Part 9 (1/2)

They pa.s.sed a post office with its familiar red posting box outside, a ma.s.sive GR on the side which Polly found rea.s.suring. Ben had wandered on ahead but Polly was making time to take in the strange things she saw. Granada Rentals, proclaimed one shop. In the window, a group of televisions - but there the resemblance ended. Sleek, black, with flat screens and no visible means of turning the volume up or changing channels, the pictures were so sharp and, above all, in colour. Uncle Charles had once said that he had seen colour television in America. 'It'll never catch on here,' he said. 'Colour's best left for the cinema.' So much for Uncle Charles. He had probably got a houseful now, if he were still alive . . . No, that kind of thinking wasn't worth getting into. Under each set was a thin box, also black.

VCRs according to a sign. A pile of 'video tapes: 5.99 for three' were placed at one side. Could these VCRs be some kind of tiny tape-recorder for recording television pictures?

But surely they would have to be huge? Then she 78 remembered Carfrae's compact disc. Obviously anything was possible in 1994. 5.99, though. A fortune! People in c.u.mbria must be very rich to afford those.

She then looked into the window of the Happy Shopper and gasped at the rows of food, people with trolleys and some kind of electronic checkout tills. The rhythmic bleep of items being pa.s.sed over a square of gla.s.s fascinated her but Ben's tug on her arm distracted her. 'A man in a uniform was staring at us,' he whispered. 'Probably thought you were casing the joint.'

'Casing the . . . what?'

'Never mind. Let's just keep going.'

'Oh, Ben, it's Smith's! W. H. Smith's. Oh please, can we go in? Look around. It's something familiar. Something to . .

. to hold on to.'

Ben nodded and they went in. Polly went straight for a rack of newspapers and grabbed The Times The Times. She found the Society Notices and flicked through the obituaries but there were no names she knew. The same with Births, Marriages and Deaths. Suddenly she realized Ben was not with her.

Fighting a surge of panic she dimly remembered from being separated from her mother in Fortnum and Mason's when she was six years old, she carefully replaced the paper and looked around, trying not to be obvious and draw attention to herself. Slowly she walked into the bowels of the shop, past the paperback books (Barbara Cartland was still churning them out?) and stopped as she saw Ben at the biographies. He was flicking through a large paperback. He saw her and pa.s.sed it over.

' River Phoenix: A Short Life River Phoenix: A Short Life by Brian J. Robb. So what?' by Brian J. Robb. So what?'

Ben smiled tightly. 'So much life has pa.s.sed us by, Polly.

Who was River Phoenix? He made some movies and the author compares him to James Dean. He died young but had a promising future. We've never heard of him. Never seen a film of his. He was born after we went off with the Doctor.

This time travel is doing my head in.' He tapped his forehead. 'I'm not sure I'm cut out for traipsing through our future. Daleks, Cybermen, I can cope with. Even those 79 smugglers in Cornwall, but this - this is more alien than anything we've seen so far.'

'Are you frightened, Ben?'

Ben coughed. 'Well, I wouldn't say ”frightened” exactly, but, hey, I'm just a bit thrown by it all.'

Polly slipped her arm around his and placed the book back on the shelf. 'I'm sure it's a fab book, but yes, it frightens me too. Let's get some food.'

They left Smith's as quickly as possible and Ben pointed at two similar restaurants in front of them. 'Here, Pol, what's a pizzer?'

'I think it's p.r.o.nounced peetzah. Italian I think. Obviously very popular nowadays, they're both packjammed.'

'McDonald's?'

'Sorry?'

'Over there? McDonald's. It looks busy but that queue is going down quickly. Let's look.'

They wandered over to the restaurant and Polly pointed at a sign that asked them to pay for their food before finding a seat. They both shrugged and went in.

After standing in a queue for a few moments they realized that a young girl in a red cap was smiling at them. 'Can I help you please?'

Polly was first. 'Yes, I'd like a. . . no, two hamburgers, please. I'm hungry,' she added for Ben's sake.

'Anything with that?'

'Er . . . what?'

The girl's smile faltered. 'Fries?'

Polly stared at her for a second, trying not to panic. 'Well, I don't think I want them blue.' She nudged Ben for help and he leaned against her, keeping his eyes firmly on neither her nor the McDonald's girl.

'Chips,' he hissed. 'I just saw someone asking for fries.

They're chips.'

'Oh, fries. I see. I'm so sorry. I'm from nineteen-six- I'm from London,' she said to the girl, hoping that explained everything. She had seen foreigners do it in bars and cafes back in Knightsbridge. 'Yes, I'll have fries.'

80.'Regular, medium or large?'

'Medium.' Polly hoped that would be satisfactory. It evidently was.

'Drinks? Shake? c.o.ke?'

'c.o.ke please. With ice . . . d'you do ice here? Or lemon?'

The girl stared at her. And forced a smile. 'No lemon.'

'Ah. Oh well.'

'Eat in or take out?' The girl placed a c.o.ke on the counter next to the burger and fries. She reached in front of Polly and took a straw from the container and laid it across the top.

'Out,' muttered Ben. 'And I'll have the same. And I'm paying.'

A moment later the two of them were standing in the street, brown bags and c.o.ke in hand, looking which way to go. 'Ben, this is so undignified. I can't possibly eat in the street. It's so . . . so American!'

'So, I think, is McDonald's. Besides, d.u.c.h.ess, they're all doing it.'

Polly looked at the people in the street munching burgers, and slurping drinks. 'I bet this is the Kennedys' fault. Uncle Charles always said they were too liberal to be Presidents. I bet Bobby Kennedy sold us McDonald's.'

'I bet he never became President.'

'Shall we find out? That could be fun . . . no, perhaps not.'

Ben smiled. 'Yeah. Perhaps not, eh?'

Polly took a bite out of her hamburger and squirted tomato sauce on to the street. More ran down her hand and she felt it around her mouth. Her eyes flicked towards Ben who was hiding, badly, a grin behind his own burger. 'I think,' she mumbled, 'I'd like to go back to the TARDIS now. Can we get to the Grange, pick up the Doctor and go?'

Ben agreed and they wandered back the way they had come. 'Food tastes like cardboard. Nothing changes.'

The Doctor was stroking the book he had found. Peter was finis.h.i.+ng his work on the bolt for the door. Carfrae was setting up four acoustic dampers in each corner of the room 81 and Simon found himself setting up a feedback loop of white noise.

'Any idea what frequency, Doctor?'

The Doctor failed to look up from the book. 'Oh, your usual, Chesterton, your usual. Now, I wonder where Barbara and Susan have got to.'