“I’ll think about it,” Lucy said. Her phone chirped in her bag and she dug for it. “It’s Dad.”
“Well, then you’d better get it,” Rose grinned and winked conspiratorially.
“Dad.”
Rose frowned at the frosty greeting, hoping she’d been right to tell her to wait and see how things developed.
“I’m with a friend. We’re in a café, listen!” With an exasperated roll of her eyes, Lucy held up the phone so her father could hear the background noise of people talking and Francesca’s shiny Gaggia hissing. Lucy’s father seemed to be a bit of a control freak. For a moment Rose wondered if she should say hello to him to prove that Lucy was not meeting a boy. But Lucy was fifteen, she was old enough to meet boys. If she were interested in them. At the moment, family matters seemed on the top of her list.
“I’ll be back in time for tea, don’t worry. Bye.” Lucy snapped her mobile shut and slumped back with a sigh. “See?”
“I’m sure he’s only worried.”
“Yeah. And in need of some stuff for dinner. I’m sorry I’ve got to go and get some groceries on my way home. Thank you for meeting me. Miss Tyler.” Lucy smiled, and Rose was relieved that she hadn’t sounded too much like a parent or teacher to her — well, until her father had called, anyway.
“My pleasure, Miss Morris. Good luck.”
-:-
Rose decided to go for a walk before she needed to go home and get ready for her date with Dave. It wasn’t really a date, she admonished herself, it was a meeting so he could show her the rest of the photos from the charity event and give her an idea of what he did. It was business; she’d offered him a job with the Heritage Trust Fund. She’d better dress a bit more formally, but casually enough not to turn Dave away. She did want to get to know him better. She exchanged her jumper for a light blue oxford and put on a pair of nice heels. She put on her favourite necklace to go with the blouse and twisted her hair up into a messy knot. Perfect.
She arrived at the studio with a few minutes to spare, so she had a look around the area. His studio was close to the School of Art. It was located in an old warehouse that had seen better days, but the front door had recently received a glossy coat of blue paint and the brass plate advertising his studio was polished. He seemed a professional through and through, and the shabbiness of the building added a certain charm that she found reflected his personality quite well.
Taking a deep breath, she rang the bell. To her surprise he didn’t buzz her in but opened the door for her himself. He was wearing a loose shirt and had not shaved. Rose bit her lip when she saw how good he looked.
“Hello, Rose,” he said, smiling and stepping aside to let her enter.
He had used the warehouse well to set up his studio. The huge room had been divided up into various areas with a state-of-the-art computer and specialist equipment, a kind of lounge with a pair of red leather sofas, and the studio proper. The prop warehouse had been partitioned off with plasterboard. Off to one side, close to the shelves holding binders and books, he had set up a huge old kitchen table, accessible from all sides, with good lighting overhead. On it, she noticed, he had set out a couple of big-format folders.
“’s lovely,” Rose said. Her gaze fell on the curtain of fairy lights he had put up behind the sofa backed against the wall.
He gestured for her to sit, smiling at the compliment. “Would you like something to drink? I have,” he checked the fridge, “beer. And beer.”
“Oh, I think I’ll have a beer, thanks,” Rose said, pushing the tip of her tongue into the corner of her mouth. “I meant what I said. It’s lovely.” She looked at the photos displayed on the walls; he had had his photos transferred to canvas.
“It seems a bit vast sometimes, but having the space really helps,” he said, opening the bottles and passing her one. He sat on the other sofa and raised his bottle to clink it to hers before taking a thoughtful sip. Why was he so nervous?
“Never hurts to have plenty of space,” Rose said. She had thought of the blue box in which she used to travel and lowered her gaze on the label of the bottle. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?
“Shall we?” he asked into the awkward silence that ensued.
Rose smiled and stood, putting the bottle onto the coffee table. She couldn’t wait to see his work.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, catching up with her and touching her elbow.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for running away yesterday,” he said. “I should have listened to you. You were going to tell me about your doctor, and all I did was... upset you. You’ve lost him recently, and clearly talking about him is painful. But what you said, about him and me... I dinnae take it too well, did I?”
Rose looked at him, stunned. If anything, she hadn’t expected him to apologise to her. She owed him an explanation, but instead he’d beaten her to it. “He wasn’t my doctor,” she said, dumbly. “He was the Doctor, that was his name.”
Dave’s eyes went wide, and he fished for words, dropping his hand from her elbow. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”
“He was never really mine. I loved him and he loved me, in his own way, but he was never my Doctor,” Rose continued, suddenly incapable of thinking straight as the grief she had suppressed for so long finally erupted with full force. Despite Dave’s flummoxed expression she kept going, she just couldn’t help herself. “We didn’t so much as kiss. He never said…, not until it was too late. I was too scared to tell him I loved him and yet he put the universe at my feet. He burned up a sun for me, and even then he couldn’t... I’d scared him, I’d crossed the line, and I messed it all up.” Her last words were blubbery sobs. Her head was spinning with her words and yet she was unable to stop herself. Tears were streaming down her face as she thought to herself that she had pushed him away for good, the first man she wanted to get to know, to be with, since she had died in her own universe.
Dave just stared at her, but then he reached out and pulled her towards him, into his arms, and he just held her, saying nothing. In her surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as she started to sob uncontrollably. He began to brush his thumbs over her back in soothing crescents, his fingers warm through her shirt. Dave even felt different than the Doctor. The Doctor had been cool and skinny, his muscles tense with barely contained energy. Dave, on the other hand, felt shockingly warm to her body’s memory, and solid. He smelled warm and clean, not of that strange mixture of soap and marble halls the Doctor had about him. He felt good.
She was soaking his shirt, she realised, and pulled back. Dave let go of her reluctantly, and he hurried to his desk to get a box of tissues he kept there. “There’s a bathroom, if you’d like to, ah, clean up,” he said, gesturing towards the low building behind the lounge area. “I have some tea here.”
“Thanks,” Rose choked.
The lighting in the bathroom was gorgeous, perfect for applying make-up, and there was a vanity for those occasions. The two doors opened to the toilet proper and a small changing room. He was very professional. Whereas she had fallen apart on him and treated his apology as an insult to the Doctor’s memory.
She looked at herself in the mirror, her face red, eyes swollen and puffy with black smudges beneath them where her mascara had run. “What have you done, Rose Tyler?” she hissed accusingly. She had probably wrecked her only chance of explaining herself to Dave. She’d had no problem at all telling Dominic about her former life, but she had been hopeless with Dave.
Rose scrubbed her face clean and blew her nose. She had some mascara in her handbag, but, holding it between her fingers, she decided against putting any on. “Time to say good bye,” she muttered, dropping the tube back into her bag. Squaring her shoulders, she took her bag and returned to the lounge.
The two bottles of beer had vanished from the coffee table. The kettle had just clicked off and Dave was pouring water into two mugs. His jaw was set, and his movements, although practised, lacked the ease tha
t came with it; everything he did seemed very deliberate and measured, as if he were afraid of breaking or spilling something. He was keeping his anger in check. A perfect copy of the Oncoming Storm.
Leave me alone, Rose thought bitterly, closing her eyes.
“Hey,” Dave said, looking up. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He smiled gently. “I’ve made tea.”
“I think I’d better go,” Rose said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“I think,” Dave said, fishing the tea bags out of the mugs, “you should stay.”
“What?”
“You haven’t told anyone what you’ve told me, have you?” he said, giving her his full attention.
It was her turn to stare at him aghast.
He picked up the mugs and carried them to the coffee table. Surprising herself, Rose moved to join him, glad to be able to sit down. “No, I haven’t,” she said softly, reaching for the mug. “I’ve soiled your shirt.” There was a damp patch on his shoulder, and even a touch of black.
“It’ll wash,” Dave said.
“You aren’t mad at me?”
He sighed, wrapping his fingers around his mug and pursing his lips. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t, but I also think that you need someone to listen to you.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?” Rose asked. She couldn’t believe how incredibly lucky she was — and how incredibly generous and kind Dave was, to be willing to listen to her despite his own worries and grief. Maybe that was the starting point. “The Doctor was rubbish at comforting.”
Dave leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked into his mug. “He treated you like that, and still you loved him?”
“It was usually better than that, but when there was something that upset me, he just didn’t know how to deal with it.”
“Did he upset you?”
“No.”
“But he didn’t let you love him,” Dave said. “Properly, I mean. I’d say he was a fool for not loving you back, but you did say he put the universe at your feet and that he burned up a sun for you.”
Rose took a fortifying sip of her hot tea. “He did have his own way of doing things.”
There was a moment when Rose felt almost ready to tell him everything, but something kept her back.
“I’m sorry for falling apart on you, and for insulting you when you apologised to me,” Rose said instead. “But that cry and your comfort did feel very good.”
“I’d like to say any time, but I’d rather not see you that upset again,” Dave said.
“Shall we have a look at the photos then?” Rose asked.
Dave nodded thoughtfully, and when they stood this time, Rose kept her mug of tea. At the table, he opened a folder and showed her the prints he had made of the photos from the charity event. They were even better than the ones he had sold the press, and Rose felt a wave of gratitude wash over her. He had captured her in unguarded moments, and the emotions in her face ranged from the loneliness she so often felt, to escape, to brief delight, to seriousness as she listened intently to a person who wasn’t in the picture.
“Do you like them?” he asked.
“Very much.”
“Keep them. I’ve burned them onto a CD for you, and I’ll only keep a couple of digital copies for my files,” he said.
“I can’t accept that.”
“Please.” He fished out a print of the view of the city he had taken. It was gorgeous, and memories of the stolen moments with him on the roof top flooded back into her consciousness. She gasped and nodded.
“Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said, smiling. He opened his mouth to say something, paused, then took a breath and said, “I might not be able to put the universe at your feet or burn up a sun for you, but I’m glad I could make you smile again.”
He bent his head studiously as he gathered the prints and returned them to the folder, avoiding her reaction. But Rose was, for once, too surprised to say anything, too stunned at everything he had done for her that night to help her think clearly. Everything about him spelled his interest in her despite having seen her dark side. A pleasant tingle travelled down her spine, and she sipped her tea.
“Can I see more?” she croaked, overcome with emotion.
He showed her his landscapes and a draft of the brochure he had put together for the Glasgow Street Museum. Rose was impressed by his work. Dave was very talented, and she would consider herself lucky if he agreed to work for the Heritage Trust Fund.
Chapter 11
Dave gathered his thoughts as Rose looked at his photographs. To say that her earlier outbreak had shocked him would be an understatement. He had apologised to her, but instead of accepting it, she had taken further offence at his words. This doctor-chap of hers mystified him as much as she did. He obviously had done nearly everything for her, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to tell her how much he loved her. Why had he held back? He wouldn’t let Rose go, not if he could help it. He would never forgive himself if he did. She had been acting out of the need to open up to someone. Apparently, she had never talked to anyone about the Doctor.
He thought he had a fair idea of what she was going through — he had recognised the hollowness in her eyes earlier. Her emptiness had come with actual loss; it reminded him of the project he had started two years ago and never finished had sprung from his fear of losing his family. He had felt empty and devastated after a nightmare, and he had tried to banish and channel this feeling of powerlessness into something productive. The result was a folder full of harrowing, beautiful black and white photos that was his most personal project. Rita had seen one or two of the photos, but she had initially been dismissive of them; she had told him later that she found them terrifying.
Rose reminded him of that feeling more than his actual loss. He knew that the dream hadn’t been foreshadowing. He didn’t believe in that sort of things. But the worst had happened and now he felt more than just empty, though he didn’t know if he could find words to describe his feelings. The best way to do so was probably to return to the project and suddenly he knew that he had to show it to Rose, that she would understand. For some reason, Dave knew that showing the folder to Rose was the right thing to do.
“Actually, I have something else as well,” he said eventually. “I’ve been working on it for myself and it doesn’t really have any bearing on the Heritage Trust Fund work I might do for you, but I have a feeling that you’ll like it.“
“Oh?” Rose asked, looking up. She had put down her mug on the very edge of the table. Now that her face was scrubbed clean and no longer red from her crying, she looked very young and very much like herself. He loved seeing this side of her. He also felt humbled that she’d be willing to be this unguarded around him. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine her being like this around relative strangers. Showing her the Emptiness Folder felt very right.
“Well, it’s... something very personal,” he said.
“Now you’ve made me curious,” Rose said.
“It’s nothing special. I haven’t worked on it in a while, and I’m not really happy with it,” he said, both flattered and a bit embarrassed by her interest. As the words left his mouth he realised that one of the reasons why he had stopped working on the project was that something had been missing in the photos. Now he knew what it was.
“I’d love to see it, Dave,” she said.
He rubbed the back of his neck. The truth was that Rose had inspired him. Her face was so expressive and the camera loved her. He simply had to ask her if she wanted to work on the project with him. It certainly wasn’t the right moment to ask her this, but he was afraid that if he just let her go now he wouldn’t see her again. She seemed horrified at herself for breaking down like she had, and he wanted to show her that he had taken no offence.
Dave hurried to get the folder he had hidden between his desk and the wall. The photos he had taken so far would become redu
ndant if Rose agreed to working with him. He had little hope, however, that she would agree to. The ideas he had, the pictures he envisioned, were outside anything he had ever done before. Rose’s public portfolio didn’t show her in anything quite so daring.
“It’s a mad idea, really,” he began, untying the ribbons that closed the folder. “Please do say no if you don’t like it. I realise that you have to be very careful about things like this.”
“Let me see what it is we’re talking about first, yeah?” she asked gently.
“Actually, while you were looking at the other photos I had an idea that will alter the feel of these, but look at them first and then I'll tell you my idea,” he said, stepping aside to let her take a look at the photos he had put into the folder. They were a collection of black and white shots of abandoned buildings and their interiors. At the time he had thought them haunting and ghostly, imagining all sorts of people around them, seeking shelter after some horrific event. But now they were just empty rooms. They were as empty as he had felt, and they felt even more depressing now that Rita was gone. They were a perfect image of his soul.
Bigger on the inside: Space, Time Travel, Alien Criminals (A Space Time Travel Mystery Book 1) Page 11