DW Fic - Simmer Dim (14/18)
Title - Simmer Dim (14/18)
Author - joely_jo
Characters - Ten/Rose, Mickey, OCs
Rating - R (for language and adult content)
Summary - With the events of Doomsday just a distant memory, Rose Tyler and Mickey Smith make a discovery that they cannot leave alone. But what they find will take Rose on a journey she never expected. Will she come to terms with what she’s faced with, or will the carefully constructed life she’s built for herself come crashing down?
Author’s Notes - I confess to a little recycling with this fic. The idea for this story actually began with the fic I wrote for the OSK Summer Lovin’ Ficathon, The Storm Inside, which in turn was inspired by watching the episodes Human Nature and Family of Blood. I thought it would be interesting to look at what happened to Rose post-Doomsday, but also to try to portray what I perceive to be the unconditional attraction between the Doctor and Rose. I swore I was going to scale down my DW writing after Myths and Legends, but here we are again… It’s another long one, so I hope you enjoy it!
Many thanks to my betas sensiblecat and most especially aibhinn without whose reassurance I may never have worked up the guts to post this.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Time passed. The summer wore on and the nights began to draw in. Rose’s life returned to the way it had been before; she went back to work and slipped back into her comfortable role as mother to Jonny and friend to Mickey. School started again and Jonny bemoaned the fact that his sailing lessons took second place to the hours he had to spend in the classroom. At Rose’s request, his teachers provided him with extra work to stretch him and it wasn’t long before nine was soon to become ten and Jonny was excitedly planning what gifts everyone could buy him for his birthday.
It was one of those heady, warm Sunday afternoons in early September and Jonny was buried deep in a sailing magazine, chattering aimlessly to anyone who would listen about Helly Hansen jackets, Swiss Army knives, Typhoon wetsuits and, his latest obsession, expensive waterproof watches, when Mickey let himself into the back garden and found Rose catching the last of the summer’s sunshine in her steamer chair. “Hey,” he greeted, as he slipped the catch on the gate back into place. Rose opened her eyes behind her sunglasses and turned her head towards him, peering at him.
Mickey was dressed appropriately for the mild weather, in long shorts and a tight-fitting grey t-shirt and grinned down at her as he moved towards her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his fly-like mirrored sunglasses but knew from the tug of his lips that he was enjoying the view of her in nothing but a bikini. She sat up and saw that he was holding a couple of files under his arm, along with a four pack of Peroni Nastro Azzurro. “I brought lager,” he explained with a nod of his head, “and there’s those Marks and Spencer kebabs that Jonny likes in the boot of the car.”
On cue, Jonny heard Mickey’s voice and leaped up from the picnic rug he was lounging on underneath the apple tree and charged towards him, yelling his name out loud. Mickey set the bottles of beer down on the floor and swept the over-eager little boy up in his arms and swung him around. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, grinning as he set Jonny back on his feet.
Rose stood up and reached for her sarong. “You don’t have to cover up on my behalf,” Mickey teased, but Rose just shot him with a look and tied the piece of gauzy cloth around her hips. He told Jonny about the kebabs and then chucked the car keys at him, instructing him to nip out to the driveway and get them in before they got warm. Jonny did as he was asked and that left Rose alone with Mickey.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked. “I’ve got cold cider in the fridge until those lagers cool down.”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied.
He followed her into the kitchen, where she selected two tall glasses and poured out the contents of a large single bottle of cider into them, then handed him one. He took a long sip and moaned in delight. He set the glass down on the side and wordlessly handed her the two files he’d still got under his arm.
Taking them, Rose wondered why he was bringing work to her on a Sunday, but then, as he removed his sunglasses, she saw the expression on his face and realised that the files were something other than work. Something they’d both sworn not to bring up again.
It had taken Rose a good few weeks to begin to deal with the manner of her leaving Shetland. She’d travelled through a spectrum of emotions, from sadness and grief, annoyance and anger through to what was, now, a sort of resigned numbness. She’d refused to let the memory of what had happened die away, but equally, she’d known that floundering around trying to establish whys and wherefores was only going to wind up making her depressed again and she couldn’t afford to put Jonny through that. Instead, she’d done what she’d done before - she’d got on with her life and told Mickey to do the same. But there had always been something, a tiny little spark in the back of her mind that had told her not to give up hope completely. After all, the fact that she was in this situation at all told her that miracles did happen and usually when you were least expecting them.
With a tentative hand she reached out and took the files from him. “You’ve found something out, haven’t you?” she asked.
He tilted his head on one side then replied, “Yes. It’s more a reason and an explanation than a solution, though.”
She opened the files and pulled out the sheets of paper contained within them and, as she flicked through them, Mickey explained, “You remember I said about the strange reading we had on the Bucker-Meisfeld scale about four years ago?” Rose nodded. “Well, I was convinced there was something in that. It was unexplained and you know what I feel about unexplained stuff - it’s rare that it’s actually unexplainable, just that we don’t yet have the knowledge to explain it.”
He took another drink and shifted in his place. “Anyway, I ran some tests, pulled some strings with a couple of mates who work in the labs at MI6 and, well, I was pretty shocked by what came up.” Reaching over her, he tugged a pale yellow sheet of flimsy paper from the pile and pulled it to the top. It looked like some kind of laboratory results form. “Look down here,” he said, pointing to a line of numbers about half way down the page. “This is an ionic tracery. And this says, quite clearly, that the energy surge we recorded had its origins outside of our universe.”
Rose stared at the figures. They meant nothing to her, but Mickey’s words sank in and hit her hard. The energy surge had been caused by the Doctor. “There’s more,” Mickey continued. “It’s artificial. There is nothing in the universe, in the past, present or the future that could have created it. I got them to double check that but it’s 100% certain - it was definitely artificial. And if I had to guess, I’d say it had its origins in the TARDIS, some kind of side-effect of the Doctor breaking through to this universe. It might also explain why he was injured: even small doses of ionic energy have been known to permanently disturb brain function in laboratory rats, so who knows what a surge like that might have done to a Time Lord brain?”
There was nothing more to say. Rose swallowed and, after a moment, handed the files back to Mickey, just as Jonny piled into the kitchen, balancing three overflowing plastic bags. “Good God, Mickey!” Rose exclaimed, grasping the distraction with both hands. “I thought you’d just bought kebabs?”
Mickey shrugged. “Oh, and one or two other bits.”
She took the bags from Jonny and set them on the kitchen table, fishing their contents out and passing them to Jonny, who eagerly examined every carton and box and then rushed them to the sideboard. “I think we’ll have to put these on the barbecue,” she said. “Jonny, go and get it out of the garage. You can manage the gas canister, can’t you?”
“Course I can, Mum,” he admonished and bounded out of the room again.
Rose sighed and turned slowly to Mickey. “Thank you for all the effort you’ve put into this,” she murmured. “I really am grateful. But, it doesn’t change anything, does it? Not really, at any rate. I knew who he was the minute I set eyes on him and whether he fell out of the Vortex, like we did before, or whether he got here on his own back is irrelevant. I have to leave him to come to his own decisions.”
“But what if he never does, Rose? Will you be able to live with the knowledge that he’s out there, living his life without you?”
She drew in a deep breath. She’d spent hours asking herself the same questions over the last two months and it had taken all her strength to accept that there was nothing she could do. If the Doctor was not willing to see for himself, then she couldn’t make him. “I have to, Mickey,” she said. “He’s his own person and I can’t force him to think the way I want him to, no matter how much of a lie he’s living. I have to accept that he might not ever come back to me and I have to get on with my life as if he’s still stuck in the other universe.” She sighed. “It’s not what I want, but if there’s one thing the Doctor taught me above all else it’s that you’ve got to do what’s right.”
Mickey was silent for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “I understand, Rose,” he said in a quiet voice. He reached out and squeezed her arm, rubbing it in comfort. He turned his head to look out of the kitchen window and saw Jonny manhandling the barbecue out onto the patio. “Come on,” he said and held out his hand for her. “Let’s go and make sure he doesn’t have a collision with your petunias.”
****
The Simmer Dim began to fade and John Smith got on with his life. He went to sea, caught his fish, returned to harbour, docked and sold. On his off days he cleaned the boat, painted the woodwork and replaced the main ropes, then moved onto the mechanics, avoiding stepping back on land for as much as possible. Back on land were memories, and possibilities, and it was far easier to ignore them than do something about them. It was late August when he finally turned around and noticed how much time had passed. They were back to nights where the sun actually set and it was no longer possible to sit out at night without artificial light.
Garriock was still in the hospital, still sleeping, and Smith visited him whenever he could, praying for something other than silence and stillness while he sat. The police had arrested Jackie Cartwright and he’d been sentenced to two years in prison for the deliberate and calculated attack on Greg Garriock, but Finn MacDonald had escaped. The wiry fisherman had not been seen since the fateful night when Smith had exacted his revenge and Rose had left; and Smith was happy with that. He hoped he’d never have to see MacDonald again.
But, no matter how busy he kept, he found his thoughts still turned to images of a blonde woman with eyes darker than the midnight sea. He’d refused to throw the t-shirt she’d borrowed in the wash and had kept it close to him for weeks afterwards, laying it on his pillow before he went to sleep until the last traces of her perfume vanished and were replaced by his own familiar smell.
He’d told himself time and again that he was being ridiculous and that it was pathetic for a grown man to be obsessing over a woman like this, but it made little difference. She still filled his thoughts and the dreams grew more bizarre.
It had been three weeks after she’d left that he’d had another strange vision at night. He’d become convinced that they were more than dreams when he woke one night and the images continued to flood his mind long after he opened his eyes. That time, he’d been hanging above a dark space, seemingly bottomless, and talking to someone. A voice had responded and he’d been filled with a tremendous urge to jump, to fall, but thoughts of her had made him pause and he’d told the voice to tell her… something… But then, before he’d been able to make out what he was saying, he’d fallen and the sensation of falling had shattered the dream and thrown him dizzily out of bed.
The dreams had plagued him on and off since then: metal shapes moving in the darkness, a dark-haired man with a flashy smile, a million people screaming and crying, and the now familiar bluish tunnel and hollow echo. He didn’t know what they were but he knew enough to know that if he went to hospital with such a complaint, they’d probably lock him up and never let him see the light of day again.
Last night he’d seen a child from the Blitz and the echo of Moonlight Serenade being played on an old-fashioned radio and the tune was still on his mind as he sat in the Peerie Coffee Shop eating his breakfast. Sal the proprietor gave him extra top-ups of tea without him even asking and, as if she could read his mood, stayed well away. Even the other fishermen took one look at him and veered away. Smith knew he’d become something of a misery in the past few months and the few friends he had were already beginning to drift away.
But he didn’t care. Life was easy when you didn’t have to worry about other people.
The bell above the door jangled and he looked up to see Melissa entering, her dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders in thick ringlets. She made straight for him. “Morning,” he greeted simply. She swung the chair opposite him around and straddled it, looking at him critically. He’d lost the desire to look after himself since Rose had gone and his chin was now covered thickly with stubble and his hair uncombed and wild.
“You look like shit,” she noted casually.
“Thanks.”
“No worries,” she replied. She reached over and picked up his mug, taking a deep drink of his tea.
“Hey!” objected Smith.
She eyeballed him and he sank back in his seat. There was a long silence, during which Melissa rearranged the salt and pepper pots and the flowers in the tabletop vase and Smith stared at her. “I’ve just come from the hospital,” she said. “Greg came round late last night.”
Smith’s mouth fell open. Had he heard correctly? “Greg’s awake?” he questioned dumbly.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I spoke to him. He was groggy but quite normal. They’re pleased with his cognitive function.”
It took him a few seconds to process the information, and then he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ve got to go and see him,” he announced, but Melissa grabbed his arm.
“Steady on,” she said. “He asked for you, but you need to know that he’s not up to much talking. He’s still sleepy.”
Smith shook her arm free and replied, “It doesn’t matter. I just want to see him.”
And he did. He’d missed having someone else to share his troubles with, and had certainly missed the male presence to talk to after Rose had left. MacDonald had remained AWOL and Smith had been left questioning whether he’d done the right thing, especially in light of the strange dreams he’d been having. He didn’t think that Garriock would be able to explain them any more than he could, but he had no doubt that he would have something helpful to say about Rose. Though it would help if he knew what to say himself…
****
Garriock’s face had healed impressively in the months that had passed. He was pale but still recognisable and the bruises on his cheeks and around his eyes had faded to nothing more than greenish yellow patches. As Smith walked in, he rolled his head toward the sound of the opening door and fixed his friend with a wide smile. “Smith…” he said, the pleasure evident in his tone.
Smith walked in through the door, brandishing the two pieces of flapjack he’d procured from Sal before leaving the coffee shop. He handed his friend one of the slices and Garriock eagerly accepted it. “Oh, thank God,” he murmured, “you brought food! I was beginning to starve on this hospital shite. And I’ve only been awake ten hours.” He chuckled to himself.
“It’s good to hear your voice again,” Smith noted. He pulled up one of the now familiar plastic chairs and sank into it, leaning forward to study his friend. There seemed to be nothing obviously wrong with him, though there was still an IV line running into his arm. Garriock noticed him staring and smiled.
“I’m fine,” he explained. “The doctors are really pleased with the scans and my responses to stimuli. They reckon I could be out of here in a couple of days. Which is great news.” There was a pause. “I heard what happened with Cartwright and MacDonald,” he said.
Smith looked down at his shoes. “Yeah…”
Garriock continued, “And what happened with Rose Tyler…”
Climbing to his feet restlessly, Smith moved to the window and stared out, looking down onto the grey concrete of the car park below. He chuffed out a breath. Behind him, Garriock shifted in his bed, the plastic covering on the mattress squeaking as he did so. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked after a while.
“You were an idiot, Smith,” replied his friend with cheerful condemnation. “A real fucking idiot.”
Smith spun around and stared at Garriock, amazed at his candidness. “I mean, I don’t pretend to understand what it was she was claiming, but I know you and you must have felt something for her if you did everything that Melissa says you did with her.” He paused. “You fell in love with her, didn’t you?”
A frown crossed his face. Was it so patently obvious? “I don’t know, Greg… I…” He stopped and shook his head, angry with his own inability to explain his feelings.
“Look,” Garriock began, “I don’t know much about love and relationships, but I know this: if you love a woman you shouldn’t turn your back on it like that. No matter what. We only get so many chances, you know.” He paused. “And you… well, you deserve a chance to be happy, Smith. Perhaps more than anyone else I know. You’ve been through enough already.”
“Yeah…” agreed Smith. Had he been really listening to his friend’s words, he would have wanted to know what Garriock meant by that last sentence, but he was far away, thinking already of what to do to make things right.
****
The plates were piled dirty on the garden table as Rose and Mickey sat back in their chairs and talked quietly. It was late now, and the sun had completely set, leaving them in darkness. The little solar lights Rose had around the flower beds had come on, casting pools of weak white light that were attracting moths, and the three candles she’d grabbed from the living room set flickering shadows dancing around them. Jonny had gone to bed about an hour ago and Mickey was on his fourth beer, Rose having already offered him the spare room to sleep in.
She sighed and kicked her flip flops off, lifting up her feet to rest them on the tabletop. “Oh, I’m so full,” she moaned. “I’m not sure I can move.”
Mickey chuckled. The food he’d brought had included kebabs and chicken drumsticks and sausages and it had been more than enough for the three of them. Rose, as a result, had eaten more than she probably should have done. She’d popped the button on her shorts and was sitting bloated and sated in the same chair she’d been in all night. “We should probably clean up. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“So have I,” she sighed.
They looked at each other and said at the same moment: “Dishwasher.”
Rose laughed. “Yeah, definitely. Come on.”
She was just pushing her feet back into her flip flops when the kitchen door clicked open. She turned to see Jonny stumbling outside in his pyjamas, clutching the teddy bear he tried to pretend he didn’t like to take to bed with him. His face was troubled and his eyes found his mother’s straight away. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she asked, rushing toward him, her mind thinking of stomach aches and fevers.
“Mum…” He stopped and the bear fell to the floor. “Mum, I think I’ve just seen Dad…”
To be continued...
Author - joely_jo
Characters - Ten/Rose, Mickey, OCs
Rating - R (for language and adult content)
Summary - With the events of Doomsday just a distant memory, Rose Tyler and Mickey Smith make a discovery that they cannot leave alone. But what they find will take Rose on a journey she never expected. Will she come to terms with what she’s faced with, or will the carefully constructed life she’s built for herself come crashing down?
Author’s Notes - I confess to a little recycling with this fic. The idea for this story actually began with the fic I wrote for the OSK Summer Lovin’ Ficathon, The Storm Inside, which in turn was inspired by watching the episodes Human Nature and Family of Blood. I thought it would be interesting to look at what happened to Rose post-Doomsday, but also to try to portray what I perceive to be the unconditional attraction between the Doctor and Rose. I swore I was going to scale down my DW writing after Myths and Legends, but here we are again… It’s another long one, so I hope you enjoy it!
Many thanks to my betas sensiblecat and most especially aibhinn without whose reassurance I may never have worked up the guts to post this.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Time passed. The summer wore on and the nights began to draw in. Rose’s life returned to the way it had been before; she went back to work and slipped back into her comfortable role as mother to Jonny and friend to Mickey. School started again and Jonny bemoaned the fact that his sailing lessons took second place to the hours he had to spend in the classroom. At Rose’s request, his teachers provided him with extra work to stretch him and it wasn’t long before nine was soon to become ten and Jonny was excitedly planning what gifts everyone could buy him for his birthday.
It was one of those heady, warm Sunday afternoons in early September and Jonny was buried deep in a sailing magazine, chattering aimlessly to anyone who would listen about Helly Hansen jackets, Swiss Army knives, Typhoon wetsuits and, his latest obsession, expensive waterproof watches, when Mickey let himself into the back garden and found Rose catching the last of the summer’s sunshine in her steamer chair. “Hey,” he greeted, as he slipped the catch on the gate back into place. Rose opened her eyes behind her sunglasses and turned her head towards him, peering at him.
Mickey was dressed appropriately for the mild weather, in long shorts and a tight-fitting grey t-shirt and grinned down at her as he moved towards her. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his fly-like mirrored sunglasses but knew from the tug of his lips that he was enjoying the view of her in nothing but a bikini. She sat up and saw that he was holding a couple of files under his arm, along with a four pack of Peroni Nastro Azzurro. “I brought lager,” he explained with a nod of his head, “and there’s those Marks and Spencer kebabs that Jonny likes in the boot of the car.”
On cue, Jonny heard Mickey’s voice and leaped up from the picnic rug he was lounging on underneath the apple tree and charged towards him, yelling his name out loud. Mickey set the bottles of beer down on the floor and swept the over-eager little boy up in his arms and swung him around. “Hey, kiddo,” he said, grinning as he set Jonny back on his feet.
Rose stood up and reached for her sarong. “You don’t have to cover up on my behalf,” Mickey teased, but Rose just shot him with a look and tied the piece of gauzy cloth around her hips. He told Jonny about the kebabs and then chucked the car keys at him, instructing him to nip out to the driveway and get them in before they got warm. Jonny did as he was asked and that left Rose alone with Mickey.
“Do you want a drink?” she asked. “I’ve got cold cider in the fridge until those lagers cool down.”
“Sounds good to me,” he replied.
He followed her into the kitchen, where she selected two tall glasses and poured out the contents of a large single bottle of cider into them, then handed him one. He took a long sip and moaned in delight. He set the glass down on the side and wordlessly handed her the two files he’d still got under his arm.
Taking them, Rose wondered why he was bringing work to her on a Sunday, but then, as he removed his sunglasses, she saw the expression on his face and realised that the files were something other than work. Something they’d both sworn not to bring up again.
It had taken Rose a good few weeks to begin to deal with the manner of her leaving Shetland. She’d travelled through a spectrum of emotions, from sadness and grief, annoyance and anger through to what was, now, a sort of resigned numbness. She’d refused to let the memory of what had happened die away, but equally, she’d known that floundering around trying to establish whys and wherefores was only going to wind up making her depressed again and she couldn’t afford to put Jonny through that. Instead, she’d done what she’d done before - she’d got on with her life and told Mickey to do the same. But there had always been something, a tiny little spark in the back of her mind that had told her not to give up hope completely. After all, the fact that she was in this situation at all told her that miracles did happen and usually when you were least expecting them.
With a tentative hand she reached out and took the files from him. “You’ve found something out, haven’t you?” she asked.
He tilted his head on one side then replied, “Yes. It’s more a reason and an explanation than a solution, though.”
She opened the files and pulled out the sheets of paper contained within them and, as she flicked through them, Mickey explained, “You remember I said about the strange reading we had on the Bucker-Meisfeld scale about four years ago?” Rose nodded. “Well, I was convinced there was something in that. It was unexplained and you know what I feel about unexplained stuff - it’s rare that it’s actually unexplainable, just that we don’t yet have the knowledge to explain it.”
He took another drink and shifted in his place. “Anyway, I ran some tests, pulled some strings with a couple of mates who work in the labs at MI6 and, well, I was pretty shocked by what came up.” Reaching over her, he tugged a pale yellow sheet of flimsy paper from the pile and pulled it to the top. It looked like some kind of laboratory results form. “Look down here,” he said, pointing to a line of numbers about half way down the page. “This is an ionic tracery. And this says, quite clearly, that the energy surge we recorded had its origins outside of our universe.”
Rose stared at the figures. They meant nothing to her, but Mickey’s words sank in and hit her hard. The energy surge had been caused by the Doctor. “There’s more,” Mickey continued. “It’s artificial. There is nothing in the universe, in the past, present or the future that could have created it. I got them to double check that but it’s 100% certain - it was definitely artificial. And if I had to guess, I’d say it had its origins in the TARDIS, some kind of side-effect of the Doctor breaking through to this universe. It might also explain why he was injured: even small doses of ionic energy have been known to permanently disturb brain function in laboratory rats, so who knows what a surge like that might have done to a Time Lord brain?”
There was nothing more to say. Rose swallowed and, after a moment, handed the files back to Mickey, just as Jonny piled into the kitchen, balancing three overflowing plastic bags. “Good God, Mickey!” Rose exclaimed, grasping the distraction with both hands. “I thought you’d just bought kebabs?”
Mickey shrugged. “Oh, and one or two other bits.”
She took the bags from Jonny and set them on the kitchen table, fishing their contents out and passing them to Jonny, who eagerly examined every carton and box and then rushed them to the sideboard. “I think we’ll have to put these on the barbecue,” she said. “Jonny, go and get it out of the garage. You can manage the gas canister, can’t you?”
“Course I can, Mum,” he admonished and bounded out of the room again.
Rose sighed and turned slowly to Mickey. “Thank you for all the effort you’ve put into this,” she murmured. “I really am grateful. But, it doesn’t change anything, does it? Not really, at any rate. I knew who he was the minute I set eyes on him and whether he fell out of the Vortex, like we did before, or whether he got here on his own back is irrelevant. I have to leave him to come to his own decisions.”
“But what if he never does, Rose? Will you be able to live with the knowledge that he’s out there, living his life without you?”
She drew in a deep breath. She’d spent hours asking herself the same questions over the last two months and it had taken all her strength to accept that there was nothing she could do. If the Doctor was not willing to see for himself, then she couldn’t make him. “I have to, Mickey,” she said. “He’s his own person and I can’t force him to think the way I want him to, no matter how much of a lie he’s living. I have to accept that he might not ever come back to me and I have to get on with my life as if he’s still stuck in the other universe.” She sighed. “It’s not what I want, but if there’s one thing the Doctor taught me above all else it’s that you’ve got to do what’s right.”
Mickey was silent for a moment, then he nodded slowly. “I understand, Rose,” he said in a quiet voice. He reached out and squeezed her arm, rubbing it in comfort. He turned his head to look out of the kitchen window and saw Jonny manhandling the barbecue out onto the patio. “Come on,” he said and held out his hand for her. “Let’s go and make sure he doesn’t have a collision with your petunias.”
****
The Simmer Dim began to fade and John Smith got on with his life. He went to sea, caught his fish, returned to harbour, docked and sold. On his off days he cleaned the boat, painted the woodwork and replaced the main ropes, then moved onto the mechanics, avoiding stepping back on land for as much as possible. Back on land were memories, and possibilities, and it was far easier to ignore them than do something about them. It was late August when he finally turned around and noticed how much time had passed. They were back to nights where the sun actually set and it was no longer possible to sit out at night without artificial light.
Garriock was still in the hospital, still sleeping, and Smith visited him whenever he could, praying for something other than silence and stillness while he sat. The police had arrested Jackie Cartwright and he’d been sentenced to two years in prison for the deliberate and calculated attack on Greg Garriock, but Finn MacDonald had escaped. The wiry fisherman had not been seen since the fateful night when Smith had exacted his revenge and Rose had left; and Smith was happy with that. He hoped he’d never have to see MacDonald again.
But, no matter how busy he kept, he found his thoughts still turned to images of a blonde woman with eyes darker than the midnight sea. He’d refused to throw the t-shirt she’d borrowed in the wash and had kept it close to him for weeks afterwards, laying it on his pillow before he went to sleep until the last traces of her perfume vanished and were replaced by his own familiar smell.
He’d told himself time and again that he was being ridiculous and that it was pathetic for a grown man to be obsessing over a woman like this, but it made little difference. She still filled his thoughts and the dreams grew more bizarre.
It had been three weeks after she’d left that he’d had another strange vision at night. He’d become convinced that they were more than dreams when he woke one night and the images continued to flood his mind long after he opened his eyes. That time, he’d been hanging above a dark space, seemingly bottomless, and talking to someone. A voice had responded and he’d been filled with a tremendous urge to jump, to fall, but thoughts of her had made him pause and he’d told the voice to tell her… something… But then, before he’d been able to make out what he was saying, he’d fallen and the sensation of falling had shattered the dream and thrown him dizzily out of bed.
The dreams had plagued him on and off since then: metal shapes moving in the darkness, a dark-haired man with a flashy smile, a million people screaming and crying, and the now familiar bluish tunnel and hollow echo. He didn’t know what they were but he knew enough to know that if he went to hospital with such a complaint, they’d probably lock him up and never let him see the light of day again.
Last night he’d seen a child from the Blitz and the echo of Moonlight Serenade being played on an old-fashioned radio and the tune was still on his mind as he sat in the Peerie Coffee Shop eating his breakfast. Sal the proprietor gave him extra top-ups of tea without him even asking and, as if she could read his mood, stayed well away. Even the other fishermen took one look at him and veered away. Smith knew he’d become something of a misery in the past few months and the few friends he had were already beginning to drift away.
But he didn’t care. Life was easy when you didn’t have to worry about other people.
The bell above the door jangled and he looked up to see Melissa entering, her dark hair hanging loose around her shoulders in thick ringlets. She made straight for him. “Morning,” he greeted simply. She swung the chair opposite him around and straddled it, looking at him critically. He’d lost the desire to look after himself since Rose had gone and his chin was now covered thickly with stubble and his hair uncombed and wild.
“You look like shit,” she noted casually.
“Thanks.”
“No worries,” she replied. She reached over and picked up his mug, taking a deep drink of his tea.
“Hey!” objected Smith.
She eyeballed him and he sank back in his seat. There was a long silence, during which Melissa rearranged the salt and pepper pots and the flowers in the tabletop vase and Smith stared at her. “I’ve just come from the hospital,” she said. “Greg came round late last night.”
Smith’s mouth fell open. Had he heard correctly? “Greg’s awake?” he questioned dumbly.
“Yeah,” she replied. “I spoke to him. He was groggy but quite normal. They’re pleased with his cognitive function.”
It took him a few seconds to process the information, and then he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ve got to go and see him,” he announced, but Melissa grabbed his arm.
“Steady on,” she said. “He asked for you, but you need to know that he’s not up to much talking. He’s still sleepy.”
Smith shook her arm free and replied, “It doesn’t matter. I just want to see him.”
And he did. He’d missed having someone else to share his troubles with, and had certainly missed the male presence to talk to after Rose had left. MacDonald had remained AWOL and Smith had been left questioning whether he’d done the right thing, especially in light of the strange dreams he’d been having. He didn’t think that Garriock would be able to explain them any more than he could, but he had no doubt that he would have something helpful to say about Rose. Though it would help if he knew what to say himself…
****
Garriock’s face had healed impressively in the months that had passed. He was pale but still recognisable and the bruises on his cheeks and around his eyes had faded to nothing more than greenish yellow patches. As Smith walked in, he rolled his head toward the sound of the opening door and fixed his friend with a wide smile. “Smith…” he said, the pleasure evident in his tone.
Smith walked in through the door, brandishing the two pieces of flapjack he’d procured from Sal before leaving the coffee shop. He handed his friend one of the slices and Garriock eagerly accepted it. “Oh, thank God,” he murmured, “you brought food! I was beginning to starve on this hospital shite. And I’ve only been awake ten hours.” He chuckled to himself.
“It’s good to hear your voice again,” Smith noted. He pulled up one of the now familiar plastic chairs and sank into it, leaning forward to study his friend. There seemed to be nothing obviously wrong with him, though there was still an IV line running into his arm. Garriock noticed him staring and smiled.
“I’m fine,” he explained. “The doctors are really pleased with the scans and my responses to stimuli. They reckon I could be out of here in a couple of days. Which is great news.” There was a pause. “I heard what happened with Cartwright and MacDonald,” he said.
Smith looked down at his shoes. “Yeah…”
Garriock continued, “And what happened with Rose Tyler…”
Climbing to his feet restlessly, Smith moved to the window and stared out, looking down onto the grey concrete of the car park below. He chuffed out a breath. Behind him, Garriock shifted in his bed, the plastic covering on the mattress squeaking as he did so. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked after a while.
“You were an idiot, Smith,” replied his friend with cheerful condemnation. “A real fucking idiot.”
Smith spun around and stared at Garriock, amazed at his candidness. “I mean, I don’t pretend to understand what it was she was claiming, but I know you and you must have felt something for her if you did everything that Melissa says you did with her.” He paused. “You fell in love with her, didn’t you?”
A frown crossed his face. Was it so patently obvious? “I don’t know, Greg… I…” He stopped and shook his head, angry with his own inability to explain his feelings.
“Look,” Garriock began, “I don’t know much about love and relationships, but I know this: if you love a woman you shouldn’t turn your back on it like that. No matter what. We only get so many chances, you know.” He paused. “And you… well, you deserve a chance to be happy, Smith. Perhaps more than anyone else I know. You’ve been through enough already.”
“Yeah…” agreed Smith. Had he been really listening to his friend’s words, he would have wanted to know what Garriock meant by that last sentence, but he was far away, thinking already of what to do to make things right.
****
The plates were piled dirty on the garden table as Rose and Mickey sat back in their chairs and talked quietly. It was late now, and the sun had completely set, leaving them in darkness. The little solar lights Rose had around the flower beds had come on, casting pools of weak white light that were attracting moths, and the three candles she’d grabbed from the living room set flickering shadows dancing around them. Jonny had gone to bed about an hour ago and Mickey was on his fourth beer, Rose having already offered him the spare room to sleep in.
She sighed and kicked her flip flops off, lifting up her feet to rest them on the tabletop. “Oh, I’m so full,” she moaned. “I’m not sure I can move.”
Mickey chuckled. The food he’d brought had included kebabs and chicken drumsticks and sausages and it had been more than enough for the three of them. Rose, as a result, had eaten more than she probably should have done. She’d popped the button on her shorts and was sitting bloated and sated in the same chair she’d been in all night. “We should probably clean up. I’ve got work tomorrow.”
“So have I,” she sighed.
They looked at each other and said at the same moment: “Dishwasher.”
Rose laughed. “Yeah, definitely. Come on.”
She was just pushing her feet back into her flip flops when the kitchen door clicked open. She turned to see Jonny stumbling outside in his pyjamas, clutching the teddy bear he tried to pretend he didn’t like to take to bed with him. His face was troubled and his eyes found his mother’s straight away. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” she asked, rushing toward him, her mind thinking of stomach aches and fevers.
“Mum…” He stopped and the bear fell to the floor. “Mum, I think I’ve just seen Dad…”
To be continued...