Dr. Who - BBC New Series 47
Page 18
The tingling sensation spread from Mark’s cheek across his face and down his neck. It prickled like pins and needles. ‘Doctor…’ he said.
The Doctor glanced towards him and recoiled in shock.
‘Oh my,’ he breathed, staring at Mark as though there was something wrong with his face.
‘What is it?’ asked Mark, touching his cheek. His skin felt odd. Softer, smoother. He turned to Amy and Rory, who were both gawping at him in amazement. ‘What’s
happening?’
‘Amy,’ said the Doctor. ‘Mirror!’
Amy fished a small hand mirror out from her coat and handed it to Mark. He lifted it to study his reflection. The face that stared back wasn’t that of a man in his late forties. It was the face of a much younger man, a man growing younger all the time. As he watched, the lines around his eyes faded away, his hair grew thicker and all the grey hairs turned brown.
The tingling continued down his arms to the ends of his fingers. Mark watched as the wrinkles on his hands smoothed away. The sensation spread down to his toes, then faded.
‘When Rebecca touched your face, she shorted out the time differential,’ explained the Doctor matter-offactly.
‘She’s given you the past nine years of your life back.
You’re the same age now as you were when we first met you. It’ll be as if you’d never spent all those years in the past.’
‘But I can still remember them.’
‘Oh, they still happened all right,’ grinned the Doctor.
‘It’s just that you’re not a day older, that’s all.’
Mark returned the mirror to Amy, barely able to believe the truth. He was young again. Well, 37 years old. And all it had taken was one touch from Rebecca’s hand.
14 October 2011
It was a cold, drizzly evening, just like the evening when he’d first met the Doctor, Amy and Rory. The streets were
dotted with puddles and thunder rumbled in the distance.
They’d materialised a few minutes’ walk from his flat, and just as they were turning into the street, the Doctor ordered them to stay back and keep out of sight. Peering out from behind a recycling bin, Mark soon discovered the reason why.
On the pavement stood a blue police box, and standing at the entrance of the block of flats he could see another Doctor, Amy and Rory. He watched as they hurried into the TARDIS. Seconds later, it faded from view with a groaning, wrenching sound.
‘OK, they’re gone,’ said the Doctor, straightening up and wringing his hands. They walked the remaining few metres to the path leading up to entrance, then the Doctor halted. ‘Well, this is where we came in, more or less. One week after you were touched by the Weeping Angel.’
‘One week?’ Mark patted his pockets. ‘Oh. Hang on a minute…’
Rory smiled and passed him his house keys. ‘Been looking after them for you. Say hi to Mrs Levenson from me, I’ve been, um, flat-sitting for the last week.’
‘Right,’ said Mark.
‘Oh, and you’re out of milk,’ added Rory. ‘And tea. And bread. And toilet paper.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mark, turning to Amy. ‘Thanks for everything.’
‘It was a pleasure,’ said Amy with an affectionate smirk.
‘Goodbye,’ said the Doctor. ‘And good luck in the, ah, future. Where, fortunately, the rules of time mean that you can do whatever you want.’ He beamed, patted Mark on
the shoulder, and turned to go. Rory shook Mark’s hand, Amy kissed him on the cheek, and then the three of them walked away, back down the street to the TARDIS.
Mark walked up the stairs to the entrance. He paused before slipping the key in the lock. Just as he had done before a week ago, nine years ago.
He was back in 2011, but now things would be different. He still owned Harold Jones’s property, stocks and shares. He was still a multi-millionaire. He didn’t have to go back to work at Pollard, Boyce & Whitaker, not if he didn’t want to. He could do anything he wanted.
The first thing he would do, he decided, would be to go and see Lucy and Emma. He hadn’t seen them for years but he knew they wouldn’t mind if he turned up out of the blue and spent an evening talking to them about Rebecca.
Not because he wanted to talk about her death or how much he missed her, but because he wanted to remember her and celebrate her life with friends, because the memory of her no longer made him feel sad.
He’d take her advice, Mark decided, and find somebody. But where to look? He didn’t have the faintest idea. But it would be fun finding out.
Mark unlocked the door and entered the block of flats, ready to begin the rest of his life.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to Justin Richards for giving me the chance to
show off; to Steven Moffat for letting me borrow his best monsters; and to the following, who made this book better: Stephen Aintree, Steve Berry, Debbie Chalis, Robert Dick, Debbie Hill, Matt Kimpton, Joe Lidster and Simon Guerrier.
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