• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Lucy grimaced. 'You are a doctor, aren't you?' Her voice became confidential. 'Ever so clever, you doctors.' The playful smile came back as she asked in a stage whisper, 'Are you as dull as he is?'

'The Doctor's friend Samantha has gone out for the evening,' said Roley.

He cleared his throat. 'Now, Lucy. This is my private study, you know that.

The Doctor and I were discussing many important things and... well, I really don't think you should -'

'I shouldn't interrupt!' cried Lucy, standing on tiptoes. 'I know. It's rude, isn't it?'

There was a short pause, as Lucy made a great show of reflecting on her poor conduct and the Doctor and Roley looked at each other.

'Never mind,' said Roley, clapping his hands together. 'Never mind. So, why did you interrupt us?'

Lucy sighed. 'I suppose I just didn't think, Dr Roley.'

It was the Doctor's turn to clear his throat. 'No, I think he meant, what did you want to say when you came in?'

Lucy dropped like a stone into an armchair. She stretched her long legs out in front of her and tapped her toes together. She looked at the Doctor.'You probably think I'm a bit dizzy, don't you?'The Doctor didn't get a chance to answer. 'We were just wondering where Oscar was, that's all.'

Roley looked at the Doctor and stammered. 'Er... he's not well, Lucy. He's resting.'

'Resting?'

'Resting.' Roley nodded.

'Oh.' Lucy nodded too, seriously. 'Davydd's feeling a bit funny, as well.'

'Davydd?' asked the Doctor.

'Another of my guests,' Roley told him.

'Captain Watson, my lovely Welsh soldier,' said Lucy. 'Yes, he said he was feeling terribly strange.' She stared hard at Roley. "There's something going about.'

'No doubt,' said Roley.

'No doubt at all,' said Lucy, still staring.

3.1

Lucy and the Watcher Angels [1951]

The curtains swelled into the room as the breeze caught them. Lucy felt the rain on her skin and blinked as she considered the whiteness of the sky outside.

She folded her arms across her stomach and turned her head, feeling the solid bulk of the pillow pressing hard against her ear. This was a nasty little room. The beige carpet was threadbare. The wallpaper was busy with roses that had faded from red to a pale pink. That came from having such a large window, she decided. The sun might shine through it for hours at a time, in the summer.

The drizzling sky drew back her eyes. A long crack in the glass glistened in the rain. She knew if she sat up she would see a horizon of drab, mouldering brickwork, slums and warehouses, narrow streets with narrow-minded people crowding them. It was better to stay lying down with only the bright white rectangle filling her view, though the mattress was thin and uncomfortable. The blanket that covered her smelted old, and was the colour of mustard. A clock ticked away the minutes noisily, but she ignored it. The curtains were buffeted again, and the breeze brought more of the fine spray of rain to her face. She smiled and rubbed her stomach.

From that fine rectangle of light a watcher angel had come again last night.

The door of the room opened and the man walked in. His hair was blond, tousled from where he'd been sleeping, pressed up close against her.

She'd felt each movement of his body while he'd slept, muscles twitching as the spirits left him, breath coming in the same soft moans that had ended the night and ushered in the next day. It always happened like that.

And, as always, Lucy had not slept.

She didn't need to look at him as he swayed in the doorway in a robe that was too small for him. He was the same as all the others. She heard a match strike and caught a waft of cigarette smoke before the wind blew again, snatching the smell away. She hated the ones who smoked.

'Do you want a cup of tea, love?'

The voice was bored, uninterested. It said, get out of my bed and my room and my life - and she would soon. For now, she just wanted to lie here looking at the whiteness a little longer, so she said simply,