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

by Alianna Smith

  She willed him to turn around, but he only did so when the waitress approached him. He was a bit more wide-eyed than the Doctor, and he lacked the confidence of nearly a millennium of experience, but other than that he was the Doctor’s doppelgänger. He was wearing blue denims and a striped shirt, and although he was slim he wasn’t as thin as the Time Lord had been.

  Rose held her breath as the waitress picked up a menu and led him through the maze of chairs, tables and patrons to her. She was glad that her plan had worked out; it wouldn’t have done at all for her to be surprised by his appearance. Now, at least, she had some time to compose herself.

  Still, she felt the beginnings of a wide grin tug at the corners of her mouth. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him, she tried to remind herself. He was a stranger who had helped her, nothing more. He probably had nothing in common with the love of her life at all. He was a photographer, and he had a motorbike. Different enough.

  Rose offered her hand before he sat, and said hello. From the corner of her eye she noticed the knowing grin of the waitress. Just what she had needed. She hoped that they would be left alone and that their meeting wouldn’t be discussed in the relevant rags the next day. Her private life was, for some reason, immensely interesting to others, although she knew the exact opposite to be the case. She didn’t really have a life outside Torchwood.

  “Hello,” he said, casting the waitress a curious glance as he took the menu from her. Her face darkened and she disappeared. He took off his jacket and put it next to himself on the bench, where he’d already deposited the helmet.

  “Thank you for coming,” Rose said. “I’ve got your jacket here.” She dropped her hand onto the soft leather again. For some strange reason, she’d have loved to keep the jacket.

  David Tiler cast a glance at the jacket before he sat down. “That’s very kind of you. I’ve missed it. I didn’t think I’d get it back.”

  “I’d hoped to be able to find you,” Rose said.

  “What was that about?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the waitress.

  Rose blushed. “Well, she appears to find it interesting with whom I have lunch.”

  “Oh,” he said, clearly not understanding. Obviously, he had no idea who she was, which meant two things. First, that he would act naturally around her, and second that he didn’t seem to be interested in celebrity gossip – although Rose hated her name and the word celebrity being used in the same sentence. “Well, how... how are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said, smiling. It struck her then how sad his beautiful brown eyes were. Not even the Doctor’s sadness, with its fleeting, mercurial mood shifts, was as heart-breaking as the all-encompassing sadness in this man’s eyes. She wondered what his story was. Had he lost someone?

  “You seemed... What happened that night?” he blurted, putting the menu down.

  “It’s... complicated,” Rose began. It was touching that he cared about her well-being, but he was also a stranger. Although Torchwood was not a secret organisation they preferred to give away as little information as possible; usually, they were regarded as an organisation attached to the police. “I was working a case.”

  His face darkened and she could see how he withdrew from her. The sadness became more pronounced, but she couldn’t fail to notice the fury that infused it. “So you’re with the police?” he asked tunelessly. He propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. The hardness around his jaw made her lean a fraction back.

  “Not really, no,” Rose said, sensing that mentioning the police had caused this change of demeanour in him. What had happened to him? “I’m not a policewoman, if that’s what...”

  He drew in a shuddering breath and attempted a smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Rose returned. “I was investigating something, and... this something went horribly wrong.”

  “But there wasn’t an explosion, was there?” he asked. “I... I couldn’t see one. There was that thunderclap, though, and it wasn’t... it wasn’t a thunderstorm, right? It was too cold for that.”

  “No,” Rose said.

  He sighed. “But your injuries... I... it’s amazing that you’re here now.”

  David was very observant and very clever. Rose wondered how long she could get away with the vague answers she’d been giving him without insulting his intelligence. “I was lucky. You found me and called the ambulance.”

  “It wasn’t the ambulance, though, was it?” he said.

  Rose bit her lip. “It was a specialist ambulance. They know how to deal with injuries like mine. It’s very new, and they’re still doing test runs.”

  He dropped his hands onto his lap. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing so well.”

  An awkward silence followed during which they studied their menus. When the waitress appeared they placed their order, and the silence between them was mollified by the waitress’ inquisitive stare.

  “What is it with that woman?” David Tiler asked, leaning towards Rose again. The sadness was still noticeable in his eyes, but it wasn’t as dominant any more. Rose relaxed.

  She chuckled. She didn’t want to spoil things by telling him who she was. “Beats me.”

  The waitress arrived with their drinks and placed a basket of bread between them. “Here you go, Miss Tyler,” she said, smiling, as if to apologise, but Rose knew that the woman was, for some reason, addressing her by her name as though they were old acquaintances. She hated it when people did that. She could only hope that no one was going to ask her for her autograph, but that hope was crushed when a teenaged girl approached them, a notebook and pen at the ready.

  He leaned back and watched in wonder as Rose signed the girl’s notebook. The girl looked at him with interest as well, and the expression of surprise in his face was priceless.

  “Sorry about that,” Rose said as the girl disappeared back to her own table where she showed off her prize.

  “Who are you?” he asked, dumbfounded.

  “No one,” Rose said. “Google me when you get home, but believe me, I’m not nearly half as interesting as they make me out to be. It’s got its perks, though. Charity work is a lot easier when you have a recognisable name.”

  “My name’s Tiler too,” he pointed out.

  “And you’re a very good photographer,” Rose said. “I’ve looked at your work.”

  He coloured a little. “Yeah, well.”

  “David,” she said, reaching out for him but stopping short and picking a piece of bread from the basket. The gesture was entirely too intimate, particularly now that she knew they had an audience.

  “It’s Dave, actually,” he said.

  “I’m just Rose, yeah? I’m here to give you back your jacket and say thank you for what you’ve done for me.”

  He looked up, a smile playing about his lips. “I...,” he sighed. “I’m sorry I... I didn’t mean to... life’s been crazy the past few months.” A shadow flitted over his face, but he remained resolute. “Sometimes things seem a bit too much. Or surreal.”

  Rose stared at him.

  “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  “Um... well. Let’s just say that I know the feeling,” Rose offered. She was quite sure that his life had been turned upside down recently, just like hers. They certainly had that in common.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he whispered, sipping his water.

  “Who did you lose?” Rose asked. It was a long shot and she was being bold, but she also sensed that if anything, Dave needed someone to listen to him.

  “My wife. We... we weren’t married, but...” he stopped himself, surprised that he had opened up to her. “I think of her as my wife.” He said it softly, as if there was something more to it, but she didn’t say anything. She’d probably done enough damage already.

  Rose bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “She was in a road accident, just like... like you, I
suppose, and... well. She was killed instantly,” he said.

  “Oh,” Rose said. “So when you found me...”

  “Yeah,” he said, his eyes beginning to well up. He looked away in attempt to compose himself.

  “Thank you, Dave,” Rose said softly. What he had done for her took on a whole new meaning. Finding her in the street must have made memories resurface. She wanted to comfort him but didn’t know how, to say nothing of the fact that they barely knew each other.

  They fell silent once more and were glad when the waitress appeared with their food. They moved on to light conversation after she’d disappeared, talking about harmless things until his phone rang and he rushed back to his studio to sort out a minor crisis.

  Rose ordered coffee and paid. The waitress cast her a smug glance, which she ignored. The sun had come out as she stepped outside and took a deep breath. That was that. The jacket was returned, her guardian angel thanked.

  Only later did it occur to her that not once while they’d talked she’d thought of him as the spitting image of the Doctor.

  Chapter 3

  Dave shrugged into his brown leather jacket before he climbed on his bike outside the restaurant. Tanya’s call had come at the best, and worst, possible of times. While he’d had so many questions for Rose, questions that had been bugging him since that night, he had also felt quite out of his depth once he had realised that Rose Tyler was a famous person. He shouldn’t feel intimidated by that fact alone, but there was something about her that warranted being a little nervous in her presence. Even if the girl hadn’t asked for her autograph and the waitress had just done her job discreetly, Dave would have felt awkward around her. Or maybe awkward wasn’t the right word. In awe was more like it, in awe and at the same time eager to get to know her better. Although they had spoken only briefly, he thought that she was one of the most fascinating people he had ever met. Her light brown eyes in particular had captivated him. They’d held wisdom far beyond her years and they were also the saddest eyes he had ever seen. They had made him want to get know her better. What was her story?

  Instead, they had talked about him, about losing Rita. She was the first outsider he had confided in, something that he had, up till then, tried to avoid because he didn’t want people’s pity any more. Sometimes, they smothered him with it, which made things worse for him than if they’d just left him alone. Few people knew how to react to the news, often filling the awkwardness they felt with idle, almost hollow, chatter.

  Rose, however, seemed to truly understand him. The sadness in her eyes had told him that she knew what loss meant, and instead of subjecting him to platitudes, she had made him talk. It had felt good, he realised, as he pulled into the dirt alley beside the building that housed his studio. He avoided, as always, the huge puddle that had gathered there, and put down his feet firmly on the uneven ground before he took off his helmet. He hadn’t felt this good in ages. What, he wondered, was it about Rose that made him open up to her like that? He hadn’t told her much, but it had been enough for him to breathe a little more easily.

  He hurried to the studio, putting thoughts of Rose off for the moment, to see what the crisis was. He was heartily sick of them, particularly after the fiasco over the Street Museum brochure and Ewan’s ankle.

  “Tanya?” he called as he turned the corner, yanking down the zip of his jacket. It felt so good to have it back. Had he thanked Rose properly for returning it? “Tanya!? What’s up?”

  Tanya was curled up on one of the red sofas, a blanket draped over her. She looked feverish and pale. “I think Evie gave me the chicken pox.”

  “What?” he asked, torn between being amused and confused. “But you had them as a child.”

  She shrugged and looked up at him sheepishly as she realised that he didn’t believe she had chicken pox.

  Dave sighed and crouched beside the sofa, feeling her head. It was hot and clammy. “I can’t take you home, I haven’t got the car,” he said. “What about Mum, can’t you call her?”

  “She won’t be able to make it for another hour,” Tanya said in that little-girl voice he didn’t like at all. She had copied that from Michelle, who only ever used it when she wanted to manipulate him.

  “Well, I can’t drive you. But I can make you a cup of tea, eh?”

  Tanya pouted.

  He stood and busied himself with the kettle and mugs. While he was at it he might as well make himself a cuppa.

  “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important,” Tanya said.

  “You didn’t,” he lied, unwilling to give her that satisfaction. “Was there anything important while I was out?”

  “Several new bookings came in,” Tanya volunteered after a while. “I’ve put them on the desktop but I haven’t confirmed them yet.”

  “Thank you,” Dave said, pouring the hot water over the teabags. “Anything interesting?” He had to admit that in the past couple of weeks he had let things slide, only taking bookings that interested him or that he felt ready to handle. He knew, however, that this couldn’t go on unless he wanted to risk running out of funds. The car needed to be serviced, which would put a dent in his account, and he and Rita had planned to redecorate the kitchen. Also, he was thinking of renting a small cottage for the summer holidays to get away from things for a while.

  “Most of them are,” Tanya said. “Sean Sansom called; he asked if you were interested in taking over an assignment for him. It’s some charity event, and he can’t go.”

  “Snapping pics of the rich and beautiful?” Dave asked. He always felt out of place at events like that, a bit like an intruder even though he was meant to be there and people knew he was around taking photos. Pictures like that were often very interesting because the subject was unguarded, and therein lay the problem. He was always very careful to make his subjects feel comfortable, but he wouldn’t have time for that at the event. Granted, the rich and beautiful were used to that, but he wasn’t. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Dad. It’ll be fun. Sean told me that most of the rich and beautiful would be posing for the pictures anyway,” Tanya said. “They pay handsomely.”

  “For a charity event?” Dave asked, incredulous.

  “Well,” Tanya said, “it is also about publicity for those people, don’t you think?”

  Dave was amazed at his daughter’s scheming little ways once more. Also, the thought of all those celebrities gathering in one place seemed to excite her enough to forget about her chicken pox for a while. If it was, indeed, chicken pox, and not some form of mild food poisoning. She’d managed to give herself that several times before. Sometimes he wondered how she’d managed to keep Samuel safe; it was probably his capricious eating habits, or Michelle, or a combination of the two.

  “And that makes it all right?”he asked.

  Tanya shrugged.

  “Oh well,” Dave sighed, sitting down at his computer to send an email to Sean. He owed him a favour — which Tanya didn’t know — and it couldn’t hurt to go on a photo safari; he hadn’t done that in a long time. His children had developed a sense for his being on the prowl with his camera, even if it was the small one in his phone.

  “Can you take a snapshot of Rufus Horwood if he’s there?” Tanya asked, her eyes lighting up.

  Dave stared at her. “You actually like him?” he asked in disbelief. Rufus Horwood was a young actor who was famous for his role as an executioner in a TV series set in the 1950s. He was good-looking in an unconventional way, but Dave thought he was quite empty-headed and not grand actor material.

  Tanya shrugged. “Yeah.”

  Dave concentrated on the computer screen. Heaven help him if Lucy developed a serious crush on a celebrity; so far, they’d been spared that. Lucy was very down-to-earth with little need for the idols teenagers usually had. Her worries were entirely different, like who her real father was, and where she was left without her mother. Dave rubbed his hands over his face. A quick sideways glance told him that Tanya was either co
ntemplating the curtain of fairy lights on the wall or had dozed off.

  He brought up the browser and searched for Rose Tyler to learn more about her, just like she’d suggested; he recalled, however, her warning to take the information with a grain of salt. She hadn’t struck him as the vain type, or playing coy; Rose had seemed embarrassed, really, by the attention she had received.

  The search yielded reams of sites. Dave sat back in his chair, brushing his palm over his mouth. He reached for his cup of tea and took a fortifying sip. Then he continued his research.