Why does my muse always have to return at 2am and keep me up writing and searching pictures before publishing the work? Does this happen to other writers?
People have been asking for a sequel to my goodbye to everybody’s favourite Doctor Who girl – Sarah Jane Smith – since I wrote it last year. I hope you enjoy!
He didn’t come up here very often. There had been so much to do after the funeral that he rarely had the time to think about what was hidden away at the top of the house. His mother’s affairs needed to be put in order… and then there was Sky.
He missed Sky; she had left with The Doctor shortly after the service, and had found a new home and plenty of love with a childless family in the year 3002, on a lush, self-sufficient homestead in Wales. The Doctor brought news of her on occasion. He himself still had university to graduate and further obligations elsewhere, and so Sky’s new life had been the best option for her. She was happy, and that was what mattered.
Yet he always came home – to the only earth home that had ever been his. Sarah Jane had left it to him, of course, and he couldn’t bear to part with the final connection he had between himself and his mother. The Bane had given up their search for him long ago, and he was safe. No Blathereen would be coming for him again either.
Rani and Clyde had both left Bannerman Road to begin their own college tuitions, and so contact with them was sporadic. Even Maria had moved on; she was settled in the States with a seemingly long term boyfriend. He supposed that she might marry the boy – named Jeff – some day.
This evening, Luke found himself in the attic, cup of tea in hand, curled up on his mother’s comfortable old sofa. In the dim light ghosts flickered around him; he could almost see Sarah Jane at her laptop – which still sat on her desk – glasses perched firmly on her elegant nose with printed documentation of alien activity tottering dangerously in an enormous and haphazard pile, and Sky hovering behind her chair asking all manner of questions. Over in the corner Clyde and Rani were firing jokes and throwing cushions at each other and laughing. All manner of unidentifiable objects and crystals were still strewn around the place; Luke had refused entry to everybody who had attempted to come up here to clear the place out. This part of the house would always belong to Mum.
The book cases were still groaning under the weight of atlases, encyclopaedias, books concerning conspiracy theories and some old journals from Mum’s time with The Doctor and beyond, which he often pulled out for a read. Had they been written by anybody else he would have dismissed these journals as complete bunk, but they were Sarah Jane’s – and there was nothing she couldn’t do.
Luke stared at the untidy paperwork on the desk. It was no use; he was a clean freak and he didn’t want Mum’s work falling to the floor and scattering so that it was pushed back together out of all recognisable order. He would have to tidy it into a box file and label it carefully so that nothing would go missing.
As he shifted the heavy pile, the top page fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, he noticed something in Mum’s handwriting – hastily scribbled as though she’d had to get it written down quickly before she was sidetracked by something else. As he read the printed sheet, and the words that Sarah Jane had written, his eyes widened and he pulled the next sheet of paper from the pile. Was this happening? Is this what she had been working on when she -? He swallowed the word back, still unable to even think about it.
He knew what he had to do, even though the thought made him wish that Mum was still here. They could have done this together, along with the rest of the “Smith Gang”. A soft voice seemed to whisper “I have faith in you, Luke”, the words hanging in the air like dew drops on a spider’s web. Sarah Jane’s voice – as beautiful now as it had always been.
Trembling with a mixture of fear, anticipation and excitement, Luke turned to the wall opposite the attic door.
“Mister Smith? I need you.”
The wall began to swing open.
To be continued…
© Gemma Wright, 2013
Disclaimer: These pictures do not belong to me. All other work is my own.