Doctor Who_ The Sleep of Reason - Martin Day [97]
She sighed. ‘Of course, being England, by the time we got somewhere it was thinking about raining. We had to find cover under some trees.’
Smith nodded, encouraging her on.
‘We had a lovely time, just chatting about things, what we wanted from life, what the future held for us both. He said I could have the necklace when he was gone – and, you know, it was one of those moments when it didn’t all sound morbid.’
‘You knew he had cancer?’
‘No – that was all later, after he lost the pendant.’
‘I see,’ said Smith, deep in thought. Then, a few moments later, he released Laska’s arms and added, ‘Keep thinking good thoughts. Positive memories.’
From anyone else it would have sounded trite, the sort of New Age, power-of-positive-thinking garbage that Laska simply didn’t have any time for. But, with Dr Smith, there was an authority to what he said – and a hint of menace.
‘Why?’ asked Laska.
This time Smith let her turn around.
In the doorway, framed by the dark stone of the archway, she could see the silhouette of the hound.
178
Twenty
No One Here Gets Out Alive
(A Person Isn’t Safe Anywhere These Days)
Liz found herself being physically hauled away from Joe. She’d become some sort of enraged animal, spitting furiously and lashing out at anyone – anything – around her.
‘Will you calm down?’ she could hear Fitz saying. ‘I don’t want another black eye.’ He sounded distant and muffled, as if he were calling from a far-off land. ‘Especially not from you.’
Then she gave in, allowed herself to be manoeuvred away. Liz noticed that Trix, too, was having to hold her arms; there was a look of horror and surprise on Trix’s face, and a ragged scratch had appeared just beneath her eye.
‘It’s vital,’ Trix was saying, in an unnaturally unruffled voice, ‘that we stay calm. Remember what the Doctor said. We can’t afford to give this alien thing any more energy than we absolutely have to.’
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ Liz could hear herself saying – again, as if from a distance, though she was not quite sure who she was apologising to, and for what. She knew only that a deep, boiling rage burned within her – when she’d kicked Joe everything had, quite literally, gone red, blossoming and exploding in the colour of her anger and resentment – and that it would not readily subside.
Joe was crying in pain, his hands nursing his balls, lying on his side like some writhing child. ‘Liz, I didn’t mean. . . ’
Liz shook her arms, and Fitz and Trix let her go. She just wanted to talk now – not that any of this, she was sure, would ever make sense or become any more palatable.
‘Didn’t mean what?’ she spat. ‘You didn’t mean to get caught?’
Liz noticed that Susannah had straightened her clothing and was sitting in the corner, trying to stare into space as if none of this was happening. There was also a look on her face that Liz couldn’t quite pin down – it seemed to be a mixture of deep embarrassment, and relief that it was all over.
‘I’ve been so weak,’ said Joe from the floor. ‘I’m so sorry.’
179
There were a thousand questions passing through Liz’s mind but she did not want to know the answers to any of them. ‘You make me sick,’ she shouted, the previous ferocity returning for a moment. ‘With her, on the floor like that. . . It’s disgusting!’
There was one part of Liz’s mind, still, that felt like an observer – amazed that Elizabeth Bartholomew, who prided herself on her ability to remain calm and rational in all circumstances, could so easily and swiftly descend to something base and primal. Something that merely thought in simple terms of desire, revenge and retribution.
Liz forced herself to turn for the door.
‘Both of you had better go to the dining room,’ she heard Fitz saying, addressing Joe and Susannah. ‘It’s not safe to be anywhere else at the moment.’
Liz was fighting a losing battle against the aggressive hatred that burned within her; she didn’t want Joe to feel safe anywhere.
She stood in the corridor, facing away from the