5

Aldridge was mildly surprised.

‘The Doctor defeated a whole crew of Soul Pirates? Single-handed, if you’ll pardon the expression?’

Susan flicked her nail against something on Aldridge’s work bench that looked very much like a miniature TARDIS.

‘Yes, my grandfather took care of them. He coded the ship’s anti-grav beam to his own DNA so the blast from the beam locked on to him and therefore us. Genius, really.’

Aldridge moved the tiny TARDIS away from Susan’s fingers. ‘There is a giant octo-shark in there and I don’t think he’d be impressed with you flicking his box.’

‘An octo-shark, really?’

‘For all you know. Please stop touching things.’

Susan was filling Aldridge in on their adventure while they waited for the Doctor to wake after his operation.

‘So we put the children back in their house and left the soldier on guard outside the door. With any luck they will think the whole episode was a dream.’

‘The curse is broken,’ said Aldridge. ‘I don’t know why that family didn’t just move. There’s not exactly a shortage of houses in London town, especially for rich folk.’

Susan began putting rings from a tray on each finger, eventually managing to fit thirty rings on her hands. ‘Tell me, Mr Aldridge. How do you do that trick with your beard bristles?’

Aldridge bristled, as he usually did when bristle comments were passed.

‘The beard trick is a discipline. All you need to do is practise and drink a very diluted glass of poison every night. Now will you please put those rings back on the tray? I’m running a business, you know, not a toy shop.’

Moaning drifted from the back room followed by a long bout of coughing.

‘Where is she?’ said the Doctor’s voice. ‘Susan?’

Susan quickly stripped off the rings and dumped them in the tray.

‘It’s Grandfather. He’s awake.’

She hurried behind the screen to find the Doctor already sitting up on a soldier’s cot, surrounded by an array of highly sophisticated equipment, which had been disguised as everyday Victorian objects.

Someone once tried to use what he thought was a commode, Aldridge had told Susan in an attempt to stop her touching things. And had the two sides of his bottom sutured together.

‘Here I am, Grandfather,’ said Susan. ‘Everything is fine.’

The Doctor’s panic disappeared as though blown away by a gust of wind.

‘Good, child. Good. I had such dreams under the anaesthetic. Such nightmares. Now I wake to find you beside me and I can hardly remember what those nightmares were.’

Aldridge appeared around the screen. ‘Such poetry, such effusiveness. It’s enough to make an old surgeon shed a tear.’

The Doctor scowled. ‘I presume the transplant was a success, Aldridge?’

‘That hand will last longer than you, provided you don’t let some pirate slice it off,’ said Aldridge.

The Doctor held up his left hand, examining it closely. The only sign of surgery was a thick pink line around the wrist.

‘It was touch and go there for a while,’ said Aldridge. ‘You nearly regenerated twice.’

‘Hmmm,’ said the Doctor, and then: ‘Hmmmmmm.’

Aldridge elbowed Susan. ‘He does the whole hmmmm routine when he’s looking for faults, but can’t find any.’

The Doctor sat up, then stood, holding the hand out to Susan for inspection.

‘Tell me, Granddaughter. What do you think?’

Susan pinched his palm and pulled on the fingers one by one.

‘Honestly, Grandfather,’ she said. ‘It looks a little big to me.’