Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias Part 5

Michael laughed and shook his head, his pale blue eyes smiling as he shared Ace's embarra.s.sment.

'No, no, that's not what I... I thought, I mean, I wondered if you'd come here for Graystairs. Sorry.' He looked away, and Ace felt a flash of relief that she wasn't the only one stumbling around, blind, in this conversation.

'No, we're looking for a friend of the Doctor's.'

'And have you found him?'

'Her. No. The Doctor seems to think something's happened to her.'

Michael's eyes narrowed, thoughtfully, and Ace saw his jaw Bench. 'So who is she, this mystery woman?'

'Her name's Joyce Brunner. She and the Doctor used to work together.'

He nodded slowly. Then, as if suddenly remembering the carrier bag in his hand, he took a step backwards. 'Right, well good luck. Gotta get back. See you later, maybe.'

'Oh, right.' Suddenly, Ace felt a flash of disappointment. Just when she thought she'd made a new friend and not a bad looking one at that he was off. 'Yeah. See you later.'

And with a short, sharp smile, Michael turned away and headed up the street.

As he disappeared around the corner, Ace hitched her rucksack onto her back and turned towards the pub. There was still that pint to attend to. Out of the corner of her eye, back along the street towards the war memorial that stood in the circular gra.s.sy clearing at the centre of the village, she caught a flicker of movement. But there was no one there. She felt the hairs on her neck rise. She'd never been quite sure whether she'd believed all that guff about being able to sense when someone was watching her but if it was true, then this must be what it felt like. She stood and surveyed the village. A couple of teenage backpackers, kitted out in yellow and blue cagoules and woolly hats came round the corner, struggling with an unruly map that fluttered and flapped, desperate to get out of their grip. She checked her watch and realised she'd spent the best part of two hours getting nowhere. Maybe she should go and find Joyce's mum, and see if she had seen Joyce. She had no problem finding someone who knew the way to Graystairs: the first person she asked a rather unlikely-looking youth with acne and a bike that was far too big for him pulled a loony-eyes face at her.

'What d'you wannae go up there for? You a nutter or what?'

Despite the fact that it was language that she herself might have used to describe Alzheimer's sufferers, Ace suddenly felt very defensive of Graystairs' patients. '0i!' she said, indignant.

'That could be your grandad or grandma up there one day.'

'Not likely,' the youth sneered in a heavy Scots brogue that rendered his words all but unintelligible. 'All of mine are dead apart from my mam's mam, and no one knows where she is!'

'Scared 'em all away did you?'

The youth gave a mock laugh. 'It's about a mile up that way up the hill. You cannae miss it. You have to go up a lane through a wood. And it's haunted. And there are wolves,' he added, baring his rickety teeth.

'Yeah, course there are,' Ace said, turning to go.

'Suit yoursel',' the lad said, remounting his bike and pushing away on it. 'What d'you think's eating all the sheep?' And, flicking a V-sign at her, he pedalled off frantically.

And indeed the lad had been right at least about how far Graystairs was. From the main road it was clearly signposted.

She wouldn't have fancied trying to find it in the dark, though: the road wove through a densely wooded area, daffodils and crocuses freckling the ground, leading slowly upwards until, through a break in the trees, she saw the house. With the sun behind it, throwing the front into shadow, it looked grey and gloomy, and Ace could well believe the youth's story about it being haunted.

Suddenly she heard the crack of a twig, sharp as gunfire, somewhere in the wood to her right. She turned, and caught sight of a brief, dark blur of movement as someone or something small and slender darted behind a tree. She felt her pulse begin to race. Ace took a few steps towards the edge of the road, taking some small comfort in the weight of her backpack and its contents. She cast around on the ground for a stick big enough to use as a club, and, as she did, she saw another flicker from the woods.

'Who's there?' she called, picking up the nearest branch and gripping it tightly, feeling its cold, slimy surface in her hand.

Away in the distance she heard the crashing noise of footsteps, but the trees were too dense for her to see anything. The sounds faded away. She really didn't feel up to chasing them, whoever they were. Perhaps it was the lad with the bike, hoping to scare her, pretending to be the Ghost of Graystairs. Or maybe it was the figure that she'd not-quite-seen on the village green.

'd.i.c.khead!' she muttered under her breath, and threw the stick down.

A few minutes later, as she climbed the mossy steps to the front door, she'd almost forgotten about her stalker. She cast her eyes over the windows, noting their neat uniformity, their matching curtains and window boxes. A small, grey lump at the edge of the lawn caught her eye, and glancing round she crossed quickly to it. Squatting down, she saw that it was the still and lifeless body of a squirrel. Something tightened up inside her chest as she gently touched the frail corpse. It was cold and surprisingly thin and bony. Part of its tiny head had been blown away by what she imagined had been a bullet, leaving a dark brown crust of dried blood. What kind of sickos did they have here, taking potshots at squirrels?

Taking a deep breath, she went back to the door and gave it a sharp rap. She heard m.u.f.fled calls and someone shouting 'OK!

OK!'. Then the door opened, and a shiftless-looking man in his late twenties stood there; sullen face, shirt hanging out of his trousers. His slicked-back hair reminded Ace of something from the fifties or of someone whose mother dressed him in the morning.

'Yeah?' he asked charmlessly.

'Oh, good afternoon. I'm here to see Mrs Brunner.'

The man turned away from her, and, a.s.suming she was supposed to follow him, she trooped inside and closed the door behind her.

'Wait here,' the man said, eyeing her up and down in a very discomforting way. 'I'll see if I can find Doctor Menzies, but I think he's out. You might have to come back later.'

Ace nodded and watched him shuffle away. She wondered if he was the squirrel murderer. It didn't seem unlikely. The moment he'd gone, she glanced around the hallway doors led off into a lounge and another corridor, whilst a curving stairway led, presumably, to the patients' rooms. With a smile, she set off up the stairs.

The landing split into two, leading left and right; and at the end of the right-hand corridor, she could see another, smaller, flight of stairs which curved away, out of sight. Unfortunately, the bedroom doors only had the names of flowers on them, not those of the occupants. She paused, wondering whether she should try doors at random. But that might attract the kind of attention she didn't want especially if the doctor was doing his rounds.

Just then, she heard the sound of low, female voices. Two elderly women were leaving one of the rooms on the stretch of corridor that led to the second staircase: one was slim and perky-looking with neatly-permed white hair, the other much stockier 'a matronly bosom' was the phrase that sprang to mind with a head of obviously-dyed brown hair that looked so lacquered that Ace felt sure it could have doubled as a crash helmet. They stopped their conversation as they saw her, and smiled sweetly.

'Good afternoon,' one of them said.

'Hi,' Ace replied. 'I wonder if you could help me?'

'We'll do our best, won't we, Connie,' the white-haired one said. Connie nodded.

'I'm looking for Mrs Brunner's room d'you know which one it is? The bloke downstairs said that Doctor Menzies was probably out, so I should just find my own way there.'

'That'll be Bernard,' the brown-haired woman said, pulling a face. 'Useless he is, absolutely useless, isn't he, Jessie?' She folded her arms, hitching up her bosom as her mouth tightened. 'It's because of him that Eddie got out. We were lucky we weren't all murdered in our beds.' She raised a knowing eyebrow. 'That's probably what happened to Lucy and Hannah and Mrs McMurdo.'

'And Dave lovely boy, Dave,' added Jessie wistfully 'What?' asked Ace, wondering whether this Eddie character could be connected with Joyce. 'Murdered by Eddie?'

'Oh, no,' said Jessie, dearly horrified at the thought. 'Eddie wouldn't hurt a fly. No, I mean leaving the door open.'

Connie nodded conspiratorially. 'It's dreadful, isn't it?'

'Is it?' Ace was starting to get confused about who'd vanished, who'd been murdered and who Eddie was. Where was Miss Marple when you needed her?

Connie nodded again, vigorously. 'It's a wicked world out there nowadays. You read about all those terrible things in the papers.'

'Don't get us started,' Jessie said, rolling her eyes and placing a hand on Connie's arm. 'Norma's in the Peonie Room, isn't she, Connie. Or have they moved her?'

'She was last time I heard just along there on your left,'

Connie agreed.

'Thanks,' Ace said warily, half expecting the two of them to lunge at her with sharpened crochet hooks. 'You've been really kind.'

She watched Connie and Jessie set off downstairs. Get a move on, she told herself. If those two run into Bernard, he'll have security after me before I know it. With sudden annoyance, she realised that she hadn't asked about this Eddie. Maybe she'd catch the two old dears later if they didn't disappear in the meantime.

Ace listened at the door for a moment before trying the handle. It would be ironic if Joyce's mum were the person that the doctor was seeing. She slipped inside.

The curtains were drawn, a shroud of thin daylight cast across the room. Under a flowered bedspread, an elderly woman slept. What now? thought Ace, glancing around the room. Her eyes briefly took in the hairbrush and perfume spray on the dressing table, a framed photo, a gla.s.s of water and an alarm dock beside the bed. A chair was pulled up alongside the bed.

Had Joyce been here recently? Ace suddenly realised that she should have asked Connie and Jessie. Another reason to try to find them on her way out.

Ace froze as she heard soft footsteps outside the room. She glanced round if she were caught, she'd be in deep trouble. As she stared at the door handle, it began to turn.

Chapter Three.

The Doctor smiled broadly at Mary as he let himself in through the front door. She was polishing the reception desk, and the rich smell of beeswax filled the air.

'Back early, Doctor?' she said, glancing up.

'A couple of letters to write,' he said, folding his arms on the desk. 'I must say, you keep this place beautifully clean and tidy.'

'Why, thank you, Doctor,' beamed Mary, breaking off from her polishing for a moment. 'Did you find Mrs Brunner, then?'

'Ace, er Dorothy, is asking around in the village.'

'Well, she'll have no shortage of people willing to gossip,'

Mary said, a tight-lipped expression of disapproval crossing her face as she returned to her polishing. The sound of the radio, playing something by the Carpenters, drifted along the hall from the kitchen.

'We've only just begun,' the Doctor murmured to himself with a quiet smile.

'You like the Carpenters then, do you, Doctor?' Mary asked.

'They have their moments although I've had to persuade at least three different alien races not to invade the Earth on the strength of Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft. Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft. ' He tipped his hat to her and trotted up the stairs. ' He tipped his hat to her and trotted up the stairs.

Claudette hurried along the corridor, almost tripping in her haste. She wished she hadn't agreed to come in on a Sat.u.r.day, but she had and there was nothing she could do about it. The pile of fluffy towels in her arms tottered and threatened to fall, but she gathered them to her and held them tightly, a shield against this place and its constant weirdness. A lump came to her throat, a sick, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach, as she tried hard not to think about what she'd just witnessed. In fact, she tried so hard not to think about it that she couldn't think about anything else.

The fact that there was a strange girl in Norma's room, half crouched as if she were planning to attack, shattered what little composure she'd managed to cling on to; and before she knew it, the cloud of white towels was a jumbled, snowy mess on the floor.

'Sorry,' the girl apologised, breaking out of the 'rabbit caught in headlights' trance that she seemed to have been in.

Claudette muttered a fl.u.s.tered something or other and began gathering the towels up, feeling like she might burst into tears at any moment; the girl moved to help her, and Claudette inexplicably found herself backing away.

'Are you OK?' the girl asked. Claudette nodded and tried an unconvincing smile. 'I'll give you a hand,' the girl said, and began folding the towels and stacking them on the dressing table.

'What's your name? I'm Ace.'

'Claudette,' she answered and they shook hands in a clumsy, this-is-what-adults-do sort of way.

She looked down at Norma, still soundly asleep. 'You come to see your grandmother, then?' she asked, trying to defuse the awkwardness. Ace nodded, her eyes darting away at the last minute.

'Yeah, yeah,' she said. 'She's asleep I didn't want to wake her.'

Claudette nodded. 'I think she's been for a treatment session they dope them up with sedatives, so she'll probably be out for a while.'

She was an odd one, thought Claudette, as the two of them set about building up the stack of towels on the dressing table.

Probably about her own age, hair braided back into a ponytail, a jacket that looked a couple of sizes too big for her, and loads of badges which, Claudette thought, she probably wore to make herself look more 'street' than she actually was. She had a nice smile, though decent.

'Where are you from, then?' Claudette asked.

The girl waved her hand airily 'Around. Perivale, really.

London.'

'Wow, a long way to come. What's it like?'

'London? Oh, you know... Busy, noisy. Some great shops, though. You never been?'

Claudette shook her head and pulled a face. 'Wanted to go last summer we've got some relatives down in Ess.e.x but Mum changed her mind at the last minute and it all got cancelled.' She glanced at her watch and gave a sigh. 'I'd better get on,' she said heavily, laying a couple of towels on the chair beside the bed. 'We're a bit short-handed at the moment.'

'So I gather,' Ace said. 'Two of the old dears told me that it's turning into the Marie Celeste Marie Celeste around here people disappearing left, right and centre.' around here people disappearing left, right and centre.'

'And without even giving us a chance for a goodbye whip-round. Not sure how long I'll be staying myself.' Claudette pulled a grim face.

'Where do they go for this treatment, anyway?' asked Ace suddenly, remembering that she really ought to have something a bit more meaty to report back to the Doctor.

Claudette swallowed, suddenly remembering what had happened to her ten minutes before.

'Hey, what's up?'

Claudette's face must have shown more than she'd thought.

Ace was by her side in an instant, a hand on her shoulder, strangely welcome despite Claudette's only having known her for a few minutes. She shook her head. 'It's probably nothing.'

Ace smiled. 'If I had a quid for the number of times I've heard people say that when it turned out to be anything but, I'd be rolling in it. Come on, what's wrong?'

Claudette took a deep breath and sat unsteadily at the foot of the bed almost forgetting that an elderly woman still slept in it her hands knotting and unknotting in her lap. She knew that if she didn't tell someone, she'd go mad.

Claudette didn't normally have any business being up there, on the second floor. But when she'd been told to change all the towels in the residents' rooms, she'd found the linen cupboard almost empty. She couldn't find Steve anywhere to ask him where they'd been put, so the obvious thing to do was to ask Megan.

So quietly, apprehensively, she'd gone up the twisty little flight of stairs to the top of the house, looking for her. Unlike the ground and first floors, which were warm and cosy, painted cheerful, bright colours, the attic floor gave the impression that they'd run out of money and had left it just as it had been for years: the doors and skirting boards were painted an unappealing brown; the walls had probably once been cream, but were now so scuffed and stained that it was hard to be certain. The bare bulbs that hung from the ceiling glared at her accusingly, making her feel naked and exposed.