Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [22]
Ace took it. ‘Thanks.’
Shell didn’t reply. Jack popped the door of the van open and she stroked Chick one last time before turning and going to the vehicle to join him. The small cat yowled, annoyed that the attention had ceased.
‘Come on, Chick,’ said Ace. She started back up the driveway towards the house. She unfolded the glossy piece of paper. On one side there was nothing but printing, small type with a lot of exclamation marks. Ace couldn’t be bothered to read it. She turned the paper over to see what was on the other side.
She wished she hadn’t.
On the other side was a colour photograph. It was a close‐up shot of a cat, obviously in a laboratory somewhere. Someone had immobilized the cat’s head in a sort of metal clamp and then they’d –
Ace had to stop looking at the picture. Her mouth was dry and her stomach shifted greasily.
She was angry. She was always angry when someone tried to manipulate her emotions. She tore the picture up, wadded the fragments into a tight ball and threw it into the dry bowl of the fountain to join the other rubbish.
Chick jumped into the fountain, chasing the piece of paper as if they were playing a game. Ace thought about Chick being in a situation like the one in the picture and her stomach heaved again. That made her angrier than ever.
She turned back towards the house. ‘Nothing like an open mind, is there?’ The sudden voice made her jerk guiltily. She stopped and looked back at the gate. The man called Jack was standing there.
‘What do you mean?’ Despite herself, Ace found she was drifting back down towards the gate. Over the man’s shoulder she could see Shell playing with the black dog in the VW van.
‘You could at least read the other side before you throw it away.’
Ace felt herself flush with sweat. Guilt was turning to anger. ‘What exactly do you want from me?’
‘From you, nothing. It’s the man in the house we want to see.’
‘I told the girl. He’s not at home.’
‘Not at home or just not at home to callers?’ Ace said nothing. The man shrugged and smiled at her. ‘Why are you in such a hurry to get away from me? You got a hot date?’
‘Yes,’ said Ace. ‘With a sandwich.’ She turned to go as Jack spoke again.
‘What’s in it?’ he said.
‘Mushroom, cheese, lettuce and tomato.’ Ace didn’t want to stand by the gate talking but she found it hard to just turn her back on him. It seemed rude. Somehow it would make her feel in the wrong.
‘Mmmm. The old MCLT,’ he said.
Ace had encountered men like this before, chatting her up in bars, on buses, on lonely rural station platforms waiting for the last train. They had an odd, gentle knack. You found yourself drawn into conversation with them even when you didn’t want to be. You kept thinking: Any minute now I’ll stop talking, but before you knew it, you were going home with them.
Jack smiled at her through the bars of the gate. ‘You a hard‐core vegetarian?’
‘No.’
‘Just a fellow traveller, maybe. Tempted and sympathetic but not quite committed. I know how you feel. Vegetarianism is a nice idea but so is a double cheeseburger with the works.’
Ace was mortified to hear her belly rumble, primal and loud in the quiet evening stillness of the garden. Jack smiled but didn’t say anything, not ignoring it but not teasing her either. He just seemed to want to spare her the embarrassment and Ace couldn’t help liking him for that.
‘Listen,’ he said, ‘I used to feel the same way. But then I had this insight. Cruelty to animals is part of a continuous spectrum. All these terrible forms of human behaviour are linked. They’re part of the same thing. The same problem. From bullfights to gladiatorial competitions. And when you begin to think that way it gets harder and harder to order your next salt beef sandwich. You know, the kind where they serve it warm and greasy on good pungent rye bread with butter melting on it and a dollop of sweet mustard and a nice sharp‐tasting pickle on the side.’
Ace felt herself blush as her stomach growled again. At her feet Chick the cat howled in chorus. Hanging