Doctor Who_ Winner Takes All - Jacqueline Rayner [6]
‘Thought it ran in families,’ he said. ‘I heard your slag of a mother did in her husband.’
That made her flush with anger, anger for her mother and her long‐dead father, but then she thought again about the aliens she’d faced, and imagined Darren Pye wetting himself if he came face to face with the Nestene Consciousness or something, and that made her smile instead.
She went into the shop and browsed the shelves, picking up a two‐pinter of semi‐skimmed, a packet of custard creams and, to be on the safe side, a box of teabags as well. ‘Thanks,’ she said to Maureen behind the counter, as everything went into a blue plastic bag. ‘Do I get one of them scratchcards, then?’
Maureen snorted. ‘No you don’t. Bloomin’ things. Everyone’s going down the road just so as they can get some stupid prize, even if they only want a loaf of bread. I know mine might be a few pence dearer, but it’s £1.20 bus fare on top, which makes my bread a lot cheaper overall, and you can just tell your mum that, young Rose.’
Rose laughed. ‘Come off it, like she’d listen! Any chance of something for nothing and my mum’ll be in there, and she’s got a bus pass anyway.’ She picked up the carrier bag and smiled a farewell.
And she was just turning to leave when she heard the cry. It was the sound of someone in pain, and it was followed by laughter.
She’d never been the sort of person who hesitated when someone was in trouble – mistakenly, sometimes, ‘Rose jumps in with both feet,’ her mum had said, sometimes proudly, more often pityingly.
So she ran out of the shop, towards the cry. Not that she had to go far: there was Mrs Desai right in front of her, both hands clutched to her temples as if warding off a blow. There was a little trickle of blood just creeping between her fingers, and behind her Darren Pye had picked up another stone ready to throw. Sticks and stones, she thought again. They hurt.
Rose launched herself at him. It wasn’t sensible, and it certainly didn’t fit in with her policy of ignoring him, but she did it anyway. ‘Don’t you dare!’ she yelled. ‘Don’t you dare!’ She swung the blue carrier bag at him. He dropped the stone, and there was a satisfying ‘whumph’ as the plastic bottle of milk split on impact, showering him with white droplets. He shook it out of his hair like a dog.
‘Big mistake,’ he said to her, grabbing her by the hood of her top and yanking her off balance. ‘Little girl wants to be a hero.’
She twisted out of his grasp. ‘I’ve dealt with a lot bigger than you. Not uglier, though, and that’s saying plenty if you’ve ever seen a Slitheen.’
Darren gave her a shove. ‘Bigger mistake.’ And he pulled out a knife.
For a split second, Rose could see nothing but the knife.
Then a leather‐clad arm descended over Darren’s shoulder and twisted his wrist, and the knife clattered to the ground. ‘Naughty naughty,’ said the Doctor, shoving Darren away. The lad stumbled a few steps, then caught his balance and picked up the knife again. The Doctor stood his ground, strong and imposing. ‘Really wanna risk it?’
To Rose’s relief, Darren thought better of it. He glared at them both, but then turned and swaggered off, milk still dribbling down his neck.
Once he was round the corner, out of sight, the Doctor turned to Rose. ‘And you thought it was a good idea to take on, single‐handedly, someone who’s twice your size and carrying a knife,’ he said.
She shrugged, torn between relief, embarrassment and bravado. ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time.’
He glanced down at the dripping carrier bag. ‘You’ve got a lotta bottle, I’ll say that for you.’
‘Just call me the dairy avenger.’
‘Queen of the cream.’
She grinned. ‘They’ll do me for assault and buttery.’
Mrs Desai and Maureen came out of the shop, from where they’d clearly been watching the show. ‘Good on yer, Rose,’ called out Maureen. Mrs Desai waved her shy thanks.
‘I’d go get that checked out in casualty if I were you, Mrs Desai,’ Rose called back.