Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [119]
A taxi appeared at the far end of the drive.
‘You must be very excited,’ observed Trix.
‘I am,’ said Laska. She noticed Liz waving at her from a window at the front of the house and waved back. ‘As of this moment, I am officially not mad, 221
depressed, nutty, insane, round the twist or suicidal.’ She grinned. ‘Well, no more than anyone else, anyway.’
‘That’s good,’ said Trix. ‘And I’m sorry if I was. . . if I was a little heavy sometimes, back then. I was just trying to get to the truth.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Laska. The two shook hands formally with a stiff, no hard feelings gesture.
Fitz, on the other hand, gave Laska a great bear hug. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. ‘Fighting weirdo space monsters just isn’t the same without you!’
Laska wondered how much of her conversation with Smith he’d overheard.
But it was easy to forgive Fitz just about anything.
She gave him a peck on the cheek.
‘Think of me when you’re bedding alien babes and women from outer space,’ she laughed.
Fitz started to go a deep shade of crimson.
Result.
Laska turned finally to Dr Smith: ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘For everything.’
Smith said nothing, but allowed himself to be hugged one last time.
‘And if, on your travels, you ever see my father. . . Tell him I might be a screwed-up brat, but I’ll always love him.’
Dr Smith nodded curtly.
The taxi pulled up, and Fitz opened the back door like a gentleman, then bundled Laska’s bags into the boot.
Smith, Fitz and Trix stood and waved as the taxi turned and headed back down the driveway.
Laska waved back furiously, then settled into her seat.
She could hardly believe it – she was finally leaving.
‘Where are we going, love?’ asked the cabbie.
‘Home,’ replied Laska, with a grin.
Almost a year ago Laska had arrived at the Retreat.
Now, at last, Caroline was leaving.
222
Twenty-six
Good Riddance
(Time of Your Life)
‘That’s my story,’ concluded the man. ‘It’s all about a girl, life and death, sanity and evil. . . ’
His voice was cracked and dry now; but then, he had beer talking solidly for over an hour. He reached for a glass of water, ant drank greedily.
‘So you defeated these Sholem-Luz creatures?’ asked the nurse.
‘That’s right,’ said the man.
‘And now you’ve retired here?’
‘I’ve grown rather attached to the place.’
Suddenly the patient looked old beyond his years. Indeed, the nurse had to keep double-checking the information in front of her to make sure she was talking to the right man.
But there it was, in black and white – Age: 22.
This man looked more like fifty.
She got to her feet. She’d been warned that this one regaled every new staff member with his story. It was unavoidable, like something out of Coleridge.
A man compelled always to tell his tale.
‘Well, thanks for that, Mr. . . ’
‘Please, call me Doctor.’
‘Doctor. It was fascinating. Now, I really must be getting on. I’ll see you again I’m sure.’
‘You know where I am,’ said the man, peacefully resigned. He turned back to stare out of the window, doubtless looking for stars, for alien worlds, for other times.
The nurse closed the door and bustled away, placing a tick next to yet another name on her clipboard.
James Abel done. Four more to go.
223
Epilogue
P.S. Goodbye
(Cuckoo’s Nest)
Extract from a private letter written by Joe Bartholomew, undated
Dear Liz
I understand from my solicitor that you wish to push ahead with the divorce.
I have been stupid and reckless and I certainly won’t stand in your way. I had hoped we might be able to sort things out, but you’ve never been one for papering over the cracks and I respect your honesty.
As you probably know, Susannah and I split up months ago. She meant nothing to me. I don’t know whether that makes you feel better or worse – or even if you will read this far – but I will try to explain what happened. I’m not making excuses, I’m not even asking for forgiveness – what I have done was unforgivable – but it may help you to know the context of my actions.
I started the affair – Susannah