Rose’s attention wandered to the TV next door, which was showing the news. ‘Is that Harriet Jones?’
‘Oh, never mind me,’ said Jackie loudly, but Rose had already headed next door.
Harriet Jones had been the politician who had helped Rose and the Doctor defeat the Slitheen when they’d all been locked inside 10 Downing Street. Rose had adored her, and the Doctor had predicted great things in her future. ‘Why’s she on the telly?’ Rose said, staring at the screen.
‘She’s Prime Minister now. I’m eighteen quid a week better off. They’re calling it “Britain’s Golden Age”. I keep on saying, my Rose has met her.’
‘Did more than that,’ said Rose, cheering up. ‘Stopped World War Three with her. And now she’s PM—Harriet Jones!’
Harriet was giving a speech, and for once, Rose stopped to watch a politician.
‘… I don’t mean this to sound like a presidential address, but the savings can be implemented by January the 1st. The new Cottage Hospital scheme will be available nationwide from that date, resulting in better healthcare for all. Some might call it radical. I call it vital! And I hope that a great many patients will sleep soundly tonight, as a result—’
The television presenter interrupted.
‘Prime Minister, what about those who call the Guinevere One space probe a waste of money?’
The Prime Minister looked haughty. ‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong. I completely disagree, if you don’t mind. The Guinevere One space probe represents this country’s limitless ambition: British workmanship sailing up there among the stars.’
Now on screen was a model of a small probe ship. It was a terrible model; Rose squinted at it a bit. They showed how it was moving through space.
‘The unmanned Guinevere One is about to begin its final descent,’ said the voiceover. ‘Real photographs of the Martian landscape should be received back on Earth at midnight tonight.’
Now the TV cut to a press conference, with a sign up above that read British Rocket Group. The man talking, with his bald head, beard and serious expression, looked old and young at the same time, and the chyron on the screen read Daniel Llewellyn, Guinevere Project.
‘This is the spirit of Christmas, birth and rejoicing, and the dawn of a new age,’ said Llewellyn, ‘and that is what we’re achieving fifteen million miles away. Our very own miracle…’
Of course, back at the industrial park, they were all watching. The staff had gathered in the communal area—Duerte had tried to rename it the control room, but as it also contained the staff fridge and the tea-and coffee-making facilities, it hadn’t caught on. But there was a huge screen hung on the wall, and everyone had gathered round to see their boss on live TV.
A ragged cheer had gone up when he appeared, rapidly hushed so people could listen, but Matthew, Luanne and Duerte were unimpressed.
‘He sounds like a massive ponce,’ said Duerte.
‘I said they should have let me do it,’ said Luanne.
‘Llewellyn put the team together, directed the operations, oversaw the strategic development and let me and Duerte get on with our programming in peace,’ Matthew pointed out. ‘I think we should let him have his moment.’
The other two made sucking noises, but everyone fell silent as the screen changed to show the model of their probe again.
Back on the Powell Estate, Jackie glanced at her daughter, who rather looked like she’d had a rug pulled out from under her feet.
‘Ever been to Mars?’ Jackie asked.
‘Nope. God, I feel… Earthbound. They’re sending out spaceships—and what about me? I’m stuck at home!’
Jackie rolled her eyes. Rose had been ‘stuck at home’ for half an hour.
Far, far out, where the cameras didn’t show, the little probe was moving; the tiniest dot of light in the vast black nothingness of space, its solar wings spinning gently in the endless night, its own lights displaying the little Union Jack carved in its side on its long, long journey. Llewellyn had insisted on the flag featuring alongside the scientific equipment and a little time capsule of humanity, just in case… It might be a tiny, infinitesimal chance that there was alien life out there, and an even smaller chance that Guinevere would bump into them, but if she did…
Beneath the serious exterior, Daniel Llewellyn was a bit of a romantic.
And then the bump came.
Out in the vast wilderness of space, the probe hit something. Something it had not been able to sense; something nobody had known was there; not Matthew, Luanne and Duerte; not Harriet Jones, not Daniel Llewellyn.
Guinevere had hit the side of a giant rock that New Mexico’s Very Large Array must have missed; that Jodrell Bank had not even noticed.
And suddenly a panel opened.
This was clearly no ordinary rock. There was something inside it.
White light shone out and the little space probe was sucked inside the great mass of the block of moving granite. And the little door in the rock face slammed shut.
And darkness returned.
5
Here Comes Santa Claus
Rose had decided in the end to leave the Doctor to sleep while she went out with an overexcited Mickey, who wanted to do some Christmas shopping. Oxford Street was busy on Christmas Eve, and Rose couldn’t help but find it exciting—yes, obviously the universe was an incredible place, seeing everything they’d seen. But this was something special too. Familiarity. Home. People she loved. And Christmas! She grinned as they passed a brass band all dressed up in Santa Claus outfits, playing a version of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’; laughed at the huge decorated tree behind them.
Of course she’d been out of work for months, had never needed any money. She smiled cautiously at Mickey.
‘So what do you need? Twenty quid?’ he said, reading her mind, as he always could.
‘Do you mind? I’ll pay you back.’
‘Call it a Christmas present.’
Rose took in the heavily decorated surroundings, the people carrying trees, shop windows lit up and the lights everywhere.
‘God, I’m all out of sync. You just forget about Christmas and things in the TARDIS. They don’t exist. You get sort of timeless.’
Mickey marched on beside her. ‘Oh, yeah, that’s fascinating, because I love hearing stories about the TARDIS. Oh, go on, Rose, tell us another one because I swear I could listen to it all day. TARDIS this, TARDIS that.’
‘Shut up,’ said Rose, laughing at him.
‘Oh, and one time the TARDIS landed in a big yellow garden full of balloons!’
‘I’m not like that!’ said Rose, mock-indignant.
‘Oh, you so are,’ said Mickey.
‘Mmm, must drive you mad. I’m surprised you don’t give up on me.’
‘Oh, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You can rely on me. I don’t go changing my face.’
Rose turned. That one had stung.
‘Yeah? What if he’s dying?’
‘Okay,’ said Mickey, looking ashamed of himself.
Rose felt bad for snapping at him and took his hand. ‘Sorry.’
Mickey sighed. He missed her so much—missed what they used to be. Missed the future he had once thought they might have. He took a deep breath.
‘Just let it be Christmas. Can you do that? Just for a bit. You and me and Christmas. No Doctor, no bog monsters, no life or death.’
‘Okay,’ said Rose.
‘Promise?’
‘Yes,’ said Rose, and Mickey knew that was the best he was going to get, and he didn’t want to risk her dropping his hand again.
‘Right! What’re you going to get for your mum?’
They wandered down a side street into a Christmas market. ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ was playing, almost as if they only knew one song.
‘I’m round there all the time now, you know,’ said Mickey. ‘She does my dinner on a Sunday, talks about you all afternoon, yap, yap, yap.’
Rose smiled. Mickey didn’t hav
e parents; and her mother would start mothering anyone within a ten-mile radius. She was glad they had each other. Even if she knew her mum was a mean second best to Mickey.
Rose spotted something out of the corner of her eye. It was the band, the brass band dressed up as Santas. Their tin welded masks were actually eerie in the dark, and they…
No. She had been away for too long. It was ludicrous.
They were not being followed by a Santa band.
She stared, uneasy, as the creepy bunch moved in front of her and Mickey, holding up their instruments stiffly. The hairs rose on the back of her neck. She looked one straight in the face and it jerked away, quickly, as if to avoid looking at her.
Rose told herself she was being ridiculous. Or was she? Couldn’t her travels have left her senses heightened to danger? Mickey was still talking as they walked away; he hadn’t noticed a thing. But she wanted to keep an eye on the masked band as the Santas moved towards them, still playing.
She noticed their masks weren’t plastic, as she’d imagined they would be. They were metal, a clear hard metal. The fixed smiles looked grotesque painted on to the smooth surfaces. Rose found she couldn’t take her eyes off them …
The attack came incredibly fast. The first Santa lifted its trombone and a huge gout of flame blew out from within. Rose screamed Mickey’s name, grabbed him and dived to the pavement. Several of the stalls were caught by the blast of flame and immediately started to blaze. The shopping crowds panicked and started charging away. Mickey and Rose got up and crawled behind the nearest stall. The figure with the French horn was slowly raising his weapon.
‘It’s us!’ Rose realised. ‘Those Santas are after us!’
Now an electrical stall exploded in front of them; the air was filled with screams and Mickey pulled her away. All of the Santas were lined up now, shooting deadly exploding missiles; following them as they desperately tried to escape down the road. Their tin welded masks looked less like novelties now and more like—could they be some kind of robot?
Rose didn’t have time to think as they dived for cover, and stall after stall burst into conflagration all around them.
One of the Santas had them in its sights, fixing them with its painted-on eyes. It lifted its tuba.
As Rose and Mickey froze, paralysed in its sights, the Santa jerked from the recoil as a huge missile hit the enormous Christmas tree in the centre of the plaza. It burst into flame and collapsed immediately on top of the Santa, knocking him over, and giving Rose and Mickey the desperate, precious seconds they needed to make their escape.
They heard the rattling of the tin mask as it fell off to reveal—what? And then they were gone.
‘What’s going on?’ panted Mickey as they ran. ‘What’ve we done? Why are they after us?’
The air was suddenly filled with sirens; police cars and ambulances were screaming past.
‘Taxi!’ Rose waved her arm wildly, as a familiar black cab slowed down, even through the chaos of people charging in front and behind it, and they jumped in.
‘They’re after the Doctor,’ said Rose, then leaned forward. ‘I’ve got to get home. Powell Estate, end of Jordan Road.’
And she pulled out her phone, even as Mickey stared at her, breathless and upset. ‘I can’t even go shopping with you! We get attacked by a brass band! And who are you phoning?’
‘My mum,’ said Rose.
‘What’s she got to do with it?’
‘She’s in danger!’
Rose willed her mum to pick up but all she could hear on the line was Beep-beep-beep. Beep-beep-beep. ‘Come on, come on…’ She hung up and rang again, hung up and rang again. ‘Get off the phone!’
‘What were those Santa things?’ Mickey asked, still shaking his head.
‘I don’t know.’ Rose stared glumly out of the rear window, where she could just see the flames licking up behind the buildings. ‘But think about it. They were after us. What’s important about us? Nothing, except the one thing we’ve got tucked up in bed. The Doctor.’
6
O, Christmas Tree
Back in the flat, Jackie was rabbiting on to her friend Bev in the next block. Jackie liked Bev a lot. Bev had been a hairdresser for thirty-five years, so she did Jackie’s roots on the cheap and was a tremendous listener.
While she talked, Jackie made two mugs of tea—one for herself and one for the mystery man asleep in the next room. ‘… so she turns up, see, no warning. I’ve got nothing in. I said, Rose, if you want a Christmas dinner of meat paste, then so be it.’ She paused, grimaced. ‘Oh, no. Don’t come round, darling. No, you’d be sorry, flat’s all topsy-turvy. Yeah, she just barges in and litters the place. Yeah. No, I’ll come round and see you on Boxing Day…’
Bev liked Jackie and didn’t like to interrupt her rattling on. She knew how lonely she was. It was hard, knocking about on your own like that. She worried about her. Thank goodness she had Howard now, but even so. There was a limit to how much conversation one could make about grapefruit. So Bev made approving noises as she stirred tomorrow’s cranberry sauce; she had her whole noisy, boisterous, loving family arriving in the morning and it was going to be crazy. Nicely crazy, but crazy nonetheless. She found Jackie babbling on curiously restful.
Jackie felt relaxed now, too. She liked to pretend Rose did nothing but annoy her, whilst rubbing it in to her friends that her daughter led an amazing action-packed life of travelling and adventure. The strange man was still asleep in bed, and Jackie left the mug of tea beside it, without pausing for breath. Then she left the room.
Once again, the golden regeneration light emerged from the prone figure, shone in the quiet room, then vanished off into the galaxy…
Rose and Mickey burst into the flat, panting for breath. Jackie was still chatting.
‘GET. OFF. THE. PHONE!’ Rose shouted.
‘It’s only Bev. She says hello!’ said Jackie.
Rose grabbed it. ‘Bev? Yeah. Look. It’ll have to wait.’
She hung up rudely, and Jackie frowned.
‘Right, it’s not safe. We’ve got to go. All of us, and the Doctor, we’ve got to get out. Where can we go?’
‘My mate Stan,’ said Mickey. ‘He’ll put us up.’
Rose gave him one of her looks. ‘That’s only two streets away. What about Mo? Where’s she living now?’
‘I don’t know. Peak District?’ said Jackie.
‘Well, we’ll go to Cousin Mo’s then.’
Jackie stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘It’s Christmas Eve! We’re not going anywhere! What’re you babbling about?’
Rose realised that the three of them yelling at each other wasn’t going to help matters, and made a determined effort to slow down and lower her voice. ‘Mum. Trust me. Someone’s after the Doctor. There were these things—they looked like Santa, they had the hats and faces, like they were using all that Christmas stuff as a disguise and…’
She caught a glimpse of something over her mother’s shoulder, and stopped short. Something was very wrong.
Rose had spent eighteen Christmases in this flat. Eighteen years of dry turkey and her mum having too much brandy and crying about her dad and getting the photo albums out again. And each year they got out the same old white tree. They would dredge up the tatty paper angels that Rose had made in her first year at school, and the ancient tinsel that got more and more moth-eaten every year… That tree was one of the first things she ever remembered. She knew it as well as she knew her own bed. She’d know it anywhere.
The thing in the corner of the room wasn’t their tree.
She lowered her voice further. ‘Mum. Where’d you get that? That’s a new tree. Where’d you get it?’
Her mother glanced round. The tree in the corner of the room was beautiful: huge and lush and green and perfectly decorated.
‘I thought it was you.’
‘How can that be me?’
‘Well, you went shopping. There was a ring at the door, and there it was!’
&n
bsp; Rose’s heart was beating faster now and she felt panic steal over her.
‘No. That wasn’t me.’
‘… then who was it?’ said Jackie as they all turned to look at it.
Slowly, and ominously, the bottom of the tree lit up, and started playing a tuneless, meandering version of ‘Jingle Bells’. Rose could only stare. The next layer of lights went on, and then the next and the next, all the way up to the star at the top.
Rose’s voice was a whisper. ‘Oh, you’re kidding me.’
The tree began to rotate, impossibly, different sections going different ways—and now it was moving forwards, towards them, the branches fast as a buzz saw.
It looked like a joke, as if it were meant to be funny—right up to the second it started to move, the deadly arms moving round at terrible speed. It glanced off the coffee table and tore through it like a woodchipper; tiny sections of razor-sharp wood spitting everywhere, creating a hurricane-like wind in the room.
‘Get out!’ Mickey shouted to Rose, who had already grabbed her mum. ‘Go! Go! Get out!’ And he bravely picked up a chair, as if fending off a tiger, and stood in front of the wild Christmas tree.
Rose pulled Jackie back towards the bedroom, even as she was opening the front door.
‘What are you doing?’ screamed Jackie. ‘We need to get out!’
‘We’ve got to save the Doctor!’ Rose shouted in response. ‘We can’t just leave him!’ Her attention was diverted as the tree started to shred the legs of the chair Mickey was holding. ‘Mickey, get out of there!’
He threw the remains of the chair at the tree—which didn’t slow it down for an instant—and they all ran for the bedroom.
The tree simply burst into the corridor towards them. Jackie was distraught.
‘Leave him,’ she screamed about the Doctor. ‘Just leave him’– even as the tree broke the internal window in the living room and glass shattered everywhere.
‘Get in here,’ said Mickey grimly, pulling her with them into the bedroom, and as the tree bore down on her, Jackie did so. She and Mickey pulled a wardrobe across the bedroom door. The awful Christmas music had sped up; the horrible tinny bouncy sound rising over the whir of the branches as the thin plywood of the cheap door began to shred under the onslaught.
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