Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [20]
Ace handed the card back. ‘Not giving too much away, is she?’
The Doctor hmmed to himself again, putting the card back in his pocket.
‘So maybe we should go straight up to this Graystairs place.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’d like to know more about it first. How about if you-’ he tapped her on the nose ‘-ask around the village about it while I go back to the B&B and find out what time lunch is.’
‘Tell you what,’ Ace said. ‘How about if I ask around the village, and you go back to the B&B and find out what time lunch is.’ She grinned at him. ‘And have a snoop around while you’re there.’
He looked offended. ‘Snooping is for amateurs,’ he said. ‘I’d prefer to call it a reconnaissance mission. But yes, there may be a clue or two in Joyce’s room.’
Throwing her a smile, the Doctor jumped to his feet. ‘Come on. Things to do, scones to jam, teas to cream.’
‘If I didn’t know better,’ she said as they set off, ‘I’d think you had an obsession with food.’
Half an hour later, Ace was beginning to get bored. Despite the gentle spring warmth, the clear air and the soft tang of heather in her nostrils, she was starting to look back fondly to the heavy, noisy warmth of London in 2012. She wasn’t a country girl at heart, she knew. Still, she had a job to do.
Since the Doctor had headed back to the B&B, she’d been accosting anyone she could find, asking them if they’d seen Joyce or if they knew anything about Graystairs. For inhabitants of such a small village, either the locals were very good at minding their own business, or Joyce had kept herself to herself. The women were polite, even as they looked her up and down with that slightly disapproving air. At least the inhabitants of Muirbridge were polite enough not to comment on how it was no way for a young girl to dress.
The men, unsurprisingly, were more than happy to chat to Ace – even though they had little more to add than the women.Yes, they knew that some professor woman had come up from London; yes, they knew that she’d come to visit her mother up at the loony-bin; but no, they hadn’t seen her since she arrived a few days ago – although they invariably knew someone who had. Ace was beginning to think that she should go straight to Graystairs and cut out all this faffing around, but she remembered what the Doctor had said – although why she should play by his rules when he still refused to tell her what he’d been up to in the TARDIS, she didn’t know. She had decided to give the pub one last go (and, she hoped, get herself a pint without the Doctor around to act as nanny) when she saw a familiar face coming out of the village shop, carrier bag in hand.
It was the bloke from the pub who’d embarrassed her earlier.
For a moment, she thought of ducking into the post office, but by the time she’d decided that that was just silly kids’ stuff, it was too late anyway. He’d seen her, and was advancing towards her with a wry grin on his face.
‘Hello again!’ he said, coming to a halt.
She smiled back. ‘Been shopping?’
‘Oh, just a few basic rations. Milk, bread. Listen,’ he said,
‘sorry about the pub business earlier.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Just messing about, really.’ She felt her cheeks redden and had a desperate urge to run away. God, thought Ace, this is going from bad to worse. She cast around desperately for an excuse to be off, but before she could, the man stuck out his hand.
‘Michael,’ he said. ‘Michael Ashworth. Nice to meet you. I’m camping down on the edge of the village.’ He gestured past the pub. She shook his hand. ‘I’m Ace. No, honestly.’ She saw the slight disbelief in his eyes. ‘Well, not honestly. I mean, what kind of parents would name their daughter Ace. But my proper name’s too naff.’
‘Fair enough. Ace it is. Up here with your dad, are you