Doctor Who_ The Stone Rose - Jacqueline Rayner [39]
Then it happened. The spread of flesh, the blinking of an eye, an arm slumping down from its noble pose.
And then Optatus was in his father’s arms and both were weeping.
* * *
The Doctor looked on from a distance as Optatus was reunited with his mother. Her tears flowed freely, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Finally, after it seemed that everyone had calmed down, he approached. He couldn’t stop Marcia from bursting into tears again, hugging him and thanking him so many times that the words began to sound in his ears like a nonsense chant, but eventually he was able to ask her his questions. Had she seen Rose? Or Ursus? Had there been any word from Vanessa?
The answer to all his questions was ‘no’.
The Doctor slid away from the celebrations. Hopelessness was not a feeling he would ever admit to, but right now the Roman world stood before him impossibly large and discouraging. Rose was a tiny marble needle in a giant Roman haystack. How would he ever find her?
And then he had a thought. A real humdinger of a thought, a blast‐between‐the‐eyes thought.
He knew exactly where he could find Rose.
* * *
ELEVEN
The bright blue of the TARDIS screamed incongruity amid the clinical white walls and anaemic marble of the sculpture room. However, the Doctor, still dressed in his Roman tunic, blended in with the exhibits in a way no other visitor did – yet he was the one who got strange looks from the camera‐laden tourists in sloganed T-shirts and the dusty academics wearing tweed jackets.
As far as the Doctor was concerned, though, these people didn’t exist – even the kids prodding at the TARDIS, assuming it to be some sort of interactive display, got barely a glance. He was a man on a mission and he was not going to be distracted.
But when he reached Rose’s statue, something distracted him.
Perched on the big toe of the nearby giant foot – in blatant disregard of the signs forbidding anyone to touch the exhibits – was a familiar figure. Mickey Smith.
‘Doctor!’ Mickey said as the Doctor approached.
He looked over the Doctor’s shoulder – but the Doctor was alone. ‘Oh. Wotcha.’
The Doctor slowed his frantic pace. ‘Hello,’ he replied. ‘So… is this before or after the last time?’
Mickey shrugged. ‘How do I know what the last time is for you? Last time for me was a fortnight ago, when you and Rose went off to make her the toast of the art world.’
The Doctor winced.
‘And I guess you got there all right,’ Mickey continued, looking the Doctor up and down, ‘or are man‐skirts in this season?’
The Doctor ignored him, concentrating on the statue before him.
Rose’s youthful beauty captured for ever. Even petrified, the strength shone out of her face. No one could look at this and not realise what a special person she was. He unconsciously reached out a hand to hold hers. But of course, it wasn’t there.
Suddenly, a wave of doubt threatened to overcome him.
Mickey had got up and was standing beside him. ‘You know, whoever made this must have really known her,’ he said. ‘It’s like… like they really understood her.’ He paused, then had a sudden thought. ‘Hey, she wasn’t, you know, seeing this fella or anything, was she?’
The Doctor laughed harshly – inhumanly – and Mickey took a step back. ‘Whoa! Didn’t mean to step on your toes, man.’
‘This isn’t a statue of Rose,’ the Doctor said.
Mickey looked confused. ‘What’re you talking about? Course it is. Think I don’t know Rose when I see her?’
‘No, you don’t,’ said the Doctor. ‘Because you’re looking at her right now. This isn’t a statue of Rose. This is Rose herself. Rose has been turned into stone.’
* * *
Mickey had sat back down on the foot and was cradling his head in his hands. ‘It’s not true,’ he was saying, the words high and muffled, his body heaving with the sobs that he was trying to suppress, trying to hide.
A uniformed official approached them. ‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said to Mickey, seemingly oblivious of the tears. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you not to sit on the exhibits.’
Mickey ignored him; probably didn’t