Torchwood First Born (7 page)

'It's Wales,' I pointed out. 'It's raining. What do you do with the rest of the day?'

Tom muttered very quietly.

'He really can't say,' whispered Josh, holding a finger to his lips. 'Even I don't know exactly. Not that it's top secret. Oh no. Although if it were, he wouldn't be able to say that.'

'Shaddup,' growled Tom, kicking him. 'I'm a meteorologist. Really.'

'He really is.' Josh leaned forward and helped himself to another beer.

I joined in the laughter. 'Yeah, but come on... It's got to be a military base of some kind?'

'It is a monitoring station,' repeated Tom.

'Monitoring the kids?' I asked.

Tom wouldn't say any more. He was clearly hiding something. But that was all I was going to get out of them. For the moment. There was that little tell-tale feeling in the air, like there was more to come. I'd get it out of them, sooner or later.

We drank some more, finished the pizza and then Josh stood up. 'Right, this is where we love you and leave you.' He yawned. 'We're walking home through the rain. You guys can get some top-notch zizzing in.'

As he stepped out into the rain, Tom murmured,

'Hope you're feeling a bit better.'

I shrugged. I didn't really know. I said I'd be fine.

They walked away. I leaned on Rhys. 'I've had two whole bottles of beer,' I giggled. 'I feel all warm and squidgy.'

'Hey-ho,' he sighed. 'I married a lightweight.'

'Has its advantages,' I said.

'Oh. Right.'

In the middle of the night, Rhys got out of bed to feed the baby. He was gone a long time, and I missed him.

I dreamed again. I dreamed I was in a big grey
building surrounded by body bags, all of them a
strange, cheery shade of red.

I crossed the hall, my footsteps echoing on the lino,
marked out for ball games. They led me, not quite at
gunpoint, towards two body bags.

My friends, Jack and Ianto, had died trying to
save us all.

I unzipped the bags and looked at their faces,
oddly alike in death. Both of them looked strangely
peaceful, as though glad of a rest.

But I knew that at any moment, one of them was
going to wake up. Jack Harkness would sit bolt
upright, gasping for air. For a moment, he'd smile,
relieved to see me, and then he'd remember, remember
that Ianto was never going to open his eyes again.

Then we'd realise we had no idea what to say, so
we'd just hold each other, looking down at the body of
Ianto Jones, lying there in that great big grim sports
hall.

Only this time, in the dream, I waited ever such a
long while and neither of them came back to life.

Rhys

I stood in the road throwing stones at the police station. I was angry. I was also feeling a little stupid.

It was a tiny little building - like a suburban two-up-two-down, with a cop shop in the living room and a small flat upstairs. I'd tried hammering on the door.

I didn't really know why I was there, but I did know that I wanted to hit PC Tony Brown quite a lot until I stopped shaking.

But the bloody door wouldn't open. So I was throwing gravel at the window and shouting.

A hand touched me lightly on the shoulder.

'Gah!' I gasped, startled.

It was one of the Scions. A girl. She was just standing there, at three o'clock in the morning.

She spoke. 'Good morning.' Her voice was completely flat. What are you doing?'

'Hello,' I said. 'It's Jenny, isn't it?'

'Yes,' she agreed.

What are you doing up at this hour?'

She considered the question. 'I have not acquired the habit of sleeping.' She shrugged. 'So I walk. My mother does not like it. It rains at night. My clothes get wet. My mother says I will catch cold.' A sudden slyness came in. 'But I do not catch colds.' A pause.

What are you doing?'

Trying to wake up a policeman.'

'Have you phoned 999?' she asked.

'No.'

'That is what you are supposed to do,' she confided.

'Not in this case. This is private.'

'I understand. Would you like to see the Police Constable?'

'Bloody right I would.'

Jenny strode forward and looked at the frosted glass door. 'You have tried knocking?'

'Yes.' I was impatient, desperately hoping she'd go away.

'Do you think he is hurt?'

'Hope so.'

'Then he could be in trouble?'

'Heaps.'

'Heaps.' Jenny repeated the word, considering this. While she did it, she twisted the door knob. The lock made a sudden pop and the door swung open.

'There,' she announced. 'I am strong.'

I looked at the door. And wondered what to do.

What to do. This was mad.

'Would you like me to come with you?' she asked.

'No,' I said. I made up my mind. 'No. Thank you.

Can you run along home now?

She nodded. 'I can.' But she didn't move.

Not labouring the point, but the whole situation was a bit creepy. A bit? A lot.

Jenny was nice. She was helpful. But there was also something utterly, utterly wrong about her.

Just standing there in the 3 a.m. drizzle. Placid.

Unconcerned. A mannequin. I remembered Mrs Harries's words. There was something not quite right about the children. Jenny stood there, her long locks impossibly neat around her. Her face mildly interested. Unconcerned.

I stepped towards the doorway, but a movement beyond startled me. The door swung open and a man stood there. Dishevelled. Bleary. Tired. Drunk. He blinked at me.

'Ohhhh...' he said.

I hit him.

I was a bit surprised by that. But it was absolutely the right thing to do. The odd thing is he didn't fight back, he just dropped like a stone. I stood there.

Feeling a bit odd. Like, what did I do now?

I realised he was crying. A large, ugly man curled up and sobbing.

'I'm sorry,' he bleated. His voice was wet and snotty. He didn't seem anything other than pathetic.

T am so sorry.'

Jenny stepped forward, interested. 'Why is Mr Brown sad? Why are you hitting him?'

'Because he's an arsehole,' I said.

Brown looked up. Not at me, but at the child. And he flinched. 'What are you doing here?' he shouted.

'Watching,' Jenny replied. 'You are sad and injured. Why is this?'

'Because of you!' he snarled, suddenly, leaping up, tottering on his feet. 'You! This is what you've...

you...' He stopped and leaned back against a wall, sinking slightly. His breath wafted over to me, a drunk's tangle of beer and spirits. He started crying again, wiping a hand across his eyes. 'I am so sorry.' His voice was thick with self-pity. 'You don't know... You don't know what it's like... You don't understand.'

'No, no I don't. What were you trying to do to my wife?' I said.

He stopped, mid snivel. 'I only wanted... I wanted a
cwtch,
a cuddle.' He went quiet.
Cuddle.
It's one of those words, isn't it? It's a bit Hallmark at the best of times. But it really didn't fit what he'd tried to do to Gwen.

As though sensing my rage boiling up again, Jenny stepped forward hurriedly. 'You are lonely?'

she asked him, her face curious.

Tony didn't look at the child, but carried on speaking, deflating with every word. 'You just don't get it, do you, mate? You don't know what this place is like. There's no escape. There is no hope here...

But your wife. She is so beautiful. She's a proper woman. A real woman. She's... ripe.'

I hit him again. It seemed the right thing to do.

Again.

Jenny blinked with surprise.

He stood up after that, trying to straighten himself out. I suddenly realised how beefy and strong he was when he stood up to his full height. A meaty plate of a hand landed gently on my shoulder.

'Strictly speaking,' he said, his voice thick with booze and exhaustion, 'you shouldn't hit a policeman.' He smiled a crooked smile. 'But I bloody deserve it. I...

I just... She was there and she was so... You only realise what's missing when you suddenly see the real thing.' He shook his head. 'Is she OK?'

'No,' I said.

'Right,' he nodded. Then he groaned and started to cry again, grizzling away. "What have I done?' He swung back to Jenny. What have you made me do?'

'I have made you do nothing,' she seemed puzzled.

Tony stumbled forward. We were both standing on his porch, in the damp and the freezing cold. He was wearing a rumpled T-shirt and a bloody hideous pair of boxer shorts. He looked pathetic. Utterly. His bunched hand pointed at the girl.

'You... you remind me that this place...' he slurred, repeating himself. 'This place is so wrong.

That we are wrong. And every bloody day we have to look at you. The best thing we can manage.' He took another step towards her, and then, with a sudden snarl, lashed out.

Jenny didn't blink. She just reached out with a hand, closing on his wrist. 'Mrs Harries says I am not to let other people hit me,' she announced. Tony gave a yell as she turned her hand slightly and his arm twisted a little wrong. Then she let go.

Tony crumpled back against his front door. 'See?'

he hissed at me. 'See? What kind of a bloody child is that?' He cradled his arm in his other hand. 'You've broken my arm!' he wailed.

'No more than you deserve, mate,' I said, feeling a terrible satisfaction.

'I have not broken your arm,' said Jenny. 'There is merely mild tearing in the rotator cuff. That is all.'

The policeman swore at her, straightening unsteadily. 'I need a bloody drink,' he announced, wobbling back inside. 'You want one?' he asked, with a woozy kind of hospitality.

'No.'

'No thank you,' said Jenny politely.

'I wasn't asking you,' snapped Tony. His paw wiped at the sweat on his brow as he frowned, staring and thinking and staring some more. What a bloody mess, eh? Think I'd better go back to bed. Look, are we done? Are we OK?'

'Don't come near my wife again.' I couldn't think what else to say. There are situations where even the best words you can come up with are a bit lame.

He smiled a little. T couldn't. I just couldn't. You are such a lucky man. She is perfect.'

'Yeah,' I said. 'She bloody is.'

'I am so sorry.' His voice had become a whine. 'I am so sorry for what I've done.' He vanished inside his house and started to crawl up the stairs like an old dog.

'Shall I close the door?' asked Jenny.

I shrugged, indifferent.

'Do you still wish to make sure that he is all right?'

'No,' I said. 'I'm going home.'

'I see,' she replied. 'I shall continue to walk. There are still two and a half hours until my mother wakes up. I may go and pick some flowers.'

'Right then,' I said, 'Good night.'

'Yes,' she said. I walked away. She stood there in the rain. Her eyes open. I couldn't tell if she was watching me or not.

Gwen was still fast asleep. Anwen stirred slightly in her cot. She made a noise that could have meant
Is
that you, Daddy ?
or
Is there food?

'Hush,' I said, lifting her up, ever so gently. 'Let's not wake Mum, eh?' I went to the fridge and gave her some milk. Then I plonked her back in the cot and settled down in the chair, staring at her through the bars. She looked so peaceful, so innocent, her little tiny baby snores the only sound in the world.

I fell asleep.

Eloise

So, another shitty day at work.

Tom was hung over, which was a great help.

He sat there, cradling a 'World's Worst Boss' mug.

Some toast was on the table next to him, along with a game on his phone that was commanding most of his attention. In front of him, the massed processors of the monitoring station churned away, performing countless thousands of computations a second. And the only screen he was looking at was a gossip site about Angelina Jolie.

'Hey!' he called. Even his hair was hung over, the curl quite gone.

'Rough night?' I asked.

'Oh, nothing deadly,' he assured me. 'Just a little bit full of beer and pizza. But all in a good cause.

Listen, there's something I need to talk to you about...'

'Is it about Angelina? Is she adopting another orphan?'

'No, it's actually quite different.'

Then Sebastian came in. Sebastian is as unlike Tom as you could hope for. Sebastian is younger, and altogether more efficient. Tom was sat there in a rumpled-yet-fashionable T-shirt, pale, interesting, bored. Sebastian was wearing a suit. I've told him there's really no need, but he insists. He says he likes it. He always greets me in the morning with a freshly made coffee.

When you're from Seattle, you grow up to appreciate a good cup of coffee. Of course, there is no such thing as a good cup of coffee in Wales. Scratch that. There is no such thing as a good cup of coffee in Great Britain. I sometimes wonder if it's the water, or if they just don't quite get it. But it's like they've all missed a memo. Or just want you drink more tea.

Sebastian, however, really gets coffee. I don't know what we'd do without him. We're lucky to have him.

He also does most of the work. Tom, sadly, is mostly window dressing. Pretty window dressing.

But all the same.

It's odd, but there I was in the middle of bloody nowhere, working with two men who could probably get work as male models. When I was young, I always wanted to work abroad. Somewhere exciting and foreign. I never dreamt it would be Wales. But there I was, and the work was utterly fascinating.

The whole idea of a controlled village was just...

I mean, clearly it occasionally gave me the ethical heebie-jeebies. But the Scions were the best hope these poor people had. It's fascinating, and at the same time just utterly thunder-facing. The nice thing about Sebastian and Tom is that they don't challenge me morally. Sebastian agrees with me, and Tom doesn't really care. He just likes the work.

Well, the pretty much total lack of work.