Bigger on the inside: Space, Time Travel, Alien Criminals (A Space Time Travel Mystery Book 1)

by Alianna Smith

  “He has an important question to ask you,” Lottie said.

  “Oh, and what is that?” Dave asked, intrigued. He put his arm around his boy to encourage him. The question must be very important if he’d stayed up long enough — or rather, if the question had kept him from going to sleep properly — to ask him first thing when he got home. Dave wondered what could be so important. It probably wasn’t about football; the two of them had a secret understanding that when it came to their favourite sport, all things were possible.

  “I want to learn how to play the piano.”

  “What?”

  “I want to play the piano. Like Mum,” Ewan repeated, his voice first rising a little in defiance, only to become softer at the thought of Rita.

  The request caught Dave completely unawares. Rita had decided very early on that they wanted to help their children discover their talents and to foster them as best they could. Ewan had been reluctant to study a musical instrument; although he’d loved to listen to Rita play, he’d resisted when she encouraged him to take lessons; although he’d always loved listening to Rita play, he’d been most resistant when she asked him if he wanted to learn how to play.

  “Can I, Dad? Please?” Ewan asked, his eyes still filled with sleep as well as the beginnings of tears. He’d interpreted his father’s stunned silence and was afraid he might say no.

  “Of course you can,” Dave managed to say around the huge lump that had formed in his throat. Ewan’s eyes lit up and he smiled widely. It was a smile Dave hadn’t seen on his face for far too long, and breathing became a little bit more difficult for a few seconds. “What made you change your mind?”

  “Lottie played.”

  “Oh.” They’d had an unspoken rule in the house, one which Lottie had unwittingly broken that night. He’d forgotten to tell her that the piano was Out Of Bounds for everyone but Rita. It was a rule they had establish after a near disaster involving fingers sticky with Nutella.

  “I’m sorry,” Lottie said, obviously still embarrassed about the incident. “I should have asked if it’s okay to play.”

  Dave looked at her. When he’d asked her earlier if the kids had been good, he’d never imagined that she might have been on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing. All the more surprising was the fact that apparently, the bairns had still been good and heeded her. What surprised him more was that the kids had been so protective about the piano, more protective, in fact, than he had been. He’d found himself sitting at the piano several times before, trailing his fingers lightly over the black and white keys. He’d felt a little closer to Rita as he’d done so, regretting that he didn’t have a single musical bone in his body. Just like Ewan, he’d loved listening to Rita play.

  “Well, at least they didn’t drive you out of the house.”

  “It was close enough,” Lottie said, crestfallen, and Dave realised that she was expecting another lecture from him.

  “It must be awfully out of tune by now,” he said instead.

  “Yes,” Ewan said sadly.

  “Well, we’ll have to have it tuned, then, won’t we?” Dave said, drawing Ewan closer to him. “Rita would hate that. I should have thought of it earlier.”

  “Can Lottie teach me?” Ewan asked, pushing away from him to be able to sit up.

  That surprised Dave most of all. How did the young woman do it? She could do anything and the kids would still love her, even break one of the Rules. Whereas he didn’t seem to be able to do anything right since they’d lost Rita.

  “If she agrees, yes. Sure,” Dave said. He looked at Lottie. Wherever had Sarah found this wonderful girl? Why she hadn’t gotten on with her first family was beyond him. “Come on, time for bed.”

  “Thank you, Dad,” Ewan said, throwing his arm around his neck in a rare display of affection. Dave wrapped his arms around his small body and hugged him close, inhaling the clean-little-boy smell that clung to him. He planted a big kiss on the top of his head before they both rose and he went upstairs with Ewan to tuck him in. His youngest son fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, relieved as he was of the burden of asking permission to learn how to play the piano.

  When he returned to the lounge, Lottie shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’m so sorry, Dave. I had no idea no one was supposed to touch the piano.”

  “It’s not a relic. The kids loved it when Rita played. She was the only one who could played. So,” Dave said. He drew a deep breath. He had loved listening to her as well. Curling up on the sofa with his bairns, listening to Rita play, was one of his fondest memories. He hadn’t realised how much he missed that bit of normalcy, that ritual, until that night. “Rita would hate it being mute. It’s my fault. I should have told you.”

  “It shocked the kids.”

  “Aye,” Dave sighed. “I had no idea you played.”

  Lottie shrugged.

  “Thank you for teaching Ewan. But you don’t have to do that,” Dave said.

  “I’d love to!” she protested. “I’ve missed it, to be honest.”

  “Please, feel free to play whenever you want. After I’ve had the tuner in.”

  They were silent for a while.

  “So, they obeyed you despite your faux-pas?”

  Lottie shrugged.

  “I... I might be out more often in the evenings. Would that be all right with you?”

  “Of course,” Lottie said. “It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?”

  “Well,” Dave began. “Do tell me if it gets too much.”

  Lottie looked at her hands where they rested on her thighs. She was contemplating her words carefully. “You seem very calm and relaxed tonight.”

  Dave smiled, ducking his head. He would have liked to be able to tell someone that he knew, for the first time in many weeks, that he would be happy again, that although life as he knew it had ended there was also a new beginning, but he held back. It was far too soon to confide in Lottie, although his children had, apparently, already adopted her, in a manner of speaking. If only life were as simple as that.

  “Thank you, Lottie.”

  They spent the rest of the evening going through the plans for the remainder of the week, Dave telling her about the photo shoot on Saturday. In the process, he promised her, partly in return for Ewan’s piano lessons, to take professional photos of her. He realised, for the first time, that he would need an assistant in the studio now that Tanya had moved away, particularly to look after the business when he was working and interruptions were less than welcome. The shoot with Rose, however, was one he didn’t want an assistant for. It was very private.

  There was a flutter of nervous anticipation in his stomach as he thought about the arrangements he’d made with Rose for Friday. She had agreed to let him see her most vulnerable side; He didn’t know what to expect, but that was part of their deal. All he knew was that Rose seemed to trust him completely in that regard, a notion that touched him deeply. He had no idea what that entailed; they had never discussed his sketches. She would tell him about her ideas, and he would tell her about his and they’d somehow make them work. The Emptiness Folder was a very personal project. She was going to bare her soul to him — who was he to tell her how she was to do that? The two of them had agreed that they wanted the shoot to be as authentic as possible, which meant that both of them made artistic decisions. He had never worked like this before. But then again, he had never trusted any of his customers as much as he trusted Rose. They were kindred souls when it came to experiencing the loss of a loved one.

  “Do you think you can keep the kids busy for an entire day?” Dave asked.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Dave,” Lottie said. “But I think they’ll be happy to spend the day with someone outside the family. Someone who’s not grieving for Rita. Do you know what I mean?”

  Dave did. The idea saddened him, but he knew perfectly well what Lottie meant, and he didn’t blame her. In fact, he was grateful that the kids got the chance to spend the day without Rita�
��s shadow cast over everything they did. Forgive me, Rita, my love.

  He nodded. It was why he’d had such a lovely evening. Rose knew about Rita, about his grief, but never for a moment had it come between them.

  “I’m glad you’ve had such a lovely night out,” Lottie said, rising. “Good night, Dave.”

  “How do you say that in German?” he asked. “Gutenacht?”

  Lottie smiled, correcting him gently. “Gute Nacht.”

  “Gute Nacht, Lottie,” he said.

  “Good night, Dave.”

  As always after a few glasses of wine, Dave found it hard to fall asleep. The evening’s events kept replaying themselves in his head, most prominently, of course, kissing Rose. He lay on his side of the bed, just two or three inches closer to the middle than he would have with Rita around, staring at the corniced ceiling, or whatever parts of it were visible in the muted light of the bedroom. If he closed his eyes, he could feel Rose’s lips press against his own, and her taste washed over his tongue again, her scent filling his nostrils.

  Her reassurances rang in his ears, punctuated as they were with her promises and ensuing kisses. How he could have doubted her was beyond him, but then his eyes fluttered open and he remembered telling her about his five children and neglecting to tell her about Samuel and Lucy.

  Rose and he seemed to have an unspoken agreement that they didn’t talk about things outside their own lovely little bubble — at least for now. She seemed very comfortable just to see him — as opposed to the man she had lost — for the time being. If she was content with that, then why did he feel he was betraying his children and at the same time cheating her?

  The answer was really very simple: he loved his family. They made him who he was.

  Maybe Rose felt the same about the Doctor, or any lingering bit of their shared past.

  Maybe it was better for the moment, while the two of them were still healing, recovering from their losses, that they excluded everyone and everything from their bubble. He certainly felt comfortable inside it — as long as he didn’t think about what would happen if someone decided to prick it.

  Maybe that was what the two of them needed.

  Maybe the spell would be broken by the photo shoot.

  The thing was, he loved Rose.

  It was as simple, and as complicated, as that.

  He fell asleep in the knowledge that he had finally admitted to his feelings, with a little help from the wine, perhaps, but it was undeniable now. There was love after love.

  Chapter 19

  Dave was so shocked when he saw Rose that he wasn’t sure if he’d gasped. Her eyes were practically black with make-up, and the pale blue hoodie and black trousers she was wearing looked too big on her. She looked so young and vulnerable he thought for a moment that she wasn’t Rose at all. She carried an overnight bag with her as well as her huge handbag. When she saw his expression, her face fell and she stopped a couple of steps away from him. He was standing at the cast iron gate with the black paint peeling off it, his equipment by his feet.

  “Hello, Dave.”

  “Rose.”

  She looked down at herself and he took that momentary reprieve to recover and close the distance between them. When he took the overnight bag from her she looked up and smiled shakily at him. Her eyes looked darker than normal with all the make-up she’d put on. Her lashes were so heavy with mascara that he wondered how she managed to keep her eyes open.

  Dave hesitated briefly and then he pressed his lips to hers. “Hey,” he said gently.

  “It’s for the photos,” Rose explained.

  “I know.” Of course he did, it had just been such a shock to see her like this.

  They went to the gate and he pushed it open, gesturing for her to precede him. He slung his heavy bag over his shoulder and grabbed the tripod. Rose pushed the gate to after he’d slipped through the gap and they walked up the overgrown gravel drive to the house. The drive made a bend and soon they were hidden from curious glances by the bushes along the fence.

  Dave’s heart was beating frantically as he pushed open the door to the abandoned building. It was one of his favourites, along with St Stephen’s Hospital in Paisley and the Priory in Muirbank. He had decided to come here, however, because the house had a lived-in, gothic feeling to it that the other two buildings lacked. There were empty hearths and pale rectangles on the walls where pictures had hung, clouded mirrors and peeling wallpaper. There was a claw-footed tub and the iron skeleton of a bed, and the wind had carried leaves and other debris in through the broken panes of the conservatory. Ivy and other plants were crawling into the house, and when the sun was shining, like it was that day, the light filtering in through the knotholes and gaps in the boarded-up or shuttered windows was gorgeous. The house had a distinct green smell about it, a damp, earthen scent.

  Rose stopped short as they stepped into the hall which was open to the first floor and dominated by a massive, banister-less staircase. Strangely enough, the skylight high above them was still intact, but the light was muted as it filtered through a thick crust of grime. “’s beautiful,” she said, turning around to take it all in.

  “It’s my favourite.”

  He took her bag into one of the less spectacular rooms to give her some privacy to change. “I’m not sure,” he said, turning inside the door, “did you bring this for the shoot?” He had a bag of props in his car, along with his sketchbook.

  “Yes. I don’t want all of the photos taken in this outfit,” Rose said, taking the bag from him. “It’s... it’s what I wore the day I died.”

  Dave froze at her words.

  Rose’s eyes went wide. “I’m sorry, I... to my original universe, to my friends and family there, I’m dead. And so is Mum. As far as they know I died in the Battle of Canary Wharf. There was a prophecy that told me I was going to die in battle. The valiant child. No one said anything about Mum.”

  “I had no idea,” Dave managed to say. He had only ever thought about the Doctor, but never about all the other people Rose had left behind.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Rose asked. “After all, it’s your project. It’s supposed to be about you.”

  He opened his mouth to speak but when no words came he smiled and leaned down to kiss her. It was a tentative kiss because he wasn’t sure if he was free to kiss her whenever he wanted. The other night had been wonderful, but there had been lots of wine and...

  Oh.

  She was kissing him back, snaking her hand into the hair at the back of his neck to draw him closer. He was overwhelmed by her taste — the memory of kissing her had been fading fast, no matter how hard he had tried in the past few days to hold on to it. Maybe he’d tried too hard.

  “You’ve inspired me,” he said, looking at her in surprise.

  Rose coloured a little and she didn’t look so pale any more for all the black eye make-up. “Good. Then we can do your part afterwards.”

  “My part?” he asked.

  Rose sighed. “Dave, this is your world, I’m just here because... I want to, but this is about you, yeah?”

  Dave nodded reluctantly. He wasn’t so sure if he wanted to be in his own photos.

  While he got his props bag from the car Rose explored the building and when he returned she was in the conservatory. It struck him once again that her clothes were far too loose.

  “You’ve lost a lot of weight.”

  Rose turned to look at him. They just looked at each other for a few beats. “I’m not sick. I was heartbroken... am heartbroken, but I’m not sick,” Rose said. “Do you believe me?”

  “How long has it been for you?” he asked.

  “A few years. Do you believe me?”

  “Years,” he repeated flatly. He’d thought her loss was recent; he’d assumed that she had been trying to get back to the Doctor for a much shorter period, perhaps a year.

  “Dave,” Rose said.

  “Years,” he repeated.

  Then she understood.
“He taught me never to give up.”

  “You’ve loved him all those years?” he asked, dazed. She’d been faithful to the Doctor although there was only the tiniest of chances that she would find her way back to him, and he fell in love with her barely four months after his wife died.

  Rose nodded. “I might have lost him years ago, but I never accepted it until... until the accident,” Rose said slowly as if she were following the lead of her thoughts. Her eyes went wide and she looked at him. “It feels more like... I only lost him a month ago.”

  “But didn’t...”

  “Didn’t everyone tell me it was... futile?” Rose laughed bitterly. “Oh yes, they did. He told me once that if we were separated, I should always wait five and a half hours. It was more like five and a half years. But as far as I’m concerned, I lost him a month ago.” There was a defiance in her voice, which, if not exactly intimidating, suggested that she didn’t easily give up and that she’d defend her own to the last.