Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Twenty-Eight: My Condolences

I don't reply to Mickey's calls anymore. I don't know what to say.

He had a reason to stay, he had his Gran and a world to save. He had a chance to make a difference. I've got nothing. My reason was pointless, it didn't work. At least I could bear the sacrifice when I thought there was a possibility.

The days pass. I sit in Ricky's old room, staring out of the window as if waiting for some kind of sign to keep my faith going.

Hearing a knock at the door, I get up from the windowsill and hurriedly wipe my eyes. The elderly woman can't see me but she sighs, pursing her lips into a thin, wrinkled line. A hand rests on her hip, the other tapping her cane impatiently against the carpet. "That's enough. Get up."

"I'm up, Rita. I've been up for hours."

That was a bad idea. Pointing a shaky finger at me, she takes another step into the room. "Now, don't you take that tone with me, Miss. You call me 'Gran'. And I'm not talking about that. You've done nothing for months, and don't think that wasting your time in that coffee shop does anything. You're fading away in this house."

Sighing, I busy myself with making the bed as I say, "I've been looking for a better job but I don't exactly have much to offer that they'd want."

"Don't be stupid!" she scoffs. "You are an intelligent young woman. Find something. If they won't accept you, make them. At least leave the house for today. The ladies from church are coming round for tea and I'm not in the mood to excuse those odd things you say. Didn't you say your friend had sent you an address to visit?"

The mention of it only makes me feel worse. Then again, I can't put it off for much longer. I nod, taking the brown paper file from he bookshelf. "I suppose you've got a point."

"Am I ever wrong?"

——————

 Pete's parting bribe to keep me away has been nothing short of a blessing. I had taken Gran's guidance and put it into a bank account to gain interest, only spending when I really need to. Following the address that Jake had sent me, I take a train to Swansea.

It's the first time I've done this but somehow I manage not to panic.  Ever since my failed attempt to save my home, a part of me has been numb. I worry that it will never get better.

The house I arrive at is small, just an old council house looking over the beach. A few children's shouts come from inside, the hum of a television. Gulping, I steel myself and knock on the door. The man who answers is older, perhaps in his early fifties, with short salt and pepper curls. He peers over his glasses at me and speaks with a cautious tone, "Hello?"

Every introduction I had prepared falls short. I stammer, hurriedly lowering my gaze to the floor as I search for something that will sound right. This was meant to be perfect. For her, this was meant to be perfect. Now I realise how stupid I was.

"H-Hi," I finally manage. "My name's Inara, I'm— I'm a friend of—"

"No need to be scared," the man laughs, opening the door a little further. A young woman watches from down the hall, a baby cradled in her arms. "I don't bite, I promise. How can I help you, Inara?"

With an awkward chuckle, I reply. "I'm looking for Bryn Price?"

He nods. "That's me."

"I need to talk to you... about Angela."

All humour vanishes from his face now but he doesn't turn me away. He just steps aside, gesturing for me to follow him into the house.

It is a warm place; faded, floral wallpaper adorned with dozens of pictures — children with ice cream grins, summer weddings, days on the beach. A little boy races across my path, giggling and shrieking with a couple of older girls in pursuit. The woman stands in the kitchen now, calling for them to slow down.