Almost Perfect

JACK IS MAKING A
BREAKTHROUGH
Jack stared at the map of Cardiff. ‘I’m tracking that energy cloud. There’s a spike building up.’
‘Really?’ said Ianto. ‘In what sense?’
Jack scratched the side of his head. ‘There’s still no overall pattern. But there is one exception. I’d initially discounted it as a blip. But it’s been a very constant blip. See this little mini-peak? It’s quite separate from the rest of the data. That’s still a random cloud of energy fuzz – but this one point, if you track it, over time, is fairly steady. Let’s just say, if it was a person, it appears to be mostly around the hotel by the train station.’
‘Except late afternoon,’ said Ianto, following the chart across the wall.
‘When our data peak appears to head across St Mary Street to The Hayes for a cup of tea.’
‘I’ll go start the SUV,’ said Ianto.




THE STRANGE ALIEN DEVICE IS
PLOTTING TO TAKE OVER FROM
JEREMY KYLE AFTER THIS
Emma pottered around the flat, checking the clock three times a minute. She’d dashed home from work, so many things to do to make herself ready for her date. She’d ignored the voice in her head, assuring her that she’d look amazing and that Rhys would be enormously attracted to her. She just pressed on – sipping on a slightly-too-hot cup-a-soup while she scribbled out a battle list, then managing to shower, do her hair, dry it, style it, do it again, and set it into place while skipping through six different outfits and working out a make-up style somewhere between Marcel Marceau and Jordan.
She suddenly had half an hour to kill. A dead half hour spent prowling round the flat, laughing at articles in Take A Break, or flicking through the music channels. She found herself unloading the dishwasher.
The doorbell rang. He was early! All excited she stumbled into her shoes, cursing, and threw open the door. Oh.
‘Hi,’ said Gwen. ‘I’m Gwen.’
‘Bloody hell, you’re the ex,’ hissed Emma, instantly at battle stations.
‘Well, er, yes, I suppose so,’ she replied, looking mildly annoyed at the admission. As well she might, the cow. ‘Look, it’s all tricky, but I was wondering if I can pop in for a chat. You know.’ A bright little smile.
‘A chat? You’re actually asking if you can come in, and sit opposite me, sipping on milky instant and talking away in a friendly manner? All girls together, is it?’
‘Well, yeah.’
‘And then Rhys turns up – and what’s he supposed to think of that little picture, eh?’
‘Oh, I’ll be long gone before that.’ Gwen nodded sympathetically.
‘Oh, I’m sure you won’t be. How’s he supposed to move on if you’re stalking him, Gwen, luv?’
The big, big smile vanished. ‘I’m not here for his benefit. I’m here for yours.’ She nudged forward a little.
Emma felt a something build up inside her – like a fire, or a fury, or the biggest sense of disappointment. This was how it always had been, always would be. She’d never get what she wanted. Everything would always fail. Everything would always go wrong. She’d finally meet someone like Rhys and there would be his ex. Ready to trip everything up – always there. Quiet drink in the Bay? Aw, that’s great, luv, and Gwen said she’d drop by, isn’t that lovely? An evening at the cinema? Let’s go see the new Bruce Willis, Gwen said it was dead good. And afterwards we can go to that new Italian place Gwen’s been raving about. She’ll be there, of course. What a pleasant surprise. Fancy seeing you here.
And suddenly Emma was in the kitchen, watching the kettle boil, finding some cups, spooning coffee into them and making small talk even she wasn’t listening to. She noticed limescale was building up around the sink and she thought, ‘Oh, I can really have a go at that this weekend,’ at some level admitting she wasn’t going to have anything better to do.
Somewhere in her head, life and love was about constantly wandering between the bedroom and the living room, about lying next to the man of your dreams in a constant laugh. And yet… Somehow she knew she wouldn’t be pottering round the Organic Farmer’s Market with Rhys any time soon. And all because of her. Gwen. Who’d clearly just asked her a question. She was sat there, expectantly. A slight pout on her face. A little look of…
‘I’m sorry, Gwen. I was miles and miles away.’
I bet you were, thought Gwen. She’d stared round the flat, which was all right in its own way. A bit of her had been praying it was full of empty bottles and cat hair, but it was actually rather neat and a bit stylish. A couple too many scatter cushions, but hey.
Up close, Emma seemed… OK. Gwen had been in the company of killers. Of psychos. Of giant, pure evil. And Emma was none of those things. Emma was just a very pretty woman who didn’t seem that sure of herself. ‘And what must I seem like?’ Gwen thought. ‘I must look like the most possessive ex ever.’ Which was in some ways a bloody good thing. ‘Let her fear me.’
‘I said, how did you meet Rhys?’
‘Oh,’ replied Emma, ‘it might sound really silly, but speed-dating. We had an instant connection.’
‘Oh, nice,’ said Gwen flatly. ‘He’s told me all about you.’
‘Has he?’ said Emma. ‘He was just so honest and straightforward, you know. So many of the men there… nothing to them. But Rhys – well, I just thought I’d like to see him again.’
‘Good,’ said Gwen.
‘Yes,’ said Emma.
There was a second’s silence.
‘Look, excuse me, but why are you here?’ asked Emma, eventually.
‘What? Me? Oh, just a friendly chat.’
‘It’s not normal, though, is it? How long is it since you two split up?’
‘Aw, well, ah… couple of months I guess.’
‘And you’ve moved on?’
‘Oh, yeah, totally. Yeah. History! Water flushed under the bridge. Whoosh. Still great mates and all, but… Over.’
‘It’s just that, Gwen, luv, here am I about to go on my first proper date with him, and you turn up.’
‘… Yes…’
‘That’s not normal, is it?’
‘Well, we’re great mates.’
‘Gwen, you should let go.’ Emma tilted her head to one side, and reached out a hand to pat her on the arm. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do here, but I can tell you how it’ll seem to your great mate. He’ll think you’re sad, lonely and desperate.’ She sighed.
Gwen pulled back, puffing up like a bloater fish. ‘Hey! It’s not like that. It’s not like that! If you knew why I was here…’
Emma stood up. ‘Oh, Gwen, I know exactly why you’re here. There was a time when I was like you. When I was just a bit pathetic. But look at me now. I’ve moved on up. I’ve moved on out.’
‘And nothing’s going to stop you now?’ Gwen laughed, despite herself.
Emma smiled. ‘Yeah. OK. You got me.’ And then her smile froze. ‘And you’ve got a very distinctive laugh.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Gwen suddenly sensed danger.
Emma shook her head. ‘And I thought I was nuts – but you were there. You were literally at the speed-dating. Along with Rhys. Oh my god – that’s so lame. You’re actually a stalker. You were there. I remember you at the bar now. Oh, I pity you. Genuinely pity you. And it’s been ages since I’ve pitied anyone.’
‘Look,’ said Gwen, hotly. ‘The truth is—’
Emma didn’t listen. She didn’t care. She could see something wrong and broken. She could see a world with her and Rhys together – and she could imagine one without Gwen in it. She walked over to the window, quietly reaching for her handbag.
Yes! About bleedin’ time, gal!
‘Gwen, let me tell you about myself. I was lonely, I wasn’t happy. But I kidded myself that everything would be all right. That I didn’t have to change myself. That the world would change for me. That I’d find the ideal man without any effort. I was wrong. And I’ve been blessed with the ability to see all that. To make myself better. To make the world a little better. I’ve moved on. And I don’t have time for people like you any more. You have to understand, Gwen – I’ve got a picture of an ideal world. And, no matter how lovely you are, you’re just not in that picture. Sorry.’
‘My god,’ thought Gwen, watching as Emma fiddled with her make-up compact. ‘This is strange. It’s like… megalomania or something. But if she’s as dangerous as we thought…’
Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong.
What?
She doesn’t want to rule the world… but I do :)
Gwen stood up, suddenly feeling – her head, oh her legs, that voice, that voice in her head. And Emma standing there, her back to her, laughing. Gwen stretched out a hand horrified to hear the cup falling from her grasp, falling through her arm.
Emma turned around, gave a little gasp and then giggled. Then she saw the mess from the spilt cup, and rushed off to get kitchen roll. She called through, ‘Gwen, luv. I’ve a friend. And this friend understands I don’t want you around to ruin my date with Rhys. So we’re painting you out of the picture.’ She was back, kneeling down and scrubbing at the wet patch of carpet. ‘I dunno – perhaps there’s a space for you in the world in the end. Perhaps there isn’t. But you see, my friend is very powerful – they can change things for the better. For MY better. And I just don’t want you around, not at the moment. So let’s not have you, eh?’
Gwen tried to run across to her, but only managed a couple of steps. Bringing her face to face with herself in the mirror. Only she wasn’t. There was no Gwen in the mirror. Gwen stopped.
Gwen stopped.
And then the doorbell rang.
‘Ah, Rhys!’





ROSS KIELTY IS MISTAKEN IN
HAPPINESS
‘I didn’t think…’ was all he could say.
The woman opposite him said nothing. She just smiled a little.
He sipped his tea and just looked at her.
‘I thought I’d lost you.’ He reached out, but she gently batted him away.
‘You’re not cross, are you?’ he asked. ‘I know I left you on that boat – but I panicked. There was flame, and horror and I knew they’d come for me. I thought they were after me and that they’d leave you alone and so I ran and never looked back and I knew that that was the right thing and I hoped they’d leave you alone and when you didn’t turn up I worried and worried and couldn’t reach you and worried some more, but then I see you and I knew I’d done the right thing and do you forgive me? It is all right isn’t it, Chris?’
The woman nodded, slowly and sadly.
‘I mean, I’m sat here and you come and sit next to me. And we must be all right again, mustn’t we? I know it’s all so strange at the moment – we had such a good thing going on, and I never dreamt they’d come and do all that. I can tell you, it’s been horrible without you to try and sort stuff out. The ferry company are furious.’ He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘All that paperwork, stuff you wouldn’t believe. And so much fuss and the insurance and so on. And the people we were trying to cure – we can’t do that now, though. Unless…’ A sudden look in his eyes. ‘Do you have the machine? We can start again. We can cure more people… we can start over. That is… if you want to.’
She shook her head.
‘I didn’t think you had it,’ he said, sadly. ‘But… I still… you know. If you can bear the idea of me, I can very much bear the idea of you. We can do something simpler. When the insurance is all sorted out, we’ll have something. Just enough for you and me. I don’t think we’ll cure the world or anything like we planned – but perhaps we can get just enough for a bit of a life together. A nice little flat in town – not this town, of course, but somewhere nice. You and me and a mortgage. Who’d have thought it when we first met?’
She looked at him, and shrugged.
He babbled on, increasingly sad and desperate. ‘All that time ago, and here we are, like a couple of little kids all over again. But they’ve taken their revenge – perhaps they’ll leave us alone now, and we can carry on. Just the two of us. Adam and Eve got cast out of Eden and that must have been a bit of a blow. We’ve only been cast out of Cardiff. It’s not the same. I mean, I’ll miss the shopping, but there are some lovely places in Bath. Or Scotland. We could go there. The rain won’t be a surprise, and no one will know us there. We’ve a future there, haven’t we? Haven’t we, Chris? Oh, Christine… why won’t you speak to me?’
‘Because I don’t know how your wife sounded,’ said Ianto.





RHYS IS IN SO MUCH TROUBLE
It had been a long time since Rhys had felt like this. First-date nerves. He’d spent a long time in the shower. Ironed a shirt. Worried in case people still wore ties (‘No, no one still wears ties’), even rifled the dusty bathroom cabinet and found some breath-fresh spray. It’d been fun dancing round the flat to some good old Oasis while getting dressed – like going out on the lash a decade ago. All aggro and after-sport deodorant.
He stopped to look at himself in the hall mirror, and had to admit, ‘Looking good, mate.’ He walked over to Emma’s with a spring in his step. And, oddly, he didn’t think of Gwen at any point. Not when showering, not when trying to find matching socks (a job that normally required two cries for help). Not when walking over, not when stopping to buy a little bunch of flowers (tacky, but spur of the moment, and they were lovely blooms that smelt of freshness and excitement).
He looked round at Emma’s street and thought how she had such a nice little house on a street that was… definitely up and coming. He noticed how many places there were along the way to have a good fry-up, and he thought, ‘Well, that’s nice,’ and found himself looking forward to the morning.
He’d had a great day. He’d loved the way that people had quietly noticed how good he was looking at the moment. It made him feel great. It made him feel wonderful. He’d spent the whole day looking forward to this moment – to seeing Emma again, and making her happy. He hoped he could make her happy.
He buzzed and, after a few seconds, the door to her flat sprung open, and they smiled at each other. She looked even better than he remembered. There was something about her that said ‘home’. Something that said comfort and welcome and the best bits of childhood. But also something about her that said wildness and fun and watching the sun come up.
‘Ah, Rhys!’ she said.
He kissed her. Just slightly on the lips. And he loved how she smelled.
‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, and he glowed. ‘You’re just in time. Come in for a moment. We’ll have a glass of wine before we go out, shall we?’
And he noticed that she was carrying some kitchen roll and cleaning up, and he relaxed even more. She was human – she cleaned. She was perfection.
He noticed a slight burning smell too, and sniffed the air. She giggled. ‘Oh that must be the bread-maker. I’ve always got a loaf on, you know.’
And Rhys smiled even more. She took away the flowers, with much praise, and placed them in a vase on the coffee table. And Rhys didn’t even notice that she was tidying away two empty coffee cups. He just thought how right his flowers looked on her coffee table.
He settled back onto the sofa, and he was pleased that she sat down next to him, draping an arm around him. ‘Tonight’s going to be lovely, isn’t it?’ she said, kissing him gently on the cheek.
‘Oh, I hope so,’ he said honestly. ‘I’d hate to disappoint you. I can honestly say that you’re one of the most wonderful women I’ve ever met. And this is gorgeous wine.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, clinking their glasses with a laugh. ‘And it goes perfectly with your lovely eyes.’
‘Oh, my eyes, is it?’ said Rhys. ‘Is that all you like about me?’ Rhys put down his glass on the coffee table, pleased that she hadn’t even asked him to use a coaster. And he just looked at her. And then they kissed again, properly.




JACK IS SOFTLY, SOFTLY
CATCHEE MONKEY
People came and went across The Hayes. It was the centre of old Cardiff, in some ways. Known as the Hayes Island, a little cobbled area surrounded by department stores and endless building works. In the middle of the Island was a snack bar, pumping out hot, sweet tea and bacon rolls and hot cross buns and cakes to people who were happy to sit in the wintry open air, shivering and blowing on their drinks and passing the time.
It was quiet today. A few lonely old couples sat comparing bargains found and lost. A comical Frenchman from Poland stood, trying to sell onions from the back of an old black bicycle. A tired-looking kid was handing out flyers about God.
Jack sipped his drink and watched the figures two tables away. There was Ianto, and there was Ross Kielty. They looked quiet. There’d been an initial blow-up and he’d thought about crossing over and interceding, but Ianto just averted it, laying a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. And he’d fallen forward, crying. And Ianto had hugged him. And then they’d spoken for a bit. And now they were running out of things to say. And the man was crying again. Jack realised his drink had gone cold. He went over to the counter and asked for three more. And a Bakewell slice. He took them over to the table and sat down.
Ross sniffed miserably and looked up. ‘Who’s this?’
Ianto smiled. ‘This is my boss, Jack.’
‘Your boss?’
Jack shook his hand, Ross returning it without much enthusiasm. ‘Ianto is my Man Friday. Even at the moment. He keeps me honest and good.’
Ianto sipped his tea. Hot and milky and sweet. He noticed he was leaving a lipstick mark on the cardboard cup and thought, ‘I’m never going to get used to this, am I?’
Jack continued. ‘He was on that ferry because of me. I’m responsible for what’s happened to him. But I could, so easily, make you responsible. For all of it – for the deaths, the destruction, for what’s going on in Cardiff, even now. But really, that’s just routine. What I really want is to know what happened to Ianto, and how I get him back.’
Ianto smiled, and reached over, snapping off a chunk of Bakewell.
Jack gave him a glance. ‘You’ll put on weight.’
Ross laughed. ‘Christine used to think so, too. But no – the body’s perfect. It doesn’t really gain that much weight. It just stays fairly lean and trim and fresh. It doesn’t really age. I should know – since she’s been gone, I’ve been lost. I’ve been pushing this body to the limits – and every day it snaps back to how it was.’
‘Dorian Gray,’ mused Jack.
‘If you like – but there’s no painting in the attic.’
‘Oh there is,’ said Jack grimly. ‘There’s always a picture in the attic. There’s always a bill to be paid. What did you do? What happened?’
‘Well,’ said Ross. ‘We were designers and decorators. You know how it is. We made a lot of money. We made each other very happy. And we had these clients – and they were like friends. And they were the most beautiful couple. I mean, gay, so obviously, looked after themselves, and what have you, but they were really, really wonderful. Great to work for, and somehow you knew just what it was they wanted. It was the easiest job we’d ever worked on. And we could just wander in and out of the flat and they didn’t mind. They were very free and easy and we felt… we were their best friends. Although they had a lot of best friends. Some would be around for a few weeks, some for just one night. But we were there for a while – we had work to do. We had decorating to do. And we felt fulfilled, worthwhile. We were making somewhere suitable for them.
‘And one day, they were out, or in bed or something. And there was this tiny ornament. Christine found it first. She just noticed it on a shelf. She said it was calling out to her. She said it was all forgotten and lonely and it wanted to be taken away. And she said we should do that. And we did.
‘And it told us what to do. Honestly. As soon as we both touched it, it was there in our heads. Christine said it sounded like her dad. For me, it sounded just like Richard bloody Burton. But somehow, that object talked to us. Soothing and strong and lovely.
‘And we left the flat, and we never looked back. It made us beautiful. Oh, we were great before – but it made everything we ever worried about go away. And after it had done that, it asked us if there was anything more we wanted. World Peace, Chris said. It laughed, but I said it would be nice to do something good. And the little stone said that that could be arranged.
‘Took a couple of months, mind. Keeping underground, realising that we could use the ferry service as a cover. Letting word of mouth spread subtly. We lived in Dublin, only took the journey once a week. Kept a low profile. We weren’t sure what we’d done, but we figured it wasn’t best to make a noise. And then… well, the newspaper thing came out, and for some reason I knew we’d gone a step too far. I don’t know if it was the picture with Christine in it, or the cheek that I’d let myself get quoted. But we looked at it, and we worried. But we figured we were doing good. We were making a lot of money, yeah, but we were really making a difference. Certainly a lot more than decorating. You know how it is.’
They all nodded.
‘And then… then it all happened. And I’m sorry – I’m sorry for you, and for all those people – and for Christine. But I dunno. Were we doing the right thing? I’ll always think we were, but I don’t know. I’ve just been sat in Cardiff, waiting for someone to find me, really. To tell me.’
‘OK,’ said Jack.
‘And?’ Ross looked up, his beautiful face somehow tired and stretched and marked. ‘Did I do the right thing?’
Jack shrugged. ‘We feel how we think. There’s a bigger picture here – and it depends how much of it you want to see. On every flea another flea feeds. And what suck’d you first suck’d me. John Donne, maybe. Do you know what will happen to Ianto? Can you cure him?’
Ross shook his head. ‘Only the device can do that. Maybe. You really don’t have it?’ He looked suddenly hopeful.
Ianto smiled. ‘No. And I don’t think we would give it to you if we had it.’
‘It’s a toy of the gods,’ said Jack, his face hardening. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’
Ross looked terribly sad.
Jack scraped his chair back and stood up. ‘Come on, Ianto, we have work to do. Thank you for your time. We shan’t meet again, Mr Kielty. Make the most of your life.’
He strode away.
Ianto turned and shrugged, the movement suddenly all wrong in the body. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, and walked off into the rain.
Ross watched the figure of his wife walk down the road, turn a corner, and vanish for ever.




IANTO IS EXPLAINING HOW
COFFEE IS LIKE LIFE
They didn’t talk on the way back to the Hub, though Jack was swearing at each and every traffic light. They parked, and Jack strode ahead, his coat billowing in the rain.
Ianto followed behind, limping slightly and cursing his choice of shoes – strange little heels that scooped in the rain and soaked his toes and the skirt just felt wrong, and the pants had shifted, attacking his bum like cheesewire and… Oh, never mind.
They walked down the fire escape without talking, and Jack stomped into Torchwood. He marched up to his map of the energy cloud, and groaned. Then he threw his coat down and slumped across a sofa.
Ianto hovered, felt ridiculous, and pottered through into his area, where he started to bang about. ‘The secret is not to burn the beans. Well, scald, really. Coffee scalds at 98 degrees. A lot of baristas insist on 100 degrees when they make their coffee – lots of steam and effect, but you ruin the flavour. That’s why it tastes like it’s made from old batteries – and that’s why you drown it in milk and ginger and cream and foam and chocolate sprinkles – there’s something wrong with the fundamental ingredient, and rather than admit it, you press on, you dress it up, you disguise it. You don’t talk about the problem, you wrap it up in sugar and glitter. Isn’t that right?’
He handed Jack a cup, who took it automatically. Didn’t say anything, not even thanks.
Ianto sat down on the sofa next to him, legs not quite in the right order, sipping carefully at his own cup and waiting.
He waited for a full two minutes before Jack looked him in the eye. And then Jack smiled, and cuffed him gently on the ear. ‘Oh, Ianto Jones,’ he said, and stopped.
‘What’s wrong? Are we going to talk about it?’
Jack sipped the coffee.
‘Oh, Ianto. Owen and Gwen and Suzie and Tosh and you – you all spend so much time telling me that the world isn’t simple, that not all aliens are evil, that it’s worth working out why people are here – that I shouldn’t be the ruthless dark one. And sometimes you’re right. And sometimes you’re wrong. All this is my fault. All this is because I made an agreement. An arrangement.’
He sipped the coffee again and gave Ianto a look that made him feel very frightened.




GWEN IS NOWHERE, AND IT’S
FOR BLOODY EVER
Around her, the old house creaked and yawned, timber cracking like a weary boat at sea. And she just stood there, feet planted solidly on the off-cream carpet, frozen in time just between the sofa and the coffee table.
Time moved oddly around her, and she recognised the pull in the air of Rift Energy. Which started to explain things. Emma’s little device had reached out and trapped her just outside now. And she wasn’t alone. She could sense other figures, distantly, as though across a vast space. She tried shouting but couldn’t – if she squinted she could somehow perceive about a dozen female figures stood-stock still a long way away… all of them done up to the nines and dressed to kill. She realised she was glimpsing the missing women from speed-dating. They were still there in Tombola’s. She wondered how they were coping after several days outside of time.
It was a place that was, to be frank, boring and very itchy. She was burning with the desire to scratch her left leg. Left leg first, and then definitely right bum cheek, upper back and then her nose. Plus behind both ears. Urgggh.
Her feet ached. She wondered how much worse that would get. And how much more tired she would get. She ached, she felt tired. She wanted to curl up and sleep. But she couldn’t really move. And all around her was the world of Emma’s flat – eternity spread out across the lounge and towards the kitchenette.
And blocking the view of the universe were Rhys and Emma kissing. They were getting ready to go out, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She screamed herself hoarse, yelling out Rhys’s name with rage and fear and panic and fury. But no. Nothing.
Emma kissed Rhys on the cheek. ‘And where are you taking me? Is it somewhere wonderful? It had better be.’
Rhys leant close. ‘Oh yes. Best view of the Bay, it is. Just you and me.’
‘I can’t wait.’ Emma giggled. ‘Oh, you’re wonderful.’ She kissed him again on the cheek and picked up her handbag.
Rhys held the door open for her and Emma sailed through, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at Gwen.
And then they were gone. And just Gwen, trapped and alone and motionless in this bloody terrible little flat, itch itch itch, and oh god, she’s left the radio tuned to Classic.




CAPTAIN JACK, CAPTAIN
JACK, GET OFF YOUR BACK,
GO INTO TOWN, DON’T LET US
DOWN. OH NO, NO.
Jack was waiting impassively for the invisible lift when Ianto caught up with him.
‘I have to go. Don’t follow me, Ianto. This is all my fault.’ Jack was grim.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I made a mistake,’ said Jack. ‘I caused all this. I’ll either be back in an hour, or not at all.’ He shrugged. ‘But hey – you know me. I’m tough.’
‘Don’t be bloody rubbish.’
Jack stepped onto the platform, which started its upward glide. Rain was pouring down around him.
Straining to see him, Ianto tried to jump up on tiptoe and felt foolish.
‘You can’t just go!’ he protested, amazed at how high his voice went. ‘You can’t just run off like this!’
He could just see Jack, staring back down, giving him a look. It was a look that didn’t belong with the smile that forced its way across his face.
‘Jack!’ screamed Ianto as Jack started to vanish through the ceiling.
He just caught Jack’s voice, floating back down to him.
‘Check the energy cloud, Ianto. It’s building up – and there’s about a day before it goes off the scale.’ And then he was gone.



MOZART IS SPONSORED BY
CHOLESTRIA
… now available in a delicious dairy-free drink.
Next up on I Spy a Maestro… I Spy someone beginning with B. Would anyone care to guess? Don’t forget, we’ve just had P for lovely Pachelbel, and M was for magnificent Mozart, dear Wolfgang Amadeus – but B. Well, there’s almost two choices there. Shall I play you a mystery track and then we’ll take your calls on the usual number? So sit back, relax, and pop your thinking caps on…
Gwen was bored and scared. Like waiting for test results. This was boredom with a creeping numbness. The itching had gone now. And all she had was this vague lack of sensation. And on top of the tedium, a creeping, creeping loss of… she felt tired, could almost sense her eyes closing, and knew that this could mean a sleep that she’d never wake up from. The minutes crept gently into hours. Her only hope was that perhaps nothing dreadful was happening, that perhaps Rhys would be all right (oh, please let him be all right) and that maybe Emma would come back alone, and she’d see sense and release her. Oh, if Rhys was all right and she could get out then she’d be fine about it. Honest she would.
… Don’t forget, you’ll need to be licensed to sponsor an immigrant!
And welcome back to three hours of the most slinky and relaxing music imaginable.
The key turned in the lock and Emma and Rhys fell through in a laughing, snogging heap, dragging and fumbling their way onto the couch. Gwen was gutted.
For a second she hoped that her rage and fear might let her do something. Might let her move, or that he’d hear her. That he’d stop. That he’d realise… She struggled and struggled. But she couldn’t move. And she just watched.
Every now and then, Emma shot a glance of triumph in Gwen’s direction. Gwen wanted to scream back. Emma had taken her life, and she was now taking Rhys – Rhys who wasn’t Rhys, Rhys who she’d changed, who she was somehow making do… this…
‘And you’re making me watch. When I get out of here, I am going to hurt you.’
Emma stood up, zipping down her top and throwing back her hair. ‘Oh, you’re a wild one, Rhys Williams. No wonder your ex couldn’t let you go.’
Rhys spluttered on his wine. ‘My ex? Not Gwen?’
‘Oh yes!’ said Emma brightly. ‘I met her in the street. She warned me away from you. Said you were bad news. I told her she was pathetic and that you’d moved on.’
‘Ohhhhh, good,’ said Rhys uncertainly, suddenly rather more like himself. He looked nervously round the room. ‘You did, did you?’
Gwen was roaring away invisibly. ‘Yes! Rhys! Yes! Come on, baby! Think. Remember me – you’ve got to remember me!’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Emma, with the faint air of a schoolgirl telling a really big fib. ‘I told her a few home truths. You were too good for her, and she knew it.’
Rhys looked around the room again, and glanced sickly back at her. ‘You told her this, did you?’ He glanced over at the window, as though expecting Gwen to come crashing through it with a machine gun.
Emma nodded. ‘Trust me. She’s history. I laid it down to her and she just had to take it. The truth hurts, but it works. You. Will. Never. See. Her. Again.’ And she laughed and reached out her hand, glancing over at Gwen. And Rhys took her hand, at first gently, and then placidly, a dopey grin spreading across his face.
Gwen suddenly knew that she’d lost him. That Rhys was gone, replaced with the plastic sheep. She howled. Howled with rage and frustration. She was dying, and Rhys was lost – Emma would use him, change him, and then when she got bored, he’d die too. Just like that. And there was nothing she could do but watch. Watch and rage. She never dreamt this would be the end – watching everything taken away from her so cruelly and slowly.
Rhys stood up, gathering Emma in his arms. She leaned into his ear and breathed, ‘Take me to bed, Rhys.’
‘Don’t go, Rhys. Please don’t go. I love you, Rhys!’
Rhys followed her to the door. And paused.
‘Er, why is Gwen’s bag by your sofa?’
‘Yes! Oh, Rhys, you beauty! I love you! Yes!’
Emma’s gaze fell on the bag, and froze, and then she glanced across at where Gwen was.
Gwen felt a flicker of joy, of hope.
For the first time, Emma looked desperate, human. She could see the thinking going on. ‘God, how did you get in this mess?’ Gwen thought.
‘Oh, Rhys!’ gasped Emma after slightly too long a pause. ‘Gwen’s bag? Oh my god! Has she broken in? Is she trying to scare us? Oh, Rhys, call the police!’ She clung to him.
Rhys reacted as he always did when faced with tears, curling up with embarrassment – but in this case, also suspicion. ‘Gwen’s… Oh, my love, are you sure she didn’t come here, talk to you? Leave it behind by mistake?’
‘No,’ Emma sniffed, quietly.
He detached himself, and picked up the handbag. He looked inside it, almost automatically. And then he put it down, quietly.
‘I love Gwen,’ he said. ‘She’s my wife.’
‘What?’ Emma looked up, sudden real grief slapped on her face. ‘No, no. You love me.’
Rhys shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. No. I remember her now. She’s my wife and I love her. Where is she, please?’ His voice had gone tough.
Emma ignored him, rifling instead in her own handbag. ‘No, no, no,’ she said flatly. ‘You love me, now. You love me!’
She was suddenly holding the little glowing pebble in her hands, turning it over and over.
Do it girl! Do it!
‘Oh god, Rhys!’
Gwen started to scream his name over and over as Emma turned to face him.
‘What’s that?’ asked Rhys as she held it sheepishly towards him.
‘It’s a gun! It’s a bloody space gun and she’s pointing it at you! Oh, Rhys, oh, she’s going to change you again.’
Emma paused. It was the careful, slow pause of a shy child showing you her favourite toy. On the one hand, she was proud of it and wanted you to know what it meant to her. On the other hand it was so precious, she didn’t really want to give it up to you. So she’d offer it out with a firm grip and eyes pregnant with tears.
‘I don’t know exactly…’ began Emma. ‘But it makes everything special. Would you like to see how it works?’ And she stretched out with it, almost like she was offering it.
But Gwen knew better, Gwen knew what was going to happen next. Oh, Rhys…
And suddenly Rhys lunged at her, plucking it out of Emma’s shaking grasp.
‘Where did you…?’ he began, and then he stopped. His face slowed down, and took on the surprised, worried expression that Gwen got to see whenever she asked him if he’d paid the water bill.
And something in Emma changed. She looked startled, and then lost. Desperate. ‘Where’ve you gone, Cheryl?’ she said, quietly.
Rhys didn’t hear her. But Gwen did.
Gwen woke up, lying on the sofa. Rhys was kneeling over her, concerned. When she saw him she laughed and hugged him, delighted to be able to smell his smell and actually hold him.
‘Where’s she gone? Where’s she gone?’ Gwen yelled, but he shushed her.
‘Relax,’ he said, beaming. ‘Just so happens, I’m deputy manager of the Department of Saving Your Arse. Emma is… not a problem.’ He jerked his head over his shoulder.
Gwen sat up, and looked.
Standing there like a cross, mildly overweight waxwork with bad skin and terrible hair, was Emma. Not moving, not capable of moving, but fading away, ever so slightly.
Gwen giggled and then stopped herself. ‘Oh my god. What have you done? Rhys?’
Rhys looked abashed. ‘It was the voice in my head, see. Told me it was either you or her. No contest, really.’
Gwen got up with difficulty and walked over to Emma. And sighed.
She turned around. ‘Voice in your head, Rhys Williams? Is this like the one that told you to buy 150 tickets on Rollover week?’
‘No.’ He held up the pebble, which glowed and glistened. ‘This is one of your Extra Terrestrial Artefacts, isn’t it?’ He shook it, proudly, and winced. ‘Ouch. Apparently, I’m not supposed to do that.’
Gwen held out her hand. ‘Give that here, Rhys.’
Rhys didn’t. ‘If it’s all the same to you, love, I won’t just now. I’ve only just got you back, and I’m not letting go until I’m certain that it’s a permanent state of affairs, so to speak.’
‘I see.’ Gwen wasn’t fooled. ‘You like having a voice in your head, don’t you?’
Caught out, Rhys gave her a guilty look. ‘I really like having a voice in my head. It’s dead good. At first it sounded just like Arnie, but now it’s doing a pretty good David Beckham. All squeaky and puzzled. It’s really sweet. Especially when it just explained temporal causality to me.’
Gwen prodded Emma. ‘And what happens to her?’
Rhys shrugged. ‘Nothing for the moment. She just stays frozen. The device says Jack will know what to do.’
‘Jack?’ said Gwen, troubled.
‘But, if you ask me, it’s for the best, you know. I’ve met women like her. Never happy with other people, never happy with herself. Trust me, nothing and no one’s ever good enough for her. She was using the machine to find the right man – and there’s no such thing as Mr Perfect.’
Gwen hugged him again. ‘No there isn’t – but we do our best, don’t we?’
‘Yeah,’ said Rhys. ‘I know what all your faults are, and you tell me what all mine are.’
‘Quite right. Shall we go home?’
‘Oh yes.’
Gwen opened the door for him and pecked him on the cheek.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’
‘Thanks, pet.’
‘Even if you did kiss another woman in front of me.’
Rhys protested. ‘But I was her love slave! I was helpless in the face of her desires.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s still all your fault. And, on the journey home, I’ll explain how.’
‘Oh lovely.’
‘Come on,’ Gwen paused in the doorway, desperately happy. ‘Oh, and let’s leave her the radio on, shall we?’




YVONNE IS NOW LIVING IN A
FISH RESTAURANT
It was early morning when Gwen made it to the Hub.
When they’d got back to the flat, she’d just wanted to crawl into bed, but she’d made herself turn right around and head back out. Well, almost.
She’d tried phoning, but no one had answered her. When she arrived, the cavernous office was silent.
She suddenly realised how empty the enormous place was. How quiet and cold. A gentle ticking came from the Rift Manipulator.
‘Hello?’ she cried.
She went over to the coffee machine and felt it. Stone cold. This was a bad sign.
No Jack. No Ianto.
A sudden horrible thought struck her – what if they’d died? Would that make her Torchwood? Would she be the last line of defence for Cardiff, Wales and occasionally Earth?
Bums.
There was a noise behind her, and with relief she saw Ianto climbing out of an accessway. He was looking… amazing. Grubby, but amazing. He was in a long Fifties-retro dress with a work smock wrapped around it. His hair was hidden under a scarf. He was covered in dust and a couple of scratch marks. He smiled and shook out a duster.
‘Hey, Gwen!’ he said a little too brightly. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, amazing. Where’ve you been?’
‘Small vermin problem. Well, large vermin problem really. The Rift’s causing minor mutations to nearby wildlife. Luckily the rats aren’t getting bigger – just longer tails, but the shrews are enormous. And have started singing.’
‘You should get a cat,’ said Gwen.
Ianto looked a bit sad. ‘Oh, they had a cat before I joined. Yvonne. But no one’s seen her since we got the pterodactyl.’
‘Oh.’
He shrugged, a little sadly. ‘Oh I’m sure she’s fine – Yvonne was very cunning, by all accounts. But Jack had me going through the pterodactyl’s stools for a month looking for evidence.’
Gwen grimaced. ‘Where is the Fearless Leader?’
Ianto was again a bit too bright. ‘Oh, I’m sure he’s around.’
‘Have you tried calling him?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Ianto.
‘And he’s not answering you?’
‘No.’
‘Ah.’
‘I’m sure he’ll turn up.’ Ianto sank miserably down onto the sofa and cradled his chin in his hands.
‘You’ve said that already.’
‘Not quite that, I think you’ll find. I used a broadly similar but equally evasive turn of phrase.’
‘But Ianto, this is important, Rhys and I have solved the speed-dating thing.’
‘That’s great, Gwen, really great,’ said Ianto, flatly.
‘Hey! What’s up?’ said Gwen, losing it a little. ‘This is big news. We brought back a talking pebble and everything.’
She pulled the evidence bag gently out of her jacket.
Ianto started with horror and surprise. ‘That… that’s the thing that… I found on the boat. Before I changed.’
Both of them had a few seconds of just breathing very, very hard. And staring at the device, glowing gently through the bonded polythene-carbide bag.
‘Well, bugger me,’ said Gwen, eventually.
Ianto’s voice was soft, and scared. Gwen noticed he was chewing the end of his hair. ‘The energy cloud, this object. Jack said it was all his fault somehow. He said he knew who was behind it. And he went off to find them.’
‘Oh, that’s brilliant!’
‘Not really – he went off nearly twelve hours ago. I’ve tried everything to find him, and I can’t. He’s vanished.’
Gwen suddenly understood Ianto’s mood. She put the device down on the desk and frowned. ‘I can see why you’re worried. I mean, what could Jack have been doing all night?’