Amy gave a quiet scream. The car screeched to a halt moments away from the Doctor, who walked to the driver’s window, brandishing the wallet containing the psychic paper.
‘Hello, I’m a policeman,’ he said, gesturing to Amy and Rory to get in the back seat. He then slid into the passenger seat beside the driver, a startled-looking vicar.
‘Now, follow that bus!’
The setting sun bathed the students’ union building in an auburn glow and stretched the shadows of the students milling about outside. Sophie clung to Mark’s arm possessively, holding him back as Bex and Lucy led the way up the walkway to the entrance.
The security guards on the door checked their NUS cards and then they made their way into the near-darkness within.
The place was heaving. Ahead of them, hundreds of students packed the Market Place, their flushed, sweat-soaked faces illuminated by flashes of green and red from the whirling lamps. The chorus of ‘Things Can Only Get Better’ thumped out of the loudspeakers and the heady smell of perspiration and smoke filled the air.
They approached the fringes of the dance floor, the territory of those too cool or shy to dance. ‘Drink?’ said Mark to the girls.
‘I’m OK,’ said Bex. ‘Fancy a bit of a dance first.’
Without waiting for an answer, she strode onto the dance floor and started to sway in time to the music, stretching her arms above her head. Mark could only stare in admiration. He could never do that, just walk, sober, onto the dance floor, not caring what anyone else thought. It usually took him half an hour to pluck up the courage.
But when Bex danced she looked self-assured and graceful. When he danced, Rebecca told him, it looked like he was wading through mud while swatting at invisible bees.
‘I wouldn’t mind a drink,’ said Sophie, arching a disapproving eyebrow. Oh God, though Mark. She though he was staring at Bex because he fancied her.
Sophie could be so paranoid sometimes.
‘Great, let’s go,’ said Mark, and together he, Sophie and Lucy squeezed their way through the throng towards the lights of the Mandela Bar.
Mark waited until his younger self had entered the building before joining the queue. He felt absurdly conspicuous. Here he was, 37 years old, surrounded by students nearly twenty years his junior. They shot him pitying glances and sniggered at his clothes.
Approaching the building, though, bought back a flood of memories. It resembled a car park that had been tipped on it’s side, a slanted slab of concrete surrounded by shallow terraces. It was austere and angular, but to Mark, it represented one of the happiest times of his life.
But how would he get in? The security guards had already given him some doubtful glances. He’d have to bluff it somehow; pretend to be a worried parent or something.
The crash of breaking glass interrupted Mark’s thoughts. Immediately all the students in the queue rushed to the edge of the walkway. The two security guards also peered over the edge. ‘What the heck!’
Mark took his chance. As the two guards trotted down the stairwell to investigate the disturbance, he walked calmly to the entrance and slipped inside.
Students! Normally they just stole traffic cones. But now, somehow, this time, they’d managed to steal a whole statue.
Trev looked in every direction for the culprits but there was nobody in sight. Which made no sense. Whoever they were, they’d managed to prop the statue against one of the windows of the union building, with one of its arms
outstretched, as though it was in the act of punching through the glass. ‘What do you think, Nick?’ asked Trev.
‘God knows.’ Nick crouched beside the statue. ‘I think some grave is missing its headstone.’
‘But how did they get it here?’ They couldn’t have dumped it without being noticed. Maybe it had fallen off the roof? Trev scanned the top of the building for any signs of movement.
‘Stupid idiots –’ Nick gave a startled croak. Trev turned to see what had alarmed him.
The statue had disappeared. Where it had once stood there was now nothing but a clear patch on the ground surrounded by shattered glass.
‘I just turned away for a second,’ said Nick incredulously. ‘Where did the damn thing go?’
Amy, the Doctor and Rory jogged past the Arts Centre and across the road. Ahead of them lay the students union building, its lower windows flashing with multicoloured lights. As they approached, the Doctor slowed, allowing Amy and Rory to catch their breath. ‘We’re getting close,’
he said.
‘Close to what?’ said Amy
‘A build-up of potential time energy. Can’t you feel it?’
The Doctor waggled his fingers and sniffed. ‘A tension in the air. Like before a thunderstorm.’
‘Yeah,’ shrugged Rory. ‘But I just thought that meant a thunderstorm was coming.’
‘A thunderstorm is coming,’ said the Doctor darkly.
‘Unless we stop it. Look.’
A streak of lightning flickered across the surface of the building, scuttling over the concrete like a startled lizard, before fading away to a blue glow.
‘What was that?’ exclaimed Amy.
‘The dinner gong,’ said the Doctor. He straightened his bow tie and jacket cuffs. ‘Now, I’ll need your help. Do I look like the sort of person who goes to university?’
‘Sorry. Do you look like the sort of person who goes to university?’
‘Yes,’ The Doctor brushed his fringe out of his eyes. He was deadly serious. ‘Well? Do I?’
‘A bit, Doctor. Just a bit,’ Amy reassured him jokingly.
‘Maybe not in this decade, but yeah.’
‘Just say you’re from the Maths department, you’ll be fine,’ suggested Rory.
‘Good. Good. Because that is the cool department, and I look cool. Right?’
‘Exactly,’ giggled Amy. ‘And for no other reason.’ She then put her hand over her mouth and made a cough that sounded like ‘geek!’ Rory laughed but the Doctor seemed not to notice.
They headed down a slope to un underpass where a security guard check the students’ Ids. Rubbing his hands expectantly, the Doctor joined the queue. From inside the building came the muffled thud of music.
The Doctor beamed at the guard and flipped open his psychic paper wallet. ‘Hello, I’m from the Maths department. And these are two of my students.’ The Doctor leaned forward to whisper. ‘I realise they don’t look as cool as I do, but they are genuine students, believe
me.’
‘Whatever,’ said the security guard, nodding them in.
‘Next?’
Inside the building, the noise was all-consuming. The dance floor bobbed and swelled like a sea of arms and faces. The air felt uncomfortably hot but had an almost tangible sense of excitement. These students were having the time of their lives. Dancing, laughing, snogging, all their troubles forgotten.
The Doctor waggled his fingers expectantly. ‘We have to find two people. Or rather, the same person twice.’
‘You’re going to suggest we split up, aren’t you?’ said Rory resignedly.
‘I think…’ The Doctor paused, lost in though. ‘I think…
we should split up. Rory, Amy. You find young Mark, he’s probably in there somewhere.’ He indicated the heaving mass of students bouncing up and down to ‘The Size of a Cow’. ‘I’ll find the old one.’
‘And when we find him?’ said Amy.
‘We have to get the two Marks as far apart as possible.’
‘As far apart as possible, got it.’ Amy offered her hand to Rory. ‘Rory, are you dancing?’
‘Are you asking?’
‘I’m asking, lover-boy.’
‘Then I’m dancing,’ said Rory, taking her hand. Amy pulled him towards the dance floor with a suggestive smirk.
‘Oh, and one more thing,’ called the Doctor after them.
‘Keep an eye out for the Angels!’
Elsewhere on the dance floor, the 20-year-old Mark hopped and w
hirled amongst the crowd, all self-consciousness now forgotten. He had a couple of pints inside him and they were playing his favourite tunes at a deafening volume, that’s all that mattered. It was the indie section of the night, where things tended to get a little raucous. Occasionally he’d be jabbed by an elbow or shoved off his feet, but that was all part of the fun.
Sophie wasn’t enjoying herself. She swayed from side to side as though it was an obligation, smiling only when Mark looked towards her. Rebecca bounced around the dance floor, waving and grimacing to friends. Lucy, meanwhile, had joined a group of fearsome-looking girls near the stage. The last Mark had seen of her, she had been making overtures towards a very pretty Goth with a pierced tongue.
The fade-out of ‘Baby I Don’t Care’ gave way to the opening snarls of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. The song had a desperate, angry quality, and it felt odd hearing it given Kurt Cobain’s recent death, but dancing to it felt like a celebration of his life. But Sophie had clearly had enough, and mouthed to Mark that she wanted to go. The rowdiness was starting to get out of hand.
‘Any sign of him?’ shouted Amy to Rory, whilst waving her arms in time to the music.
Rory shouted something back she couldn’t hear.
Somebody jostled him, and he stumbled on one foot, not quite falling.
‘What?’
Rory shook his head. ‘No! You?’
Amy shook her head. ‘No! Me neither!’
‘Excuse me, excuse me.’ Someone squeezed past Amy.
Amy spun around, drawing a breath to protest. A familiar-looking young man gave her an apologetic smile before continuing to weave towards the edge of the dance floor, followed by a girl with a bob of auburn hair.
Mark. It was young Mark. Wow, he was wuite good looking in his day, if a little nerdy. The sort of boy who needed Taking In Hand. Fix the hairstyle and the glasses and you might have something.
‘And I’ve found the other one,’ said Rory in her ear.
‘Look!’
Rory pointed towards the corner of the first-floor balcony where a man stood surveying the crowd. The same man they’d met in 2011. ‘And, um, I think we have, er, bats in the belfry.’
Amy craned her neck to look up at the ceiling, which consisted of triangles fitted together in an isometric grid.
Hanging from the ceiling, half-camouflaged against the bare concrete, lit by flashes of red and green from the disco lamps, were the six Weeping Angels.
Chapter
5
Mark searched the crowd for signs of his younger self. He thought he’d caught a glimpse of him a couple of times, but had lost him amid all the faces.
Watching the students, he felt envious. Envious of their youth, their joy, and all the years they had ahead of them. OK, so this disco was tame compared to some of the nightclubs in Coventry, but they were having fun. And that was what Mark envied most of all.
The smoke machine hissed and the hectic drum-and-bass intro of ‘No Good’ by the Prodigy filled the hall.
Down on the dance floor, the indie kids flowed towards the bars while the dance kids surged in from Rolf’s bar.
Within seconds they were thrusting and gyrating to the beat, furiously miming big fish, little fish, cardboard box.
Green lasers swiped back and forth across the crowd, interspersed with bursts of strobe lightning.
Blue lightning flickered around the edge of the parapet, snaking over the edges before fading away. Strange. He’d never seen a lighting effect like that before. And the tingling in his fingers had grown stronger.
‘Looking for someone?’ Mark turned to see the Doctor standing on the balcony beside him, arms folded in judgement.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘Same way as you. Well, not quite the same way. I had my own transport.’
‘Your own transport?’
‘Which is why I’m here,’ said the Doctor. ‘To take you back… to the future!’ He beamed wildly. ‘D’you know, I’ve always wanted to say that!’
‘Three quid,’ said the student behind the bar. Mark paid her, then collected his three pints of lager, balancing the plastic containers carefully. The slightest wrong move could cause him to squeeze one of the containers resulting in a disastrous spillage. It took all of Mark’s concentration to wind his way out of the bar area, which meant he only noticed that Sophie was talking when she stopped.
‘What was that?’ Mark asked her as they reached the quiet area by the change machine and he placed the drinks on a nearby ledge.
‘I said I want to go home.’
‘You’re not having fun?’
‘I am. It’s just that I’ve had enough. And you’ve got revision tomorrow, don’t forget.’ Sophie squealed in alarm as two students pushed between her and Mark.
‘Hey, watch who you’re shoving!’
‘Mark Whitaker?’ said one of the students, a tall girl
with long red hair and beautiful eyes. She spoke with a perky Scottish accent.
‘Yeah, yes?’ said Mark, turning towards the other student, a friendly-looking bloke in a body warmer with unkempt hair and an apologetic grin. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’
‘No. At least, not yet,’ said the girl. ‘But that’s not important right now. What is important is that you come with us.’ Behind the girl, Mark could see Sophie glowering at her with indignation.
‘What – what for?’ asked Mark.
‘Friend of yours wants a word,’ said the friendly-looking bloke confidently. ‘In private.’
Sophie’s mouth opened and closed like a gobsmacked goldfish. ‘What friend?’ asked Mark.
‘You’ll find out,’ whispered the girl enigmatically. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘This isn’t something to do with Gareth, is it?’ Gareth was in the same tutor group as Mark, and had a reputation for playing elaborate practical jokes.
‘If I say yes, would that make you come with us?’
‘No.’
‘Well, in that case, no, it has nothing to do with Gareth,’
said the girl.
‘That’s just what he’d tell you to say. OK, I’ll come with you,’ said Mark, against his better judgement. In his experience, Gareth’s practical jokes were best got over with as rapidly as possible. ‘But if this is a rag week stunt, I’m not interested.’ He took Sophie to one side. ‘Can you hold on here? I’ll be back in five minutes.’
‘I’m not waiting for you,’ pouted Sophie, giving the red-haired girl an I-don’t-know-who-you-are-but-kindly-drop-dead look. ‘Either you come home with me right now… or you don’t.’
Mark couldn’t think of anything to say. Sophie shot him a furious glance and walked away.
‘I’ll find you!’ Mark called after her, before turning to the red-haired girl. ‘OK, let’s get this over with. Lead on!’
The green lasers whirled through the smoke and over the dancers, lending their faces an alien hue. The lightning bolts became more frequent, crackling over the nearby slot machines.
The Doctor leaned on the parapet beside Mark. ‘Let me guess. You’re here because you want a quiet chat with your former self?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It’s what anyone would do in your situation. You want to tell him things to look out for, things to avoid. I don’t recommend it, I’ve seen it tried before, it never ends well.’
‘Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do?’
‘I told you.’ The Doctor regarded him with cool, detached eyes. ‘I’m the Doctor. I’m the man who’s going to save your life.’
‘Save my life? From what?’
The Doctor indicated the balcony opposite. As he dod so, the Prodigy track launched itself into its hyperactive chorus and the lights switched to strobe effect. The flashing gave everything a jerky, film-like appearance.
On the balcony stood four of the statues, all staring
directly
towards him. But, by the flickering of the strobe light, they ceased to be statues any longer. They began to move along the balcony. Two of the Angels stretched out over the parapet, searching hungrily for their prey, their necks twisting back and forth, while the other two continued to gaze unblinkingly at Mark.
Something grabbed Mark’s arm. He whirled around, to see it was the Doctor. ‘Don’t worry. They’re not going to attack you. At least, not yet.’
Amy led Mark and Rory up another winding stairwell, refusing to admit, even to herself, that she was lost. This place was like a maze designed by a madman. Whenever she thought she was getting somewhere, she ended up back where she started. Or somewhere completely different that just looked like back where she started.
‘Where are we going?’ said Mark.
‘I told you,’ said Amy as they passed the offices for the Warwick Boar student newspaper for the third time. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘You don’t know where you’re going.’
Amy halted, at the end of her tether. ‘OK. What’s the nearest way out?’
‘Don’t ask me, I’ve never been around here before.’
‘What about down there?’ suggested Rory, indicating a corridor that branched off to the right. Leaving Mark with Rory, Amy hurried around the corner to see where it would lead.
Two Weeping Angels blocked the way ahead, both frozen in position as they lunged out of the darkness
towards her, their mouths open in a vision of hatred.
Amy let out a startled scream and backed away from the Angels, remembering to keep at least one eye wide open at all times. She edged back around the corner and into Rory with a bump. ‘No, definitely not that way.’
‘Up the stairs?’ Rory suggested.
Amy glanced towards Rory, to see that he had opened the door to another gloomy stairwell. She nodded as confidently as she could. ‘Up the stairs it is.’
While Mark and Rory bounded up the stairs, Amy looked back down the corridor. The two Weeping Angels had turned the corner and stood with their bodies arched, reaching towards her with clawed fingers.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the two statues, and winking her eyes alternately, Amy backed into the stairwell and retreated up the stairs, as carefully and as quickly as she could.
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