Chapter Forty-Six—London, 6 October, 2007
With the key that his mother had given back to him when he'd got out of prison, Jimmy let himself into his mum's flat on the Brandon Estate. He carelessly kicked backwards, and the door slammed shut behind him.
"Jimmy, is that you?" she called from the kitchen.
He rolled his eyes.
"No, it's Harold Saxon," he yelled back sarcastically. "Or maybe I'm Prince Charles. Of course it's me!"
After dropping a rucksack of dirty laundry in the hall, he went into his old bedroom. The room was as neat as a pin, lacking the stacks of CDs and piles of dirty laundry that had always been there when he'd been growing up. Long gone were the posters of Nirvana, The Sex Pistols, and The Clash that had covered the walls. They'd been replaced with cheap pictures of flowers that his mum had probably bought at a jumble sale. Also gone was the bulky stereo system in the corner that had been passed down from some cousin or other. In its place was a floor lamp and a small arm chair. The only things that remained from when he was a kid were the narrow bed (now covered with a beige quilt probably from the same jumble sale as the pictures) and the ancient chest of drawers next to it which had once belonged to his great grandmother. The room was so tidy, and so generic in style, that not only did it look like no one lived in it, it looked like no one had ever lived in it.
As he began to rummage through the room's tiny cupboard, now filled with storage boxes containing who knows what, he heard his mother behind him. He didn't bother to turn around.
"Mum, have you seen my spare guitar? 'S not here."
"'Course not. Are you drunk? I can smell the beer from here."
"'Course 'm not drunk. Only had a couple beers," he lied. It may have been more than a couple, and that didn't include the spliff he and Chuck had shared.
"James Stone, it's half one," she scolded.
"So?"
Giving up on the cupboard, he began to search under the bed. He pulled out several clear plastic storage bags filled with blankets and spare clothes, shoving them behind him before lying flat on the floor to look. Although there didn't appear to be anything large enough to be a guitar under it, it was too dark to be sure.
"Got a torch?"
His mother huffed, clearly irritated with him. He ignored it. It was nothing new. She'd been pissed off at him for at least the last decade.
He stretched his arm under the bed, trying to see if he could feel it under there. "Mum, a torch?"
"Don't know why you're lookin' there," she said. "'S not there. 'S not even in the flat. Hasn't been for years."
He yanked his arm out from under the bed and sat up, facing her. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, looking exasperated with him.
"Why?" he snapped. "What'd you do with it?"
"'S not what I did," she snapped back. "'S what you did. You sold it, years ago."
"Why the hell would I do that?'
"I don't know! 'S not like you tell me anything! I usually have to hear what you've been up to from the police. And you probably sold it to buy drugs. Or that caravan you bought with Noosh."
Jimmy frowned. Now that his mum mentioned it, he had a vague memory of selling his spare guitar to go to Amsterdam, needing to reduce the amount of stuff he had in order to make it all fit into the van and figuring he didn't need two.
"Bloody hell," he swore.
"Don't even know why you need the guitar. 'S not like your band's goin' to amount to anything. You should get a real job. Finch's is hiring again, and that warehouse on Newman always has openings."
"Mum, I'm not goin' to work at a butcher's. And you know the warehouse won't have me back."
"There's another one on Sydney. You didn't get fired there."
As his mother prattled on, Jimmy groaned, trying to ignore her. The guitar he had was fine, but he really needed a backup. He rubbed his forehead. Not only was he still a little high, he was developing a massive headache listening to her.
God, he needed another beer.
He stalked out to the living room and threw himself down on the sofa. His mum followed him, still talking.
Then he caught a snippet of what she was saying.
"… should really get back together with her. She's very nice. Don't know why you broke up with her in the first place."
He sat up abruptly. "Who?"
"Haven't you been listening? Rose, of course."
"Rose? Why the hell would I get back together with Rose? Besides, she's got a bloke," he informed her. "Such as he is," he added under his breath.
"Then why'd she call here, lookin' for you?"
"What? When'd she do that?"
"Dunno. Couple months ago, maybe."
"Months?" Jimmy exploded. "Bloody hell, Mum! Why didn't you tell me? It could've been important."
"And when exactly was I supposed to do that? It's not like you've been around much, have you?"
"I've been here since then," he said, not at all sure if it was the truth. His mother made a rude noise.
As she began to berate him again, he tuned her out, wondering why on Earth Rose had called. Last time he'd seen her, she'd been furious with him.
At least he thought she'd been.
Fuck. He couldn't remember for sure. Maybe the pot he'd shared with Chuck that morning had been stronger than he'd realized. His memory was totally shot today. He hadn't even remembered he'd sold his guitar.
He tried to think. Rose must've wanted to get back together, he reckoned. It was the only explanation. Or at least it was the only thing he could come up with.
If she did, would he even want to get back together with her?
Maybe. After all, in the beginning things had been good. Really good. Certainly better than his shit of a life was now.
But if she'd called a couple of months ago, that was probably before she got together with that old geezer of hers, he reminded himself. Didn't mean she wouldn't want to get back together though. After all, it wasn't as if her current bloke was any prize.
On a whim, he pulled his mobile out of his jeans pocket, intending to call Rose back. Then he paused, not quite sure what he'd say.
I heard you were lookin' for me a couple months ago. What'd you want?
Too confrontational.
I heard you've got a boyfriend. Wanna upgrade?
No, that was just stupid.
Still trying to think of an excuse to call her, he searched his contacts. He discovered she wasn't in them, and it wasn't like he remembered her number anymore.
"Fuck!" He shoved his phone back in his pocket.
"Oi, language!" his mother scolded.
As he'd been trying to do every second since he'd got to the flat, he ignored her.
"Shut up, I'm trying to think." He frowned. Then on a hunch, he asked, "Did she call on the house phone or your mobile?"
"The house phone—no, wait. I think it was my mobile."
"Where is it?"
After she handed it to him, he checked her mobile's recent call history. He was in luck. It was enormous. She probably hadn't cleared the list since she'd got the phone. Probably didn't even know how. Most of the calls were labeled with the names of family and friends, but there was one around the right time that was just a number.
He quickly discovered it wasn't hers. When he'd dialed, a man had answered. He'd immediately hung up, not bothering to respond.
"Think, think, think," he muttered. If her number wasn't in his phone, and it wasn't in his mum's phone…
He pulled his phone back out of his pocket and glared at it. Why hadn't he transferred his contact list to it when he got it?
Wait a minute. This was a new phone. He'd got it when he'd got out.
"Mum, do you still have my old phone?"
"Don't be stupid. Course I do," she told him. "No one was gonna buy it, and I wasn't gonna just throw it away."
"Where is it?"
"Where'd you think? Top drawer, in a cigar box along with a bunch of other rubbish you left here."
The cigar box was ancient, covered with pictures of half-naked girls in a tropical setting. The label, peeling away from the cardboard, crumbled to dust when he touched it. It had probably originally belonged to his great grandfather, as he was the only one in the family who Jimmy remembered having smoked cigars, and the box still smelled vaguely of them when he opened it.
He carried the whole box out to the coffee table in the living room.
Sure enough, his old flip phone was in there, along with its recharging cord, his old wallet (containing a fiver, an Oyster card, and a receipt for pizza from 1998), a tiny screwdriver, a broken wristwatch, a set of keys for a vehicle he no longer owned, and a bunch of bits and pieces of things that he couldn't identify and had no idea where they'd come from.
As he took the phone out of the box, he saw a glint of gold. There was a necklace tangled up with the keys.
Where the hell had that come from?
He plugged in the phone, not sure if after all this time it would still work. While he waited to see if it would charge enough to turn on, he returned to the box and pulled the keys out.
With them came a small, heart-shaped locket attached to a thin gold chain. Within seconds he'd managed to untangle it.
"What's that?" his mum asked.
"Dunno."
The necklace looked vaguely familiar, but opening the locket didn't help jog his memory. Inside were two tiny black and white photos of people he didn't recognize. He handed it to his mother.
"Do you know who they are?"
She stared at the photos for a moment. Then she shook her head. She handed the necklace back.
He snapped the locket closed. Laying it to the side, he then checked on the status of his old phone. The screen was glowing. Without unplugging it, he flipped it open and searched his contact information.
Rose was there.
"Yes!" he said.
Now if only she hadn't changed her number…
Grabbing his new phone, he typed the number into the keypad. The call went straight to voicemail.
"Damn. Now what?"
"You could always try her mum's," suggested his mother.
"No way. She hates me. Always has. Besides, Rose ain't livin' there anymore."
"How 'bout a job? She workin' somewhere?"
He brightened. "Yeah, she's workin' at the garage on Russell Avenue." He grabbed the phone book from its permanent location under the house phone and flipped through the pages.
"While you have 'em on the phone, see if they have any positions available."
Jimmy rolled his eyes. After a short conversation, which did not involve asking for a job, he disconnected.
"Well?" his mum asked.
"She ain't there."
Thinking of the unopened bottle of Scotch he'd left on the floor of Chuck's flat, Jimmy considered giving up. After all, whatever Rose had wanted two months ago, it hadn't been urgent enough for her to call back. And as good as it had been when they'd first got together, it had ended very badly. He'd begun sleeping around, he'd stopped paying their bills, he'd stolen from her…
He suddenly remembered where he'd got the locket. It had been Rose's. He'd intended to hock it, but he couldn't get anything for it.
It might be worthless, but it would give him a legitimate reason to contact her.
He played little fantasies in his mind. He'd give it back to her and she'd be so grateful that she'd go to the pub with him. And then after that, maybe… It'd been a long time since he'd been with anyone.
But how to contact her if he couldn't call her?
Then he had an idea. There was a little bit of risk involved given she was living with someone, but it might work. After all, he'd done it before.
"Mum, you got a piece of paper?"
~oOo~
Late that afternoon, John headed back to Lambert House to finish up the last of his repair jobs. There was only one left, a leaky sink in Irene and Gladys's kitchen. Still buoyed by Rose's confession of love and her agreement to stay with him, he'd finished almost the entire list barely aware of what he was doing. He was lucky they'd all been simple fixes, not requiring a lot of brain power.
As he climbed the stairs of the block of flats, John's mobile rang. Without missing a beat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, hoping it was Rose.
It wasn't. The number was one he didn't recognize. Figuring he was going to be asked to fix another stopped up toilet or replace a hall light bulb, he answered gruffly.
Whoever it was disconnected immediately.
Good, he thought as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. I didn't want to talk to them either.
Irene greeted him warmly as she answered his knock. She led the way to the back of the flat. As he entered the tiny living room on his way to the kitchen, he stopped and stared.
The place was almost unrecognizable.
Oh, there was just as much furniture jammed into the tiny space as there ever had been, but all the clutter (all the doilies and vases with dried flowers and the dozens and dozens of cat figurines) was gone.
Gladys was sitting in her regular place in front of the television, one hand on what looked like a round, black pillow in her lap.
"Afternoon, Gladys."
Her face lit up when she saw him.
"Hello, John. Nice to see you again."
And what had looked like a pillow lifted her head and looked at him.
His mouth twisted into a small smile.
The Cat began to purr, loudly enough that he could hear it halfway across the room.
"I see you have a cat," he said to Gladys.
"Miss Kitty's been coming to visit now and then for months, but about a week ago she decided to move in," she told him.
He raised his eyebrows. "Miss Kitty?"
"Gladys is a big fan of American westerns," said Irene.
"It looks like you both are very happy," he said to Gladys.
She beamed as she petted the cat in her lap.
"Miss Kitty has been such a blessing," Irene told him as they entered the kitchen. "To both of us. We love having that furry little thing around the place. And when Miss Kitty is with her, Gladys is much calmer than she used to be. She doesn't get nearly as flustered and upset when she forgets things."
"That's fantastic. And The Cat… I mean Miss Kitty, looks happy too," he said as he opened the cupboard under the sink. "Seems like a good situation all the way around."
After he fixed the sink and tidied up, he returned to the living room. The newly christened Miss Kitty was sitting on the coffee table. He reached down and petted her, smoothing her whiskers back and rubbing a spot behind her ear.
"Traitor," he whispered with a grin.
Miss Kitty purred at him.
"Can we offer you a cuppa and some biscuits?" Irene asked him.
"That would be nice." He sat down on a chair opposite Gladys. Miss Kitty immediately leaped into his lap. "But I can't stay long. I've got to get back to Rose. I want to take her out tonight."
"That sounds nice," Irene said.
"Rose," Gladys said thoughtfully. "I think that was the name."
"What, love?" Irene asked.
"The girl that man was threatening. I think he called her Rose."
"What man?" John asked.
Irene looked at him and gave him a tiny shake of her head.
"I don't know," Gladys said, a waver in her voice, starting to become visibly upset. "I don't remember."
"It's all right, love." Irene patted her hand.
Miss Kitty jumped off him and returned to Gladys's lap. As Gladys began to pet her, she immediately calmed down.
"We've been watching a lot of telly recently," Irene told John. "Maybe we need to stop watching thrillers and switch to comedies for a while."
~oOo~
It was well after four o'clock when Rose left to return to her own flat. With her mum upset about the break up with Stuart, she didn't want to leave her on her own. It was only when Bev came over, bringing a curry and a bottle of wine with her, that she felt comfortable enough to leave.
The flat was empty when she got there.
John was still doing repairs, she told herself, mildly disappointed he wasn't there.
As she closed the door, she noticed an envelope on the floor next to the wall with her name on it. It must have been shoved through the cat flap, she thought, and the bottom of the door pushed it to the side when she'd entered.
Rose immediately recognized the handwriting. She'd seen it often enough when they'd been together.
"What the hell does he want?" she said aloud as she picked it up.
Deciding it didn't matter, she carried the envelope to the kitchen, planning on throwing it out without opening it, but as she began to drop it into the bin, her curiosity got the better of her.
Before she could change her mind, she ripped open the envelope and scanned the note inside.
Rose,
I've got something of yours. If you want it back, meet me at 5 in that alley off Davies Street that you're always going to.
J
A chill ran down her spine. All those times she'd felt like she was being watched…
She had been. By Jimmy.
"But what could Jimmy have…" she asked under her breath. When he'd run off, she'd taken all her things out of the bedsit they'd shared and returned to her mum's. She hadn't been missing anything, if you didn't count her computer and the cash he'd taken from her wallet. There wasn't a single thing she could think of that he would still have after all this time that she could possibly want.
Then she saw The Cat's full food bowl out of the corner of her eye.
I've got something of yours.
Her heart leapt into her throat.
"He wouldn't…" she breathed. But she knew from experience that he would, if he wanted something bad enough. Particularly if he were high enough.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was a quarter to five. If she left right now and ran the whole way, she'd make it in time.
Dropping the note on the counter, she rushed out of the flat and ran as fast as she could to the alley. Carried by one part fury and one part terror, she made it with minutes to spare.
Since it was early October, the sun would begin to set in a little over an hour. Even now, the shadows had already begun to lengthen. The narrow alley, never particularly bright, not even at midday, looked positively spooky.
Breathless and with heart pounding, she glanced up and down the street. It was Saturday night. People were all over the place, headed to the pub or a night on the town, but none were near the alley's entrance. Still, she couldn't be too careful. She didn't want the TARDIS discovered.
Once she was sure no one was looking in her direction, she ducked into the alley.
She found Jimmy leaning against one of the buildings halfway between the beginning of the alley and the barrier she'd put up to shield the TARDIS from view.
Rose automatically glanced in the direction of the TARDIS. The ship was barely visible in the gloom, only as glimpses of blue between the slats of the spare crates she'd used to hide it.
When Jimmy spotted her, he stood up straight. He grinned smugly and crossed his arms in front of him.
She wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face.
"Knew you'd show," he said.
Wary of him and his temper since before they broke up, Rose slowly and cautiously walked towards him. She stopped about ten feet away, close enough to talk, but still out of reach.
Her nose wrinkled in disgust. He reeked of whisky and pot.
"All right, I'm here," Rose spat out. "Where is she?"
He looked at her blankly. "Where is who?"
"Who do you think, Jimmy? My cat!" she yelled, her patience with him having ended years ago. "Where's my cat?"
"How the hell should I know?" he yelled back.
She blinked, taken aback by his vehemence.
"You don't have her?"
"Why the fuck would I have your cat?"
"I don't know. But you said you had something of mine, and she's missing."
"Got nothin' to do with me."
He was telling the truth. She'd heard him lie enough to be able to tell the difference. He didn't know where she was.
"Then I don't get it. If you don't have her, why'd you want me to meet you?"
"I heard you called my mum, lookin' for me. Thought you wanted to get back together. And then I found this."
Jimmy pulled something out of his pocket. It dangled from his clenched fist.
She moved closer, trying to get a better look at whatever it was he was holding.
It was a locket.
Even in the darkness of the alley, she instantly recognized it.
"That's… that's Nan Tyler's locket. How'd you get Nan Tyler's locket?"
He shrugged, but the corner of his mouth turned up into a tiny smirk.
"You piece of shit. You stole my locket!" Lunging at him, she snatched it from his hand. "I thought I lost it years ago! It was the only thing I had from her when she died. And you knew it. You knew how much it meant to me! And you stole it anyway!" Shaking with rage, she glared at him and shoved it in her pocket. "And when I tore our place apart looking for it, you knew exactly where it was the whole time!"
"Should've known this was a mistake. You were always like this, getting' yourself worked up over nothin'. Don't know why you're so upset now. You got it back."
"You don't know why I'm upset…" Her voice trailed off in disbelief.
"Besides, it ain't worth anything. I checked."
At that moment, every inch of her Jackie Tyler's daughter, Rose was completely unable to stop herself. She hauled off and slapped him across the face as hard as she could.
~oOo~
"Rose?" John called as he let himself into their flat. He was met with dead silence. "Hmm. Must still be at Jackie's then."
He headed to the kitchen to pick up The Cat's—no, Miss Kitty's—food and water bowl, thinking about how much he'd miss the little cat. But she was much better off at Irene and Gladys's. Since they were pensioners, they had a lot more time to take care of her than he and Rose did. And no one could argue about how good she was for Gladys.
And who knew, maybe she'd come visiting occasionally.
As soon as John entered the kitchen, he spotted a note on the counter. Hackles raised, he instantly thought of all the notes Rose had received when they first met, but on second glance, even from the doorway he could tell this one was different. First, instead of being on the back of a torn advert, it was on stationery and accompanied by a matching envelope. Second, it looked like whoever had written it had spent a lot of time at it, printing painstakingly carefully rather than just scribbling something down like Chuck had.
He picked it up and quickly scanned it.
It was signed J.
"J? Who's J?" he said aloud, afraid he already knew the answer. James McCrimmon.
The Doctor. That had to be it. The Doctor was back and wanted Rose to meet him at 5 o'clock.
He looked up at the clock on the wall. It was ten minutes to five now. And she wasn't here. She must have gone to meet him.
He wanted, no, he needed to see this Doctor of hers. And if he left immediately, he might make it in time.
He rushed out of the flat. Once he was in the courtyard, he glanced at the note again. He frowned at the odd location mentioned.
Never mind. He knew Davies Street and he knew the general direction Rose headed when she left the garage at lunchtime. He'd find it somehow.
Ten minutes later, he slowed from a run to a walk. Half a mile behind him was the garage, and several blocks ahead was where Davies intersected the High Street.
As he made his way up the crowded street, he scanned the area around him. Typical South London neighborhood. Bus stop. Couple of pubs. A Marks & Spenser, a pizza place. A little bookstore. A bakery a little further down. A Topshop near the intersection with the High Street.
He looked down the first alley he came to only long enough to be certain it wasn't the correct one. Same as the second. And the third.
As he ducked into the fourth, he heard raised voices further in. Rose and someone else. He moved forward, anxious to see the Doctor but not wanting his presence to be known.
"Why'd you want me to meet you?" Rose asked.
"I heard you called my mum, lookin' for me…"
It wasn't the Doctor she was with.
The J hadn't been for James McCrimmon.
It was for Jimmy Stone.
As they argued, his mind flashed back to the conversation he'd had with Gladys and Irene earlier. Given the fact that Gladys and Irene lived next to Chuck, Gladys probably had heard someone threaten Rose.
Jimmy.
The sound of Rose's hand slapping Jimmy's face brought him back to the present. He rushed forward to see him slam her into the brick wall of the building behind her. His hand at her throat, Jimmy raised his fist to hit her in the face.
And in that instant—as John took in the scene, calculating the distance between himself and them, the required speed to cross said distance, sources of egress from the area, and items in the alley that could be used as weapons if necessary—he knew that, whatever else he may have been in the past, he'd been a soldier.
Before he'd even realized he'd moved, he grabbed Jimmy by the shoulder and whirled him away from her.
"Like beating up women, Jimmy? Make you feel like a big man?"
As Jimmy staggered, trying regain his balance, John delivered a hard right cross to his jaw.
Jimmy fell to the ground in a heap.
"Well now, how do you like it?"
"John, no!" Rose yelled.
John picked Jimmy up off the ground and shoved him against the same place on the wall where he'd held Rose only moments earlier. Now John's hand was at Jimmy's throat, his leg shoved against Jimmy's legs and his foot at his ankles, preventing them from moving.
Jimmy stared at him, eyes bulging in terror, while his hands clutched at the hand holding him in place.
"Thought I told you to stay away from her. Thought I told you never to touch her again."
"John, stop it!" Rose screamed.
John raised his other hand, already tightened into a fist. "Thought I told you if I ever saw you again, you wouldn't live to regret it."
"Stop it, John, stop it! He's not worth it!"
He dropped his fist.
Very slowly, he began to tighten his hand around Jimmy's throat.
"All it would take is a squeeze. Only the slightest pressure of my thumb and forefinger on your trachea. And why not? After all, no one would miss you. Not a little piece of shit like you. The world would be better off without you in it."
He felt Rose yank on his arm, trying to pull him away from Jimmy.
"No, John! No!" she screamed. "Doctor, no!"