Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [154]
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Chapter 35
‘The future,’ said Vincent.
He manoeuvred the Mercedes into the inner lane and began to slow down. The Doctor had given him the keys to the car this morning and his face had appeared, small and anxious in the rear‐view mirror when he’d waved goodbye. He’d been concerned about Vincent’s safety.
‘I’m fine. I’ll be all right driving,’ he told the Doctor and the Doctor told him to keep the Mercedes.
Vincent’s own car was presumably still in a municipal multistorey in Canterbury, still clocking up overtime on its parking ticket. Vincent had no intention of ever going back for it.
Let Justine have the car. She could go and get it if she wanted it. It was half hers. They’d bought it with their pooled savings a few years after they’d been married.
Vincent had driven away from the house in Allen Road with the Doctor waving to him, a shrinking figure in his real‐view mirror. Ace and Benny had already said their farewells to the kitchen that morning. Careful washing of the tiles had removed the greasy smudge which was all that remained of Henry Harrigan Jr. That and a melted blob of silver, still faintly recognizable as a crudely‐fashioned skull.
‘Almost in Canterbury now.’ said Vincent. When the sign appeared at the roadside he slowed a little and made the turning. There were apple orchards on either side of the car, trees flickering past in neat geometric rows, and then they were in town.
Vincent saw that there were still emergency vehicles parked in side‐streets as he skirted the city centre and in the distance he could see a congregation of big earth‐moving vehicles where the cathedral had once stood.
Other than a few detours with temporary traffic lights, the road system in Canterbury had almost returned to normal and Vincent was through the city and on his way north in less than ten minutes.
‘I don’t know where we’re going,’ he said. ‘Except not to London. Not home. What used to be home.’
Justine hadn’t said goodbye to him. He wouldn’t let her. What was the point? He didn’t know her any more. She wasn’t his wife any more. He’d watched from an upstairs window as she left the house with Creed.
‘She just got into the Porsche,’ he said, glancing over to see if his passenger was listening. ‘She just got in and drove away with the American.’ He paused for a moment, tapping on the steering wheel as he drove. ‘But you know all about that, don’t you? You know all about that kind of pain. I could see it in your eyes.
‘Because of course I’m going through the same thing. But you probably never would have guessed. It hasn’t quite sunk in yet. I’m still acting pretty normal. No one would know I was potentially seriously unbalanced. Though when I bought twenty bars of chocolate at the service station I think that guy might have suspected something.’ Vincent smiled.
‘That was just before I picked you up,’ he said, glancing at his passenger and then looking back at the road.
‘It’s odd that we bumped into each other at all. I don’t really know why I pulled in by the side of the road there. I certainly wasn’t looking for company. Maybe I just wanted to put my thoughts in order. Or try to have a good cry. Or maybe eat ten of those bars of chocolate.’
The car hummed along the motorway. The sky ahead was darkening now. It was hard to tell whether it was an approaching storm or just the early autumn evening drawing in.
‘But I did meet you. And you got in the car with me.’
Vincent smiled. He tapped the steering wheel again, looking at the bloody rag wrapped around the knuckles of his right hand.
‘Except it wasn’t quite that easy, was it?’ He turned and looked at his passenger. ‘I don’t blame you. I mean, I know you didn’t really mean any harm. Like I say, I could see it in your eyes. You’d been driven mad with pain. You didn’t mean to hurt me.
‘You didn’t mean to bite me.’
The dog stirred on the seat beside him and yawned, a long red tongue lolling out of its mouth. Vincent smiled. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Why