Chapter Ten
From among the hum of the riverside, of women sat outside cafés gossiping, of elderly men riding past on bicycles, comes a shrill, high-pitched, unnatural ringing. Becoming suddenly aware of her current surroundings, Amy plunges her hand into her pocket in an attempt to mute her mobile phone. She grabs her husband by the arm and drags him into an alleyway to the side of a small café; past a couple sitting at a table looking rather perplexed, unsure as to the origin of the ringing sound. When safely out of sight from anybody in the street, Amy leans against a wall and, with apprehension, slides open the pink phone:
'Hello?... Doctor!... Are you alright?' whispers Amy, as she hears a thud followed by a stifled cry of pain. 'Are you sure?... because I don't want the people to think I'm crazy! They've never seen a mobile phone before... Doctor? I can barely hear you... are you calling from the TARDIS?... okay, well–... okay?... me and Rory haven't finished sight-seeing yet... just a few more hours?... really?... well can you tell me what's going on?... fine, we'll come back... bye.'
Unable to work out the other side of the conversation, Rory begins to question his wife: 'so why do we have to go back?'
'I don't know, he didn't say,' replies Amy, 'but he wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important.'
The pair exit the alleyway under the stares of many disapproving people sitting at the tables outside the café. After manoeuvring their way back onto the street, whilst Rory intrinsically gives apologies to the disgruntled on-lookers, they travel towards the nearest bridge to head back to the northern side of the river. Regardless of their adventure being cut short, the couple, still excited about finding themselves in the middle of London in the nineteen-sixties, walk hand in hand along the river.
Despite witnessing the horrific scene on the bridge earlier in the day, the couple had avoided discussing it and had attempted not to let it ruin their visit to a truly unique period of time. Rory had sensed that the event had, for some reason, affected Amy more than it had him: perhaps it was his experience working in hospitals, surrounded by people in comas and patients that are mentally ill, had meant that the incident involving the woman on the bridge hadn't affected him in quite the same way. Now that they were crossing back over the same bridge, however, walking along the same stretch of pavement from which the woman had jumped, Rory breaks the mutual silence on the subject:
'Amy,' he starts, as they walk hand in hand along the bridge, 'are you okay?'
'Why wouldn't I be?' she replies; slightly sceptical at her husband's sudden questioning.
'Well it's– this morning... on the bridge. We haven't spoken about it,' Rory says tentatively.
'What is there to say?' she replies, somewhat defensively. 'It was horrible. I wish I could have done more to help.'
'There was nothing we could have done,' Rory reassures her, 'those two men... she was in safe hands. It's just... she wanted to do it.' He turns his head to look into Amy's face; she doesn't turn to look at him.
Although the horrible event had occurred only hours before, neither of them could locate the exact point at which it had occurred. The bridge was now host to hundreds of new people going about their busy, daily lives, all as oblivious as they were as to the location from which the elderly woman took her own life. Not wanting to discuss the subject any further, and in respect to the woman, the couple complete their crossing to the north bank of the river in silence.
After the couple cross the bridge they head northwards into the labyrinth of streets in an attempt to find their way back to the TARDIS. They turn into a particularly busy street: red buses and black taxi cabs crawl along the road, and the pavement flows with a mass of people. A few yards ahead of Amy and Rory comes a clattering noise followed by raised voices. Interested in what is causing all the commotion, Rory releases his hand from Amy's grip and cranes his neck to see over the crowd. Before being able to pin point the source of the commotion, the two middle-aged women walking in front of Amy and Rory are suddenly thrust apart by an extremely aggravated man who is stumbling along the pavement, trying to run against the flow of the people.
Unable to regain his balance after unsuccessfully avoiding the two exasperated middle-aged women, the man stumbles towards Amy and Rory. Stretching out his arms, the man grabs Amy in an attempt to stay on his feet. In an instant, Rory helps to steady the man by supporting him under his arms.
'Woah, steady,' says Amy; eager to help the man get back on his feet so that he will let go of her shirt. She bends down to pick up the man's grey flat cap that has fallen from his bald head.
'Thank you, my dear,' the man replies from behind a thick moustache. He retrieves his cap, hastily shakes Amy by the hand and, without another word, continues down the street in the same frantic manner, dodging perambulators, post boxes and people as he runs.
Unsure as to what to make of the event, Amy and Rory share a confused glance. Shaking it off as another strange occurrence in a morning of bizarre events in an alien time zone, the couple link arms and continue on their journey back to the TARDIS.
With his grey cap in hand, the man rushes through the mid-morning traffic; he knocks over racks of hideous brown dresses, and dodges quickly between pedestrians and lampposts. As he steps out onto the road, the breaks of a taxi cab wail as the driver wrestles with stopping the car, sounding the horn and shouting abuse all at the same time – undeterred the man continues running.
Upon reaching his destination, the man stops in front of an anonymous dark green door of a four-storey building. After gasping for breath for a moment, he plunges his hand into his trouser pocket and retrieves a small collection of keys on a silver ring. He fumbles with the keys for a second, before finding the correct one and turning it quickly in the lock.
The man stumbles over the threshold and slams the door shut behind him. He makes his way hastily along a small corridor, almost knocking over an umbrella stand, and enters the only room on the ground floor of the building. Inside the large room are rows of desks, a blackboard is mounted on the wall, covered with chalk scrawls, smartly dressed young men are copying out documents on noisy typewriters, and young women in long skirts are collecting files and making cups of tea. The man ignores the greetings he receives from some of the workers and heads straight towards the staircase at the back of the room.
Not pausing on the stairs to check on any of the other floors, the man climbs to the very top floor of the building. The top floor is split into two separate offices; the man moves towards the door on the left and again fumbles with his keys before opening the lock. He hurriedly steps into his office, slams the door shut, which causes the frosted glass in the door to rattle, and throws his keys and cap onto the cluttered desk. Without apprehension, the man walks to the back of the room, manoeuvring around the desk, a large leather chair, and a low, sagging bookshelf to get to the window. The wooden window frame creaks as the man slowly slides it upwards, allowing a cold breeze and the noise of the city to enter the small room. The man slowly lifts a tired leg over the window sill, allowing him to straddle the wooden window frame. He bows his head, dipping it below the glass, and lifts his other leg over the sill so that he is sitting on the very edge – four floors above the pavement below. Without hesitation the man shifts his weight forwards and plummets.