Toronto. My father was from England. I picked up the accent from him.’
‘He was?’
‘He um, died. Ten years ago now.’
‘I’m very sorry. And your mother?’
‘She’s still around. Still, you know, coping. She moved out of the house, to a place by the sea. I think she finds it tough, without dad.’ Mark scratched Jess behind the ears.
She yawned appreciatively.
‘And what about you, are you married?’
‘I used to be. My wife, um, died in a road accident back in 2003.’
‘In 2003?’
‘1993,’ Mark corrected himself hastily.
‘Oh, you poor thing. It must be so hard for you. Any children?’
‘No. No, no children.’
There was another awkward pause. Jess lost interest in Mark and stretched out on the rug. ‘So what is it you do for work?’ asked Mark’s mother at last.
‘I’m a solicitor.’ replied Mark. Even as the words left his mouth he regretted saying them.
‘A solicitor? My son Mark’s studying law at university.’
‘Is he? Oh.’
Mark’s mother stared at him over her glasses. ‘You
know, you really do look a lot like him.’
‘Must be the family resemblance.’ Mark took a framed photo of his younger self from the mantelpiece. ‘Is this him?’
‘Yes, that’s him,’ said Mark’s mother proudly.
‘You’re right, there is a similarity,’ said Mark studying the photo. ‘Reminds me of myself at that age.’ Mark returned the photo to its place of honour. ‘So, is he doing well, at university?’
‘We think so. We don’t hear from him all that often, a phone call every couple of weeks, but you know what they’re like at that age, away from home for the first time, it’s like they forget that mum and dad exist.’
‘I’m sure that’s not the case.’
‘But he’ll be home in a few weeks, and then we’ll have him for the whole summer.’ Mark’s mother frowned. ‘You haven’t touched your tea. Is it all right?’
‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ said Mark, rubbing the corners of his eyes to hold back the tears. He pretended to take another sip. ‘What’s he like, your son?’
‘Oh, just like his father. Works too hard, every hour God sends.’
The phone rang. Mark’s mother heaved herself out of her seat. ‘Sorry, if you’ll excuse me.’ She bustled over to the hallway and picked up the receiver. ‘Hello. Yes?
Mark!’
Mark flinched, fearing he had been found out. But his mother continued. ‘I was just talking about you.’ She waved to Mark in the living room. ‘A relative from Canada, over here looking up his family tree. Mr… um, sorry, what did you say your name was again?’
‘Harry,’ said Mark, grabbing the first name that came to mind. ‘Harold… Jones.’
‘Harold Jones,’ his mother repeated into the phone.
‘Looks a bit like you, funny that, isn’t it? Anyway, enough of me rabbiting on, was there anything you wanted?’
There was a pause and Mark’s mother reached for a pen and pad. ‘Oh, I see. How much do you need this time?’
Mark watched her from the front room. She looked so happy, so full of optimism. Mark put down his cup of tea and rubbed another tear from his eyes.
‘But what does this have to do with Mark Whitaker? Why go after him?’ asked Rory.
‘The Weeping Angel that zapped him back to 1994 did so for a reason.’ The Doctor darted around the console, making adjustments to switches, levers and what appeared to be a bus conductor’s ticket dispenser. ‘I singled him out specifically. It was working to a plan.’
‘What plan?’ said Amy.
‘We won’t know the answer to that until we find Mark Whitaker. Then we have to return him to 2011 before he changes history.’
‘But why’s that so bad?’ said Rory. ‘You’re always saying that time can be rewritten.’
The Doctor gave Rory a hard stare. ‘It can. But that doesn’t mean that it should. I can rewrite time, yes, because I know what I’m doing. Whereas a human being, blundering about –’
‘Yeah, but you’re exaggerating a bit, aren’t you? I mean, how much difference can one man make?’
‘One man, Rory, can change the whole world. You should know that by now.’
‘Oh. OK, we have to stop him.’
‘Quite. But we have to find him first.’
‘So how long are you in the country for?’ Mark’s mother asked as he stepped out of the front door and onto the gravel driveway.
‘Oh. About a week or so.’
‘Then it’s back to Canada?’
‘Yes. You, um, must come and visit.’ Mark had given his mother a fake address, hoping she wouldn’t be too offended if she spent the next few years sending Christmas cards to a distant relative who never sent any back.
‘That would be nice. I’m always on at Patrick to take me on holiday, this might be just the excuse I need.’
‘I remember. You never had a honeymoon,’ said Mark quietly.
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘Nothing.’ Mark cleared his throat. ‘You should gp, you really should, before it’s too late.’
Mark’s mother frowned. ‘What do you mean, “too late”?’
Mark swallowed. The air seemed suddenly thin.
‘Nothing.’
‘No, you meant something, you wouldn’t have said it otherwise. What did you mean?’
‘I meant, well, my dad always promised to take my
mum on holiday, but one month before his retirement, he had a heart attack. You know, it might be a family thing.
You should get dad to go in for a check up.’
‘Dad?’
‘I mean, Patrick. Because it’s the sort of thing where they can cure it, if they catch it early enough.’
Mark’s mother considered this. His words had frightened her. ‘You don’t know what he’s like. Stubborn.’
‘My dad was the same. Please. Don’t take no for an answer.’
‘I’ll try my best,’ said Mark’s mother, giving Mark a wary look.
‘Sorry. Anyway. I have to go,’ said Mark, putting on a brave smile. ‘Lovely to meet you. And thanks for the tea.’
He shook her hand. As their fingers touched, Mark’s fingers tingled, like he’d received a tiny electrical shock.
‘Thank you for coming. Give my love to, er, Canada.’
‘Goodbye.’ Mark smiled and headed down the driveway. He heard his mother call after him but he didn’t dare look back. He couldn’t let her see the tears dribbling down his cheeks.
The TARDIS floor lurched and whirled like a bucking bronco. Amy clung to Rory for dear life, while Rory clung to one of the stair railings. The Doctor danced around the console, his eyes gleaming with excitement and madness. ‘I think,’ he glanced up at the scanner, then tapped out a command on the console typewriter, ‘Yes. I think I’ve found him!’
‘Found him? Where?’ said Rory
The Doctor pulled a lever and a map of Great Britain appeared on the scanner. It zoomed in on a point north of London. A glowing green dot slid upwards, surrounded by pulsing circles. ‘A source of wibbly time stuff – stop me if I’m getting too technical – is heading north-west.’
‘You think that’s him?’ said Amy.
‘A great big paradox just waiting to happen. Who else do you think it might be?’
‘He’s heading north-west?’ Rory retrieved the folded papers from his pocket. ‘Wait a sec. According to his CV, in 1994 Mark Whitaker was studying at university in…’
He checked the paper. ‘Warwick.’
‘You don’t think he’s trying to find his younger self?’
said Amy.
‘I think that is exactly what he is trying to do,’ The Doctor examined the scanner. ‘Odd thing is, though, he seems to be travelling at about a hundred miles an hour…’
‘Tea, coffee, sandwiches
?’
‘No thanks,’ said Mark.
The rail steward gave a polite smile then rattled her trolley further along the carriage. ‘Tea, coffee, sandwiches?’
Mark gazed out of the window, watching the fields, streams, roads and bridges rush past in a blur. Small villages and towns slid by in the distance and his reflection floated alongside the train in mid-air.
He checked his watch. Another hour or so and he’d be back at university. In his head, he ran over the words he wanted to say. He had so much to tell his younger self.
Mark rubbed his right hand. The tingling sensation seemed to be getting worse. It was probably just a strained muscle but something about it made him feel uneasy. Vulnerable. Like he was being watched.
He glanced outside again. Trees rushed past and power lines roved up and down. And looking up, there was nothing but clear blue sky…
… and a wooden blue box spinning in mid air. It hovered about thirty metres above the ground, whirling and flitting erratically, but always remaining parallel with the train.
It was following him.
Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor, Amy and Rory stared at the scanner, showing the Inter City 125 zooming through the green British countryside. The Doctor adjusted the controls to bring them in closer. ‘Might be a spot of turbulence. Time stuff won’t let us get too close.’
The Doctor dashed over to the exterior doors and shoved them open. A blustering wind burst into the control room with a roar. Balanced in the doorway, the Doctor whooped with delight like a mariner in a thunderstorm, the breeze whipping at his hair.
While Rory remained at the console, Amy fought her way over to the Doctor, the wind causing her eyes to water. Gripping the doorframe tightly, she leaned out and looked down.
They were flying over the train. Trees and pylons hurtled past just a few feet beneath them. It reminded Amy of the scene in Harry Potter where Harry and Ron chased the Hogwarts Express.
‘He’s on board that train?’ shouted Amy over the bluster of the wind.
‘No doubt about it,’ the Doctor shouted back. ‘We’re not the only ones who have found him. Look!’
The Doctor pointed down towards the last carriage of the train.. Six grey figures crouched on the roof, clinging to it with their bare hands, their wings unfolded. All of them perfectly motionless, like statues.
Chapter
4
The moment of decision had arrived. Our Graham had summarised the three prospective dates’ replies, and the girl had made her selection. The audience whooped and applauded as the Two She Could Have Chosen passed by, then the divider slid back, the dates kissed, chose their holiday envelope, and the Blind Date theme began.
Watching the show, they’d played the usual game of deciding who they’d select for a date, with Rebecca and Sophie choosing the boys, Mark and Lucy choosing the girls, and Rajeev pointedly refusing to look up from his copy of New Scientist. Sophie always chose the boy who most resembled Mark, then paid close attention to Mark’s selection to discover what he had liked about the girls.
‘This is boring,’ declared Rebecca. She uncurled herself from her position on the battered sofa and strode in front of the screen. ‘We have to go out or we may actually die of old age.’
‘What do you suggest?’ called Lucy from the kitchen, scooping the remains of the pasta into the bin.
‘I don’t know. Go to the Saturday night disco at the
union or something. We can’t stay in watching telly all night. That’s what our parents do.’
‘Well, I’m up for it,’ said Lucy.
‘You’re always up for it. What about you, Mark?’
‘Don’t know,’ said Mark. ‘Should be getting back to work, really.’
‘ Mark has an exam on Monday,’ said Sophie, threading her arm possessively through his.
‘Which is a whole two days away,’ said Rebecca.
‘Look, it’s a well-known scientific fact that if you don’t take breaks from studying your brain will explode. Isn’t that right, Rajeev?’
Rajeev nodded sagely, not looking up from his magazine. ‘Fact-o-matic.’
‘And if you’re gonna be sitting in here watching telly, you might as well go out. Right?’
‘ You can go,’ suggested Sophie. ‘Me and Mark can just have a night in.’ She cuddled up.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mark. ‘I kind of fancy getting out of the house.’ He smirked conspiratorially at Rebecca, and Sophie felt a surge of jealousy. Rebecca – or Bex, as she preferred to be called – could always twist Mark around her little finger. And he always laughed at Rebecca’s jokes, he never laughed at any jokes she made. Why couldn’t Rebecca get herself a new boyfriend, or get back together with Dennis Nice–But–Dim?
‘Yes, but we can’t really afford it,’ Sophie reminded her boyfriend.
‘Which is why I suggested the union,’ said Rebecca. It may be totally lame but it’s cheaper than any of the clubs
in Leamington.’ On the screen behind her Michael Barrymore strutted about advertising chocolate fingers.
‘OK.’ Mark dragged himself to his feet. ‘Union it is.
Head off in about half an hour? Bagsy the shower. Oh, and Bex, try not to use any hot water while I’m in there.
Being suddenly frozen to death wasn’t funny the first time, or the next five times.’
‘I don’t know,’ smirked Rebecca. ‘For me, it gets funnier.’
‘Promise you won’t do it.’
‘OK, I promise. If it happens again, it will be a genuine accident.’
‘But I can’t go,’ protested Sophie. ‘Not dressed like this.’ She’d be a laughing stock, going to a disco wearing a chunky jumper and jeans.
‘You can always borrow something of Rebecca’s, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.’ Grinning to himself, Mark clomped upstairs. Whoever had designed their house had had a thing about staircases and had tried to incorporate them instead of hallways wherever possible.
‘He was just joking, you know,’ said Rebecca tactfully, as if it wasn’t obvious that Sophie wouldn’t be able to squeeze into any of Rebecca’s clothes. Was Mark hinting that he’d find her more attractive if she lost weight? That she should be slim like Rebecca?
‘You’re welcome to any of my stuff,’ said Lucy.
‘Probably not your style though.’ No, thought Sophie, regarding her friend’s army surplus trousers and Shakespears Sister T-Shirt.
‘It’s all right, I’ll cope,’ said Sophie. ‘Half an hour then.’
‘Flatmate outing. Party time, excellent,’ said Rebecca.
‘You coming, Rajeev?’
‘No, I’m good,’ said Rajeev. ‘Not really my scene.
Besides, I promised I’d phone my parents later, so that’s my entire evening gone.’
‘Suit yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ said Rebecca.
‘I have to make myself gorgeous. This is going to be a night to remember.’
Their old house, just as he remembered it. Mark had taken the bus from Coventry station to Leamington Spa, the same journey he’d made a dozen times before, and now here he was, standing outside the terraced house he’d shared with Rebecca, Lucy and Rajeev in his second year at university. Seeing it made Mark feel… what did he feel? Excited, yes. Nostalgic, like discovering an old school photo. But with a tinge of sadness, at how much he had lost.
The front door opened and Mark ducked out of sight.
Three girls and a boy emerged, Mark’s heart stopped. The first girl, an indomitable-looking dark-haired Goth, was Lucy. Then there was Sophie, his ex-girlfriend, all curves, freckles and a severely cut bob of auburn hair.
And then there was Rebecca. Oh God. She looked perfect. She had long blonde hair and wore a black-and-white top with an Inca design and leggings. Her laughter echoed in the dusky air.
The boy was Mark’s own younger self. Short brown hair, gelled into a parting, John Lennon-style glasses, sallow, red cheeks. Wearing his best Fred Perry shirt. He
Mark watched them go. He’d have to wait until his younger self was alone; he couldn’t talk to him while the others were around. Keeping well back, but feeling highly conspicuous, Mark followed his 20-year-old self down the road.
‘So, what’s the plan?’ asked Amy as she watched Mark trail his younger self to the bus stop. The old Mark then held back, keeping his face turned away from the group of students.
‘We get to him before he gets to himself,’ said the Doctor, ducking back behind the garden wall. ‘Before his older self gets to his younger self.’
‘You make it sound so uncomplicated.’
‘And most importantly, before they get to either of them.’ The Doctor pointed to the roof of the terraced house from which the young Mark had emerged. It took a while for Amy to realise what he was pointing at. Six stone Angels, perched high on the brickwork like gargoyles.
‘But why are they after him, run that past me again?’
asked Rory.
‘Moths to a flame,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘If Mark succeeds in changing his own past, he’ll create a paradox.
Once you’ve altered your own timeline, the young you won’t grow old to become the old you who did the altering. Which creates all kind of peculiar and nasty side effects, including the release of a vast amount of potential
time energy.’
‘Which is what the Angels are after!’ said Amy, keeping her gaze fixed on the Angels on the rooftop.
‘Exactly. Look at them. They’re hungry, desperate.
Then somebody sounds a dinner gong.’
‘Um, Doctor,’ said Rory, indicating the bus stop. Amy turned to look – to see young Mark and his three female friends clambering onto the bus, followed by an old Mark.
Then, suddenly remembering, Amy whirled back to stare at the building. But the six Angels had vanished.
‘Come on!’ yelled the Doctor, hurdling the wall and pelting towards the bus stop. Amy and Rory sprinted after him, but they were too late. The bus pulled away and rumbled into the distance.
The Doctor spun on his heel, looking for inspiration. A car approached and the Doctor dived out in front of it.
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