Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias Part 1

RELATIVE DEMENTIAS.

by MARK MICHALOWSKI.

Prologue.

h.e.l.lo! Welcome to Graystairs.

Come on in. That's it mind the edge of the carpet. We had it up this morning Sadie got caught short here in the hallway and we had a little accident. Yes, you can hardly tell, can you.

That's the thing about patterned carpets. Oh, let me take those for you. Yes, they'll be fine just there.

Bernard. Bernard! Oh, there you are. Could you just.. ?

Thanks, Bernard.

Well, you must be Mrs McConnon. Are you sure? Well it's lovely to have you here, Margaret. And you must be Margaret's son and daughter? That's nice. Did you have a good trip? Where have you come from again... Derbys.h.i.+re? Not too bad, then.

Come on through into the lounge, we'll get you a cup of tea.

Would you like that, Margaret? Or d'you prefer coffee? Oh me too. Much more refres.h.i.+ng, isn't it? No Bernard, Margaret's in the Rose Room. Yes, it is nice isn't it? All our rooms are named after flowers. Er, no. No actual roses as such. But the bedspread's pink and I think there are roses on the curtains. Or lilies.

Come on through then. Yes, this is the lounge. The residents spend a lot of time down here. D'you like it Margaret? Oh no, sit where you like whoops, no, not there. Sorry. That's Sadie's chair. Yes. Anywhere else, though. Oh, that one's Arnold's he brought it with him. Yes, that's right. Makes him feel a bit more at home. But anywhere else is fine.

So tea for all of you? Oh, really? Well I suppose it is getting late. Are you staying in the village? Oh, right, right. Yes, I know.

It is a long way isn't it? Would you like to see Margaret's room before you-oh, fine. No, that's fine. You'll see it on your next visit, I expect. Yes, yes. She'll have a lovely time, won't you Margaret? I'll just let you say your goodbyes then.

Bernard! Bernard, where are-ah, there you are. Margaret's bags are still here. No, the Rose Room. I told you. Oh, did he?

Well get the disinfectant out and give it a good scrub. Put the rug over it. It won't show.Yes, open the window.

Oh, that was quick. Has she settled in then? Having a good chat to the other residents? Lovely. No, don't you worry. She'll be fine. It always takes a little while for them to settle in. Once she gets stuck into the bingo, she won't want to go home, mark my words.

Well, lovely to see you both, and don't you fret about her.

Your mum's in excellent hands. Like I say, it's like a home from home here. Yes whoops, just mind that carpet.

OK, nice to see you both. Yes, yes, have a good-trip. We'll give you a call to let you know how Margaret's getting on. Righty ho. Take care. Byeeee.

Well, Margaret. How are you settling in? Made friends yet?

Of course you will. I'll get you that cup of tea, shall I? Sugar? Oh yes, I'm sure we have some sweetener. Watching those calories, are we? Very wise. I'm sure you're sweet enough already, Margaret.

I know you're going to love it here, Margaret. Everyone's going to make you feel really at home, aren't you everyone? This is Margaret. She's come to stay for a while. Now I hope you're all going to be really nice to her tell her what we get up to here.

Good.

Yes Margaret, you're going to be fine... Once you start your treatment, you won't want to leave us, you know. No you won't... we're just one big happy family.

Chapter One.

Repressing a shudder, she stared out over the cold, grey sea, wavetops flecked with white spittle. Every wave that slopped onto the beach was a reminder of the saggy bag of water she called a body, every drop of rain that fell on her dead skin a reminder of the shape they'd given her. She knew all the facts and figures, climatic data, physiology and biology of the prime species on this world; but still she shuddered at the suffocating wetness of what she'd become. What she'd been made.

Sometimes at night, listening to the wind rattling the windows, she scared herself by suddenly remembering that she'd forgotten what her own body her old body was like. And she'd sit up in the darkness, listening to her own breathing. She'd slide the water-fat palms of her hands across her fleshsuit, firmly pressing the spongy tissue as if she were smoothing out wrinkles, trying to remember the s.h.i.+ny slickness of her old skin; she'd close her eyes and picture the slender, twig-like body that she used to call hers. Did it still exist under the mounds of flesh and prosthetics that they'd applied to her, slapped on like so much animal fat? When she looked down at herself, she didn't see the hours of work the modifiers had put in, or the years of augmentation technology they relied upon. Instead, all she saw was ugliness and fleshy wetness. And sitting there upon the cliff, she could taste that same wetness on the wind. It repulsed her at the same time as it fascinated her.

She looked up into the sky and watched clouds scudding past, thick grey ribs promising a storm, and pulled her coat tighter. Away in the distance she could still see the boat, bobbing defiantly on the sea. She wondered what the occupants were doing now. A feeble yellow light flickered in the cabin and the thought of warmth made what pa.s.sed for her heart surge a little.

She glanced back over her shoulder, down the long, long gra.s.sy slope towards the base dwelling, wis.h.i.+ng she didn't still have two hours of observation duty to perform. She should have brought the Landine with her for warmth, if not for company.

The water drops from the clouds suddenly began to increase in size and frequency and she took a deep breath, surrendering to the inevitability of this dreary world and its dreary weather as she watched the waves breaking on the sh.o.r.e. She turned her bulky head and surveyed the surface of the sea again, noting how perfectly the hues of its steel surface matched those of the sky, hanging above her like corrugated metal, bringing more of the wind and more of the wetness.

Soon, she hoped. It would happen soon. And then she could go home to the warm and the dry, to her old body.

She plucked thoughtfully at the skin around her fingernail. A tiny flap came loose. She wondered how easily it would come off.

Doctor Joyce Brunner was in drag. Or at least that's how she felt in anything other than her labcoat or her UNIT fatigues. Skirts made her legs feel cold and naked, vulnerable; and the kind of shoes that she was expected to wear out of work made her wince, bringing back painful memories of being a teenager. She'd never been one for twin sets and pearls, and the last time she'd had to dress up for a UNIT dinner, surprise, surprise she'd had to borrow something from her sister. Although Alison's taste in clothes was rather showier than her own, she'd taken some small solace in being a ful two sizes smaller than her.

Dressing for a civilian trip to the Scottish countryside had been somewhat easier a quick flick through a country lady magazine had given her the names of a couple of outfitters in London, and a tedious afternoon with her credit card had sorted the whole lot. Not that it was necessary to make any kind of an impression on the staff at Graystairs. G.o.d knows, she was paying them enough for her mother's treatment. But something in Mum's own love of decorum if not stilettos must have rubbed off on her. Even as she'd handed over the plastic and taken charge of the discreet carrier bags, she knew she was going over the top. It was only a trip up to Scotland, for goodness'

sake. But the gravity of the situation somehow demanded a special effort a costume for this new and unaccustomed role.

She hoped the staff didn't realise she was wearing the same outfit that she'd worn when she'd first brought Mum up here.

Joyce fumbled about in her stiff, s.h.i.+ny new handbag, checked her hair was still in its tight bun, found the postcard she'd written back at the B&B and read it once more. She didn't have a clue when the Doctor would get it and, if he did, how long it would take him to respond. If at all. But her concerns were too vague to contact anyone else apart from Michael, and she hadn't heard back from him yet. Knowing the Doctor, vague concerns were most definitely his speciality.

She paused as she slipped the postcard into the box, remembering the last time she'd seen him: they'd had a lovely, blowy, day out at Cromer, the Doctor striding along with his snowy hair fluttering in the wind. They'd had scones at a teashop which Joyce had fought hard to pay for and had taken the scenic route back to UNIT HQ in the Doctor's bizarre, yellow car. She hadn't seen him since, although they'd exchanged messages and phone calls every now and again. But he'd given her the address of a post office box in London in case she ever needed to contact him. Joyce turned suddenly at the roar of a motorbike, dopplering up in pitch as it headed towards her. She pulled back sharply from the edge of the pavement as Angus, the son of the B&B's owners, hurtled past, dangerously close. For a moment she wanted to shout after him, tell him not to be such a young lout. And then she realised that was just what her mother would have said. And we all become our parents And we all become our parents.

She watched Angus sail off around the bend in the road, blue smoke streaming from his exhaust. He was probably no better and no worse than most lads of that age although she'd heard shouting and the slamming of doors the previous night, back at the B&B. She hadn't heard what it was about. She didn't know, didn't really care. She had her own worries.

Joyce glanced at her watch and realized that she'd have to hurry to get to Graystairs before lunch started. They weren't keen on visitors during lunch. With a last, fretful look at the postbox, she hitched her handbag over her shoulder and set off.

It took her a long half hour to get there a long half hour in which she had precious little else to do but worry about what the results of her mother's tests might show. A long half hour in which she had to try hard to be the cool-headed scientist, and not the hopeful daughter.

Despite the spring suns.h.i.+ne and the p.r.i.c.kings of bright greens and yellows that littered the tree-lined lane winding up the hill towards it, Graystairs managed to emanate a heavy chill. It fell darkly across the surrounding countryside like the events of the last few days. Joyce pulled her new jacket tighter as she climbed the broad, stone steps to the front door. Even the brightly coloured curtains and the red-and yellow-painted window boxes couldn't disguise the nature of the place a place where ill people came on a desperate pilgrimage to be healed.

How much of that was in her own head, Joyce wasn't sure. Her eyes drifted across the front of the building and she caught a flicker of something pale at one of the topmost windows, someone or something that pulled back quickly from view.

The door was answered by Bernard, one of the care workers.

He was hunched over, thinning hair plastered back greasily, and had a vague air of uncertainty about him. She felt a twinge of guilt that she'd placed her mother into the care of people like Bernard. He looked blankly back at her, his eyes small and spiteful behind his black-rimmed gla.s.ses, expectantly, clearly waiting for her to tell him her name again. She did. With his customary lack of charm, he gestured her in, closing the door behind her with a thump. He showed Joyce into the visitors'

lounge a small room mercifully devoid of the lacy tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs that infested the rest of the house and went to find Doctor Menzies. Joyce perched uncomfortably on the edge of a chair, her bag clasped on her knee, and waited.

'What do you mean he's missing?' shouted Megan. 'He can't be missing! Not again.'

Steve s.h.i.+fted his weight from foot to foot, hardly daring to meet Megan's eyes. He'd already sent Claudette and Bernard out to look for Eddie, but no one knew exactly how long he'd been gone and how far he might have wandered. Megan was more furious than he would ever have expected, and if she'd bellowed 'Release the dogs!', he wouldn't have been surprised. Of course, Graystairs didn't have dogs. But then Graystairs didn't normally lose residents.

'Any word?' asked Beattie, wandering through the hall towards the kitchen, a cup and saucer clattering precariously in her hand.

'No, Beattie now go and sit down!' Megan grunted.

Steve could see that she was holding herself in check: this was the third time that Beattie had asked about Eddie in the half hour that they'd realised he was gone. Connie and Jessie had been settling down for an early-morning game of dominoes in the residents' lounge with him; but when he didn't come back from the toilet after half an hour, Jessie started a rumour that Eddie had died. Within minutes, Steve had been a.s.sailed by requests for details about the funeral: when was it taking place?

Where was it taking place? Should they buy some flowers? What music did he want played? And, most ghoulishly of all, could they see the body?

By the time Steve had checked the toilets, and Eddie's room and just about every other room in Graystairs Connie and Jessie were wandering in and out of everybody's bedrooms, asking if anyone had a black veil. It was only by persuading them to play dominoes with George that Steve had managed to calm them down and take their minds off Eddie's disappearance. It wasn't as if it was the first time: he'd gone wandering yesterday morning, too, but thankfully the woman who owned the B&B had telephoned to say that her son had seen a confused elderly gentleman walking along the road near the woods. And within half an hour, they had him back. The staff had been called together and given a severe reprimand from Megan about keeping the door locked. For all the use it had been. Steve couldn't help but think that it was the f.e.c.kless Bernard he'd had to tell him off about that before.

The front door opened and Steve turned hopefully, but it was Angie, one of the newest care a.s.sistants, shaking her head woefully. 'No sign of him,' she said as Megan made a funny, disturbing little noise in her throat. 'Maybe we should phone the police station?' She shucked off her patchwork leather coat.

She was a thin, mournful-looking thing, thought Steve, and to be faced with all this including Megan's temper in her first week didn't bode well for her staying much longer.

'Not yet and you can keep that on,' Megan said, pointing to the coat.

'Megan, it's cold and miserable out there; I want a cuppa.

Then I'll go back out. Anyway, I haven't seen you wandering through the woods looking for him.'

'I've got enough to do here,' Megan said. 'You go with her.'

She jabbed a finger at Steve.

He felt his hackles rise at the barked order, but he put Megan's manner down to the concern which she clearly felt for Eddie's disappearance. Sullenly, he put on his coat. He just hoped nothing had happened to Eddie: if this was how Megan was with Eddie gone only an hour or so, he hated to imagine what she'd be like if anything serious happened to him. Megan clearly had some kind of personality defect: one minute she was vacuous, dopey and vaguely comic; the next hard, unrelenting and with a spark of cruelty in her eyes that scared him. And Eddie's disappearance was threatening to fan that spark into a flame.

'What did you expect? Hovercars, jetpacs and silver jump suits?'

The Doctor paused to cast an approving eye over a display of antique clocks and timepieces in the window of a disappointingly 20th century-looking shop. Ace hung back, kicking the edge of the kerb restlessly, as she watched yet another anonymous blob of a car crawl past her.

The future, she'd decided, wasn't what it used to be.

'Well... yeah. Sort of.'

London in 2012 was turning out to be nothing more than a slightly smoggier, considerably more crowded version of the London that she knew. When the Doctor had first told her where they were going, she'd expected a fascinating sightseeing trip, all futuristic buildings and The Jetsons The Jetsons, moving pavements and videophones on every street corner. She hadn't expected to land in a dingy multi-storey carpark in Covent Garden just so that he could 'pick up his post'.

She looked up into the baby blue summer sky, heartbreakingly devoid of flying cars, as the Doctor ummed and ahhed in the background, like a maiden aunt admiring someone else's child. There was something strangely right right about the Doctor dressed like a schoolteacher in a brown, tweedy jacket and a cream hat, umbrella hooked absently over his wrist, paisley scarf draped almost foppishly around his shoulders poring over antique timepieces. Ace imagined that if he hadn't been a time traveller, righter of wrongs and universal man of mystery, he could quite easily have been that odd little man who ran the antiques shop on the corner the shop that no one ever seemed to go into, and local kids were scared stiff of. about the Doctor dressed like a schoolteacher in a brown, tweedy jacket and a cream hat, umbrella hooked absently over his wrist, paisley scarf draped almost foppishly around his shoulders poring over antique timepieces. Ace imagined that if he hadn't been a time traveller, righter of wrongs and universal man of mystery, he could quite easily have been that odd little man who ran the antiques shop on the corner the shop that no one ever seemed to go into, and local kids were scared stiff of.

The air was warmer and muggier than Ace had expected, even at the f.a.g end of summer, doped with unfamiliar chemicals and perfumes. It felt more alien than some of the worlds the Doctor had taken her to, that subtle sideways s.h.i.+ft of everything familiar, everything she expected from Earth. Fas.h.i.+ons were recognisable but just that little bit extreme: even in the heat of summer, long coats in billowing, s.h.i.+ny fabric like parachute silk seemed to be in, hanging and flowing around their wearers in ways that seemed just wrong wrong. Short hair, cropped into spirals and whorls, was clearly the rage which Ace rather approved of. She turned to ask the Doctor whether he thought a crewcut would suit her, and found him stepping out of the clock shop, beaming, and shaking hands with the shopkeeper. She hadn't even realised he'd gone inside.

'Right!' he said brightly, tipping his hat back with the handle of his umbrella.'We'd better be off! Time and Her Majesty's Mail wait for no man. Come on Ace.' Something silvery slipped from his hand into his pocket and he turned on his heel and headed off in the direction of Carnaby Street. Ace pulled a 'what's the use?' face at the smiling shopkeeper and trotted after the Doctor.

As they strolled down Oxford Street, Ace felt an inexplicable glow of pride at the rainbow diversity around her. People of all colours swarmed and thronged, bees in a multicultural hive.

When she'd been a child, London had always been an exciting melting pot of cultures and ethnic diversity and a place that her aunts constantly warned her about, despite the fact that she lived just a few tube stops away. Bad Things happened in London, they told her: the men were rogues, and the women were little more than tarts. Even when Ace's mother had taken on her first big trip to London to see some tacky musical, she vaguely remembered there were still hushed whisperings, mutterings of disapproval. But she'd loved it and been scared by it at the same time, excited to be old enough to taste a little of the big metropolis, but not old enough to have to take a big bite of it on her own.

And now, on an improbably unchanged Carnaby Street, she could taste a little of that same excitement tingling away inside her stomach. Tattoos and bizarre but hugely desirable!

piercings and strange hairdos, electronic devices wrapped around the sides of heads or nestling at people's throats; small touches that spoke of the gulf between Ace's world and this one. She looked down at her own, badge-infested bomber jacket and black jeans and felt rather dull. She leaned in to the Doctor.

'Professor, are there any aliens here yet? If there are, I'm not sure I'd spot them.'

Without breaking his stride, he gave a little laugh. 'There's us!' 'I'm not an alien!'

'You would be to most of these people. And anyway, Ace, "alien" always sounds such a pejorative term.'

'But are there? Real Real aliens. Here I mean, in London.' aliens. Here I mean, in London.'

'Not openly, not yet. But hiding away yes, dozens of them.'

'Cool!' said Ace as the Doctor paused in front of an unprepossessing tenement-type building that leaned over them, drowning them in the cool shade of its tatty facade. 'Is this it?'

she asked, thinking that, as a centre for extraterrestrial communica-dons, it left a lot to be desired.

'Oi! Doctor!'

Ace looked around. He'd gone. One second he'd been there, and then...

'Ace!' his voice hissed from nowhere.

She looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of him. 'Here Ace. Straight ahead!'

But straight ahead was only a grimy window, scrunched up clots of dead flies and dust in its corners. Ace stared at it, and realized, with amazement, that she could see through through it. Not through the gla.s.s, not like a proper window, but through the whole building. And suddenly it was gone, and she was looking down a dark, narrow alleyway at the diminutive figure of the Doctor, umbrella clasped in both hands, staring at her in twinkling amus.e.m.e.nt. She looked around, but no one else seemed to have noticed the sudden disappearance of a huge chunk of London architecture. The crowds strolled on by as if nothing had happened. With a shrug, Ace stepped forwards, feeling a strange chill ripple through her body as she crossed the threshold of the alley. it. Not through the gla.s.s, not like a proper window, but through the whole building. And suddenly it was gone, and she was looking down a dark, narrow alleyway at the diminutive figure of the Doctor, umbrella clasped in both hands, staring at her in twinkling amus.e.m.e.nt. She looked around, but no one else seemed to have noticed the sudden disappearance of a huge chunk of London architecture. The crowds strolled on by as if nothing had happened. With a shrug, Ace stepped forwards, feeling a strange chill ripple through her body as she crossed the threshold of the alley.

'Neat hologram,' she said.

'A bit more sophisticated than that, Ace,' he said, as they set off down the alley. 'It projects a mild aversion field to stop people getting too close. Didn't you notice how people were stepping off the pavement to go around it?'

'Can't say that I did.'

'Well that just shows how well it's working!'

The alley was a cool, still oasis in the summer heat, the noise of the traffic and crowds faded to a dull, faraway rush m.u.f.fled, Ace suspected, by something more than simple distance. She felt like she was in the depths of a forest, miles and miles from anywhere. Blank, sad windows gazed down at her; a black cat stared at her snootily with bright blue eyes from the top of three skulking dustbins, springing down as the two travellers approached. It slithered away, glancing back over its shoulder, to vanish through a broken bas.e.m.e.nt window.