Thank you so much for the first reviews! I'm happy to hear you're already intrigued and now that you've met John, I think it's time to have a look at Clara. . .
Chapter 2
Clara Oswald awoke from a nightmare similar to the ones that had been plaguing her for months. Her heart was beating so fast that the first thing she did when she sat up was to reach up and touch her chest. There it was, hammering beneath her palm in a thump-thump-rhythm, slowing down bit by bit after she realised that it had been nothing but a bad dream. A quick glance at the alarm clock told her that she had 40 minutes until she had actually planned to get up, but knowing that she would spend the remainder of the time thinking about her dream, Clara threw the duvet aside, pushing her thoughts about the nightmare away with it, and rose to her feet. Maybe she could use the time to mark some of her students' essays.
After Clara had switched on the kettle, her gaze wandered outside the window and she realised that she had another dreary January day ahead of her. Back in London, she had always thought that the weather was bad, but it was nothing compared to the cold Scottish coast. But at least it was peaceful around here. From her old flat, Clara had overlooked buildings, building, and more buildings: her neighbours doing their shopping, children playing in front of the housing estate, cars driving past. When it wasn't foggy, Clara could see the green fields and the coastline from her new kitchen window; or at least that was how she remembered it. It had been an awfully long time since last summer and by now, Clara had almost forgotten what green meadows looked like. Was this how she had imagined the Orkney Islands? Then again, Clara hadn't really given it much thought. She had found a job. She had seen the lonely little house. She had compared the money in her bank account, an inheritance from her late grandmother, to the cost of moving here and she hadn't hesitated for long because, above all, Clara had needed to get out of London, away from everything and everyone else. Whether she was happier here, Clara couldn't say.
As she stared out of the window, her nightmare started to come back to her like one of those intrusive thoughts you just couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried, and she was glad when the water boiled because making tea provided her with a distraction. By the end of the day, Clara hoped, the nightmare would be nothing but a faint memory in the back of her mind. In the meantime, she would focus on the other matter that usually occupied her mind - wondered whether moving here had been the right thing to do.
Six months ago, Clara had packed up her life in London to move to a desolate spot near Kirkwall and most days, she didn't regret it at all. She had picked a lovely spot, albeit a lonely one, but she hadn't stayed lonely for very long. The people in this area all seemed to know each other and at first, she had been afraid that she would never be able to fit in, that she would always be viewed as the outsider, the new woman, the stranger, but that worry hadn't lasted for very long. Her job as a teacher had brought her into contact with a lot of parents and a lot of people her own age and one month later, she had made her first friend – Amy Williams. She and her husband Rory, along with his father and their daughter, lived a short distance away: just far enough for a nice, long walk, but close enough for the occasional girls' night. Clara had been glad of the company from the start, but she still wasn't quite sure whether she missed London or not. Yet the reasons why she had left were the same now as they had been six months ago. No, Clara determined that she was better off in the middle of nowhere, making a fresh start. She had left her past in London, but it was just as they said – the past had a way of catching up with you. And it had caught up with her a short while ago, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. She was more determined than ever to leave it behind.
Armed with her mug of tea and a stack of papers, Clara made her way into the lounge, still dressed in her dressing gown. It wasn't as if her students would know how she had marked their papers, even though the occasional red wine or coffee stain might leave little to their imagination. Maybe she wasn't the world's best teacher, but she was certainly the best the children could hope to find up here, where the classes were so small that Clara never taught more than twelve students at once. She had to admit that she quite liked it that way. Of course, she had to drive to Kirkwall every morning, but it was a drive Clara loved because it took her through the amazing Scottish scenery.
As she contemplated her students' essays over her cup of tea and a piece of toast, Clara couldn't help but shake her head at the rubbish some of them had put on paper. In between placing Shakespeare in the 14th century and pointing out naughty references, Clara realised that she would have a lot of work to do before the children left school in a couple of years. Some things really weren't any different to how they were in London, but she hadn't chosen her profession for nothing. Even if Clara would never manage to reach them all with her love for English literature, some students would take her words to heart and develop a liking for the classics. That was why she had become a teacher.
Suddenly, something caught her eye and Clara turned her head towards the window, but whatever she had seen, it was no longer there. She squinted, but the view remained unchanged. There was nothing there except for the grey, dull landscape behind her front garden, but still, it was as if she could feel a presence lingering, hiding behind the walls that separated her from the cold outdoors. Then she heard a sound like the snapping of a twig beneath someone's foot.
Instinctively, Clara rose to her feet, but she was not a tall woman and her view out of the window didn't change all that much. She couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. Yet when the footsteps outside became more obvious, Clara knew that something was wrong, that someone was sneaking around her house. It was too early in the morning for visitors and the only person she had ever seen out here at this hour was Brian Williams, Amy's father-in-law, but he wouldn't hide or lurk around her home. If he wanted something, he would just ring the doorbell. This was someone else and she was living out here on her own with nothing to protect her but her front door.
As she carefully made her way towards the door, Clara reached for the first object that could be used to defend herself with and it was only when she held a tight grip on the broomstick that she realised how futile any attempt at scaring a burglar away would be for someone her size. Again, her heart was starting to beat a little faster, but this time it wasn't because of a nightmare but rather due to anticipation. She had no idea what she was going to find, and no idea what would happen next. Then came another sound, one infinitely more frightening to a woman who lived on her own, the sound of someone tinkering with her lock from the outside. It was a faint sound: a little bit of scratching, some cracking and then, the most terrifying of them all: the sound of a lock clicking as it opened. Clara tightened her grip on the broomstick and held it up in front of her as the door swung open.