Doctor Who_ Relative Dementias Part 7

'And by all accounts, it's pretty effective,' she concluded.

'We've had people in here in tears, buying everyone drinks 'cos their mother or father's made a miraculous recovery.' The girl asked what the treatment actually involved, and Claire could only shrug. 'All very hush hush, really,' she confided and then proceeded to prove that it was nothing of the sort by telling her that she'd heard it involved all sorts of electrical shocks and a host of strange chemical potions.

'I don't believe it myself, but Barry the landlord here says he's heard they make their patients drink their own, you know...

wee.'

The girl pulled a yeuch yeuch face and the two of them broke into disgusted giggles. Claire stopped herself, clasping her hand to her mouth. face and the two of them broke into disgusted giggles. Claire stopped herself, clasping her hand to her mouth.

'Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Not if your grandad is thinking of going there. Just pretend I didn't say anything, will you?'

Ace nodded good-naturedly. 'I'm Ace, by the way.'

'And what, exactly, are we pretending you didn't say?' said a voice suddenly, and Claire almost choked. A small man dark brown jacket, cream hat, ugly umbrella with a chunky red handle stood at the bar, raising a disapproving eyebrow at the half-finished pint of lager that stood in front of Ace.

'Oh, Professor! Um, just looking after this for someone.' Ace gave a thin smile and gently pushed the gla.s.s away, distancing herself from it. Claire smirked. 'This must be your grandad, then.'

'Doctor, this is...?' Claire stepped in with her name and Ace's grandad tipped his hat at her. It seemed a bit odd that she'd called her grandfather 'Doctor' maybe he had delusions about being a brain surgeon.

'Just remind me,' he said, a smile on his lips. 'What's the legal drinking age nowadays?' He darted a meaningful glance towards Ace's gla.s.s.

'So, Grandad, had a nice stroll?' Ace jumped in quickly not as old as she acted, then, Claire noted.

'Very nice, thank you. Gla.s.s of water for me, please.'

Claire set the Doctor's drink on the bar and tucked her short, dark hair back over her ear.

'So, you're a doctor, are you? Ace has been telling me you're thinking of going to Graystairs. 'Work or, urn, pleasure?'

The Doctor threw Ace a look half suspicion, half panic: obviously in denial, Claire thought, wishing she'd got further than chapter three. These two would make a great case-study.

The Doctor nodded knowingly. 'I wouldn't take any notice of Ace,' he said sotto voce sotto voce. 'Especially after a pint of lager.' He leaned closer to Claire and whispered theatrically, 'She gets confused, you know.'

Claire glanced sidelong at Ace with a slightly awkward laugh, as though they shared a secret, and nodded at the Doctor as if to say 'Of course she does.'

Ace jumped in again, almost knocking the remains of her pint over in the process. 'I was telling Claire about Graystairs,'

she said. The Doctor frowned at her. 'About how we're going up there to have a look round. Grandad Grandad.'

'Ahh, yes. Graystairs.' The Doctor paused suddenly, his bemused expression giving the impression that he was catching up, mentally juggling the strands of conversation. A cla.s.sic case, Claire thought. 'Ace here is very kindly taking me to have my head sorted,' he said. 'Apparently, she thinks something's come loose inside.'

'Don't worry, Grandad,' Ace said with a cheery smile, patting his arm. 'We'll get you sorted. We don't want you going for any more walks and having to be brought back from Dixons by the police with your pockets full of shoplifted radios.'

'No,' the Doctor replied, narrowing his eyes.

'And I'm not sure Mrs, er, Gale will be so understanding next time she finds you wandering in her back garden at two in the morning in your underpants.'

'I'm sure she won't.' The Doctor's eyes were tight little slits now almost as tight as his mouth.

'Well, you seem fine to me,' Claire said heartily although she wasn't at all sure that she'd sounded convincing.

'Anyway, Grandad. Claire says that Graystairs has got quite a reputation, apparently.'

And Ace proceeded to tell the Doctor everything that Claire had told her including the alleged drinking habits of the residents. The Doctor raised a dubious eyebrow. Claire felt she had to step in, just to make it clear that this was nothing more than third-or fourth-hand gossip.

'Don't worry,' Ace said breezily. 'It's his favourite!'

Claire went off to serve someone at the other end of the bar and the Doctor leaned in to Ace: 'And don't you even think of calling me "Grandad" once we get back to the TARDIS "Professor" is bad enough. Anyway, have you found out anything about Joyce or Graystairs other than whatever twaddle your friend's been feeding you?'

'Not really I spoke to one of the staff, a girl called Claudette. She thinks the place is a bit weird, too: told me that some bloke called Sooal who apparently owns the place was crying in his room, listening to cla.s.sical music.'

'It has that effect sometimes. I remember when Puccini had that terrible cold '

'Yeah, yeah. Well anyway, Claudette hasn't been on duty since Thursday, so she hasn't seen Joyce, but this Sooal bloke sounds seriously creepy.'

The Doctor looked disapproving or maybe just miffed because he hadn't had the chance to finish another of his dubious name-dropping anecdotes. 'Just because he cries to cla.s.sical music? Ace, really.'

'No, because Claudette made him sound seriously creepy: thin, bald, like some kind of albino goblin. She said she heard him smashing things up in his room before he started crying.

D'you reckon he could be an alien?'

'Ace,' he admonished gently. 'Mankind is quite capable of being "creepy" as you so sensitively put it without needing extraterrestrials to do it for them. And anyway,' he added, 'if he is, that makes two of them.'

'You've seen an alien?'

'I could be wrong,' he said, 'but if I remember my irises correctly, yes.'

'Flowers? What have flowers got to do with it?'

He sighed, leaned forward, and brought his finger sharply up to his own eye, halting it just a couple of millimetres from its surface. Or at least that's what she a.s.sumed: knowing the Doctor, he'd probably jabbed himself in the eye just for dramatic effect. 'I met someone today who had distinctly non-human irises. It sounds like Joyce had good reason to think there was something peculiar going on. Did anyone see you?'

'Only a couple of sweet old dears Connie and Jessie. Oh, and the dork that answered the door. Bernard, I think he was called. But he was a tent short of a campsite.'

'Good! Then I think it's time we paid Graystairs a visit. You know,' he said wistfully as he nodded a goodbye to Claire, 'I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have a granddaughter.'

'There's a choice,' said Megan, avoiding eye contact with either the Doctor or Ace, gazing blankly at something that seemed to be hovering above their heads. She was chewing gum and rocking her hips to music in her head (probably something naff like Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep, thought Ace and tried not to smile). Megan seemed a most unlikely care a.s.sistant.

When she'd opened the front doors of Graystairs to them, Ace had half wondered whether Megan was staff or resident.

She'd been only two rungs up the evolutionary ladder from Bernard who, thankfully, they saw no sign of. She had ushered them into an empty sitting room, pointed at a copy of T he he People's Friend People's Friend -with, mysteriously, the head of the cover model carefully torn out and told them cryptically: 'Sydney's been at it again, so if he offers to show you his sc.r.a.pbook, just say no.' -with, mysteriously, the head of the cover model carefully torn out and told them cryptically: 'Sydney's been at it again, so if he offers to show you his sc.r.a.pbook, just say no.'

Moments later, she'd returned to say that Doctor Menzies was doing his rounds, and that they could stay for tea until he could show them round. An offer that the Doctor at least hadn't been able to refuse.

'Splendid!' he enthused, his eyes sparkling like those of a child who's been offered a trip to McDonald's.

'Fritters or Dumfries pie?' asked Megan.

'Um.' The Doctor frowned and wiggled his mouth around.

'What would you recommend?'

'Fish and chips from the village chippy.'

'Oh. In that case I'll have the fritters. Ace?'

'Whatever,' replied Ace glumly, just hoping that Megan turned out to be a secret alien spy, and that she'd get the chance to whack her one at some point in the proceedings. 'Fritters too, I suppose.'

'Excellent choice, madam,' Megan said and shuffled away into the kitchen.

'I thought you were a veggie,' Ace hissed.

'When in Rome, Ace. When in Rome. Anyway, they might be vegetarian fritters.' He didn't look too hopeful.

Ace glanced around the dining room. 'How can they stand it?' she whispered. Five large tables, thirty or so chairs, and acres and acres of painfully clashing chintz and doilies; every available surface was covered with little mats, coasters and ornaments china ladies with parasols, bizarre creatures made out of sh.e.l.ls with goggly eyes, even a carved wooden African mask; a jumble sale of memories and experiences, crammed w.i.l.l.y-nilly into a lace-trimmed h.e.l.l. At the other end of the dining room, half a dozen of the residents were quietly finishing their meal. Ace wondered if Megan had positioned her and the Doctor as far away from them as possible on purpose. She smiled over at them, but the frail, birdlike woman who caught her glance returned it with a hard glare that made Ace turn away uncomfortably.

Suddenly, Megan slammed the kitchen door wide open, rattling the flowery plates on the dresser, and thrust her head into the room. 'Fritters is off,' she said.

'Dumfries pie it is, then,' said the Doctor, rubbing his hands.

'I can't wait.'

Minutes later, the two of them were staring disconsolately at an arrangement of food so dismal Ace felt as though they should be giving it a burial at sea rather than eating it. A crusty scab of pastry, covering what appeared to be chunks of bacon fat and tomatoes, nestled alongside a considerably undergenerous portion of pale chips and a scattering of wrinkly peas.

'Cruet's on the sideboard,' Megan informed them without so much as a backward glance as she shuffled back into the lounge to start the bingo, tugging down her skirt at the back for reasons known only to herself.

'I'm sure it is,' the Doctor said quietly. He pulled a mournful face at Ace and sighed.

She flicked a pea skilfully across the room where it fell into the cold fireplace, raising a halfhearted plume of ash. 'This is daft. Instead of sitting here being waited on by that great gawk, we could be searching for Joyce.'

'Well,' said the Doctor, and steepled his fingers together, elbowing the paper serviette in its pink plastic serviette ring out of the way. 'Let's think about this logically...'

Through the open door to the lounge, they could hear the dreary monotone of Megan calling the b.a.l.l.s as the bingo got under way.

'Two fat ladies... number six.'

'Joyce's note told me that something strange is happening here, and asked me to come and look into it.'

'Which we're doing,' Ace said.

'Key of the door... number ten.'

'Which we're doing. Something she found made her suspicious enough to write to me, rather than call the police.

And it was obviously something personal enough for her not to contact UNIT.'

'On its own... twenty-six.'

'And Mrs Christmas hasn't seen her since yesterday. So why don't we have a look around this establishment now, whilst it's quiet,' the Doctor said, pushing his plate away from him with a sigh. 'Judging by the deathly silence in there, there's a good chance that most of the residents will be in their rooms.'

'Probably boarded themselves in to stop her getting at them.

And from what Claudette said, half the staff have left recently, so it should be even quieter.'

'Two little ducks... number thirteen.'

'You know,' said the Doctor archly, glancing towards the lounge, 'something doesn't add up around here.'

Ace gave a grin as they stood up quietly and headed for the door to the hallway. Ducking back to the lounge, she opened her mouth to call 'bingo' as loudly as she could only to find it smothered by the Doctor's hand as he dragged her away.

'Spoilsport,' she muttered.

Throughout tea, Harry had been silent and withdrawn, eating his fritters with his head down. George sat opposite him, picking at his food. Every time George thought of a harmless, friendly comment to make, he only had to catch sight of Harry's face, dark and intense creepy, frankly and he changed his mind.

Since Harry's odd outburst in the gardens, they had hardly spoken. Connie and Jessie, the two dippy sisters, had come along to call them in for the meal, chattering away about how they were off for their next treatment session straight afterwards, and how they were so excited that they'd lost their appet.i.tes. Jessie, George thought, was showing definite signs of improvement at least compared to Connie: she seemed less easily distracted, more focussed than she had before. Maybe she was going to be the next to recover. Megan had seen them and, with wild, cartwheeling motions of her arms, had waved the four of them back into the house. They'd trooped in for tea and George had noticed a couple of newcomers at the other end of the dining room a middle-aged man and a young girl, maybe his daughter.

Something in Harry's changed manner scared George; and yet, he felt a creeping envy. Was this how he would be when his his treatment finally kicked in? It wasn't how Jessie seemed to be responding to hers. Was there any guarantee that it would work for him at all? Sometimes he felt so angry with himself, with his screwed-up, broken brain. He knew that he was in Graystairs because he wasn't altogether there. Most of the others denied there was anything wrong with them, claiming Graystairs was some sort of holiday home and they were there just to give their sons or daughters or spouses a bit of a rest. But George knew the truth. He seemed to remember coming to Graystairs on a coach, along with a dozen other muttering, incoherent people, all of them gazing around, bemused and baffled. That had been.. treatment finally kicked in? It wasn't how Jessie seemed to be responding to hers. Was there any guarantee that it would work for him at all? Sometimes he felt so angry with himself, with his screwed-up, broken brain. He knew that he was in Graystairs because he wasn't altogether there. Most of the others denied there was anything wrong with them, claiming Graystairs was some sort of holiday home and they were there just to give their sons or daughters or spouses a bit of a rest. But George knew the truth. He seemed to remember coming to Graystairs on a coach, along with a dozen other muttering, incoherent people, all of them gazing around, bemused and baffled. That had been..

he wasn't sure, but it must have been a couple of years ago at least. Before that there was nothing. He remembered, shortly after they'd arrived, talking to Megan, and her filling him in on all sorts of details from his past the colour of his wife's hair, the number of children they'd had. Occasionally he had flashes, but they were so short, so dreamlike that they made no sense. He had no framework into which he could integrate them. They were like shards of other people's memories, dislocated and, occasionally, violent. Maybe if that was his past, he didn't want want to remember. to remember.

He gave a start as Harry threw down his fork noisily. Some of the other residents at the table threw him disapproving looks especially Beattie but it was clear Harry didn't care. He pushed his chair back and stood up.

'Hang on,' George said, positioning his knife and fork together. 'I'll come with you.'

It was strange how different smells brought to mind different ages, different memories, thought Ace. The TARDIS always had a cool, neutral smell hints of ozone and camphor which she now realized added to its comforting, safe atmosphere. She couldn't remember the smells of her old home in Perivale, but she knew that if she ever smelled them again, they'd bring up a whole jumble of memories, none of which would be totally comfortable.

Here in Graystairs, the main notes were of pot pourri and pine disinfectant, with tiny hints of... she didn't like to think of what the tiny hints were. She caught sight of a commode through an open doorway and, instinctively, her hand went to her nose. The Doctor didn't seem to notice or, more likely, didn't care. The two of them did an almost complete circuit of the building, skirting round the main dining room, the residents'

lounge and the visitors' lounge, before finding themselves back in the hallway. Some of the residents were just finishing their meal, and they almost literally ran into two elderly men with thick, silver-white hair as they came out. The Doctor doffed his hat to them and one of them nodded. His friend seemed distracted, hardly noticing them, pushing rudely between them as he headed up the stairs. The one who'd nodded gave an apologetic smile as he followed his companion.

'Watch out here she comes!' hissed Ace, grabbing the Doctor by the jacket and pulling him into the shadows under the stairs as Megan came charging out, arms flailing, and bellowed up the stairs that they were missing the bingo and that she wasn't running it for the good of her health. She waited for a moment, hands on hips, and then strode back into the lounge, grumbling under her breath.

'Aha!' Ace heard the Doctor say, and turned to find him opening a small door under the stairs.

'Shouldn't we be upstairs looking for Joyce?'

'Cellars are much more interesting places, Ace: they're where everyone keeps their secrets, as I'm sure I've told you before.'

He gave her a crafty look and wiggled his eyebrows. 'And it might just be where they're hiding all the missing staff. Come on!' Ace opened her mouth to say that it was just as likely that Joyce was locked in a spare bedroom, but the Doctor had ducked through the doorway and was already out of sight.

Glancing back to make sure they hadn't been seen, Ace followed him, pulling the door closed behind her.