Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles - Lance Parkin [37]
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘He’s an author? That explains the books he was waving around. He wrote them?’
Rachel nodded, but it was her turn to look puzzled. ‘He told me you’d recognise his name.’
‘He’s preceded his fame, I’m afraid,’ the Doctor admitted. ‘So those books are science fantasy?’
‘They’re about his planet.’
The Doctor sat back, a little surprised. ‘I don’t suppose you could read me a bedtime story?’
She was back to being wary. ‘I shouldn’t be telling you anything. Have you had enough supper?’
So, it was evening. He’d lost all track of time down here.
‘I’m a light eater. Thank you.’
She barely nodded.
‘Some days, do you feel empty inside?’ the Doctor asked.
‘No,’ Rachel replied, before looking away. ‘Some days I don’t.’
‘That’s –’
‘Stupid thing to talk about. Makes no difference.’
80
‘Of course it does.’
‘Not when everyone feels like that.’
‘Everyone you know?’
‘Everyone in the world. In the universe, probably.’
‘I’ve got friends. They don’t think like that.’
‘Yeah, well, I learnt in psychology that they do, they’re just better at coping or hiding it. Or they’re on pills. A lot of us are on pills. More than you’d think.
No one ever talks about it.’
‘My friends aren’t,’ the Doctor insisted. ‘I’m not. I don’t think like that. Not often.’
‘Freud had a word for it.’
‘Transference,’ the Doctor replied automatically. ‘Denial,’ Rachel corrected him.
She collected the crockery, and left the Doctor alone.
Fitz had even managed to shave, although he’d missed the bits he always missed.
His new outfit was essentially his old outfit – rubbish suede jacket, white shirt and jeans – lovingly reconstructed with newly bought clothes, any slight variation because they hadn’t been able to find an exact replica. He reminded Trix of a penny that had come out of the washing machine a little too clean and sparkling to look quite right. This, though, was the smartest he was ever going to get.
The restaurant was walking distance from the hotel. It was a clear night.
‘No stars,’ Fitz said.
‘Too much light from the street lamps,’ Trix said.
‘It’s odd to think that we’ve been to some of them.’
‘You just said there aren’t any,’ she laughed.
‘They’re all still there, though.’
‘You’re the expert. I’ve not been to many other planets, not really.’
‘I’ve been to hundreds,’ Fitz said.
‘I know, no need to rub it in. I’ve been to about ten.’
‘But. . . I’ve been to hundreds of alien planets. Places that the astronomers don’t even know are there. That’s pretty incredible, isn’t it? Even ten’s a pretty good score. Substantially better than the average.’
‘We’ve both got a higher than average number of legs,’ Trix said. ‘What?’ He thought about that for a minute. ‘Oh, I see. Yeah. I suppose we have. Unless you take all those three-legged aliens into account.’
‘That’s cheating.’
‘How about creatures on Earth? All those millipedes. What’s the average number of legs? It’s got to be more than two.’
81
‘Are you counting fish? They don’t have any legs.’
‘Hmmmm. . . Good point. There are a lot of fish.’
They’d arrived at the restaurant, an Indian one called the Red Fort.
‘Looks fancy,’ Fitz noted.
‘I think it’s in our price range.’
Fitz held the door open for Trix, then followed her in and up a flight of stairs. Warm, and the air was thick with the smell of spices and meat. Strange, thought Fitz, that he’d once have thought this was exotic.
A waiter hurried over and told them that Ms Kapoor and her partner were already there.
Anji had seen them arrive, and waved. She and Greg were at what must have been the best table, one near the window. The waiter led them over.
There was a good view of Soho from here. A part of London barely recognis-able from Fitz’s time, immeasurably cleaner and nicer. This was a very elegant place; it felt Indian without being a parody of Indianness. It was late, so not as busy as it might have been.
Anji had changed into a silk evening dress and, for her, looked pretty sexy.
‘This is Greg.’
He wasn’t what Fitz had been expecting. He was expecting someone very something. The