‘The scene of the accident,’ said the Doctor bleakly. He began to stride down the hill towards where the Angel had been standing. ‘Come on.’
They didn’t see the crash. But they could see the orange warning lights that blinked on and off, lighting up the hedges that loomed over the lane.
The lorry had come to a rest halfway up the hedge, the cabin tilted onto its side, its radiator grille steaming, its warning lights flashing. The driver was slumped unconscious on his steering wheel.
‘You leave the driver to us.’ The Doctor patted Mark’s back. ‘Be with her.’
Mark looked around in a daze, unable to take it all in, and then he spotted Rebecca’s car. The force of the collision had sent it into the next field, rolling over until it came to a rest upside down. Thick smoke poured out of the engine and he could see the tell-tale flicker of flames.
Standing about six metres from the car, caught in the sickly orange glow of the warning light, was the remaining Weeping Angel.
Looking out across the field, Rebecca wondered why everything had an odd orange hue, as though lit by a street lamp. Her seatbelt was so tight she could hardly breathe.
She wanted to wipe the rain from her eyes, but her hands didn’t respond.
Now that was weird. About six metres away, in the field, stood a statue, like might be found in a graveyard, or a Roman museum. It was a statue of a young woman with coiled hair, a flowing robe and two wings. An angel. The statue was hunched, burying its head in its hands.
The orange light blinked off, and Rebecca thought of childhood bonfires.
The orange light blinked on again. The statue of the angel was now staring towards her with blank, pupil-less eyes.
The light blinked off and on again, and each time the statue ‘drew closer, closer, until it filled her view, looming over her, reaching out towards her with hands like talons.
Rebecca wished that Mark was here.
And he was. The statue had vanished and Mark had taken its place. He leaned into the car and gently brushed the rain from her face. He smiled at her tenderly. She could see tears streaming down his face.
Why did he look so old? His hair was thin and flecked with grey, his skin was weathered and his eyes were lined
with crow’s feet. They were the sad, tired eyes of a man who had suffered years of sleepless nights. But they were still the same eyes she’d fallen in love with, and they were still full of love for her.
Rebecca attempted to say his name, but no words came. She wanted to ask him what he was doing here. He should be working at the office in Croydon, not out here in the depths of Sussex in the wind and rain with her.
She felt him take her hand and squeeze it. His skin felt so warm against hers, like fire. Looking up at him, into his sad, tired eyes, she smiled. Because Mark was here. She knew everything would be all right.
And then Rebecca Whitaker felt no more worries, no more fears, no more pain. She slipped away into death with her head cradled in her husband’s arms.
Amy, the Doctor and Rory watched in a respectful silence as Mark released Rebecca from her car and placed her body on the grass a short distance away.
Amy sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes. ‘He couldn’t save her.’
‘He never could,’ said the Doctor. ‘The Angels just made him believe that, to serve their own ends.’
‘So time can’t be rewritten?’
‘Not without people getting hurt,’ said the Doctor ruefully.
‘What about the Weeping Angel?’ asked Rory. ‘Where did that go?’
‘It escaped.’ The Doctor indicated a metal box perched in the hedge by the side of the road a few metres from
where the lorry had come to rest. The speed camera reflected the glow of the lorry’s warning lights as they blinked on and off.
‘But if it’s in the speed cameras, it could go anywhere…’
said Rory. ‘We have to find it.’
‘There’s no need,’ said the Doctor. ‘That’s the Weeping Angel we encountered when we first arrived, in 2011. The Angel trapped inside a television.’
‘You mean, the one that sent Mark back to 2003?’ said Amy.
The Doctor nodded. ‘In a desperate attempt to break the time loop. But by trying to change history, it ends up creating it. A prisoner of its own past.’
‘But why wait until 2011?’
‘Recharging its batteries? And it couldn’t send Mark back until he’d received the letter. The letter I imagine they dropped off at Mark’s office a couple of days ago.’
Another minute passed in silence, then Mark returned.
His eyes were raw from tears and his breathing was shallow and weak, as though each inhalation caused him pain.
In the distance Amy could see the headlights of a car through the trees. The driver that would be the first on the scene, the one who would call the emergency services.
‘Come on,’ said the Doctor. ‘Time we were gone.’
Mark was about to leave the office at Pollard & Boyce when his mobile rang. He checked the clock. Who would be ringing him at five past eleven at night? He pulled his phone out of his pocket. The caller ID read Rodney Coles.
Mark pressed answer. ‘Hello, yes?’
‘Mark, it’s, um, Rodney. Rebecca’s father.’ He sounded oddly frail and distant, pausing between his words.
‘Rodney. What is it?’
‘It…’ There was a long silence. ‘There’s been an accident, Mark. Rebecca has been in an accident. She was driving home to see us when…’ There was another long silence, leaving Mark listening to nothing but a faint hiss.
Mark swallowed and walked unsteadily over to his desk. He felt like he was standing at the top of a very high cliff, looking down over the edge. ‘She’s all right, though, isn’t she? Tell me she’s all right.’
‘I’m sorry, Mark,’ said Rodney. ‘She’s gone. She, um, when they found her, she’d already, they said, she’d already died.’
Rebecca was dead. Mark couldn’t believe it. Even saying the words in his head, he couldn’t believe it. He felt like he was suffocating. His lips were dry, his heart felt as heavy as a stone and there was a terrible twisting sensation in his stomach. He felt like everything around him was suddenly distant, unreal, like he was watching someone else in a movie. Or a bad dream from which he might wake up at any moment.
But he wasn’t going to wake up. Mark talked to Rodney for a couple of minutes but his mind was elsewhere. The call ended and he sat in silence, looking at the photograph of Rebecca he kept on his desk. The photograph of her sitting on the balcony of their hotel room in Rome, in her summer dress, gazing out into the street, the morning sun shining in her hair, a contented, secretive smile on her
lips. The photograph he’d taken the morning after they’d got together.
Mark picked up the photograph, his hands trembling.
Rebecca was dead. He’d lost her. He’d never hear her voice again. Mark wanted to scream. He wanted to fall on his knees and beg the heavens; please, take time back. Let me go back just one hour, to before Rebecca was killed so I can save her. Anything, I’ll do anything, if you’ll just let me go back, and for this not to be now, for this not to be real, for this not to be for ever.
Mark held the photograph to his face to try to stop himself crying, because he knew that once he’d started, he might never stop.
Epilogue
16 April 2003
Mark stood at the lychgate, the Doctor, Amy and Rory beside him, unnoticed by the mourners at the graveside.
The grave had been dug on the edge of the graveyard, in the shade of an old, gnarled yew tree. The pallbearers lowered the coffin into the ground and the vicar spoke the prayer of committal, his solemn, lilting voice carrying through the warm spring air amidst the rustle of leaves and the birdsong.
It was the same vicar who’d conducted the wedding service two and a half years earlier. He was addressing the same people as at the wedding; many of the male mourners wer
e even wearing the same suits. There was Gareth, Mr Pollard and Mr Boyce, and Rajeev, Lucy and Emma. And there were Rebecca’s parents, Olivia and Rodney, both looking so tired, so stunned and lost. And there was his mother, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
And there was his younger self. Standing at his
mother’s side, staring into the grave, tears streaming down his cheeks. Mark could remember standing there as though it was yesterday. He could still feel the grief, like a huge weight pressing down on his chest. But as he remembered it, the day of the funeral had been a cold, grim overcast day. He hadn’t remembered it taking place on a sunny day under a clear blue sky.
The service ended, and Mark turned to the Doctor, Amy and Rory, who had stood beside him throughout.
Their eyes glistened with tears. It must be strange for them, Mark thought. As far as the Doctor and Amy were concerned, they had only met a few days ago. It must be strange and heartbreaking to travel in time as they do. But maybe not as strange and heartbreaking as it had been for him.
‘Enough,’ said Mark. ‘Enough. Can I go back now?’
‘Not just yet. There’s one more thing you have to see.’
8 May 1993
The guitar riff of ‘Two Princes’ echoed out of the open doors of the Dunmore hall of residence and into the cool spring evening. Students stretched out on the freshly cut grass with folders of notes and paperback books.
Everyone looked so young, so carefree.
Beaming at everyone he passed as though they were old friends, the Doctor led Mark, Rory and Amy into the student hall. For Mark, it was an unnerving experience.
He’d spent his first year at university living in this building. It was both strange and familiar, as he saw so
many details he’d long since forgotten. The posters on the noticeboard gave details of NUS demonstrations, of upcoming gigs, and of the opening hours of the computer centre.
A hall party was in progress. From one end of the corridor could be heard the glam jangle of the new Suede album. They squeezed past the students lining the hall and entered the communal kitchen. There, the Doctor indicated for Mark to look across the room.
To see Rebecca, leaning against the far wall, paper cup in hand, a sardonic smile on her lips. Her long hair had been dyed black and she wore an American college sweatshirt.
‘Speak to her,’ said the Doctor, adjusting his bow tie with a cheerful waggle.
‘Are you sure? Won’t I be changing history?’
‘I’m not expecting you to give her a list of future presidents of the United States.’ The Doctor nudged Mark forward. ‘Speak to her.’
Mark took a deep breath and walked towards her, feeling as self-conscious as he had when he was a 19-year-old student. Even though he was now 46 years old.
‘Hi,’ he said to Rebecca. ‘Do you mind if I have a quick word?’
‘No, no, not at all.’ She sized him up and frowned.
‘Mature student, right?’
‘Yeah. Something like that.’
‘Interesting,’ Rebecca smiled. ‘So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?’
Mark told her everything. He was careful to leave out
the dates, names, and time travel, but he told her all about the beautiful girl he’d met and fallen in love with twenty-seven years earlier, who, after several false starts and wrong turnings, he’d made his wife. He told her how happy they’d been together. And he told her how his wife had been killed in a traffic accident, and how, ever since, a single hour hadn’t passed without him thinking about her.
Rebecca listened with intense concentration. ‘She sounds great, this - what was her name?’
‘Um, Rebecca, actually.’
‘Spooky, that’s my name.’ Rebecca grimaced at the contents of her cup. ‘Though no one calls me that and lives. So how long ago has it been since she died, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘Seventeen years.’
‘Seventeen years?’ repeated Rebecca in astonishment.
‘Whoa. Long time.’
‘Not that long.’
Rebecca paused to consider her next words carefully.
‘Tell me to shut up if I’m speaking out of turn, but, well, everything you’ve said so far has been about you, about how you feel. Haven’t you ever stopped to consider what Rebecca would want in all this?’
‘What Rebecca would want?’
‘Would she want you to be miserable for the rest of your life? Would she want you to spend all your time on your own, wishing for what might have been? No.’
‘No?’
‘No. She’d want you to be happy. She’d want you to find somebody else, somebody else who makes you
happy. That’s what I’d want, if I was her.’
‘I’m not sure I can.’
‘You don’t know until you’ve tried. That’s an order.’
Rebecca smiled at him irreverently, her eyes twinkling as she looked up at him and stroked him gently on the cheek.
‘Do that for me.’
Mark stared at her for a second, struck dumb. His cheek tingled. Then he turned back towards the door, where the Doctor, Amy and Rory were waiting. ‘Thanks,’
said Mark. ‘I will.’
‘Glad to be of service.’
Mark returned to the Doctor and his friends, who looked at him questioningly. Had he got the answer he wanted? Mark nodded.
‘You’ll always have the time you had with Rebecca,’ the Doctor told him. ‘No one can take that away from you.’
‘I know,’ said Mark. ‘I know that now.’
‘Then I think it’s time to say goodbye.’
Bex watched the man leave the kitchen. He seemed like such a lovely guy, so sweet and so sad. It had been strange, speaking to him; it was like they’d known each other for years. She hoped he’d follow her advice and find someone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a cry of indignation from the hallway. A young man she’d never seen before stumbled into the kitchen, his neck and T-shirt soaked with red wine. He looked so ridiculous, Bex couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Would you believe it?’ he muttered in response to her amusement. ‘Some stupid bloke in a tweed jacket
just banged into me, making me spill red wine all over myself.’
‘Yeah,’ said Bex sympathetically. ‘I can see that.’
‘My best shirt, this is, you know. Ruined.’
‘No, you should be able to get it out if you pour hot water through it straight away.’ Bex indicated the kitchen sink with her cup. ‘But you have to do it straight away.’
The young man sighed and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Giving Bex the chance to admire his bare chest. For a skinny little thing, he was surprisingly well-defined.
He put his T-shirt in the sink and ran it under the hot tap. While he tried in vain to remove the wine, Bex studied him. He had short brown hair, gelled into a parting, and wore John Lennon-style glasses. He was quite cute. And there was something strangely familiar about him.
‘Hey, have I just met your dad?’ said Bex.
‘What?’ ‘
‘I was just speaking to bloke who looks just like you, but older.’
‘Really?’ said the young man. ‘You’ll have to point him out to me.’ He inspected his T-shirt. ‘Well, I think I’ve got most of it out. Thanks.’ He turned towards her. ‘I’m Mark, by the way. Mark Whitaker.’
‘Bex Coles.’
‘Cool name.’ Mark looked at her, as though he was about to speak, but no words came. Bex tried not to laugh out loud at his awkwardness. ‘Um, yeah, er. I don’t suppose you fancy, you know, going out some time?’
‘What sort of thing did you have in mind?’
‘Well, there’s this band on at the Whip-Round next week who I’ve heard great things about. Apparently they’re going to be bigger than Suede or Blur.’
‘Really? What are they called?’
‘Echobelly.’
‘I shall have to make a note of that, then,’ said Be
x. ‘So you don’t have a girlfriend then?’
Mark paused before answering. ‘No. You?’
‘No, and I don’t have a boyfriend either.’
‘So? Do you fancy going to this thing with me?’
‘Yeah, why not?’
Bex heard someone coming in and turned to see her boyfriend Dennis McCormack standing in the doorway, dressed, as usual, in a ridiculously formal jacket that showed off just how overweight he was. ‘Hi, babes.
Surprise, yeah?’ He glanced at Mark standing at the sink with his shirt off. This puzzled Dennis. ‘Why haven’t you got a shirt on?’
‘Red wine,’ explained Mark.
‘Ah, right,’ said Dennis, returning his attention to Bex.
‘Anyway, turns out the debating society dinner was dead, so I thought, Dennis, doesn’t do to keep the lady waiting.’
With that, he kissed her on the lips and attacked her mouth like it was a lick-before-sealing envelope.
When Dennis finally allowed her to come up for air, Bex noticed that they’d been joined by a girl with an unwieldy chest and a severely cut bob of auburn hair.
‘Hey, Mark,’ said the girl, giving him a peck on the cheek. ‘Who are you talking to?’
‘Um. This is Bex,’ said Mark. ‘And—’
‘McCormack, Dennis,’ said Dennis, grabbing Mark’s hand and pumping it vigorously.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me, Mark?’ prompted the girl.
‘Oh. Yes. This is Sophie, my, um, girlfriend,’ said Mark.
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Bex.
‘Why haven’t you got your shirt on?’ Sophie asked Mark.
‘Red wine,’ explained Dennis.
‘Well we can’t have you standing around half-naked, can we?’ said Sophie, taking Mark by the hand. ‘Come on, I’ll find you another shirt.’ She led him out of the kitchen.
Bex watched them go, thinking what a pity it was that Mark had a girlfriend and she had a boyfriend. If they’d both been single, this could’ve been the beginning of something.
Mark’s cheek was still tingling when he stepped back inside the TARDIS. The Doctor danced around the console, flicking switches and, after a few moments, the central column began to rise and fall.
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