by Goss, James
TORCHWOOD
ALMOST
PERFECT
James Goss
Contents
Cover
Title
Copyright
Torchwood series from BBC Books
Five Rare Times That Ianto Jones Swears
Rhys is Sunday shopping with the missus
1. Status Updates
Emma Webster is…
Emma Webster has a Plan for a Brand New Me
Gwen is Late for Work
Emma is Having her Last Bad Day at Work
Ianto is More Important Than Static Cling
Captain Jack is Feeling Buoyant
Dorice is her Usual Red
Gwen is Wearing Corpse
Patrick Matthews is Not Dead
Emma Webster is Attending Speed-Dating in the Bay
Tombola’s is the Ideal Venue for Your Next Party
Bren is Very Precise
Gwen is Awake First
Ianto is Staying in Bed
Emma Webster is Plotting Revenge
Ianto Tries Beige
Emma Webster is Having It Medium
Jack is Puzzled
Emma Webster is on a Date
Joe Sterling is Listed As Being in a Relationship With Emma Webster
Gwen and Ianto Get a Shopping Montage
Captain Jack is Available for Children’s Parties
Emma Webster is With her Perfect Man
Rhys Williams is Cooking Up a Storm
Joe Sterling is Dumped
Sergeant Pepper is a Lonely Heart’s Club Band
Emma Webster is Selecting her Next Victim
Gwen is Losing the Argument
Helena Carter is Making Money from the Misery of Others
Patrick Matthews is Very Much Still Alive
Gwen has Had Better Nights
Emma Webster is a Marked Woman
Emma Webster is About to Be Off the Market Again
Rhys Williams is a Changed Man
Ianto Misses Pockets
Gwen is the Green-Eyed Monster
Emma Webster is Determined
Owen Harper is Still Dead
Ianto Can Ride a Horse Across a Beach Without Fear Or Shame
2. Lucky Debbie’s Duty-Free Pursuit of Love
Ianto is Having a Flashback
Jack is Making a Breakthrough
The Strange Alien Device is Plotting to take Over from Jeremy Kyle After this
Ross Kielty is Mistaken in Happiness
Rhys is in So Much Trouble
Jack is Softly, Softly Catchee Monkey
Ianto is Explaining How Coffee is Like Life
Gwen is Nowhere, and It’s for Bloody Ever
Captain Jack, Captain Jack, Get Off Your Back, go into Town, Don’t Let us Down. Oh No, No.
Mozart is Sponsored By Cholestria
Yvonne is Now Living in a Fish Restaurant
The Perfection are Ruthless, Tireless and have a High Thread Count
3. Damaged Gods
God is Dead (Bored)
Jack is Remembering An Agreement
Captain Jack has Killed the Wabbit, Killed the Wabbit
The Perfection Dances in Mysterious Ways
Jack is in for a Treat When He Checks the Cctv
Captain Jack Goes to the Wall
Ianto Knows the True Value of a Nugget
Eric Doesn’t Feel Like Dancing, No Sir, No Dancing Today
Gwen Welcomes Careful Drivers
Cardiff is a One-Way City
Bouncer Ben is Wondering Why His Nose Got Broken
Ianto is Just Murder on the Dance Floor
Captain Jack is Bargaining
Rudyard is Sadly All Mouth
Ianto Jones Could Teach You, But He’d have to Charge
Ianto is Civilisation. End Of.
Emma Webster is Starting Afresh
Madonna is a Gay Icon for Beginners
Epilogue: What the Strange Alien Device actually said to Captain Jack
Acknowledgements
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409072980
www.randomhouse.co.uk
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Published in 2008 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
A Random House Group company
© James Goss, 2008
James Goss has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
Torchwood is a BBC Wales production for BBC Two Executive Producers: Russell T Davies and Julie Gardner
Original series created by Russell T Davies and broadcast on BBC Television ‘Torchwood’ and the Torchwood logo are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at www.randomhouse.co.uk.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 1 846 07573 5
The Random House Group Limited supports The Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), the leading international forest certification organisation. All our titles that are printed on Greenpeace approved FSC certified paper carry the FSC logo. Our paper procurement policy can be found at www.rbooks.co.uk/environment
Commissioning Editor: Albert DePetrillo
Series Editor: Steve Tribe
Production Controller: Phil Spencer
Cover design by Lee Binding @ Tea Lady © BBC 2008
Typeset in Albertina and Century Gothic
Printed and bound in Germany by GGP Media GmbH
The Torchwood series from BBC Books:
1. ANOTHER LIFE
Peter Anghelides
2. BORDER PRINCES
Dan Abnett
3. SLOW DECAY
Andy Lane
4. SOMETHING IN THE WATER
Trevor Baxendale
5. TRACE MEMORY
David Llewellyn
6. THE TWILIGHT STREETS
Gary Russell
7. PACK ANIMALS
Peter Anghelides
8. SKYPOINT
Phil Ford
9. ALMOST PERFECT
James Goss
FIVE RARE TIMES THAT IANTO
JONES SWEARS*
1. The woman is looking at her burning hands. And she’s screaming. And Ianto sees what she sees.
2. It’s like being inside a giant washing machine. The back of the ferry is wide open and water is pouring in. And the water’s cold and filthy and the loading bay is turning, and Ianto is suddenly looking at a lorry. One of them is upside down. And then suddenly, it doesn’t matter.
3. The man is sat at a table in the restaurant. It’s got a lovely view of Cardiff Bay. The food is laid out before him. The champagne is fizzing in the glass. He sits there, immaculately dressed. He is a skeleton.
4. Ianto thought he wouldn’t see anything more disturbing at the club. But then – who paints their walls the colour of blood? And
then he leans against it and realises the wall is breathing.
5. It’s Monday morning. The alarm goes off. Ianto wanders into the bathroom, switches on the light and…
* in no particular order
RHYS IS SUNDAY SHOPPING
WITH THE MISSUS
Rhys was delighted. ‘Look, Gwen, I’ve found you an alien!’
Gwen looked up from a crap jewellery stand. Towering over them was a street performer, covered in metal plate and body armour. Silver tendrils spilled out of the top of his head. ‘Yes, love,’ she said. ‘If only it was that easy.’
A crowd was watching the alien, who must have been almost three metres tall. There was a grim nobility about the performance – a stern refusal to move or even acknowledge the shoppers. The alien had a pitch on Queen Street, just away from a man singing into a traffic cone, a cluster of mobile phone shops and some students handing out free samples of a new cereal bar.
A man rolled up next to the alien and opened up his stall of ties, watches and sunglasses. The crowd’s attention wandered slightly. Ever professional, the alien shifted its weight subtly, a mass of heaving tendrils drifting across from behind its head. A small child shrieked, which aroused some ‘oohs’.
Rhys was entranced. Gwen giggled. ‘What are you like?’
Rhys shrugged. ‘Well, yeah – but he’s very good isn’t he? Way better than the Chaplin that used to be here. I know he’s made those flappy things out of an old mop, but he’s done it well, hasn’t he?’
‘Suppose,’ Gwen’s eye was caught by one of the suited children working at a mobile shop. He was edging closer with leaflets and a smile. She shuddered and started to steer Rhys away by the elbow.
‘Funny, isn’t it?’ said Rhys, not quite moving with her. This was the start of a little routine with him, as ritual as the way he licked his knife after buttering toast. ‘If he were a real alien, we’d all run screaming. But here he is, and we’re all… you know… interested… but a bit bored. Not scared.’
‘Yeah yeah – it’s an integration scheme run by the Tourist Board. Now let’s go stretch a pound.’
Rhys finally moved away. And as they went, Gwen glanced back at the alien.
It winked.
1. STATUS UPDATES
EMMA WEBSTER IS…
Emma Webster is still looking for love.
Emma Webster is watching Desperate Housewives (again!!!!)
Emma Webster is looking forward to Friday.
Emma Webster is going out again!!!
Emma Webster is recovering.
Emma Webster is hating Monday.
Emma Webster is fancying the new boy.
Emma Webster is flirting.
Emma Webster is getting somewhere.
Emma Webster is going for a drink with the new boy!
Emma Webster isn’t the type to kiss and tell.
Emma Webster is going for a long walk in the sunshine.
Emma Webster is all excited.
Emma Webster is seeing him again.
Emma Webster is unable to remember what the film was about.
Emma Webster is going out for a drink with the girls.
Emma Webster is buying a little black dress.
Emma Webster isn’t sure what happened there.
Emma Webster is forgetting about the diet.
Emma Webster is avoiding him.
Emma Webster is grateful for the calls.
Emma Webster is not going to text him.
Emma Webster is thinking of getting a cat.
Emma Webster is staying in.
Emma Webster is home to the folks.
Emma Webster is bored out of her mind.
Emma Webster is sick of ‘why can’t you settle down like your sister?’
Emma Webster isn’t afraid of the big three-oh.
Emma Webster is making a change.
EMMA WEBSTER HAS A PLAN
FOR A BRAND NEW ME
Emma was out jogging. Like most new plans in Emma’s life it had required shopping. Shopping for lovely trainers, a nice sports bra and the dinkiest music player on the market. In pink, of course. She’d set off late, but managed to make it from Grangetown down through the Bay and off towards Penarth. It was dark, she was out of breath, her feet hurt, she kept having little breaks, and she was sweating like an old tea bag. But she had Girls Aloud in her ears and she was convinced the fat was melting off her thighs.
And that was when Emma saw the body on the beach. The street lights were bad, but it was unmistakeable. Lying on the rocks was the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Emma scrambled over, her music still playing as she stood over the body. Emma had never been good with dead animals. One of her earliest memories was of the cat leaping onto her bed with a dead vole. Her reaction was similar now – she just stood there, whimpering a little. She breathed really deeply, knelt down and, screwing her eyes shut, reached out to touch the corpse. Oh god, oh god, oh my god… It felt normal. A bit cold and a lot wet, but normal. Emma opened one eye. There was a chance the body wasn’t dead.
Emma stood up and screamed for help, but it was Sunday night and no one was around. She didn’t have her mobile – it was just her, a body, and the tinny sound of ‘Something Kinda Oooh’ leaking from her headphones.
Emma felt for a pulse – there was one. Gentle, quiet, and faint. She ran her fingers up and down the woman’s neck, distracted for just a second by how… perfect it was. She struggled to remember how to do CPR. It was something to do with pressing down on the chest several times and then giving the kiss of life. But how many times to do each thing? She remembered practising at work on a dummy – a weird old thing that whiffed of TCP and made a noise like a creaking bed when you pressed down on it. This was different. No noise. Just a strange wet feeling as she pushed the chest. When she tilted back the head and tried to breathe into it, a small trickle of water came out. Kissing her felt funny – and must have seemed bloody weird to anyone watching. But Emma kept on – pushing on the chest and breathing into those full, dead lips.
It was actually quite dull, despite her rising feeling of oh god-oh god panic. She was convinced she’d done it for hours, but when she checked her watch it turned out to be a couple of minutes. And no sign of life. On TV, some hunky doctor would be brushing her out of the way, yelling ‘Clear!’ and applying the shock pads. But this was just Emma. Alone.
With nothing but the beach and the woman, Emma started to notice things. Like the fact that the woman was wearing man’s clothes. Quite a good suit, soaked through, though. She carried on pushing down on the – really firm – chest. It all felt weird. Those cold, cold lips, kissing a corpse. How had the woman even got here? All that beauty and here she was, poor thing, dead on a beach. She could only be in her mid twenties.
Eventually, she spread the woman out and sat back on her heels, exhausted. She’d tried to save a life and she’d failed. The wind was getting up, and the waves were slapping at the rocks around them. Everything smelt of oil and rotting seaweed. Emma felt colder than she’d ever felt before.
It was then that she noticed the object clutched in the woman’s hand. About the size of an iPod, but like a flat snowglobe, glowing slightly. Curious, Emma took it from the woman’s grasp and held it up to the light – it was filled with a liquid that was a complicated blue that formed dancing shapes. As she looked into the globe she realised the shapes were straight lines and right angles and knotted cubes and so many shapes and colours and more shapes and—
Hey there, baby doll.
‘What?’ Emma gasped. She spun round. There was no one else on the beach with her. No one, anywhere. Even her music was silent. She was utterly alone. But still she was breathing quickly with shock.
Oi! I am speaking to you, darlin’.
The voice was female, strong, northern and very definitely in her head.
I’m the machine.
This time there was a sigh. It was the long-suffering sigh that gave it away.
‘Cheryl?’ Emma gul
ped. What was Cheryl from Girls Aloud doing in her head?
Yeah. Right. Finally! I’m merely a representation of the machine’s mental interface, babe. You just listen up and Cheryl will give you an exclusive.
‘This machine?’ Emma shook it. Her head filled with a shriek.
Hold on there, sister! That will not happen again! Understand? You get me, you stupid little bitch?
‘Oi!’ Emma was outraged. ‘Why are you in my head? What are you?’
The voice seemed calmer, more soothing.
Well now. This will take some explaining. Shall we go somewhere warm and snug so we can get to know each other better?
‘What about the body I found y—?’ Emma didn’t even get to finish the sentence.
Oh, don’t worry about that – that was just a civilian. It brought me ashore. It’ll wake up in a bit, go home, get some kip, forget all this happened. Now come on – let’s get back to your charming one-bedroom flat in Grangetown with an eighty-five per cent mortgage and talk about the future. Let’s just say there’s a lot in it for you, Emma darling.
‘What?’ Cheryl had an odd way of speaking, thought Emma.
Hey, sorry, babe. It’s just my way. Forgive me, yeah? Cheryl is your favourite, isn’t she? Would you prefer if I was Nicola?
Emma thought about it. ‘No,’ she said.
So, Emma found herself turning away from the woman’s body and walking off the beach and back to her flat. Oddly, neither she nor the machine spoke to each other on the way – although the voice was humming along to the tune on her iPod. Thinking about it, Emma couldn’t remember much about the walk. But suddenly there she was, sat on her sofa, staring at her coffee table which contained the machine and a mug of her favourite instant hot chocolate (Midnight Orange Murmur, since you ask).
Well now, this is cosy.
‘Yeah,’ said Emma, feeling a touch defensive.
But it could be better. Don’t yer think? There was something about the voice – it was all caring and bright, but there was a real touch of steel behind it. But perhaps that was just Cheryl. And that’s what I’m here for. Let’s just say I’m a real dream machine, sweetheart.