Torchwood First Born (12 page)

'Right,' I said. 'What do we do now?'

'We go and find them,' Mrs Harries said, and she looked so scared. 'They'll be waiting for us outside.'

She took my arm and we left the village hall. The streets seemed deserted. We found Mrs Harries's children in the playground, Peter and Paul sat placidly on the swings, the only sound the echoing creak of old metal chains swaying back and forth as the children watched us, staring right through us. It was chilling.

'Hello mother,' said the oldest, slipping off the swing. 'Are you feeling better?'

'Yes,' she said, a slight catch in her voice. I felt her grip my arm tightly. 'Yes, I'm much better now.'

She smiled at them, ever so brave.

'Good,' said Peter, running up to her. 'I am so glad.

I am hungry. What are you going to cook for us?'

Her two children dragged her away home. She turned around to say goodbye to me, and there was a look of utter terror on her face. Then she went quietly on her way.

G w e n

Back at home. Safe and sound. Just sit down. Sit down and chill. Just for a minute.

Best put the kettle on, though. Sort out some laundry. Work out what needs doing. Fold away the dry clothes. Put the recycling to one side. Fish the bottles out of the steriliser. Wipe down the kitchen unit where Rhys has left some crumbs. It never ends.

Then Anwen started crying and needed changing.

You don't want to know what happened next, but I had to throw my top on the laundry pile, and try and find a clean one. These days I have more outfit changes than Lady Gaga. Weird how a few months ago the correct answer to 'How much urine is acceptable on a shirt?' was 'None'. Now it's a bit of sliding scale, to be honest.

The kettle had boiled and cooled. I heated it up again, found a teabag. We were out of milk. Which was kind of ironic. Anyway, I finally flopped down in the chair. It had taken twenty minutes. But finally, a moment all to myself.

Guiltily I caught my eyes sliding to the door, praying Rhys wouldn't come home. Just a couple of minutes... that'd be all...

I walked into Sasha's house. She was standing there,
arms folded tightly. Simmering with rage.

'There you are, Billy,' she yelled, grabbing me
by the ear. Where've you bloody been?' She slapped
me round the face, Furious and burning with
anger.

'Cry!' she screamed. 'Why won't you bloody cry,
Billy?'

'Would it make you happy if I did?' I asked.

She hit me again.

'I can cry if you would like,' I said.

The blows rained down, and she cursed at me,
saying I wasn't a proper child. That I was fake. That
I was useless. That she hated me. That I had ruined
her life.

'But Mother,' I said. 'What have I done wrong?'

I wanted her to tell me. To list the things that were
unacceptable so that I could correct them. That is all
I wanted to do.

Instead she just punched me, screaming over and
over again that I was filthy. She dragged me upstairs,
slapping hard at me. Each blow stung me, and there
was no time to recover before the next one landed. I
wanted to fight back, but the voice in my head told
me not to.

So I stood in the bathroom, smarting. She started
to run a bath. She screamed at me. So I took my
clothes off slowly.

'Get in!' she yelled, dragging me off my balance.

I stepped into the bath. But it was hot. Too hot. I
told her this.

'I don't bloody care,' she snarled, twisting the hot
water on full.

'I would like to get out,' I said, my voice simple.

The water was very hot. It hurt me. Burnt me.

'You're not getting out!' And she hit me again,
grabbing hold of me, pushing me down under the
scalding water...

Gasping, I opened my eyes. It was dark. The sun had set. Someone was standing over me.

Oh my god.

No. OK. It was just Jenny. Standing there. Ever so polite, watching me, arms held in front of her like she was about to pray.

'Jenny!' I shouted. I was startled.

'Good evening, Mrs Williams,' she said. Her tone of voice was even, considered. 'I knocked but you did not answer.'

'So you just came in?'

Jenny shrugged. 'Yes. I wanted to make sure the baby and you were OK.' She said
OK
like it was a foreign word. Like a newsreader saying 50 Cent.

'How is Anwen?'

'She's fine, thanks. We're fine. Shouldn't we be?'

A sudden fear. Where was Rhys? I could still feel my heart pounding from the dream.

Jenny shrugged. 'I was just making sure. Babies do require a lot of attention.'

'Tell me about it,' I said, standing up to put the kettle on.

'I was hoping you would tell me all about it. I would like to learn,' offered Jenny. Her clinical gaze considered me. I now knew what it was like to be under a microscope.

'Oh,' I said, trying to be casual. On an impulse, I handed Anwen over. 'Here, hold her. Jenny, you're my Number One Babysitter.'

As she took the baby, Jenny smiled, a big radiant happiness that showed off her lovely teeth. She seemed much more like a real, actual human child.

She cupped the baby to her, holding her up above her head and dangling her, then sweeping her to her shoulder. 'You are Jenny's favourite girl,' she said warmly. Anwen cooed delightedly, flashing one of her lazy little smiles before settling back off to a firm sleep. 'She is so warm,' gushed Jenny.

'Yeah,' I forced a smile. I tried to ignore the horrible panic gnawing away at my stomach. That dream. That horrible dream...

Rhys came staggering in, wrapping me in a big hug. 'Hey gorgeous,' he grinned, 'I've had a mad day

- those bloody kids are...' He caught sight of Jenny, stopped and stared. 'Are you...' he began, alarmed by something. 'Gwen, is it OK for her to...?'

'Do not worry.' I realised Jenny was talking to me. 'Mr Williams is afraid of us at the moment.'

'Why?' I asked.

Rhys looked stricken. 'I've seen what they can do, Gwen.'

'I see.' Jenny nodded, unfussed. 'You got caught in the storm, didn't you?'

Rhys nodded.

'The storm?' I asked.

'Brain storm, Mrs Harries calls it,' she said.

'Sometimes our thoughts get out of control.' She held a hand out to Rhys. 'I am sorry. It will not have been pleasant.'

'No.' Rhys shook his head. It bloody wasn't.'

On an impulse, I spoke up. 'I just had this really odd dream...'

'That will have been us.' To Jenny this was the most normal thing in the world. 'Sometimes we enter people's thoughts. Yours.'

'Why me?' I asked.

'Oh, just because,' she said, airily. She suddenly looked sly. 'You are dreaming a lot, aren't you?

Mothers have a high degree of empathy with their newborn children... It's a bond that we could unconsciously intrude on. And you are very tired...

the boundary between asleep and awake is so thin for you.'

'Right.' I didn't feel much wiser.

'Why?' Jenny was painfully curious. 'What did you see?'

'The...' I paused. I didn't know. 'The dream. It was Billy. Sasha was... hurting him.'

Jenny shrugged. 'Sasha does that. She is not kind to her child.'

'What?' I cried, horrified. 'Was that really happening?'

Jenny nodded. 'She is cruel. He has to be repaired heaps.'

'Repaired? But she was scalding her son!' I cried.

Jenny sighed. 'We do not interfere.' Her eyes were so sad.

'I bloody will interfere,' I snapped. 'We have to help him! I am fed up of this bloody place. Come on Rhys. We're going over there. Now.'

'But I've only just...' he started. Then he saw the look in my eyes. Red Alert. 'Fine.'

'It is OK. I will look after the baby,' offered Jenny.

I smiled at her, gratefully. If wishes were horses, I'd just got myself a stallion.

'Thanks.' I clasped her hands, briefly. 'Don't worry, you won't break her. There's a bag of nappies over there. Mind out for your clothes in case she goes all Banksy on them.' I threw Rhys's jacket at him.

'Come on.'

We were too late. Kind of.

Sasha's door was open, the lights were on. She was upstairs, curled up on the floor of the bathroom, sobbing. 'He wouldn't cry, he just wouldn't cry,' she whispered to herself.

Billy lay in the bath, lobster pink, like he had sunburn. His eyes were shut but he was still breathing.

I touched him, ever so gently. He shuddered, and let out a tiny moan. His skin... His skin felt wrong.

Like it was lifting and melting under my touch. His eyes snapped open. 'It hurts,' he muttered. 'Is Mother still cross with me?'

Sasha roused herself from her corner. 'I am not your mother!' she spat.

We dragged Billy out, ever so gently, terrified that the skin would fall off him.

'I'm so sorry,' I cradled him carefully in my arms.

I emptied the bath and stuck him under the shower, turning cool water on him gently. It was all I could think of. He shuddered, twitching terribly.

Rhys rang 999, called an ambulance and went hunting for bandages.

I stood in the shower with Billy, holding him like he was made of snow. Sasha stayed on the floor, ignoring us, whimpering to herself.

'Mother,' asked Billy, 'why do you not like me?'

'You are nothing to do with me!' she screamed, standing up and going downstairs. I found out later she'd poured herself a drink and microwaved a meal.

I'd like to say she'd gone into shock... but I don't know. People are really, really odd. That's the only way to put it.

The ambulance never came. Instead there was a knock at the door. Sasha didn't bother opening it -

she was watching television and turned the volume up. I could hear the strange applause and laughter of some stupid pointless show. Rhys went down and answered the door. People came upstairs. It was Tom and a woman.

'Bloody hell,' said Tom, staring in horror at Billy's blistering flesh.

The woman made a noise and started cursing.

'We're here to look after him,' she said, gently, professionally. 'We know what to do.' Her voice had a strong American twang. Funny how when Americans sound pissed off, they sound more pissed off than anyone else on the planet. She looked at me, and climbed under the shower with us, unfazed by the water on her clothes. Of all things, she smiled. 'Hi, you must be Gwen. It's nice to meet you. I'm Eloise.'

'You must be from the airbase,' was all I could think of saying. 'Tell me you've come to help him.'

She nodded. Then she dismissed me and gently, ever so gently, took Billy out of my arms. 'Come on you,' she said, her voice low and motherly. 'Come on baby, we're going to look after you.'

'Where are you taking him?' I demanded.

Tom shot me a look that said, 'Not Now,' but I stood my ground. Well, actually, I stood under a shower, fully clothed, holding a sodden towel.

'We're taking him home,' said Eloise, helping me onto the dripping floor.

'I'm coming with you,' I said very firmly.

Eloise paused, looking me up and down. 'You want to see it, don't you?'

'Yes.'

We carried Billy into the back of the jeep. The garden path was a startling sight. It was lined with Scions. All stood at a distance. Mute. Sad. Watching us. They'd known.

Rhys followed me out. He'd brought out some blankets. He spread them out in the back of the jeep, and we lifted Billy in.

Will he be OK?' Rhys asked me.

'I'm going to find out,' I told him.

He shook his head, but said, Tine.' It wasn't his most convincing. I knew what he was thinking.
It's
starting all over again.

'Please,' I said. 'I have to make sure he's all right.'

Ts that all?' Rhys asked. Eloise climbed into the front of the car, and Tom edged closer.

'Of course,' I said. 'I just want to make sure.'

Rhys shook his head again, sadly. 'Saving the world.'

'Make sure Anwen's OK,' I told him, and climbed into the back of the jeep with Billy. Because I was going to look after him.

The jeep started up, and I saw Rhys there, with the Scions standing behind him. All of them, blankly watching us go.

Eloise drove us over the bumpy roads like she was driving on cotton wool. Billy was shaking. Tom and I didn't speak.

We pulled up at the Weather Station, driving up to the gates. Standing there was a man. A really familiar man. He looked early twenties, but I'd seen him somewhere before. He was wearing a suit.

'Sebastian.' cried Eloise. 'Help me with him.'

The man called Sebastian stepped forward, picking Billy up and carrying him like he was made of tissue.

'Right then.' Eloise stuck her hands on her hips.

'We're going to find you some dry clothes, Gwen.'

'Where's Billy gone?' I asked a few minutes later.

Inside the building looked like an office from an old film. Ancient computers spun reels of tape backwards and forwards while an old printer chugged out a long serpent of paper.

This was Eloise's kingdom. She smiled, like it was a brilliant and exciting thing.

'I'll show you around, Gwen. It's what you'd like, isn't it? Well, you're part of this now. Come on. Let's go and look at the hangar.'

I was being shown into a private world. The last time someone had said that to me, it was a tall, handsome man in a military greatcoat. I suddenly missed my old life.

Eloise swung open the door of the hangar.

Oh. Oh my god.

Rhys

I remember taking the baby to meet Gwen's folks.

We meet in a service station car park. That's how we roll these days. In the distance a motorway roars past. To the left are some truckers. To the right a load of shops that smell of farts.

In the middle, parked behind a camper van, Gwen introduces Anwen to her grandparents.

Gwen's mum Mary's dressed up for the occasion, even stuck on a new hat. She's crying a lot, and Gwen's dad is holding her shoulder, gripping it. He's wearing driving gloves (who wears driving gloves?) and we're not really saying that much. There is some talk about B-roads.