quite been Gwen. I'd kind of hoped that would have changed with the wedding, but it didn't. Torchwood got in the way.
Her mood changed just a little with the announcement of the pregnancy, but then, well, Torchwood got in the way again.
And then we went on the run. Or, as I put it,
'Freelance Contracting.'
'And what does that even mean?' My mother sounded so sad on the phone. 'Don't forget your pension. After all, Gwen's not the type to go back to work after having a baby, and you'll have an extra mouth to feed, and it's important to think about these things.'
This was my mother - a woman who cut her pot scrubbers in half to make them last twice as long.
There was no place in her world for Gwen or for Torchwood.
She took the news that we wouldn't be paying a visit with bitter stoicism. 'Ah well, I'm sure Gwen thinks that's for the best.'
I started to argue, but she just steamrollered over me. 'Listen, Rhys, have you got an address? So that we can post on that teddy. That is, if Gwen wants it.
I know you're moving around a lot, but it would be nice to think that our grandchild had something of ours with her.'
I explained that we didn't really have an address.
I didn't say we were staying at a motor lodge on a traffic island near Tenby.
Are you sure there isn't an address, love?' My mother pressed on. 'It's just that there were some old friends of hers from work round here the other day looking for her. Quite why they think I could help, I do not know. But they're ever so keen to get in touch with her.'
I imagined them. Sat in the front room while my mum fussed around them with shop-bought cake and the floral-pattern china. They probably wore suits and smiles and sunglasses indoors and were ever so polite.
They were still coming for us. And they wouldn't stop.
I woke up.
'Oh dear,' said Mrs Harries, her voice ever so weak. 'You set them off.'
We were both lying down on the floor of the empty village hall.
'What the bloody hell happened?' It felt like a terrible, terrible hangover. A sharp nail was being hammered into my skull right between the eyes.
'You'll have taken the brunt of it, my dear,' Mrs Harries looked similarly pained and her hands were shaking. They don't get upset... often.' She sat up, rubbing at her head. Blood trickled from a nostril.
She fished around in her handbag, chomped down a couple of aspirin and offered me the blister pack. 'No water, I'm afraid, but it's better than bugger all.'
I swallowed the pills and wondered how long it would be before I could feel them doing some good.
About twenty minutes wasn't it? Twenty minutes suddenly seemed such a long time.
'Where are they?' I asked.
Mrs Harries's eyes flicked to the door, nervously.
They always make themselves scarce afterwards.
Sheepish.'
'What.... What was it that they did?' I asked, massaging my forehead, which only succeeded in moving the pain around a bit.
'It's...' Her voice was tight and strained. The poor woman was clearly terrified. As she spoke, I felt a chill spread through the room. She wrapped her jacket tightly around her like it was a blanket. 'It was... It's what happens when...'
'Wait. You're saying they can control minds?'
'Not exactly... but they can... Oh, it's tough to say. Really, we know so little about them. But they can influence their parents. It's hard to explain. On a hot summer's day, Mrs Meredith sells out of ice cream very rapidly.'
That was utterly creepy.
'Normally, it's fine. You'll find yourself picking up a few extra things on the supermarket run, doing a special wash for a favourite T-shirt, or watching a TV programme you don't much care for... but that's it.'
There was something oddly human about this.
Favourite TV programmes and T-shirts? These kids seemed a bit less unsettling. A bit more like human children. Just with better pester power. Only... only they'd just turned my brain off and then back on again.
'Every now and then... they get locked into...
well, a loop. It's your
Her mood changed just a little with the announcement of the pregnancy, but then, well, Torchwood got in the way again.
And then we went on the run. Or, as I put it,
'Freelance Contracting.'
'And what does that even mean?' My mother sounded so sad on the phone. 'Don't forget your pension. After all, Gwen's not the type to go back to work after having a baby, and you'll have an extra mouth to feed, and it's important to think about these things.'
This was my mother - a woman who cut her pot scrubbers in half to make them last twice as long.
There was no place in her world for Gwen or for Torchwood.
She took the news that we wouldn't be paying a visit with bitter stoicism. 'Ah well, I'm sure Gwen thinks that's for the best.'
I started to argue, but she just steamrollered over me. 'Listen, Rhys, have you got an address? So that we can post on that teddy. That is, if Gwen wants it.
I know you're moving around a lot, but it would be nice to think that our grandchild had something of ours with her.'
I explained that we didn't really have an address.
I didn't say we were staying at a motor lodge on a traffic island near Tenby.
Are you sure there isn't an address, love?' My mother pressed on. 'It's just that there were some old friends of hers from work round here the other day looking for her. Quite why they think I could help, I do not know. But they're ever so keen to get in touch with her.'
I imagined them. Sat in the front room while my mum fussed around them with shop-bought cake and the floral-pattern china. They probably wore suits and smiles and sunglasses indoors and were ever so polite.
They were still coming for us. And they wouldn't stop.
I woke up.
'Oh dear,' said Mrs Harries, her voice ever so weak. 'You set them off.'
We were both lying down on the floor of the empty village hall.
'What the bloody hell happened?' It felt like a terrible, terrible hangover. A sharp nail was being hammered into my skull right between the eyes.
'You'll have taken the brunt of it, my dear,' Mrs Harries looked similarly pained and her hands were shaking. They don't get upset... often.' She sat up, rubbing at her head. Blood trickled from a nostril.
She fished around in her handbag, chomped down a couple of aspirin and offered me the blister pack. 'No water, I'm afraid, but it's better than bugger all.'
I swallowed the pills and wondered how long it would be before I could feel them doing some good.
About twenty minutes wasn't it? Twenty minutes suddenly seemed such a long time.
'Where are they?' I asked.
Mrs Harries's eyes flicked to the door, nervously.
They always make themselves scarce afterwards.
Sheepish.'
'What.... What was it that they did?' I asked, massaging my forehead, which only succeeded in moving the pain around a bit.
'It's...' Her voice was tight and strained. The poor woman was clearly terrified. As she spoke, I felt a chill spread through the room. She wrapped her jacket tightly around her like it was a blanket. 'It was... It's what happens when...'
'Wait. You're saying they can control minds?'
'Not exactly... but they can... Oh, it's tough to say. Really, we know so little about them. But they can influence their parents. It's hard to explain. On a hot summer's day, Mrs Meredith sells out of ice cream very rapidly.'
That was utterly creepy.
'Normally, it's fine. You'll find yourself picking up a few extra things on the supermarket run, doing a special wash for a favourite T-shirt, or watching a TV programme you don't much care for... but that's it.'
There was something oddly human about this.
Favourite TV programmes and T-shirts? These kids seemed a bit less unsettling. A bit more like human children. Just with better pester power. Only... only they'd just turned my brain off and then back on again.
'Every now and then... they get locked into...
well, a loop. It's your
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