Believe me, I know the feeling.'

The woman stared at her and then turned away, slowly disappearing back into the crowd.

'That poor woman,' said Polly. 'She so desperately wanted me to be her Mich.e.l.le. Do you think Kitty and the others look at people in crowds and hope to see me? Or ask complete strangers if they are me?'

'I don't know.' Tim looked at his watch. 'We ought to go.'

'I don't like this, Tim. I don't like being in the future. It was bad enough in c.u.mbria, where just the things were strange. But here, London, it's too near home. I want to find the Doctor in Australia and go back to the TARDIS. Get away from here.'

'All right. Let's go fly.'

'Are you sure he'll be there?' They walked into Golden Square, on their way to Piccadilly tube, where they could get on the underground to London Airport. Or Heathrow as Tim said it was called now.

'He'll be there. I promise. Believe me.'

'I do.'

'Hey!' Tim suddenly bounced ahead of her, like a puppy.

If he had a tail, it would have been wagging. 'Hey, how many terminals were at Heathrow in 1966?'

'Terminals? One, I suppose. Why?'

196.

Tim had skipped around her. 'Oh boy, are you in for a surprise.'

He was not wrong. Polly could not ever remember seeing so many people crammed into one place. Four terminals and even that did not seem to be enough. She felt the fear building up inside her - was she becoming agoraphobic?

Claustrophobic? Peoplephobic? All she knew was that the sooner Tim got her away from all this, the better.

He thrust a ticket into her hand and booked their baggage in. Ten minutes later, they walked towards the departure lounge for flight QF003 to Sydney via Singapore and Melbourne.

And here she was now, seated in seats 75A and 75B, just the two seats with plenty of baggage room beside the window, near the rear of the plane. Polly had not had a chance to tell Tim that she had only flown once before but what the h.e.l.l. She had been to a colony on Vulcan and back.

What was a little trip to Australia? Surely it was not that different to the TARDIS?

Except that the TARDIS did not take twenty-three hours.

And the Doctor was in it.

While Tim went to the toilet, Polly took out the pack of tarot cards, shuffled them and turned the top one over - the Lovers. It showed a tall man with a woman, both dark-skinned with pure white hair, their young faces portraying love and comfort in each other. They were draped together under a ma.s.sive cloak, he offering her flowers. At their feet, two cats, both almost pure white, the male rubbing his chin over the female's head.

According to the little instruction book that came with the set, the cloak represented a youthful and carefree existence that they share, its circular patterns symbolic of eternity. An eternal friendship/relationship/whatever. Their pale hair glowing in their love for each other. The flowers are a token of his affection for her. They are headed for a deep, meaningful friendship - possibly more - Polly slipped the book back into the pack. Tim was coming down the aisle from the toilet and she felt guilty 197 about examining the tarot cards. It was almost as if she were refusing to accept what he had read. Much of it had been negative - the thing about the Knight of Wands and the Knight of Swords, warnings not to trust people. Both in their way had pointed towards the Doctor. But, she reasoned, both could mean Tim. Or Ben. Or anyone. Was Tim trying to tell her something when he joked about the bad cards all representing him?

'Oh, what's the point?' She stuffed the pack back into her pocket.

As Tim sat beside her, casually stroking the back of her hand and sending a little thrill up her spine that she simply could not keep ignoring, she wondered what the Doctor was doing right now.

'I wonder what Polly's doing right now,' muttered Ben as he was pushed along the carpeted floor of the Cat-People's battle-cruiser. He stared at the carpeted walls and carpeted ceilings. It occurred to him that maybe Persian cats were employed to weave carpets for the ship.

The Doctor was walking backwards, forwards and sideways, apparently trying to take in every nook and cranny, count every bolt and bulkhead, and generally making Ben dizzy. 'Oh, don't you worry, Ben. She'll be all right for now. Tim ought to be taking her to Australia as we speak.'

'Why?'

The Doctor suddenly dropped to the floor by a guard. 'Bit worn here, old chap. Chap-ess.' He corrected himself sheepishly. 'What's your name? You weren't on Earth, were you?'

The Cat-Person raised her rifle-blaster a bit higher. 'I am Nihmrod of the Queen's Guard.'

'Ah.' The Doctor stopped moving and stared upwards, sucking his finger as if trying to remember something.

'Nihmrod. Someone once told me that means Little Hunter.

Are you a hunter, Nihmrod?'

198.

'Only of fleshy animals like you. To capture and kill. The hunt is all that matters.'

'Oh, absolutely.' They came to a blunt-ended corridor.

Then a panel slid away, revealing a lift. 'In here? Oh, good.'

He jumped forward as if over an invisible trip-wire. With a sigh, Ben walked in normally, followed by Nihmrod, her red leather suit creaking slightly. The Doctor, smaller than Ben and Nihmrod, stood at the back of the lift. 'This is a terribly nice guided tour, Nihmrod. Do you do them often?'

'Quiet.'

The Doctor stuck his tongue out at the back of her head.

'Suit yourself'

The lift door slid open and they were in another long, carpeted corridor. Instead of sliding doors, each entranceway was covered by hanging beads of soft curtains. 'Living quarters, Doc,' said Ben.

'Yes. Probably. They like their comfort, don't they?'

Without waiting for an answer, he darted through the nearest set of hanging beads, letting them clack behind him.

Nihmrod and Ben were after him instantly, and they found him sitting cross-legged on a cushion. 'Queen Aysha's perhaps?'

Nihmrod lowered her rifle-blaster. 'No. First-sired Chosan's actually. Queen Aysha's is further down this corridor.'

'Easy mistake.' The Doctor got up. He turned and patted the cushion, removing his indentation. 'Wouldn't want to upset Chosan, would we, Ben?'

'No, Doctor. Any more than we want to upset Queen Aysha.'

'Ah.' The Doctor wandered back into the corridor. 'You're quite right.' He turned to Nihmrod. 'Well, come on, come on. Don't keep Her Majesty waiting.'

Nihmrod pushed past them. 'Follow me.'

The Doctor winked at Ben and nodded slightly. Ben frowned and then got it. Nihmrod was now in front, and there was nothing behind.

199.

He slowed to let Nihmrod get a couple of paces ahead. He was going to ask the Doctor what they were going to do next when he suddenly realized he and Nihmrod were alone.

The Doctor had vanished.

Circling Sydney Airport. Five o'clock in the morning, local time. Pitch-black. Little lights. Water. Tired. Needing a wash. Furry teeth, scraggly hair. Creased Muji pullover.

Tim's morning breath on her neck.

Polly had managed to stay awake just enough to register the rather dreary thirty-minute video showing her the delights of Sydney, complete with behind-the-scenes footage of new movies, some theatre productions and a brief 'guided tour' of, oddly enough, the tourist attractions. The graphics that flashed around the screen, pictures flipping in and out and over each other had been almost too much. So many technological advances in thirty years - all down to computers, she was sure. That seemed to be the catchword of the Nineties: 'It's amazing what they can do with computers.'

She had sleepily murmured at some point to Tim what was the point of employing actors if computers could do it all? He had nodded and gone back to sleep. Very useful.

'Botany Bay,' murmured a rather fey steward. 'Where James Cook eventually settled when he found he couldn't see directly into Sydney harbour. So the airport was built here as well. Are you here for long?'

Polly immediately a.s.sumed he wanted to see her pa.s.sport and dug around in her bag for it. Her new bag that Tim had given her at Heathrow that contained a pa.s.sport (a small, burgundy one, not the chunky black one Daddy had got for her when they went to the Seych.e.l.les a couple of years earlier), credit cards, a brush, $250 and a crumpled photo of her and Ben on the c.u.mbrian cliff tops - none of which Polly could account for.

Triumphantly she flourished the pa.s.sport but the steward laughed politely. 'I'm not checking. Just asking.'

200.

'Oh.' Polly felt silly. 'Sorry. Anyway, I don't know. It depends on Tim.'

The steward stared for a moment at Tim. 'Is he your boyfriend?' he asked cheerily.

'Yes,' said Tim, suddenly sitting upright and not looking as if he had been on a plane for twenty-plus hours.

'Oh.' The steward wandered away.

'Cheeky git,' muttered Tim.

Polly laughed. 'Actually I don't think it was me he was interested in.'

Tim nodded, 'I know. As I said, cheeky git.'

Ten minutes later, the plane landed safely. 'Still got their one-hundred-percent safety record, then,' Tim muttered.

They grabbed their hand luggage - Polly's handbag and a plastic bag of T-shirts of Tim's - and made their way down the aisles as quickly as the ma.s.s of people would allow.

'Should've gone First Cla.s.s,' Polly said but Tim shook his head.

'Business, maybe, but in First they're over-attentive.'

They arrived in Pa.s.sport Control, were smoothly processed, collected their luggage and walked into the Arrivals terminal. 'Do you drive, Polly?'

'No.'

'Shame. Neither do I. We need a car.'

'Mr Atimkos?'

Startled, they both turned to greet a scruffy Aboriginal man, his teeth gleaming in a broad smile through a matted beard. His breath smelt of cheap beer but his manner did not suggest to Polly that he was in any way drunk.

'h.e.l.lo. Who are you?' Tim offered his hand and the Aborigine shook it.

'Sidney. And you are?'

'Polly. Polly Wright. h.e.l.lo, Sidney of Sydney.' Polly realized he had slipped her luggage away and was turning his back, carrying it towards the doors. They slid open and the cool, but humid July air hit her. Tim smiled encouragingly as she began to sweat. 'What's it like by lunchtime?'

201.

'Hotter,' called Sidney. 'You cover yourself up with block, Miss Wright. Your skin is pale, you'll burn easily.'

Polly shrugged and looked back at the airport. 'I'm not planning on sunbathing, Sidney.'

'No matter, Miss Wright. Half a day walking around the shops and you'll begin to cook in this weather. Sunblock and time, that's what you need. Your body adjusts if you are careful.'

Polly said she would remember that and looked at Tim.

He made a face that said he did not understand either, which Polly was glad of in a way. Something strange was happening that Tim was not aware of. She remembered the tarot cards: The Knights. Was Sidney one of these? One to be trusted? They got into the car, Tim in the front and Polly clambered over one of the Muji bags that Sidney had failed to cram into the boot. The car looked tatty and uninspiring from the outside, like any cheap mini-cab might that was looked after by a boozy Abo. Inside, it was a palace! The seats were soft and clean, a feeling of fresh water in the air and an almost dizzying mixture of smells, reinforcing the feeling that Polly was halfway up a mountain rather than in a taxi. Music was playing from somewhere; it sounded like a recording of Tibetan monks chanting and humming. It was constant, no change in rhythm or harmony. She was not sure how long she could cope with it. The dashboard on the car looked very futuristic but Polly just a.s.sumed she was not used to it until she noticed Tim staring in equal fascination.

'Nice car,' was all he said.

Sidney laughed. 'Mr Udentkista's, I believe. He's always tinkering with things, you know.'

Polly leaned forward. 'Can I have the window down a bit?

I can't find a handle.'

Sidney slapped his head with his hand. 'I knew something would get forgotten. Sorry, Miss Wright.'

The top third of the window beside Polly simply melted away and a cool draft of air seeped in.

'Very good, Sidney. You've mastered the art well,' was Tim's response.

202.

'Not really, Mr Atimkos -'

'Tim.'

'Mr Tim. Not really - it's all one really. No joins.'

Polly looked about the car and realized it was true. There were no joins, each thing simply grew out of another: the seats, the armrests, the rear-view mirror, the fluffy dice. It was as if the inside of the car were one huge blob of matter that things were shaped from. Like Plasticine.

'Very good.' Tim poked Sidney's arm. 'You as well?'