Winner Takes All by Jacqueline Rayner Page A

ask a question. My mum’s won one of your holidays and I need to get in touch with her urgently. Could you tell me if she’s left yet?’
    â€˜I am sorry, that is not possible,’ said the Quevvil, pushing forward the box.
    â€˜Is there a depot or something?’ said Rose, her eyes darting all around the booth, hoping to discover some sort of clue.
    â€˜I am afraid I cannot give out that information,’ said the Quevvil, still being insistent with the boxed game.
    Rose lost it. ‘Tell me what you’ve done with my mother!’ she screamed. She grabbed the box, and threw it across the counter. It hit a pile of games, which collapsed with an almighty crash. The Quevvil’s quills began to stand on end, and it suddenly hit Rose that this was an alien, an alien who didn’t mind killing humans – it wasn’t going to give her any information on Jackie, this was totally the wrong plan, and the door had closed behind her . . .
    The Quevvil was holding the gun on the Doctor when a great noise came from above, as if something heavy had been dropped to the floor. The Quevvil glanced upwards, and the Doctor pounced. Pouncing on something covered in pointed quills possibly wasn’t the most sensible move in the world, but the Quevvil was distracted as the Doctor managed to wrench its gun away, and in an instant he was out through the door. A barrage of spines soared through the air after him as he sprinted down the corridor, past the three Quevvils by the ladder to the trapdoor, presumably going to investigate the noise. He reached the far end of the corridor, and slammed the door behind him. A drumming noise told him that more quills were thudding into the heavy wood of the door. The key was on this side, and he turned it. It might keep them out for a while. He took a deep breath.
    Rose had forgotten that the doors opened from the inside. She hit the control and dived out of the booth, praying that the Quevvil wouldn’t follow her. It wouldn’t, would it? Wouldn’t want to make a fuss, make people think there was something odd going on, that they weren’t what they said they were . . .
    She stood by the booth, not knowing what to do next, panic threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to throw more things.
    Then a voice somewhere nearby said, ‘Rose? Rose, sweetheart? Is everything all right?’
    Of course everything wasn’t all right, and it took Rose a few moments to calm down and pay attention to the tremulous voice. She finally turned round, to see an elderly lady wearing a pink plastic mac, a flowered headscarf tied over her white permed curls. It didn’t register initially. And then she realised, hardly daring to let herself hope. ‘Dilys?’ she said. ‘But . . . but I thought you were going on this holiday with my mum . . .’
    Dilys looked worried. ‘I couldn’t go on my own, Rose, love. Since my Harold died, you know I don’t like going places on my own, not even the bingo.’ She held out a hand in which was a familiar piece of cardboard. ‘I just came here to see if there was anything they could do about it, about your mum’s. Shame she has to miss out.’ She pushed the scratchcard towards Rose. ‘Look, would you take this, Rose, dear? I feel so bad about what happened. I couldn’t go now. Maybe your mum’ll still want to, though, later. She can have this one, I know they said we had to go today, but you never know . . .’
    Rose took the card, not really understanding what Dilys was saying, but the hope was growing, blossoming inside her. ‘You mean my mum didn’t go on the holiday either!’
    But Dilys was still looking worried. ‘You mean you don’t know? They said they’d phone you, promised they’d let you know.’
    The hope was being replaced by an ache, a heaviness in her stomach, and she blurted out,