stuck on a very long coach journey when I was a student.’ He pouted slightly. ‘And you’re sure it’s true?’
Gwen nodded, sadly. ‘The ferry was damaged. There were quite a few survivors, but all of them were in shock. I’ve spent days talking to them, but it just didn’t seem very Torchwood. No one’s said anything about this. No one mentioned weird medicine, strange devices or talking flame. They just said the boat hit something and started to sink. Not even that much, really. They all just seemed shocked and lucky to be alive. Seems like someone altered their memories for us, which is curious.’ Gwen clicked her mouse, and the passenger list swam across the wall. ‘But not the passenger list. And Ross and Christine Kielty are listed as passengers.’ She pulled up a couple of pictures.
‘Hey, Christine,’ said Jack.
Ianto looked at the picture, and nodded. ‘That’s me. That’s her. She died. Burning like a candle. And whatever she gave me…’ Ianto shook his head. ‘I must have lost it in the water. I don’t remember how I got back to my flat. I just don’t.’
He sat, staring at his reflection in the expensive polished wood. Even now it just seemed wrong.
Gwen was positive, encouraging. ‘Well, it was the device that changed you. Maybe her husband’s got something that can change you back. If he made it off that boat. If he’s alive.’
Ianto looked at the picture of Ross Kielty. Really looked at it. ‘He is. I saw him. The other night. He was on St Mary Street. He was shocked to see me.’
‘Finally!’ Jack grinned. ‘We’re finally getting somewhere. This is what we do. A bit of CCTV, a bit of digging – and we’ll find out where Mr Kielty’s gone to ground.’
‘But Jack,’ said Ianto, ‘why did I hear your voice on the boat? And what about those fireballs? Where do they fit in?’
‘Oh, we’ll deal with them,’ said Jack. ‘Great balls of fire? It’s what I live for.’
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
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?’
