Chapter Five
Thomas Edward Hawthorne liked order. Trains that ran on time, freshly rolled cricket pitches, neatly pressed suits and folded handkerchiefs. He had lived his whole fifty-five years according to an ordered pattern: passing from a straightforward childhood to a straightforward school and a straightforward double First in Mathematics and Physics.
Above all, he loved the order of numbers, that indefinable, near-poetic quality which abstract higher maths could achieve. Sometimes he would sit alone in his sparsely furnished flat and simply let his mind wander, drift and twist along the mental pathways he had created out of beautiful numbers. Those who knew only the cynical misanthrope would never believe the smile of sheer pleasure which inevitably crept across his face.
He had risen quickly in his chosen field, joining Frederick Storey and his team of radio astronomers, first in Cambridge and later in the famous New South Wales experiments of the late fifties. Those embryonic days had been exciting and fulfilling, Hawthorne and Storey making a strong team. After his mentor's retirement, Hawthorne had been confident of promotion, believing himself to be Storey's natural successor. To his chagrin, the power vacuum had been filled, not only by a stranger, but by a woman. His working relationship with Dr Christine Cooper was always tense but he found himself thriving on the frisson between them. Before long, the ebullient scientist commanded his respect and loyalty. Now they were together again, in what Hawthorne was sure must be the bleakest corner of England. Nevertheless, it was England.
He had hated Australia. Hated the flies, the heat and the irritating good humour of the locals, forever slapping him on the back or pressing gnat's-piss beer into his hand. He had returned to London with great relief, relishing the drizzle, the smell of damp earth and the sound of cabs slicing through rain-puddled streets. It had been good for a while.
But London had changed. As the weeks went by, Hawthorne found himself experiencing something like culture shock. Men who looked like girls paraded up and down the streets, wearing embroidered Indian frocks and their hair down to their shoulders. Young people were in open rebellion against authority, organising 'sit-ins' at the LSE or even dropping out of society altogether to live in miserable hippy communes. Next best thing to anarchy in his opinion.
One aspect of British life, however, needled him like no other, just as its threatened arrival had back in the thirties. There were blacks everywhere.
Manning the building sites, crowding the labour exchanges and positively overrunning London Transport. It was unbelievable.
He thought of the friends who had died in the War, died to preserve a country and a way of life which they revered. Now it was polluted by the dregs of Empire. By God, it was a sad time to be an Englishman.
As a young man, he had walked a hundred miles to hear Oswald Mosley speaking. He could taste the atmosphere even now: thousands of like-minded men, splendid in their black shirts, listening to that incredible orator denouncing the coons and the yids and all the other scum that were sapping Britain's strength.
But Hawthorne was no longer a young man. He had watched his dream of a racially pure country vanish in a wash of feeble liberalism.
Somewhere, deep in the shadows of his complex mind, Hawthorne kept his own private bogey-man. An image from his childhood half-wrapped in fear and half in nostalgia, bringing with it memories of his mother as she sat by the bed reading stories. Even as a child, Hawthorne had possessed a rational mind, his imagination balking at the obvious conceits of the fairy story. How could a carpet fly? How could a genie fit inside a bottle?
Only one story fascinated him and he would urge his mother to read it over and over again. It was a little Uncle Remus tale concerning Brer Fox's plan to ensnare Brer Rabbit in a thorny bush by means of a sticky facsimile child called the Tar Baby.
Hawthorne had never been afraid of the nasty fox, never really cared whether Brer Rabbit would escape or not. It was the image of that sightless, dripping black baby in its cage of prickles which haunted him. He would check under his bed every night, fearful that a tacky black paw would clutch at his ankle.
Without really knowing why, he still connected his fear of outsiders with that terrifying childhood memory. Like the Tar Baby, they were dirty, unnatural, somehow less than human. And Hawthorne was still checking under his bed.
The phone call from Cooper inviting him to join her in Yorkshire had been all the excuse he needed. Leaving London was like recovering from a long illness and the further north he travelled, the more certain and traditional things seemed to become. But then he had arrived in Bradford, realising with sick certainty that he had swapped one wave of immigrants for another. There to meet him at the station was his new colleague: young, handsome, intelligent and brown as a berry.
Hawthorne found himself flinching whenever Vijay came near him, the boy's cultured, almost too English accent annoying him intensely. It seemed unnatural and forced, like a chimp at the zoo dressed in human clothes - an analogy which pleased Hawthorne immensely.
He was glad to work with Cooper again. She brought back some of the certainties of before, her no-nonsense attitude a sturdy rock upon which to anchor his future. The Kidd girl was all right too, if a bit cocksure and modern in her thinking. She was a friend of Jocelyn Bell, the postgraduate down at the Mullard observatory who had discovered the first pulsar earlier in the year.
But now there was this flood of bizarre, unfathomable data, none of which made any sense. And the telephones were out of order. The only certainty seemed to be that the double star Bellatrix, in Orion, had just gone nova. The signals were just discernible amongst the nonsense which had overwhelmed their systems the previous night.
Thomas Edward Hawthorne liked order. At twenty-six minutes to eight on 23 December, a chunk of disorder called Ace came into his life.
'What the hell...?'
Cooper scurried towards Ace and managed to prevent the girl's head from hitting the console. Ace flopped weakly into Cooper's arms, sucking her cut lip and mumbling insensibly.
'Trespassers,' sighed Hawthorne. 'That's all we need. What's happened to the bloody security guard? It's outrageous.'
'Gone AWOL,' said Cooper, prising open one of Ace's eyelids.
'It's outrageous.'
'All right. You've made your point. Help me get her into the chair. She's in a state.'
Gingerly, Hawthorne took Ace's arm and dragged her over to a padded chair, noting her curious clothes with some distaste.
'Locals wandering all over the moor. You'd've thought they'd be used to the telescope by now.' He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and ran a hand through brilliantined hair. Cooper wiped the blood from Ace's mouth with a handkerchief.
'Look at her clothes. They're a conservative lot in these parts.'
'She looks like a dustman in that jacket. The things they wear these days.'
Hawthorne turned his attention to the data chattering before him. The green display flared light across his gaunt features.
'Bellatrix again. Hell of a nova. I just wish we could sort out the real signals from all this... dross.'
Cooper frowned thoughtfully, sat back on a bench and looked at Ace's sleeping form.
'Well, young lady. What are we going to do with you?'
The night had become dry and frostily clear. The Doctor, strolling into Crook Marsham with his umbrella hoisted over his shoulder, looked up at the bone-white moon on its bed of brilliant stars. He breathed in deeply and enjoyed the cold air which flooded his lungs.
Leaving the moor path, the Doctor rounded the corner of the Post Office and walked up the main street, his shoes crunching smartly on the frost-crazed pavement.
There was a soft chime from his coat pocket and he noted with some satisfaction that he was almost exactly on time. The Abbot's books, intriguing though they were, hadn't delayed him unduly. Strange coincidence, that. The telescope being built on the site of the old castle. A castle reputed to be haunted and destroyed by a mysterious fire.
The Doctor smiled. Every old building had its echoes, every battlefield its mournful piper or whey-faced soldier. Ten a penny.
No, it was time to face the future. Act on his impulses and do something positive about his resolution to... How had Ace put it? Retire. Yes. There was something comforting about that word.
I have done enough.
It was good to be here in a tiny, dull corner of his favourite planet with nothing to distract or entice him. He glanced back across the moor and saw the telescope dish, illuminated by its arc lamps, shining brilliantly in the dark night.
I have done enough...
Warm colours and a babble of excited voices washed over the Doctor as he pushed open the door of The Shepherd's Cross.
The room was packed. Alcohol-flushed faces bobbed amongst a mist of cigarette smoke. Trevithick and Lowcock were pressed into a corner, speaking in urgent whispers.
'She needs a doctor,' Trevithick urged. 'We have to get the phones working.'
The Doctor pushed his way through the crowd to the bar and ordered a glass of ginger beer. Ace was nowhere to be seen. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. Trust that girl to get herself lost. No, not a girl any more, he reminded himself. A woman now, even if a little pig-headed and immature.
'Miss Mason has sedated her,' said Lowcock. 'She'll be all right till we can get proper help.'
The Doctor glanced across the room and caught the eye of Mrs Crithin, now looking quite glamorous in a tight-fitting mini-dress. She gave him a kindly smile and called 'Evening, Doctor.'
Trevithick and Lowcock turned simultaneously and looked the little stranger up and down.
'A doctor, are you? Smashing. Would you mind...?'
'Ah well. I'm rather busy...'
'It's just that we're having trouble with our phones and our own doctor can't be found.' Lowcock looked appealingly at the Doctor. The Doctor opened his mouth to protest and then sighed. He could give a little of his time to helping these people. It wasn't really getting involved at all...
'Very well.'
'Wonderful. This way please.'
The big policeman took the Doctor's arm and led him up the stairs, Trevithick trailing behind. 'It's just up here, Doctor er...?'
'The patient?' said the Doctor quickly.
'It's Mrs Yeadon,' called Trevithick from behind. 'The landlord's wife. Seems to be in a state of shock.'
Inside the bedroom, the Doctor was introduced to Jill and Lawrence and reacquainted with Robin, who apologised again for running him down that morning.
The Doctor removed both his coats and rolled up his shirt sleeves.
Betty Yeadon was semiconscious, her eyelids twitching as if desperate to spring open. Robin sat by the bed, holding his stepmother's hand.
'What happened?' asked the Doctor.
'She's been having nightmares.' Lawrence's voice was thick with fatigue and emotion. 'This afternoon I heard her screaming and found her in the bathroom. She didn't say anything for ages, but...' He hesitated, looking from his wife to his son and down to the floor.
'But?'
'She's been dreaming about her brother, Alfred. He was killed during the War. She... feels guilty about his death.'
Robin looked up. 'Why, though? She's never explained it. Uncle Alf knew what he was doing. It wasn't Mum's fault he got killed.'
Lawrence thrust his hands into his pockets and sank his head on to his chest. 'She thought it was her fault, Robin. Your Uncle Alf was a conscientious objector. He refused to fight. At least, at first...'
'So?' Robin's question hung in the air.
'Betty was just a teenager then. I don't suppose she really understood the issues. Anyway, her friends began to taunt her about her brother and she started to get at him. The whole white feather bit. Eventually he caved in. Joined up. Three months later, he was dead.'
'How did it happen?' Jill's face was a mask of sympathetic concern.
'His ship was torpedoed in the Pacific. Half the crew survived the sinking but the sharks got most of them, Alf included.'
'God.'
Lawrence sat on the edge of the bed and took Betty's feverish hand in his. 'She reckons he'd be alive today if she hadn't interfered.'
The Doctor had taken Betty's pulse and temperature.
'What did you give her?' he asked Jill.
'Just some of her own sleeping pills.'
The Doctor nodded, producing a tiny green bottle from his trouser pocket. There was a soft plop as he unstoppered the bottle and waved it under Betty's nose. For a moment, everyone was aware of a sweet, heavy odour, and then Betty seemed to sink into a deep sleep, her agitated limbs settling on to the blankets.
'She'll sleep properly now,' said the Doctor, straightening up. 'The nightmares have become much worse, then?'
'Progressively,' said Lawrence. 'But today... today was something different. I couldn't make it out at first. But she says she's seen Alf. His ghost.'
'Ghost?' The Doctor's eyes flicked up.
Lawrence nodded and shrugged his shoulders. 'I want her to have professional help. I'm going over to York tonight. I can't get anyone on the phone. Would you come with me, Doctor?'
The Doctor looked about evasively. 'Unfortunately, I have a prior engagement. Perhaps your friend here...?'
Lowcock nodded. 'I'll come with you, Lol. I'm sure they can manage at the station for a few hours.'
Lawrence thanked him and then showed out Jill, whose mind was already full of her old charges and their Christmas destinations. 'Thanks for your help, Doctor...?'
'Don't mention it.' The Doctor smiled.
'Any word on Jack Prudhoe?' asked Lawrence.
Lowcock shook his head. 'No. Nor Dr Shearsmith.'
Lawrence sighed. 'Robin, can you stay with your mum while we're away?'
Nodding, Robin resumed his place by the bedside. Lawrence and Lowcock left the room, discussing the relative merits of the infirmary and the general hospital.
'Fancy a pint?' said Trevithick as he and the Doctor descended the stairs.
'Perhaps another time.'
'Not seen you around here before, have I?'
'No. My friend and I are just travelling in these parts.'
Back in the bedroom, Robin's ears pricked up as the Doctor's words floated up the stairs. His friend? That girl he'd been with earlier. The one with the long hair and the lovely eyes. Robin smiled slightly to himself and looked down at Betty's peaceful form.
Trevithick had persuaded the Doctor to stay and returned from the bar with a ginger beer and a frothy Guinness.
'I say, Doctor, I wonder if I might ask your advice. I need an objective opinion on all this.' Trevithick raised his glass. 'Cheers.'
'Cheers. All what?' The Doctor sipped his ginger beer and sat down.
'There are some funny things going on in this village, Doctor. I can't quite put my finger on it but I have this feeling... Good Lord, how rude of me. I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Trevithick.'
'The engineer?' said the Doctor brightly. 'Oh, my dear fellow, I've always wanted to meet you... No. Wait. Wrong century, isn't it? Different chap.'
'Edmund Trevithick,' said the old man, rather crestfallen. 'The actor. I used to be Professor Nightshade. D'you remember?'
The Doctor gave another of his evasive smiles. 'I get about a bit.'
'Well, never mind. The thing is, last night, at the old folk's home where I'm billeted, someone broke in. Someone or something.'
'What are you getting at?'
Trevithick gazed down at his pint. 'I saw a figure. In the lamplight outside. Just for a moment. But it was familiar. And then, when I found my window smashed, there was a terrible smell. And the voice...'
'Voice?'
'It said my name. But not Trevithick. It called me by the name of my old character. It called me Nightshade.'
'What did you do?'
The old man harrumphed a little. 'I'm ashamed to say I passed out.'
The Doctor looked up as the door opened and a small, red-haired man came in. Still no Ace. 'And you think this has something to do with Mrs Yeadon?'
'I don't know, Doctor. But now the phones are all out of order and two people have gone missing. Lawrence told me that Jack Prudhoe came in here yesterday afternoon. He saw something out of the window and just ran outside. No one's seen him since.'
The Doctor looked away. 'I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation,' he said unconvincingly.
Trevithick looked disappointed that his new confidant wasn't more enthusiastic.
'Excuse me a moment,' said the Doctor, standing and crossing to where Mrs Crithin was sitting, her mouth open in mid-anecdote.
'Hello, love,' she said as the Doctor raised his hat.
Unseen by both, Robin crept to the bottom of the stairs.
'I was wondering whether you'd seen anything of my young friend?' said the Doctor.
Mrs Crithin pulled a face. 'Not since this morning, love. She stayed a good while after you left and we had a chat. She did seem interested in the telescope, though, if that's any help?'
'Ah,' said the Doctor. 'No doubt she's got ahead of herself again. Thank you very much.'
Mrs Crithin smiled and turned back to her audience, already geared up for another saucy Christmas tale.
The Doctor threaded his way through the crowded room to Trevithick. The old man drained his pint and looked at the Doctor expectantly.
'Any luck?'
'It seems my friend may have gone up to the radio telescope. I'd better go and see.'
Trevithick nodded and shook hands with the Doctor effusively. 'Thanks again for your help with Mrs Yeadon. Hope to see you again soon.'
'Yes indeed.' The Doctor was already turning for the door.
From his crouched position on the stairs, Robin watched first the Doctor and then, after a protracted struggle into his coat, Trevithick, disappear into the night.
Robin glanced up the stairs at his stepmother's bedroom door. She was sleeping peacefully now. She'd be all right. If he could just have a word with the Doctor. Find out where he and the girl were staying and get a chance to talk to her. Interesting women didn't often come to Crook Marsham.
With one last, guilty look up the stairs, he pulled on his coat and pushed his way outside into the freezing night.
'Ace? What kind of a name is that?' said Hawthorne witheringly.
'Does it matter?'
Ace was alert now, her eyes flashing in agitation. Cooper and Hawthorne stood before her with arms crossed like angry parents.
'What does matter, young lady, is what you're doing in this compound. Suppose you tell us that?' Cooper's face was set in a stern frown.
'Look, I told you. I was in the village with my friend...'
'This... "Doctor"?'
'The Doctor, yes. He went off to the monastery and I got bored. I sneaked in here for a look around. That's all.'
'That's all?' Hawthorne's narrow eyes dwindled into furious slits. 'This is a government installation, young lady. We can't just let all and sundry traipse through!'
'Look...' said Ace.
'What I can't understand is what's happened to our supposedly brilliant security system...'
'Look!' cried Ace angrily. 'That's what I've been trying to tell you! I found a body outside.'
'A body?' said Cooper incredulously.
'Yes! Outside the fence. It was in uniform. Could've been a security guard.'
'What did it look like then?' Hawthorne cocked his head to one side.
'I don't know. He was all rotten. Decomposed.'
'We're wasting our time.'
'Now look,' said Cooper sternly. 'If you think you can get out of trouble by making up cock-and-bull stories...'
'I saw it!' yelled Ace.
'Well, let's go and have a look, shall we?' Hawthorne pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
'We can't,' sighed Ace hopelessly. 'It melted away.'
'Came and went like a summer cloud, did it?'
'All right, Tom, Leave it. Something's obviously happened.' Cooper turned and looked Ace in the eye. 'If the phones were working I'd call the police. As it is, just think yourself lucky...'
There was a deafening screech as the entire room flooded with power. The strip lights flickered, died, and were replaced by orange emergency lamps. Data screed across the consoles, forcing gauges and needles into irrational regions of the scale.
'Here we go again!' cried Cooper, hands flapping at her sides. 'Quick, you - Ace - make yourself useful. Go to the living quarters.'
'I don't -'
'Left, left, then right,' called Hawthorne, throwing himself into a swivel chair as paper poured from the printout to the floor.
'Get Vijay,' said Cooper, 'and Holly if she's awake. Their rooms are marked. No time to explain!'
'But...'
'Go!'
Ace scrambled to her feet and dashed off into the interior of the building. Emergency lights flashed around every blank wall, heightening the hectic atmosphere. She raced past lockers and storerooms, even a TV lounge, before she spotted a door marked 'H. Kidd'.
Ace paused, panting for breath, knocked and threw open the door. Empty. She cursed.
The next door bore the legend 'Vijay Degun' and a sign cannibalized from a cardboard 'Fragile - With Care' notice which now read 'agile - Wit...'
Ace didn't knock this time.
Inside the room, Holly and Vijay lay curled naked against one another, a mess of blankets pulled haphazardly around them.
Ace cleared her throat in embarrassment and Vijay sat up sharply, his thick black fringe obscuring his eyes.
'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'They want you in the control room. There's some sort of emergency.'
Vijay looked momentarily nonplussed and ran his hand through his hair as if to wake himself up. 'Right,' he said at last.
'Her too.' Ace indicated Holly with a nod of her head.
Vijay jumped out of bed, clutching a blanket around his waist and scanning the room for his discarded clothes. 'That's OK. She needs the rest. I don't want to wake her. You can go now - er?'
'Ace.'
'Right.' Vijay smiled. 'Thanks.'
Ace let her eyes linger briefly on his finely muscled chest and then, mentally admonishing herself for her wandering thoughts, exited.
She ran all the way back to the control room where Cooper ushered her into a chair. Both she and Hawthorne were totally engrossed in the eruption of data which crackled like a bonfire around the huge room.
Sleep was a beautiful release and Betty Yeadon, for once free of her nightmares, wallowed in it. Muted colours flashed across her closed lids as her breathing settled into a soft, regular pattern.
The room around her was empty, Robin's vacated chair pushed back against the wall. The frosty night outside whispered around the drawn curtains.
Betty turned over in her sleep as a bubble of memory floated to the surface of her unconscious. There was a dull thud somewhere below.
Plash
The curtains stirred slightly and there was another smaller sound, as if bare winter branches were scraping at the window.
Plash
She opened one eye, feeling the weight of drowsiness gushing through her brain like thick soup.
Thud
She opened both her eyes and felt suddenly alert. The bedside clock ticked loudly.
Plash
Plash
Betty pulled herself back to the headboard and dragged the blankets around her. The rustling sound came again and she glanced feverishly around the room.
Thud
Thud
She gazed at the closed bedroom door. There were four panels in it. A white, glossy door. Silence hissed about her.
Thud
Plash
Thud
There was something coming up the stairs. Dragging its feet.
Thud
The other sound reminded her of rain-soaked shoes.
Plash
She knew who it was. What it was. The dream that wasn't a dream. The wet footprints in the carpet. The terrible skeletal grip on her cheek.
Plash
Thud
Thud
The rustling came again. Betty jammed her fist into her mouth, eyes bulging in naked terror. Where was Lawrence? Where was Robin? Where were they?
The footsteps stopped. The door seemed to loom before her, heavy with the presence behind it.
Betty looked at the bottom of the door. A four-panelled, glossy white door, under which a pool of black sea-water was slowly forming.
She tried to speak, call, scream, but her throat tightened into a rasping croak. All that came out, in a whisper so low she scarcely heard it herself, was a name.
'Alf?'
From behind the door came a soft, low chuckle.
'Doctor! Doctor, wait!'
Robin called after the little figure who'd made amazingly rapid progress across the coal-black moor. The moon bled pale light on to the Doctor's face as he turned and looked back. Robin ran to catch up with him, feet sinking into the mud.
'Hello again,' said the Doctor as the boy reached him, out of breath. 'Shouldn't you be with your mother?'
'It's OK. She's sleeping,' said Robin. 'I - I just wanted to... well, your friend, the girl...'
'Ace?'
'Is that her name? Ace.' He turned the name over on his tongue like an unfamiliar delicacy.
'Her real name's Dorothy but she wouldn't thank me for telling you.'
'Well, I just wondered whether...'
'Yes?'
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, enjoying the young man's discomfort.
Robin was saved by a terrible, whooping scream which echoed across the moor like the howl of a wolf. Both he and the Doctor jumped in alarm. There was movement about a hundred yards ahead and they turned to make it out. A small, silhouetted figure was stumbling about, making incomprehensible gurgling sounds in its throat.
'Come on!' cried the Doctor, grabbing Robin's arm.
The figure was stationary now, swaying a little in the moonlight and sobbing uncontrollably. The Doctor pulled out a torch from his capacious pockets and swept the beam on to a blanched, panicky face, the stern mouth flecked with spit, the eyes two perfect circles of fear like bullet holes in ice.
'It's Mrs Prudhoe!' hissed Robin.
'The missing man's wife?'
Robin nodded vigorously. The Doctor placed a reassuring hand on the old woman's wrinkled brow. 'All right. It's all right now, Mrs Prudhoe. Mrs Prudhoe? What's wrong? What happened?'
She stared at the Doctor but seemed to look right through him, struggling against the firm grip of his hands, her mouth working away in silent protest.
Sensing his ministrations were futile, the Doctor let Mrs Prudhoe go and she shambled off into the darkness, weeping.
'Doctor! Over here!'
Robin was some way off now. He had found the little enclave in the rocks surrounded by stubby trees. The Doctor picked out the area with his torch and the beam bounced over black moor and grey stone as he advanced. He could feel Robin's breath by him as he turned the beam into the hole.
'Jesus,' cried Robin, taking a step backwards as the torch revealed the appalling sight within.
Jack Prudhoe lay in a heap, legs and arms snapped, paunchy skin streaked with purple scratches. His face was pressed flat so that his mouth and nose were just two gory holes, as though he'd been flung against plate glass.
The Doctor moved towards the body and gingerly touched Prudhoe's arm. There was a horrible crack as tissues split apart and clouds of opaque vapour flooded the little niche. The Doctor gagged as the smell engulfed him. Robin turned and ran outside, hurling himself down on the heather.
Pushing a handkerchief into his mouth, the Doctor forced himself to watch and shuddered involuntarily as the body rippled and fell inwards, trickling away into the ground.
The Doctor remained a few minutes more and then stepped outside, drinking in the frosty air with relief. He patted Robin on the shoulder as the boy knelt there, doubled up.
'What... what happened to him?'
The Doctor shook his head and looked up at the sky above them. He sighed heavily. Would there never be an end to it?
Trevithick turned up the collar of his coat as a chilly wind from the moor shivered through the village. It was bloody cold. He rubbed his gloved hands together and grumbled a little under his breath.
Christmas Eve tomorrow! In all the excitement, he'd almost forgotten. But now he could sense that lovely, indefinable crisp-ness in the air. Was it snow? Would they have snow for Christmas? He looked forward to that beautiful, serene quiet which heavy snow always brought to the world and the satisfying crump his steel-toed winter boots would make in virgin drifts. Nothing quite like it.
If memory served, they'd finished the last Nightshade around Christmas. December 1958, wasn't it? Only ten years, yet it seemed like a lifetime. He could remember the producer's party afterwards: the usual mix of sentiment and jollity, too much booze and too many false promises to keep in touch. He'd walked home that night knowing it was the end of an era. Things were never quite the same again.
But at least his public remembered him! Perhaps they were planning a reunion. Or a new series? Or (he pulled up sharp at the thought) This Is Your Life!
By God, they'd have to do some detective work to find all the old buggers he'd worked with.
William Jarrold had nipped off to America to take Hollywood by storm. Went down like a lead balloon, according to the papers.
Poor Jimmy Reynolds was dead, of course. Tragic really. But only the good die young. That's why I've lasted so long, the old man laughed to himself.
There was a scuttling sound nearby and Trevithick stopped, his ears pricked.
'Hello?'
There was another sound, so like wind-rattled branches that he turned to the high hedge which grew by the pavement.
'Who's there?'
His heart pumped a little faster. George Lowcock had said it might be kids who'd smashed the window. There were all sorts of lunatics about these days and if they could tear up Grosvenor Square, why should they hesitate at attacking an old codger like him?
'I know you're there,' he said firmly. The scuttling sound came again, like claws on glass.
Trevithick caught a smell on the breeze, recognised it and felt his stomach heave. He turned and ran. About fifty yards from the Dalesview Home, something stepped out into the road.
It couldn't be. It couldn't be.
It was under the yellow streetlamp just as it had been the night before.
'No!' Trevithick gasped, his lopsided mouth falling open.
The creature was almost seven feet tall, a shiny, black-carapaced body like a cockroach mounted on grasshopper legs. Its massive bristly head rolled back and forth inquisitively as its mandibles juddered and clicked before it.
Trevithick gawped, feeling his heart knock against his ribs like a racing engine.
It was impossible.
He pressed himself back against the hedge and yelled as the creature lunged at him.
It pulled back, the muscles of its neck bulging through its skin. Trevithick threw himself to the ground and rolled over, repeating the fall he'd learned for The Sword of Araby.
Surprised at his own agility, Trevithick struggled to his feet and pelted back the way he'd come. He could taste rust in his mouth and a crippling stitch beginning to develop in his groin as he clattered and slid across the icy pavement.
The creature scurried behind him, its great muscular legs rippling with effort.
It wasn't true. Couldn't be.
Trevithick saw the pub, lights ablaze in the taproom. There were still people in there. Had to be. Had to be.
He was a few feet from the door when a brittle mandible wrenched him backwards, slicing through his jacket and waistcoat. He fell heavily and lay there, winded, as the creature reared over him, its head thrashing about as if in triumph and sticky fluid pumping from its maw on to his face.
Trevithick screamed.
The creature flared with light as Lawrence Yeadon's car swung crazily around the corner. Trevithick took his chance and rolled again. The car seemed to be almost out of control and screeched across the pavement, lurching to a stop inches from the pub door.
Trevithick looked up. The creature was gone. He got shakily to his feet and stumbled over to the car. The doors opened simultaneously, Lawrence and Lowcock almost falling out of their seats on to the frozen ground.
There were people emerging from the pub. The two men gripped the car for support and took great gulps of air. Trevithick wandered up to them, feeling his exposed chest where the mandible had seared the skin.
'Did you see it? Did you?' he begged.
Lowcock turned his pale face to the old man. He looked confused and frightened.
'We couldn't get out of the village. Couldn't get out...'
The Doctor approached the perimeter fence with Robin scurrying behind him.
'What happened to him, Doctor? What's going on?'
The Doctor waved his hand airily. 'I don't know, I don't know. We must find Ace. Make sure she's all right.'
Robin eyed the squat grey box which controlled the security system. The red light winked in the darkness.
'You need a special key to get in there,' said Robin.
The Doctor looked at him impatiently, prised off the front of the box, re-threaded two blue wires, pulled out a third and jammed the end of his torch into the box which exploded in a flurry of sparks. The fence slid slowly open. The Doctor smiled, lifted his hat and ushered Robin through. 'After you.'
Robin looked up at the dish dominating the sky above them. He felt an unpleasant sensation of falling backwards, the kind of insecurity he suffered crossing suspension bridges or gazing up at skyscrapers.
The Doctor pushed open the double doors and they found themselves in a featureless corridor, its cold walls stained orange by the emergency lights. Through the glass of the inner door they could see the frantic activity within the control room. A deafening chatter of machinery and computer printouts seeped from under the door. The Doctor paused on the threshold.
'Now, Robin. Circumstances like these demand tact and patience. Understand?'
Robin nodded dumbly, then the Doctor barged through the door, doffed his hat and said, 'Good evening, I'm the Doctor. Hello, Ace. Having trouble?'
Robin didn't think much of the Doctor's ideas on diplomacy.
Cooper and Hawthorne barely looked up from their work. Vijay looked at the Doctor in blank astonishment.
'Come in! Come in!' called Hawthorne. 'The more the merrier!'
'Your friend, I presume?' Cooper looked up from stabbing a row of buttons. Ace ran to the Doctor and gave him a hug of welcome.
'Are you all right, Ace?' he said, furrowing his brow. She nodded and smiled. Robin hung awkwardly to one side and then offered his hand in greeting.
'Hello again.'
'Hi.'
They grinned at each other and looked at the floor simultaneously.
Ace was reminded a little of Mike, the young man who had wooed her and, ultimately, betrayed her in their battle against the Daleks. Robin had the same cheeky smile, the same sort of piercing eyes, although green rather than blue. There was also the suggestion of something dark about Robin, some indication of deep currents under the still surface. Ace looked forward to exploring.
The Doctor was already at one of the consoles and ripped off a printout as it pooled at his feet. 'White dwarf. Double. Hmm... you've got an exploding star on your hands.'
'Now look here...' began Hawthorne.
'Oh shut up, Tom,' barked Cooper. 'We need all the help we can get just now. We know about the star, Doctor...'
'It's a big one, isn't it?'
Cooper nodded. 'It's the only bit of solid information we have. It's the rest of this stuff that doesn't make sense.'
The Doctor joined her by a row of display screens and gazed down at the fluctuating figures.
'Massive energy levels of some kind.'
'It's flooding the systems. We can't cope with it. We can't trace it.'
Vijay joined them. 'But it has to be coming from the same sector as the nova. We've had the telescope trained on the same area since all this began.'
The Doctor drummed his fingers on the console. 'And where's your nova located?'
Vijay didn't have to consult his figures. 'It's the Bellatrix double in Orion 24. We've been monitoring the whole constellation for four weeks now.'
'But the other signals are completely different,' continued Cooper. 'Just a stream of nonsense. It can't be coming from Bellatrix.'
'Possibly not, possibly not,' mused the Doctor. He looked about the room, eyes flashing. Ace knew this expression.
'He's thinking,' she said to Robin.
The boy nodded. 'I'm Robin, by the way.'
'Ace.' She looked at him inquisitively. 'So... how did you meet up with the Doctor again?'
'I think you were supposed to meet him in the pub...?'
'I got held up.'
'Anyway,' Robin continued, 'my stepmum's been taken ill and the Doctor lent a hand.'
'I didn't know he was that kind of Doctor,' said Ace, grinning.
Hawthorne was still looking daggers at the Doctor, obviously displeased at the way the little stranger had insinuated himself into the proceedings.
The clock which Holly had so patiently watched the previous night ticked loudly to a quarter past ten. Once again, with startling speed, the instruments whined to a halt; gauges and monitors shuddered back to their normal, quiet watchfulness.
Ace was reminded of the atmosphere in a launderette when all the machines finish their washing cycle. The strip lights faltered and then sprang back to life, allowing the orange emergency lamps to shut down. Everyone looked around as the unaccustomed silence returned.
'Same as before,' said Cooper. 'How long did it last?'
Hawthorne glanced at the monitor and pushed back a strand of greasy hair. 'Just under three quarters of an hour.'
'Longer than last night,' said Vijay.
The Doctor tossed his duffel coat on to Hawthorne's chair and plunged his hands into the reams of paper which had tumbled to the floor.
Cooper sighed heavily, thrust her hands into the pockets of her lab coat and cleared her throat. 'I'm Christine Cooper. This is Tom Hawthorne. Vijay Degun. Your friend here tells me you're a scientist?'
The Doctor didn't look up from his scrutiny of the papers.
'Doctor!' urged Ace.
'Hmm? Oh yes. Scientist, explorer, philanthropist, general do-gooder. That's me.'
'Well, as I said, we'd be grateful for any help.'
The Doctor gave her an intense look, took off his hat and sat down in a swivel chair. 'Help? Yes... I'll help. I always do.'
'Doctor. There's something going on...' began Ace.
'Yes. I know.'
'What d'you mean?' said Hawthorne, plucking the Doctor's coat from his chair with distaste.
The Doctor crossed his legs on the console. 'Telephones that don't work. Energy from space. People seeing ghosts. That sort of thing. Now young Robin and myself have come across a body on the moor.'
'A security guard?' asked Cooper.
'What?'
'This young lady claims to have found the body of a security guard. We seem to have lost one.'
'That's very careless of you.'
Robin looked up. 'No, it was Jack Prudhoe. An old bloke from the village. His wife found him out there. When the Doctor touched him he just sort of... melted away.'
'There, you see. Just like I told you!' cried Ace triumphantly.
'Massive tissue collapse,' said the Doctor gravely. 'I've never seen anything quite like it and I've seen a few things in my time.'
'And the smell...' Robin sat down heavily.
'Yes. That too.' The Doctor sat up and placed his hands on the console before him. 'Whatever happened to Mr Prudhoe triggered some sort of instantaneous corruption. Like exposing a sealed coffin to the air.'
'Does anyone else know about this?' said Cooper, frowning.
The Doctor shook his head. 'No. But your friendly local bobby and Robin's father have gone off to get help for Mrs Yeadon. If they can sort out the communications problem too we might start to get somewhere.'
Hawthorne grimaced and started to clean his glasses with the hem of his cardigan. 'Well, I for one reckon we should think pragmatically and try to make some sense of this data. Bodies or no bodies. There's nothing much else we can do.'
Vijay shrugged. 'I agree with Dr Hawthorne.'
It was probably the first time he ever had.
Holly felt as if she'd been drugged. Sleep hung heavily about her, plucking her back into blissful unconsciousness whenever she stirred. Until her head hit the downy pillow, she hadn't realised how totally exhausted she was. There'd been a full day on duty followed by her sympathetic relief of Vijay. Then the crisis had kept her up until almost seven in the morning. Sliding between freshly laundered sheets, she had fallen almost instantly asleep.
At some time during the day, she'd been aware of Vijay getting into bed beside her and had snuggled up to the warm pressure of his body. Now he seemed to have gone again but Holly couldn't be sure. She was dreaming or remembering or both.
Uncle Louis was there, his face stern, his arms folded. Holly was grinning sheepishly, James by her side. They were both seventeen.
There had been some sort of fuss about them going off together, James's mum ringing up Louis to enquire where the 'young lovers' had got to. James, she explained, had his exams to worry about and couldn't waste his time dallying with girls.
In truth, they had been down by the brook, enjoying the forbidden thrill of first kisses. The air was summer sweet. Holly had let James's fingers trace the outline of her eyes, lips and slim neck. They were young, in love, and, that night, in trouble.
Louis had shouted at her, worried about local gossip and how a young girl could get herself a reputation. It might be 1957 but there were still standards to maintain. Adolescent anger boiled within her, pouting her lips, quickening her breathing.
But, against all the odds, it had worked out. Holly and James went on seeing each other all through the summer. The months lengthened to years. University and separation seemed only to deepen their affection. She felt incomplete without him.
Holidays became times of unadulterated joy, brimming over with silly talk, passion and the indefinable pleasure of sharing. Sometimes she felt her love for him like a hot physical weight, pressing through her ribs, and she would smile without quite knowing why.
By the spring of 1962 they were contemplating marriage. Holly had graduated with honours from Cambridge and was considering a research post at a physics lab in Scotland.
James, ever the optimist, was using his English degree to bludgeon his way into a position as junior reporter on a Northumbrian paper. They were scouting for a house on the Scottish border and it looked as if they would see each other most weekends and alternate Wednesdays for the first few months. Holly had just arrived in Scotland when she got the call from Louis. She was so pleased to hear his voice that she babbled on for a full minute before registering the heavy silence at his end. Then it came. A simple, leaden sentence.
'Listen, love. I've got some bad news. I'm sorry. I don't know how to say this. It's James. There's been an accident...'
She knew at once that he was dead and felt numbness rising through her. There were no tears, not then, just a hot, dry emptiness. The phone had hung limply in her hand for hours as the room darkened around her.
Well, that was over now. Six years gone. She had managed to continue at the lab. Pushed herself into her work. Done well. Very brave. Everyone had said so.
In the last year or so, she had finally started to relax again, making new friends and generally enjoying the loosening up of society which the decade was bringing. Now there was the tracking station. And Vijay...
She did love him, she knew that. But it was a different sort of love than the sort she'd felt for James. Perhaps a little more spiky. A little less sure. But different...
Something tugged at her foot.
Holly blended it into her dream and imagined herself tripping over a paving stone. She jumped and was awake.
The room was overwhelmingly dark. No light peeked under the door from the corridor beyond and the heavy curtains were tightly drawn. She glanced at the luminous hands of her alarm clock. A quarter to eleven. There was some pressure on her feet. She stirred her legs under the blankets, thinking, for a moment, that a cat must be lying there. But there were no cats in the station. And the weight was too heavy. She felt her heart rate increase. The pressure on her feet shifted slightly.
If only she could make out something in the darkness. Her mouth went dry. She swallowed.
There was a sound, very close by, as if someone were breathing in her ear. Or stirring fallen leaves. Holly reached out and found the trailing cord of the lamp switch. She pressed the button and a little sun of weak orange light exploded in the room.
There was a man sitting on the end of her bed, dressed in a sports jacket and tapered trousers. He had short, blond hair, finely chiselled features and his broad hands were folded neatly across his lap. He was smiling.
Holly drew back with a startled cry, her mind spinning in disbelief. She tried to form words. But the man just put his finger to his lips and smiled benignly.
It may have been the shadowy light, but there was a disquieting blankness in the man's gaze; his eyes were black and opaque like unpolished jet. He reached out and took Holly's hand in his, the palm warm and reassuring. Then he giggled.
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