Doctor Who: The Way Through the Woods (18 page)

‘What about all the other people, Doctor?’ Amy said. She started to pin Emily’s butterfly brooch back onto her jacket. Emily had told her to keep it, to remember her by. ‘The other ones that went missing that we never even met? The ones that were only marks in books?’

Suddenly, Rory’s hands took charge of the brooch. He pinned it in place, and then kissed Amy gently on the tip of her nose.

‘You’re great.’

‘So are you.’

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you too.’

‘So…’ said the Doctor, spinning round on his heels. ‘Well… Yes… The other people. Good question, Pond. Of course, Ship and Reyn never visited all those times, now. So they never disappeared. There was no Ship to take them on board, no Reyn to direct them to his fantasy world – they’ll just walk through Swallow Woods.’

‘Not Emily, though,’ Rory said. ‘Or Harry.’

‘No, they’ve met Ship, and they’ve left with Ship. They will have disappeared, and without explanation. I suppose people will most likely say that Harry’s run away rather than get called up… But what about Emily? What will they say about her? The last anyone saw of Emily Bostock, she was leaving the pub with a strange young man…’

‘Oh…!’ said Amy, rounding on Rory with an evil glimmer in her eye. ‘I can just imagine the story! Emily Bostock, last seen heading into the woods, tempted away by a handsome stranger!’

‘Well that’s just
great
, isn’t it?’ said Rory, as Amy wrapped her arms around him. ‘Now the history books have me down as some sort of
rake
…!’

Amy shook her head. ‘Nah! Not very likely, is it? Besides, you’re mine. But they all make it through, Doctor? They don’t get lost?’

‘Come and see,’ the Doctor said.

He pushed open the TARDIS doors. Below them lay Swallow Woods and the land around, which they had come to know so well over the past few days. ‘Looks exactly like one of those aerial photographs,’ Amy said. ‘Poor Jess. They nearly frightened the life out of her.’

‘Watch,’ the Doctor said.

And as Amy and Rory watched, the landscape beneath them began to alter, like a piece of film being speeded up. They watched the seasons pass over Swallow Woods, watched the trees spring to life and fall away again in winter. They saw people walk along the path that led into the woods – and they saw them all come out again.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Rory said softly. ‘All going home.’

‘Oh yes, very nice,’ said Amy, and, when Rory and the Doctor turned to stare at her, added, ‘I do mean it! But I was promised chocolate. And a picnic. And pie.’

And what now, for the people of Foxton? Where does time, unravelling back and flowing forwards, take them? What now, for Swallow Woods?

Gordon Galloway, sitting in traffic on the motorway between Junctions 11 and 12, ponders the three impossible things that happened to him before breakfast. First of all, the nightmare – a terrible nightmare, of being trapped in a forest, in the middle of a storm, running in circles and unable to escape, while dogs howled miserably around him. A nightmare so real that when the alarm woke him, he was sweating, and sure that his hair would be soaked with rain and his clothes filthy from mud and leaves.

But, no. He’d been tucked up safe and warm in bed, and, beyond the bedroom window, the rain had stopped, and a damp bright autumn dawn unfolded as he watched.

That had only been the start. On his way downstairs, the phone rang. A terrible line, as if someone was calling long distance. He could barely make out the speaker’s voice at first.

‘
Inspector Galloway? We’ve not spoken before, but my name is Laura Brown
.’

‘Laura! My God, girl, are you all right? Where have you
been
?’

‘
I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry! I know I’ve caused a lot of trouble and I’m sorry. The truth is, I got into a terrible tizzy about my exams, and I decided to start my gap year early—
’

‘Where
are
you? There’s been a search… the papers got hold of it… We’ve all been terrified for you!’

‘
I know, and I’m sorry. I’m… about to board a flight. Now don’t make a fuss! I’ve spoken to my parents and it’s all just fine. I’m going to be travelling for a while. It’s what I wanted to do, what I really wanted to do, not exams. Maybe I’ll do them some other time. I’ve got to go now, Inspector! They’re calling me to… to the gate. I’m on my way! At last! Goodbye, Mr Galloway, goodbye! Thank you for worrying so much about me! Everything’s fine! You don’t have to worry any more!
’

And she’d hung up, leaving him standing there like a small boy who’d been told what’s what by his old granny. It was bewildering. Had she always been so self-assured? He rang her parents at once, of course. Tearfully, they told him what he was desperate to hear: that they had spoken to Laura too, and that she was safe. And that was what counted, he supposed…

The morning hadn’t quite finished with him yet. Last of all, but still before his first sip of tea had been given the chance to touch his lips, Mary, his beloved wife, put down her own cup and said: ‘Sweetheart, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we move back north?’

The traffic inched forwards. Gordon Galloway counted his blessings.

On the high street that morning, Vicky Caine, on her way to school, popped into the florists to send her mum an apology for missing the last bus and (heinous crime) walking home.

Across the road, Ruby Porter stopped at the newsagents to buy a birthday card for her favourite uncle, Peter, who was 67 later in the week. Then she hopped into her little blue car and drove to the college in the next town, where she lectured in history. She was looking forward to her day. She wasn’t facing any disciplinary action. She had never joined the police.

Outside Foxton’s ordinary police station, the people from the papers and the television channels, briefed now about the safe return of Laura Brown, were packing up and heading back to the city. Inside, in an ordinary interview room, a clock mended itself while the blind remained broken. And down the road, in the parish church, the records quietly tidied themselves, a number of curious green marks disappearing for good.

Jess Ashcroft stood on Long Lane by a signpost watching a big blue police box dematerialise. In her head, she still held two sets of memories. One set of memories was alarming and amazing and astonishing – and they were slowly fading away, becoming dreamier, replaced by another story: the sudden disappearance of Laura Brown, the brief flurry of press interest, and then Laura’s reappearance online. Soon that would be all that remained.

The TARDIS was gone. Jess climbed over the fence and walked down the hill to Swallow Woods. There was a path across the field that forked: one way went to the road, the other led under the trees deep into the woods. Jess took this path. She knew the way very well. She’d come here a lot as a child, despite parental warnings. You couldn’t keep kids away from Swallow Woods. It was their playground.

The path brought her in time to a clearing in the heart of the woods, where a deep old pool lay amidst a temple of trees. Jess sat beneath an old oak magnificent with autumn colour. The blue box (not to mention its strange and alarming inhabitants) had now slipped her mind…

Jess takes out her phone and balances it between her hands, wondering what to do next. Yesterday, at the press conference, she’d told a journalist from a national paper that Laura Brown would turn up today. This morning, as he was packing up, he’d waved her over and given her his phone number. So what should she do? Stay in the town she knows so well, better than anyone, probably, or leave, go on, go elsewhere, somewhere new…?

Her phone beeps. A message from Lily.

Hey LOIS
(Lily had written)
did you see Luara’s facebook update: she sez ‘Laura Brown is reaching for the stars.’

Jess puts away her phone and takes out a coin. Heads, she goes; tails, she stays. She throws the coin up into the air, where it hangs for a split second, silvery bright in a shaft of sunshine, full of potential, and then falls to the ground…

With grateful thanks to Justin Richards, Gary Russell, Steve Tribe, and Kat Woods. Love and thanks as ever to Matthew.

And thanks to Fairport Convention for recording ‘Reynardine’.

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