Doctor Who Eighth Doctor Adventures 70 by The Sleep of Reason

Author:The Sleep of Reason
Format: epub

10. Mad World 111 you do, I will fill him in.’ Oldfield made a show of looking at his watch. ‘It’s now eight o’clock. He should be here any time in the next couple of hours.’ The smile that followed was doubtless Oldfield’s attempt at showing that he had a sense of humour, but as he turned for the stairs Liz wasn’t sure if she found his attitude any more bearable in the circumstances than Smith’s. Tracy Wade had been roused from her sleep on many occasions in the past, and for a wide variety of professional reasons. Sometimes demented old biddies required a little gentle encouragement to return to their beds. Often pain relief needed to be upped in the wee small hours to get the patient through the night. Once - dozing in the obstetrics department of an inner-city hospital - she’d been roused to help with a birth complication. A woman who spoke not a word of English had been about to give birth to triplets - and two out of three of the children were breech. That had been quite a night. But nothing could have prepared her for the rough shaking of the shoulders that interrupted a weird dream about marshmallows and an identity parade of masked soap stars. Tracy was sitting in the staff room and must have nodded off in the middle of a gripping article on the UK’s future at the heart of Europe. Liz Bartholomew was standing over Tracy, her face utterly drained of colour. ‘Sorry, Dr Bartholomew,’ said Tracy, rubbing her eyes. ‘Must have nodded off...’ ‘There’s been. . . There’s been an accident,’ said Liz, almost babbling in her panic. ‘Mike Farrell is dead.’ ‘Oh my goodness! What happened?’ ‘You’ll find out soon enough. What I need you to do is contact the police, get an ambulance here - though there’s nothing they’ll be able to do for him. I’ve tried phoning but the line’s dead.’ ‘That was one hell of a storm last night,’ said Tracy. ‘It came from nowhere. Must have knocked down one of the poles or something.’ ‘I need you to pop out and phone 999,’ said Liz. ‘If you can’t get your mobile to work there’s a phone box on Charnage Lane, just before you get to the village.’ ‘No problem,’ said Tracy. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’ She grabbed her coot from the peg on the back of the door and headed for the car park. She knew there was no point trying her mobile: even if you could get a signal you could guarantee the connection would drop at the most vital moment. The sudden storm had been followed by blank skies and sub-zero temperatures. Her red Metro was covered with frost; there

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