‘But I have to speak to him,’ protested Mark.
‘Of course you do. Never mind the consequences, you just make your own life better.’
‘It’s not like that.’
‘Don’t you get it? Do you think they sent you here out of the goodness of their hearts? No. They’re here now because they think you’re going to create a big, juicy, space-time event.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Mark. He’d had enough of the Doctor, and all the heat and the smoke and the noise, and the ever-present prickling sensation in his hand, and those moving statues. He just wanted to be alone.
The Doctor blocked his path. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.
If reasoned argument doesn’t succeed, you’ll leave me no choice but to resort to brute force.’
‘What?’ said Mark, and the Doctor thumped him in the face.
Mark followed the red-haired girl and the friendly-looking bloke through a fire door and out onto the rooftop terrace.
After the heat and the stuffiness of the union, if felt good to be outside in the cool night air.
‘Rory, keep an eye on the door,’ said the girl. ‘And whatever you do –’
‘Don’t blink, I know, I know.’ The bloke stared at the fire door behind them, frowning in determination as though expecting to see something burst through it at any moment.
Mark looked around at the empty terrace. ‘You’ve bought me all the way up here just for this? I’m going back –’
‘No. You have to stay put,’ said the bloke, edging firmly between Mark and the fire door.
‘Actually, Rory, I think we might be OK,’ said the girl.
She peered over the terrace parapet, down towards where two students were emerging from the building. No, they were too old to be students. Someone dressed as an old-fashioned professor was helping a dazed-looking man of about 40 stumble out of the entrance. From this angle Mark couldn’t make out their faces, but he could hear one of them singing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ with drunken enthusiasm.
The girl darted over to the stairs that led down from the terrace, checking the way was clear. ‘You wait here.
Don’t go anywhere. And whatever you do, don’t follow us.’
‘Follow you? As if! You’re mad.’
‘Yeah, that’s it, we’re bonkers. Anyway, got to love you and leave you.’ The girl grinned and hurried down the stairs. The bloke gave him a long-suffering smile and disappeared after her.
Mark woke to find himself being frogmarched through the campus, one arm around the Doctor’s shoulder. His forehead throbbed. ‘Oh God, my head. My head!’
‘Had a bit too much. Just taking him home!’ explained the Doctor as they passed a security guard. The guard nodded. He’d seen it all before.
Mark began to remember the content of their last conversation. ‘What did you do to me?’
‘I punched you in the face. I’m sorry, I did it as gently as I could.’
Mark withdrew his arm from the Doctor’s shoulder and was about to speak when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. A moment later, Amy and Rory emerged from the shadows, gasping for breath.
‘Doctor!’ shouted Amy thankfully. ‘There you are!’
‘Amy. Rory. What about –’
‘The other Mark?’ said Rory, rubbing his sides. ‘We left him on the roof terrace.’
‘Good, good,’ smiled the Doctor. ‘Now we just have to get as much distance between them as possible before –’
‘Before?’ said Amy.
The Doctor looked back the way they’d come. ‘Oh dear. Don’t look too happy, do they?’ The six Weeping Angels stood about twenty metres behind them, caught in the orange glow of a street lamp. They were all snarling and clawing at the air.
‘Not now you’ve deprived them of their dinner, no,’
deadpanned Rory.
Amy gulped, reached out for the Doctor and Rory’s hands, and together with Mark, they arranged themselves so they were all facing towards the Weeping Angels.
‘Back pedal! Fast as you can!’ said the Doctor, taking a long step backwards, pulling Amy along with him. ‘And keep looking at them! Whatever you do, keep looking at them!’
Back on the terrace of the student’s union building, the 20-year-old Mark gazed across the university campus, considering his next move. He should go and find Sophie.
He could already imagine the argument they’d have. Why couldn’t she just have fun? Why couldn’t she be more like–‘So, this is where you’ve been hiding,’ said a familiar voice from behind him.
Mark turned to see Bex appear through the fire door.
‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Confession time. I followed you. Who were those people?’
‘No idea. They just bought me up here and did a bunk.’
Bex joined him at the parapet. She didn’t speak for
over a minute, and when she did, she began with a laugh, as though what she was about to say shouldn’t be taken seriously. ‘While I’ve got you alone,’ she said. ‘There’s this thing I’ve been meaning to get your opinion on.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Something I wasn’t sure about.’
‘Yeah, what is it?’
‘This.’
Bex turned towards Mark and kissed him on the lips.
Mark could barely contain his surprise. He’d never though she liked him, not like that. But here she was, kissing him in a way that could only mean one thing. Her lips tasted of cherry lip balm and were warm and soft. And then, like waking from a dream, it was over.
‘ That was the thing you weren’t sure about?’ stammered Mark. He wasn’t completely sure his feet were still on the ground; he would have to look down to check.
‘I just wanted to know what it would be like.’
‘And so now you know.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Revolting, right?’ said Mark.
‘Oh yeah,’ said Bex. ‘And for you?’
‘I’m feeling a bit sick just thinking about it.’
‘Probably not a good idea to do it again, then.’
‘No.’
And then Mark kissed her. Longer than the first time, Mark holding her against him, gently stroking the back of her neck. Until, too soon, she released him.
‘Nope, still revolting,’ sniffed Bex.
‘For me too. I really need to brush my teeth to get rid
of the taste.’
Bex turned away in embarrassment and brushed her hair behind her ear. ‘I’m sorry. I know you’re with Sophie, it’s just, well, I don’t think she knows what she has. God, does that make me a bitch to say that?’
‘Probably, but I forgive you.’
‘Speaking of which, you should probably go and find her,’ said Bex, with a sad smile and Mark realised that the moment, whatever it had meant, had passed, and now it was time to return to reality.
‘Doctor, they’re catching up!’ said Amy.
‘Yes,’ whispered the Doctor. ‘Please let me know when they catch up and kill us, I’d hate not to notice!’
They walked backwards for what felt like a mile, bumping against walls and roadside barriers along the way. The problem was, whenever one of the Angels slipped out of sight, it would nip around the buildings in an attempt to cut them off. Now, although all six angels were in plain view, they were so spread out it was impossible to look at more than one at a time. And there were only four of them to do the looking.
‘It’s no good,’ said Amy. Each time she looked back at one of them, it had advanced a little closer, its mouth wide, its tongue tasting the air, its face twisted in an expression of utter evil.
She heard the sound of an approaching vehicle behind her. Its brakes squealed as it slowed to a halt, followed by a hydraulic whoosh.
Amy’s back pressed against a glass window. Without
thinking, she turned. She’d backed into a bus stop. A warmly lit bus waited at the kerb. Amy spun back to face the Angels. They were now only two metres awa
y.
‘Doctor. The bus…’
‘OK,’ said the Doctor. ‘With me, three two one, move!’
Amy whirled and sprinted as fast as she could towards the bus. She leapt on board, followed by Rory, Mark, and finally, the Doctor. He patted his pockets while Amy dashed over to the window. The six Angels stood frozen alongside the bus, reaching towards it with outstretched hands. But she could see them all at once, just about. So long as she didn’t accidentally blink.
‘Hello,’ Amy heard the Doctor say to the bus driver.
‘You probably want money, don’t you?’
Come on, Doctor, urged Amy. Come on! Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Rory was also watching the Angels, so she turned to see the Doctor dig a variety of odd-looking objects from his pockets; a banana, a squeaky rubber telephone, The Venusian Book of Calm.
Mark shoved the Doctor out of the way and handed the driver a banknote. ‘Here.’
The driver took the note. ‘Fifty quid?’
‘Keep the change. It’s your birthday.’
The driver shrugged, closed the doors, and the bus jerked forward. Amy watched the Angels through the window, still frozen in the same position at the bus stop, now grasping towards nothing but empty road.
‘We made it! We made it!’ whooped Rory.
‘We were lucky,’ muttered the Doctor as he slumped into a seat. ‘But the Angels won’t give up.’ He looked
suddenly very tired, his expression grave. ‘No. This has only just begun.’
Chapter
6
12 June 1994
‘So what exactly are these “Weeping Angels”?’ asked Mark.
The Doctor sliced his sausage and skewered it with his fork. But rather than eating it, he waved it in the air for emphasis. ‘The most malevolent creatures in the history of the universe,’ he said. ‘Nothing gives them greater pleasure than to watch a lesser species suffer. And to them we are all lesser species.’
‘And they feed by sending people back in time?’
‘Usually.’ The Doctor took a bite of the sausage. ‘But these Angels are different. They feed on time paradoxes.
The more potential
ramifications, the better.
Ramifications, love that word. Rory, could you write it down for me?’
‘Still not your secretary,’ Rory reminded him.
‘Vacancy’s still open.’ For a few moments, they all sat in silence in the hotel restaurant, the only sound an occasional clatter of cutlery from the kitchen. ‘Which is why,’ announced the Doctor, finishing his breakfast, ‘which is why we have to take you home, Mark Whitaker.’
‘But if the Angels want a paradox,’ said Amy. ‘Why go to all the trouble of bringing Mark here? Why not just change history themselves?’
‘Because that would make them part of the paradox, they’d end up feeding on their own timelines. They need someone to do their dirty work for them. That way, they remain outside the chain of cause and effect.’
‘What if I can’t go back?’ said Mark.
The Doctor wiped his lips with a napkin and leaned forward. ‘What do you mean, “can’t”?’
The supermarket bustled with Sunday shoppers, mothers with pushchairs and fathers with trolleys. None of them paid and attention to the blue police box parked beside the Fireman Sam ride. But Mark couldn’t take his eyes off it.
It was the same police box he’d seen flying through the air after his train. The Doctor’s time machine.
‘Let me get this straight,’ said the Doctor, leaning proprietorially against the door. ‘You received a letter sent from your future self?’
Mark nodded. ‘I received it the day I travelled back, just before I met you, and the Angel.’
‘How do you know the letter came from you?’ asked Amy.
‘Because my name was at the bottom.’
‘Oh.’
‘And it was in my handwriting.’
‘In your handwriting,’ the Doctor repeated, mulling over each word in turn.
‘And so was the name on the envelope.’
The Doctor held out a hand. ‘Can I see it? The letter, I mean. Not the envelope.’
‘I-I don’t have it any more,’ stammered Mark.
‘You lost it?’
‘I put it in a safety deposit box. In London. Didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.’
‘How very public-spirited of you.’ The Doctor gave Mark a dark look. ‘So what was in this “letter” written in your handwriting?’
‘A list of instructions, telling me things I should do, investments I should make, and things I should do to make sure that history remained on track.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as… Well, when I was 22 or 23, I went on holiday to Rome. While I was there, I lost my wallet. It had all my money in it, credit cards, everything. I retraced my steps but I couldn’t find it anywhere. But when I got back to my hotel, it turned out that somebody had already handed it in.’
‘But anybody could’ve done that,’ said Rory sceptically.
‘What makes you think it was you?’
‘Because there was no way they could’ve known which hotel I was staying in! I didn’t really question it at the time, I was just glad to have it back.’
‘So this letter,’ said the Doctor, ‘tells you to be in Rome, on a certain street, on a certain day, so you can pick up your former self’s wallet and deliver it to his hotel?’
‘Yes,’ said Mark defiantly. ‘That’s it, that sort of thing.’
‘A Sally Sparrow survival kit,’ muttered the Doctor, ruffling his hair. ‘And if you’re not there to do it, you’ll be changing your own past.’
‘Exactly. Which is just what you said I shouldn’t do, because –’
‘– because it would create a paradox.’ The Doctor thrust open the doors of the police box and gestured for Mark to step inside. ‘I’ll take you there now in the TARDIS.’ Within, Mark could see an impossibly large, orange-lit Aladdin’s cave, a central altar with a glass column and stairwells leading off into vaulted antechambers. It hummed with energy. Mark was tempted to enter, but held back.
‘That wasn’t the only thing I had to do. There were others,’ said Mark.
‘What interests me,’ said the Doctor, narrowing his eyes. ‘Is why you’d even want to stay here in the past.’
‘Why I’d want to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t that what anyone would do, given the chance?’
Mark looked to Amy and Rory for signs of support.
‘No.’ The Doctor paused to examine the Fireman Sam ride, having only just noticed it, before continuing. ‘That isn’t what anyone would do. Oh, I grant you, everyone would like to go back into the past for a day or two.
Check out some bands, see a few shows, pick up a few first editions. The past is like a foreign country. Nice to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there. So why do you?’
‘I just do,’ said Mark, pausing to decide how much he
could tell them. ‘Look, in 2011, I don’t really have a lot to live for, all right? So I think I have a chance of a happier life if I stay here,’ said Mark. ‘It’s my choice, after all.’
The Doctor leaned over the console, staring at the central column, exhaled and slammed his palm against the console in anger. ‘Humans,’ he muttered, then turned to Amy. ‘You’re the same species as him, what do you think?’
Amy considered. She glanced out of the TARDIS
doors, to where she could see Mark sitting on one of the wooden benches by the fire engine ride. ‘I don’t believe him.’
‘And you?’ said the Doctor to Rory.
‘I agree with Amy. I don’t trust him either.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said the Doctor. ‘He was right. If he isn’t here to fulfil all the tasks in that letter he sent himself… that would be another paradox.’
‘If there even is such a letter,’ said Rory.
‘Yeah,’ agreed Amy. �
��He was obviously lying, it was written all over his face.’
‘Perhaps… But the story about the wallet in Rome had the ring of truth about it,’ said the Doctor. ‘And only he knows precisely where and when to be.’ The Doctor flicked a couple of switches in irritation. ‘We’ve got no choice. He has to stay.’
The Doctor, Amy and Rory emerged from the police box, the Doctor looking subdued. ‘You can stay,’ he announced at last. ‘Under certain conditions.’
‘What conditions?’
‘Number one. Only follow the instructions in the letter you sent to yourself. You are not to influence history in any way. Even the slightest deviation could be disastrous.’
‘OK, I understand.’
The Doctor peered at Mark. ‘Number two. You are not to talk to, approach or communicate with your younger self. Keep out of his way at all costs. And the same goes for any friends, relatives, colleagues or lovers. You cannot have any contact.’
Mark felt a twinge of guilt. ‘Not to make contact.
Right.’
‘I mean it. Just one word, one telephone call, one postcard, and you’ll alter the course of your own timeline.
No. Wait.’ The Doctor groaned. ‘Who was it? Who did you speak to?’
‘No-one.’
‘No. You must’ve spoken to someone. I detected wibbliness.’
‘Wibbliness?’
‘It’s what first attracted the attention of the Weeping Angels. Who was it?’
‘I may have… visited my mother.’
‘Your mother?’ exclaimed the Doctor, opening his mouth wide in astonishment.
‘Just to say hello.’
‘Just to say hello?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I hope that’s all you said. Because if you didn’t…’ The Doctor stroked his chin. ‘What I think is, you’ve had a very lucky escape, because whatever you said, it can’t have made any significant impact. Or you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.’
It took a few moments for Mark to realise the implications of the Doctor’s words. What he’d said to his mother, trying to convince her to make his father get a check-up, it hadn’t changed a thing. His father would still die in three and a half years’ time.
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