Chapter 10

Home Sweet Home?

It was late on Saturday afternoon in the village of Dunwich, and the light was starting to fade as a Land Rover Discovery whispered silently around the village green on its four electric motors. It pulled up outside the Templeton's cottage, and a dark skinned man and a red haired woman climbed out. The woman looked out over the green at the church and took in a deep breath.

'Oh, innit good to be back home?' she said.

'Yeah. I can't believe how lucky we are to live here,' the man replied.

The woman sniffed the air. 'Can you smell burnin'?

The man sniffed. 'Oh yeah. Smells like someone's been burning an old sofa,' he replied.

'I bet Harriman the baker's done a King Alfred on the cakes again,' the woman suggested. 'I swear he's goin' senile.'

The man laughed. 'Go and put the kettle on and I'll get the luggage out of the back.'

They had just returned from a holiday in the Maldives, and had driven back from Heathrow airport. The man opened the back of the Discovery and took out four cases . . . and a hat box. He smiled to himself at that. Who takes a hat box to the Maldives?

It took two trips to get the cases (and the hat box) into the hallway, and he closed the front door. The air in the cottage was cold and slightly damp, so he went through to the kitchen and switched on the central heating, turning the thermostat up high.

'Good idea,' his wife said, and picked up the two mugs of tea. 'Let's take these through to the lounge and warm up.'

They cuddled up on the sofa and cupped their hands around their mugs of tea. The air had already started to warm up, and the cottage started to feel homely and inviting once more.

'I can't be arsed to put a wash on tonight,' the woman said. 'I'll do a big wash tomorrow.'

'It'll keep,' the man agreed. 'What do you want to do about tea tonight? I could get a takeaway from the Indian in Trayne.'

'Nah. Don't fancy an Indian. Tell yer what, why don't we have somethin' at the pub with a pint of real ale,' she said with a smile.

'And you can catch up on the local gossip,' he said with a laugh.

'I don't know what you mean,' she said, feigning indignity.

He laughed again. 'Sounds good to me anyway. We'll finish our drinks, go get freshened up, change our clothes, and then we can have a wander over.'

An hour later, the couple were strolling around the edge of the Green, arm in arm. They had their long winter coats on as the temperature had fallen considerably once the weak autumn sun had dropped below the horizon. The ornate, old fashioned street lamps had modern LED bulbs in them and cast oases of white light on the narrow pavements. They could see a welcoming glow of yellowish light coming through the windows and the open door of the The Scythe and Stone Inn.

The woman was wearing a woolly hat, pulled down over her ears with matching woollen gloves, and held on to her husbands arm. The man had a scarf tied around his neck in the modern fashion of putting the two ends through the loop, and had his hands in his coat pockets. They walked up the few steps to the door of the Inn, and the man ushered his wife inside.

The Inn owner, Mrs Williams looked towards the door to see who had entered, and smiled a greeting. The couple noticed that the smile didn't quite make it to the rest of her face like it normally did.

'Donna. Shaun. You're back,' Mrs Williams observed. 'Pint and a half of Monk's is it?'

'Yes please,' Donna replied. 'And a couple of hotpots if you're doin' 'em.'

'Of course,' Mrs Williams said as she started to pull the pump on the bar. 'DAVID. TWO HOTPOTS PLEASE,' she shouted.

'Righto,' a voice called back through a door leading to the kitchen.

'How were the Maldives?'

'Lovely thanks Mrs W. One week of digital detox does wonders for the soul,' Donna replied.

'You haven't heard the news then?' Mrs Williams asked.

'What news? We've been on a desert island . . . Well, when I say desert island, it wasn't like Robinson Crusoe. We had five star accommodation and Cordon Bleu cuisine, but we'd put our phones on do not disturb. Emergency calls only in case my mum or grandad needed to contact me, or Shaun's family needed to contact him.'

'That explains it then. I know you young 'n's are usually all over this kind of thing on your Faceblog, Catchup and Webgossip . . .'

Shaun gently interrupted her verbal wanderings. 'Mrs Williams . . . Over all what kind of thing? What news?'

The innkeeper stopped talking. 'What? Oh, the news. Well it started on Wednesday night. It was just after ten, and Alf and Harry were having their usual argument about fertilizers.' She was referring to Alfred Wait and a certain Harry Crankhart, local farmers who had differing views on traditional and organic farming methods.

'Amelia Latterly and Victoria Lamb were in their usual corner. G and T with ice and a slice for Miss Latterly, and a Lambrusco for Miss Lamb as usual. A few of the youngsters who hadn't gone to the pictures in Trayne were in, enjoying a game of darts. Alf finished his pint first and went home, which was fortunate for him,' she continued.

'Fortunate how?' Donna asked, wondering when Mrs Williams would get to the point. She knew it was no good trying to hurry her. Donna had tried that once and gotten the woman all flustered and confused so that she'd had to start telling the gossip all over again from the start. 'When has being thirsty been fortunate?'

'I'm coming to that dear,' Mrs Williams told her, like an aunt talking to her favourite niece. 'Harry left a few minutes later, and that's were they found him, on the steps outside. Stone cold and stiff as a board by all accounts.'

Donna frowned in confusion. 'What? So he took a bit longer to finish his pint and it killed him?'

'Well yes . . . sort of. You see, if they'd have left together, Alf would have been dead there beside him,' Mrs Williams said helpfully.

'So, what? Did a slate fall off the roof or something? Or a piece of masonry?' Shaun asked, thinking like an architect.

'No. Nothing like that,' Mrs Williams said. 'He fell asleep like everyone else.'

'Fell asleep,' Donna said. 'Did he bang his head on the step or somethin'?'

'No. Well I don't think so. Doctor Willers said it was hypothermia that killed him.'

'Blimey. How cold was it?' Donna asked. She turned to Shaun. 'How long does it take to die from . . .' She turned back to Mrs Williams. '. . . Like everyone else . . ? What'cha mean, "like everyone else"?'

'Well, the whole village. Everyone fell asleep.'

Donna's mouth fell open. 'No way.'

'Yes. One minute I was pulling a pint at quarter past ten on Wednesday night. The next, it was nine thirty yesterday morning and I was on the floor covered in stale beer and as stiff as a board.'

'What happened? I mean, what caused it?' Shaun asked.

'Nobody knows,' Mrs Williams replied. 'We all woke up at the same time and went outside. Poor Harry's body had already been taken away by those people off the telly.'

'What people off the telly?' Donna asked.

'Those ghostbuster people . . . You know. That scientist in the suit with the nice smile. Mind you, he could do with putting a comb through his hair.'

Donna's mouth fell open again. 'Torchwood? You are kiddin' me. You're tellin' me Torchwood were here, in our village?' She looked at Shaun. 'Torchwood were here. In our village.'

'So I gather,' Shaun said with a lopsided smile.

'And we missed it. I missed Doctor Smith! God he's gorgeous,' Donna told Mrs Williams. 'We tried to see 'im and his wife Rose, years ago when we were livin' in New York. But we never bumped into them, did we?'

'No, you didn't,' Shaun replied.

His wife's obsession with celebrity always made him smile. They had seen the news reports from when Torchwood New York was being set up, and Donna had visited the area frequently, trying to accidentally on purpose bump into John and Rose Smith. She had been an ardent follower of their lives in the gossip magazines, and she still had the recording of the Parkinson show, as well as the Hello magazine which had the official photos of the Smith's wedding in Somerset.

'There were ambulances, fire engines and police all around the Green. It was proper crowded here yesterday,' Mrs Williams continued.

'Fire engines?' Shaun queried, and saw the sad expression on Mrs Williams' face. There were tears welling in her eyes.

'Yes. It was so sad. You know the Trunks?' she told them, rather than asking. 'Will's a farm hand at Dacre farm . . . was a farm hand.'

'Oh yeah. I know 'im. I know his wife Sue better,' Donna said. 'And that cheeky little scamp, Ryan. What happened, did they have a fire?'

Mrs Williams took out a tissue and dabbed her eyes. 'Yes, they did. And no one was awake to put it out.'

Donna put a hand to her mouth in horror, and Shaun grasped her other hand. 'Oh don't tell me their house burnt down.'

Mrs Williams nodded. 'I told the fire officer that Sue liked to have her scented candles on the go. He reckoned that they must have knocked one over when they passed out.'

'Oh Shaun,' Donna cried, full of guilt. People had died, and all she could think about was celebrities on the telly. Shaun put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

But Mrs Williams hadn't finished. 'The Stagfields place burnt down as well. That was probably a cigarette. Old man Stagfield liked his roll ups. Rosie Platch couldn't take her insulin and died of her diabetes. There was Mrs Brinkman as well. She couldn't take her heart tablets . . .'

'How many?' Donna interrupted. 'How many of the villagers died?'

'Eleven in total,' Mrs Williams told them. 'Various chronic chest complaints, hypothermia and the like.'

'Eleven?! But that's terrible,' Donna said, anger now taking over from guilt. 'Who did this? I'll bloody kill 'em. Nobody does this in my town . . . village.'

'Well, the Environment Agency said that the earth tremor that we had earlier in the day released a pocket of natural gas which knocked people out, but fortunately wasn't concentrated enough to kill anyone,' Mrs Williams explained.

'Pocket of gas?' Donna said, as though the Environment Agency thought she was an idiot. 'And you buy that?'

'As if,' Mrs Williams replied. 'Half the village, mainly the young 'n's, think its aliens. The other half think it's those people up at the Grange.'

'I could believe that,' Shaun said. 'Does anyone really know what they do up there?'

'There's lots of theories,' Mrs Williams said. 'But I'll tell you one thing. That Doctor Smith went up to the Grange, and an hour later, a black Torchwood truck came and took something away.'

'What was it?' Donna asked.

'Don't know. It was covered with a tarpaulin as it came back down Hickham Lane. I think it was round though, like a huge beach ball.'

'And what do Torchwood say about it?' Donna asked. 'They're supposed to be honest and open. At least that's what they say on their show.'

'Still running tests apparently. Say it's too early to speculate.'

'So they haven't got a clue either,' Donna interpreted.

'Doesn't look like it, no. By the way, I don't know if you are interested, the Reverend Leebody's holding a special service at the church tomorrow morning.'

'Of course we're interested, aren't we Shaun,' Donna said. 'We'll be there to show our support.'

'And if there's anything we can do to help,' Shaun added.

'That's very good of you both,' Mrs Williams said. 'I know a lot of people these days aren't that religious, or go to church, but when something like this happens, it's important for people to come together, and the church seems the right place to do it.'

'TWO HOTPOTS,' a man dressed as a chef called out, carrying a tray with two steaming ceramic dishes on it.

'Oh. There's your meals,' Mrs Williams said. She nodded to a small round table just to the side of the bar. 'Have a seat and David will bring them over. Do you want another drink?'

Donna and Shaun finished their drinks. 'Yes please,' Shaun said. 'And have one yourself.'

'That's kind of you Love. I'll have a half of Monk's thank you.'

They took off their coats and put them over the backs of the chairs before sitting at the table. David the chef came around the bar and placed the dishes in front of them with their cutlery. Mrs Williams held out the drinks and he put them on the table as well.

'Thanks Dave,' Donna said.

'You're welcome. Enjoy your meal.'

'I'll try, but I've kinda lost my appetite now after hearin' what happened.'

'You've heard then,' David said

'Yeah. Mrs W was just telling us. I can't believe it.'

'Neither can anyone else,' David replied with a far away look in his eyes. He silently wandered back to the kitchen, deep in his own thoughts.

They started eating their meal unenthusiastically, when Donna put her knife and fork down. 'I've just remembered, our phones are still on "do not disturb".'

She took her phone out of her pocket, put it on the table, and resumed her meal, as Shaun did the same. She went into the settings menu and turned off the "do not disturb". The phone vibrated against the wooden table as text messages and emails were received.

'There's a text from Mum here,' she told Shaun. 'It's dated Thursday. I wonder why she didn't phone?' She selected the message and started to read.

"Just seen your village on the news. Thank God U R not there. Give me a call when U get back. Mum. x".

'Mum saw it on the news,' Donna said.

'Same here,' Shaun told her. 'Oh, and one from my sister. "Bet Donna's pissed that she missed the foxy Doctor", smiley face.'

Donna gave a weak smile. 'Yeah. But it doesn't seem important now . . . Not with people dyin' an' everythin'.'

Shaun reached over and squeezed her hand in support. 'Hey. It wasn't your fault those people died. And who knows what would have happened to us if we'd been here. I've heard that it's normal for survivors of a disaster to feel guilty about being alive when other people have died.'

'Yeah. I suppose you're right. But who's fault is it? That's the worst bit, not knowin' who's to blame.'

They carried on eating, whilst that question and others, buzzed around in Donna's head. "Who is to blame?" "Is someone going to brought to account for this crime?" "Who's going to find them?"

By the time they had finished their meal, Donna had come to a decision.

'I'm going to Torchwood on Monday,' she announced.

'Eh?' Shaun said, caught by surprise. He should be used to these snap decisions his wife made by now, but they still took him by surprise. 'What for?'

'To represent the village. To represent the people who've died. I'll demand answers, and I'll demand action,' she declared.

'Good on yer girl,' Mrs Williams said from behind the bar. She hadn't been eavesdropping, but it was a small pub. 'We thought Squire Zellaby might have done something, with him being a justice of the peace and all that, but he seems to have accepted the official line.'

'Being a justice of the peace, he may have been told to tow the official line,' Shaun said, playing devil's advocate.

'Well he might have to, but I don't,' Donna said. 'I'll get the train in, and I can see my mum and grandad while I'm in town.'

'And you might get to meet Doctor Smith while you're there,' Shaun said with a knowing look.

'I might do,' Donna replied innocently.

'But you really don't need to get the train,' Shaun told her. 'We can go in together. I could do with checking in at the office.' Shaun did most of his work at home, using custom design software on his computer, but occasionally he needed to meet clients and do paperwork in the London office.

'Oh thanks Love.'

When they had finished their meals, they moved around the pub, sitting with people they had come to know in the three years they had lived there, and getting their stories of what had happened to them.

A number of people had bruises and black eyes from where they had fallen unconscious and bounced off hard objects or floors. Their friends, Richard and Janet Haywood, were like most people in the village who had been watching television and just fallen unconscious in their chairs. Their children were already in bed and blissfully unaware of anything untoward. In fact they were quite pleased that they'd had a day off school, would not be going to school that day, and the next day was Saturday. Result!

One couple who commuted to London, had gone to bed at ten o'clock on the Wednesday night, and woke up Friday morning thinking it was Thursday. At the time, they couldn't understand all the text messages they'd received asking where they were, and if they were all right.

When they had finished their drinks, they put on their coats and made their way home to their warm cottage. Shaun switched on the television and selected BBC News 24 to see if there were any summaries from the day before. Donna phoned her mum to share all the gossip that she had picked up in the pub, and Sylvia told her what she had seen on the news.

There was a brief rundown of events in Dunwich, and they saw footage of the police roadblock, Torchwood vehicles arriving, and "foxy" Doctor Smith riding the track laying robot down the lane. Donna recorded that bit for her collection. After that there was a review of the days news, and they saw a number of airships with well known logos, landing at an airport.

'Ooh look, isn't that's the Vitex airship next to the Virgin one?' Donna said.

'What, the one that says "Vitex" on the side?' Shaun replied with a cheeky grin.

Donna playfully slapped his arm as they listened to the report and watched the launch of the space plane Enterprise in Ecuador earlier that morning. The scene changed and showed the interior of the space plane cabin, were people floated and gambolled about.

'Hang on,' Donna said. 'I know that sticky up hair, and it ain't zero gravity that's making it look like that.'

They sat and watched as the Smith and Tyler families got up to high jinks in the cabin, and then saw the external camera footage from the Lunar Conveyor as the Enterprise approached the space dock.

Shaun gave her a lopsided smile. 'Well, unless you can get a ticket to the moon, I reckon you've missed them again.'