Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias - Mark Michalowski [5]
Without breaking his stride, he gave a little laugh. ‘There’s us!’ ‘I’m not an alien!’
‘You would be to most of these people. And anyway, Ace,
“alien” always sounds such a pejorative term.’
‘But are there? Real aliens. Here I mean, in London.’
‘Not openly, not yet. But hiding away – yes, dozens of them.’
‘Cool!’ said Ace as the Doctor paused in front of an unprepossessing tenement-type building that leaned over them, drowning them in the cool shade of its tatty facade. ‘Is this it?’
she asked, thinking that, as a centre for extraterrestrial communica-dons, it left a lot to be desired.
‘Oi! Doctor!’
Ace looked around. He’d gone. One second he’d been there, and then...
‘Ace!’ his voice hissed from nowhere.
She looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of him. ‘Here Ace. Straight ahead!’
But straight ahead was only a grimy window, scrunched up clots of dead flies and dust in its corners. Ace stared at it, and realized, with amazement, that she could see through it. Not through the glass, not like a proper window, but through the whole building. And suddenly it was gone, and she was looking down a dark, narrow alleyway at the diminutive figure of the Doctor, umbrella clasped in both hands, staring at her in twinkling amusement. She looked around, but no one else seemed to have noticed the sudden disappearance of a huge chunk of London architecture. The crowds strolled on by as if nothing had happened. With a shrug, Ace stepped forwards, feeling a strange chill ripple through her body as she crossed the threshold of the alley.
‘Neat hologram,’ she said.
‘A bit more sophisticated than that, Ace,’ he said, as they set off down the alley. ‘It projects a mild aversion field to stop people getting too close. Didn’t you notice how people were stepping off the pavement to go around it?’
‘Can’t say that I did.’
‘Well that just shows how well it’s working!’
The alley was a cool, still oasis in the summer heat, the noise of the traffic and crowds faded to a dull, faraway rush – muffled, Ace suspected, by something more than simple distance. She felt like she was in the depths of a forest, miles and miles from anywhere. Blank, sad windows gazed down at her; a black cat stared at her snootily with bright blue eyes from the top of three skulking dustbins, springing down as the two travellers approached. It slithered away, glancing back over its shoulder, to vanish through a broken basement window.
They reached a door, painted dark, glossy green, and the Doctor pressed a brass button in its centre. A moment later, it swung inwards, and, as if they’d stepped into a BBC period drama, they entered the most incredible hallway Ace had ever seen.
A plain white marble floor spread away from them like fresh snow, and a huge, precarious crystal chandelier sparkled above their heads. The walls, paintings, mirrors and furniture oozed ostentation, if not taste, and there was so much gold and glass that Ace felt quite dizzy. Every surface, every object, glittered with light.
‘She’s certainly done very wel for herself,’ said the Doctor, appreciatively, gazing around. ‘A bit showy, but very her.’
‘Very who?’
‘Very me, darling.’
Ace gawped at the woman who had appeared from nowhere, and who now stood in front of them, cradling the black cat from the alleyway in her arms. Barbara Cartland’s ram-raided Cartier’s, thought Ace. She looked like a Christmas tree, decorated by someone with far too much money, and no style whatsoever.
She seemed to be in her sixties or seventies with a huge, elaborately coiffured hairdo, studded with twinkling diamond trinkets. Memories of the Blue Peter Advent Crown flashed across Ace’s mind. The woman’s ears, hands and neck positively dripped with precious stones – so much so that Ace wondered how she ever managed to raise her hands above waist level. The cat glared at her, as if reading her thoughts, and Ace felt herself blush.
‘Miss Gallowglass,’ beamed the Doctor, holding out his hand to her and giving a gracious little