in a
local hotel, although hotel rooms had proved harder to find than
Mr Browning had expected. Also, he had had to convince Mrs
Browning, who was a nurse, that they could now afford to stay in
a hotel.
‘What happens if he never comes
back?’ asked Polly. She was sitting on the stairs, reading a
book.
Mr Browning said, ‘Now you’re
being silly.’
‘Don’t call your daughter silly,’
said Mrs Browning. ‘She’s got a point. You don’t have a name or
a phone number or anything.’
This was unfair. The contract was
made out, and the buyer’s name was clearly written on it: N. M.
de Plume. There was an address, too, for a firm of London
solicitors, and Mr Browning had phoned them and been told that,
despite the silly name, yes, this was absolutely
legitimate.
‘He’s eccentric,’ said Mr
Browning. ‘An eccentric millionaire.’
‘I bet it’s him behind that rabbit
mask,’ said Polly. ‘The eccentric millionaire.’
The doorbell rang. Mr Browning
went to the front door, his wife and daughter beside him, each
of them hoping to meet the new owner of their house.
‘Hello,’ said the lady in the cat
mask on their doorstep. It was not a very realistic mask. Polly
saw her eyes glinting behind it, though.
‘Are you the new owner?’ asked Mrs
Browning.
‘Either that, or I’m the owner’s
representative.’
‘Where’s … your friend? In the
rabbit mask?’
Despite the cat mask, the young
lady (was she young? – her voice sounded young anyway) seemed
efficient and almost brusque. ‘You have removed all your
possessions? I’m afraid anything left behind will become the
property of the new owner.’
‘We’ve got everything that
matters.’
‘Good.’
Polly said, ‘Can I come and play
in the garden? There isn’t a garden at the hotel.’ There was a
swing on the oak tree in the back garden, and Polly loved to sit
on it and read.
‘Don’t be silly, love,’ said Mr
Browning. ‘We’ll have a new house, and then you’ll have a garden
with swings. I’ll put up new swings for you.’
The lady in the cat mask crouched
down. ‘I’m Mrs Cat. Ask me what time it is, Polly.’
Polly nodded. ‘What’s the time,
Mrs Cat?’
‘Time for you and your family to
leave this place and never look back,’ said Mrs Cat, but she
said it kindly.
Polly waved goodbye to the lady in
the cat mask when she got to the end of the garden path.
3
They were in the TARDIS control
room, going home.
‘I still don’t understand,’ Amy
was saying. ‘Why were the Skeleton People so angry with you in
the first place? I thought they
wanted
to get free from the rule of the
Toad-King.’
‘They weren’t angry with me about
that
,’ said the
young man in the tweed jacket and the bow-tie. He pushed a hand
impatiently through his hair. ‘I think they were quite pleased
to be free, actually.’ He ran his hands across the TARDIS
control panel, patting levers, stroking dials. ‘They were just a
bit upset with me because I’d walked off with their squiggly
whatsit.’
‘Squiggly whatsit?’
‘It’s on the –’ he gestured
vaguely with arms that seemed to be mostly elbows and joints –
‘the tabley thing over there. I confiscated it.’
Amy looked irritated. She wasn’t
irritated, but she sometimes liked to give him the impression
she was, just to show him who was boss. ‘Why don’t you ever call
things by their proper names?
The tabley
thing over there?
It’s called “a
table”.’
She walked over to the table. The
squiggly whatsit was glittery and elegant: it was the size and
general shape of a bracelet, but it twisted in ways that made it
hard for the eye to follow.
‘Really? Oh good.’ He seemed
pleased. ‘I’ll remember that.’
Amy picked up the squiggly
whatsit. It was cold and much heavier than it looked. ‘Why did
you confiscate it? And why are you saying
Chris D'Lacey
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