Chapter One

Benny turned the television off. A little aurora danced on the screen for a couple of seconds as the tube cooled down. It was eight o'clock, time to check the post. She stood, and made her way down to the lawn. In her bare feet, walking down the gravel driveway was out of the question. Cutting across the garden was also a shorter route. She stepped across the lawn, the long grass still wet with dew. She made her way past the fountain, a piece of Victoriana that, like the tall greenhouse at the side of the house, had fallen into disrepair at some point over the last century. Rainwater had collected, and yesterday she'd seen tadpoles swimming about in there. There was no sign of them today.

Benny carried on walking, past the tulips, through the shrubbery and towards the gate. Every so often she'd look back at the house, hoping to see the TARDIS arrive.

The statue of the girl was still by the gates, hidden among the leylandia. It was life-size and dull grey, the colour of concrete. The subject was fifteen, at most, with hair that fell down her back. She wore a miniskirt and cropped jacket, one of her high heels was missing. Her face was set forever in an expression of terror, her arms were held out in front of her as if she was trying to keep something away. Benny didn't know which thought was more disturbing: that the Doctor had chosen to put the figure in his garden for aesthetic reasons or that it hadn't always been a statue. She certainly had no intention of asking him about it.

Benny reached the iron gates and checked the postbox. The first thing she found was The Mirror, which she still hadn't got around to cancelling. Eschewing both the state visit to Washington and the Mars landing, the front page had decided instead to reveal that a voluptuous young woman (pictured in a white basque and stockings) was having sex with someone famous that Benny had never heard of. This, the headline declared, was a 'world exclusive'. A quick flick through the paper revealed that many other people were doing much the same. A couple of years ago, Benny would have tutted at the demeaning and trivial nature of the stories, now she just felt the faint ache of jealousy, the belief that all the young people were off somewhere else having more fun than her.