Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [93]
‘And what will you be doing?’ asked Trix.
‘Laska and I shall be taking a stroll towards the folly,’ said Smith. ‘Or mausoleum, should I say? There’s more to that place than meets the eye.’ He turned to Laska with a grin. ‘Time to meet your ancestors!’
Laska pulled up the collar of her coat. The wind seemed to have picked up again, bringing an arctic chill across the hills and trees that surrounded the Retreat. She hoped she’d be able to hear the dog thing over the groaning of the branches and the harsh sigh of the wind.
‘It’s brass monkeys out here,’ said Laska, stamping her feet.
‘I suppose it is,’ said Smith, sounding distracted. He seemed not terribly perturbed by the cold; perhaps the jacket he always wore had built-in heating.
Or perhaps he just came from a cold planet. He seemed to make a habit of reminding Laska that he wasn’t ‘entirely’ human.
171
Laska set off after Smith, and up the gently ascending hillside towards the squashed dark shadow of the folly, only to stumble into him as he suddenly turned. ‘I heard what Dr Bartholomew told you,’ he announced suddenly.
‘About your father.’
‘You were supposed to be reading the diaries!’ exclaimed Laska. She probably sounded more irritated than she really meant. She didn’t really mind Smith knowing. Indeed, she was becoming gradually more used to the idea of being honest with the people around her, even if she half expected Smith himself to turn out to be the biggest liar since Baron Münchausen.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Smith. ‘But you must know that Liz would only have had the best interests of your father at heart.
‘Of course,’ said Laska. ‘I don’t doubt that for a moment. Towards the end, Dad was. . . He was in quite a bit of pain. I wanted him to die peacefully and with dignity.’ She paused, wondering what else to say, trying to remember how she felt at the time. Trying to figure out how she felt now. ‘I always suspected that. . . someone had helped him end it all.’
‘How did that make you feel?’ asked Smith.
Laska laughed. ‘What, how did my own father killing himself. . . In effect that’s what it was, wasn’t it? How did that make me, someone who flirted with suicide for no real reason. . . How did that make me feel?’
‘I wouldn’t quite have put it in those terms,’ admitted Smith.
‘ I did, at the time,’ said Laska. ‘I felt guilty.’
‘I don’t imagine it helped, though,’ said Smith. ‘Being so hard on yourself because, unlike your father, you had no ostensible reason to feel depressed.
Depression – true depression – takes no account of reality.’
Laska nodded. ‘I suppose.’ She sighed. ‘And, of course, I went to pieces after Dad died. If I hadn’t been so stupid I’d have put two and two together myself. I never knew Liz had been Dad’s GP. She thought back, over many encounters with Liz – ever since she was first admitted. Suddenly elements of conversation, the way Liz looked at her from time to time – it all made sense. Like Smith, Liz had always seemed unusually interested in Laska’s treatment, though she’d gone out of her way to ensure that Laska was under Dr Thomson’s care. It wasn’t twisted paranoia on Laska’s part; Liz’s concern had been genuine.
All because of Laska’s father, who Liz had tried so hard to look after.
‘I’d rather it was Liz than a lot of people I can think of,’ said Laska suddenly. ‘I wish she’d told me earlier, of course. . . Though with that git Oldfield around, I can understand why she wanted to keep schtum.’ A dark cloud passed across Laska’s mind – the memory of a close encounter with Joe Bartholomew. ‘I’m pleased she was able to finally tell me. But I suppose. . . I 172
suppose I should have told her something in return. I did try. I did mean to tell her. . . ’ She sighed. ‘It’ll have to wait now.’
‘Yes,’ said Smith. ‘We must prioritise. But I did not mean to sound unkind earlier.’ And with that, he set off for the darkness of the trees and the mausoleum beyond.
Liz walked through the Retreat in search of her colleagues. Even in the last few hours the mood of the place seemed to have changed. She’d often