‘Umm, your father?’
‘No,’ the old man said, smiling. ‘No, although in many ways, he was like one to me. No, I used to serve a very wise and wonderful master, but he died a while ago. I have only recently been trusted with my Lord’s ashes and am taking them to be interred out of Britain.’
‘Right. I’m sorry. Clearly he meant a great deal to you.’
‘Indeed. And you, sir? Why are you travelling today?’
‘Oh, me? I, well, I got a job offer. Out of the blue actually. And for some reason Cardiff felt a bit… you know, cloying after living there so many years. So I thought, hell, Idris Hopper, why not? Why not take a gamble and do something exciting with your life? So, same basic job but in a new environment.’
‘You speak the language?’
‘Yes. Need to in my line of work. English, German, French, Italian and a smattering of Russian. Not much Welsh, mind.’
The old man smiled at this. ‘Excellent. I admire a man who can converse freely.’ He shuffled in his seat. ‘Well, if you will excuse me, I need to rest for a while.’
‘Oh, not at all,’ Idris said, secretly glad he wouldn’t need to make conversation with the nice old man and his rather scary box of ashes.
The old man gave Idris one last look before turning back to his snooze.
‘A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Hopper. And good luck in Berlin.’
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Firstly, thanks to Russell, Julie, Chris and Richard for letting me do this – and especially to Cath for being so generous about Bilis.
Thanks, too, to poor Brian, who has had to share an office with me when I’ve been in my darkest ‘ohgodihavetowritreabookinaludicrouslyshorttime’ moods; to John Roulston-Bates for his life-saving apartment and desktop in Noo Yoik; to Steve Tribe for quite amazing patience; and to Charlotte Bruton for being in my corner so readily and so often.
And, finally, to all the Torchwood TV series writers and actors who’ve made these characters so much fun to transfer to a different medium.
Yaaay Torchwood!
