen old people grouped around his car.
again.
‘It was this awful sickliness,’ Jill continued. ‘Got worse the Medway glanced in his rearview mirror and caught sight further we went. They got hysterical. Then the driver just let of the monastery for the first time. Grim-looking place, he go of the wheel...” She looked over at the driver. ‘Poor sod.’
thought to himself.
Medway regarded the shivering group before him. ‘Well, The car crunched over broken glass and he slammed on you can’t stay here. I can drive you down to the village in the brakes as a coach loomed into view. It had swung shifts.’
diagonally across the road, its smashed front end jammed
‘No. I’ve got a better idea. The monastery’s closer. They’re into a dry-stone wall. Clouds of steam billowed from the all in shock. I’m sure the monks will help. You could take engine. Medway’s blood ran cold as he saw the limp body the frailest in the car. I’ll walk the rest. It’s not far.’
of the driver hanging through the shattered windscreen.
‘Right.’
He pulled the car on to the side of the road and jumped
‘Thanks, er...?’
slightly as bewildered figures began to emerge from the
‘Tim Medway.’ He offered his hand. Jill reacted.
steam. They were old, staggering from the shelter of the bus
‘From the BBC?’
like desperate ghouls.
He nodded. ‘You’re not...?’
He was relieved to see a young woman running towards
‘Jill Mason. It’s my Mr Trevithick you’ve come to see.’
him. She was attractive but in some distress, locks of her
‘Is he...?’
lacquered hair falling into her eyes.
Jill shook her head. ‘No. Stubborn old goat refuses to go
‘Thank God,’ Jill Mason gushed, putting a protective arm anywhere for Christmas. Probably very wise in the around Mrs Holland who was wailing softly in a fractured circumstances.’
voice.
Medway helped four old people into his car. ‘Are you
‘It’s awful. Awful,’ intoned Mr Messingham, his thick sure you can manage?’
round