Day sixty

We had some time off today. We were supposed to have the whole day, but a high wind in the night caused havoc with the tents and the metal sheeting, so it was midway through the afternoon before we'd got things well enough under control to take a break.

It was nice for a while. Just sitting in my tent catching up with these notes, adding a bit here and there, listening to the sound of the river tumbling over the rocks far below us. Murmuring voices, laughter even – when was the last time I heard that?

After a while, I got restless. I'd have loved a good murder mystery to lose myself in, but the only books the New Earthers brought with them are worthy tomes on how to survive in the wilderness – everything from 'make your own candles' to 'carving a canoe'.

So, I went and helped out with the cooking, which shows you how bored I was. John Benton had brought down another pterodactyl yesterday – we really do need to work out how we'll deal with them once the bullets run out – and chunks of it were roasting over open fires. I turned one of the spits for a while, which I found strangely relaxing, and watched Ruth adding bits of chopped greenery to the vast stewing pot that was bubbling away and giving off a strange but not unpleasant odour.

"What is that?" I called to her.

"Some sort of plantain," she said. "The Doctor's analysed it, and says it won't poison us."

"Quite the contrary in fact," said a familiar voice from behind me, "lots of iron and vitamins – sort of an early spinach."

"Yuck," I said, "I hate spinach."

But the plantain stuff tasted alright, once it had been boiled to a pulp, and the pterodactyl… well, it was marginally less greasy and tough than the first one we'd eaten, but it really wasn't a meal to relish.

By the time we'd finished eating, the moon was up, huge and full, its size still strange and alien even after all these weeks. Next to me, one of the New Earthers had produced a pad and pencil and was sketching the crowd around the fire; another one produced a guitar and began to strum, but I wasn't in the mood for music, and I got up and wandered across to the rocks near the cliff edge, to look at the moon.

"Not exactly Elgar, is it?"

The voice from the shadows startled me, and I pressed a hand to my chest as my heart thumped.

"Alistair. You made me jump."

"Sorry."

He was sitting on one of the boulders about ten feet from the edge, and he shifted along a little to make room for me to sit next to him. I could see he had a tankard in his hand and, as I sat down, he swallowed the last of his drink, and dropped the tankard to the moss under our feet.

"God, that is foul stuff," he said. "What I wouldn't give for a Glenmorangie."

"Or a cup of tea," I offered, and he nodded.

"The lads have set up a still," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, "in one of the big storage containers. They're trying it out with the seeds from that grass we landed in – the Doctor says it won't kill us – but it'll be a while before it's ready."

I giggled. "Better not let Adam find out," I said, "they were all trying to get away from such hellish practices."

He didn't laugh, not quite. But he had the biggest grin I'd ever seen on his face, and I thought that was progress.

"It's nice to see you smile," I said.

He shook his head slightly and, just before he turned his head away, I saw his face change. I realised afresh that he had effectively been bereaved: so far as he was concerned, Kate might as well have been dead. Or on that vast, outlandish moon.

"I suppose you've had it drilled into you your whole life that you mustn't show your feelings," I said, "or, God forbid, actually talk about them. But Alistair, you can't keep bottling it all up! If you can't talk to me about it, talk to the Doctor – he understands what you're going through, if anyone here does."

I waited, but minutes passed, and I felt that I might as well have spoken to the boulder we were sitting on. Then, just as I reached out a hand to touch his arm, to tell him I would shut up now and leave him alone, he spoke, his voice a mixture of heartbreak and bitterness:

"I don't even have a picture of her. We're not allowed to carry personal stuff, not on duty."

If ever anyone needed a hug it was Alistair at that moment. So I put my arms around him, rested my head on his shoulder and said, "I'm so sorry, Alistair."

I felt his arms go around me, and I clung to him, not realising till that instant just how much I needed some comfort too, and we held each other for the longest time.

When I felt him draw back I held on, because I didn't want him to let me go, but he was only pulling back far enough to look at me. His eyes gazed into mine, searching and questioning, and he must have found the answer he wanted written all over my face.

He whispered my name; and then he kissed me.