James Goss - Almost Perfect

He sipped the coffee again and gave Ianto a look that made him feel very frightened.

Around her, the old house creaked and yawned, timber cracking like a weary boat at sea. And she just stood there, feet planted solidly on the off-cream carpet, frozen in time just between the sofa and the coffee table.

Time moved oddly around her, and she recognised the pull in the air of Rift Energy. Which started to explain things. Emma’s little device had reached out and trapped her just outside now. And she wasn’t alone. She could sense other figures, distantly, as though across a vast space. She tried shouting but couldn’t – if she squinted she could somehow perceive about a dozen female figures stood-stock still a long way away… all of them done up to the nines and dressed to kill. She realised she was glimpsing the missing women from speed-dating. They were still there in Tombola’s. She wondered how they were coping after several days outside of time.

It was a place that was, to be frank, boring and very itchy. She was burning with the desire to scratch her left leg. Left leg first, and then definitely right bum cheek, upper back and then her nose. Plus behind both ears. Urgggh.

Her feet ached. She wondered how much worse that would get. And how much more tired she would get. She ached, she felt tired. She wanted to curl up and sleep. But she couldn’t really move. And all around her was the world of Emma’s flat – eternity spread out across the lounge and towards the kitchenette.

And blocking the view of the universe were Rhys and Emma kissing. They were getting ready to go out, and there was nothing she could do to stop them. She screamed herself hoarse, yelling out Rhys’s name with rage and fear and panic and fury. But no. Nothing.

Emma kissed Rhys on the cheek. ‘And where are you taking me? Is it somewhere wonderful? It had better be.’

Rhys leant close. ‘Oh yes. Best view of the Bay, it is. Just you and me.’

‘I can’t wait.’ Emma giggled. ‘Oh, you’re wonderful.’ She kissed him again on the cheek and picked up her handbag.

Rhys held the door open for her and Emma sailed through, glancing over her shoulder to smirk at Gwen.

And then they were gone. And just Gwen, trapped and alone and motionless in this bloody terrible little flat, itch itch itch, and oh god, she’s left the radio tuned to Classic .

Jack was waiting impassively for the invisible lift when Ianto caught up with him.

‘I have to go. Don’t follow me, Ianto. This is all my fault.’ Jack was grim.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I made a mistake,’ said Jack. ‘I caused all this. I’ll either be back in an hour, or not at all.’ He shrugged. ‘But hey – you know me. I’m tough.’

‘Don’t be bloody rubbish.’

Jack stepped onto the platform, which started its upward glide. Rain was pouring down around him.

Straining to see him, Ianto tried to jump up on tiptoe and felt foolish.

‘You can’t just go!’ he protested, amazed at how high his voice went. ‘You can’t just run off like this!’

He could just see Jack, staring back down, giving him a look. It was a look that didn’t belong with the smile that forced its way across his face.

‘Jack!’ screamed Ianto as Jack started to vanish through the ceiling.

He just caught Jack’s voice, floating back down to him.

‘Check the energy cloud, Ianto. It’s building up – and there’s about a day before it goes off the scale.’ And then he was gone.

… now available in a delicious dairy-free drink .

Next up on I Spy a Maestro… I Spy someone beginning with B. Would anyone care to guess? Don’t forget, we’ve just had P for lovely Pachelbel, and M was for magnificent Mozart, dear Wolfgang Amadeus – but B. Well, there’s almost two choices there. Shall I play you a mystery track and then we’ll take your calls on the usual number? So sit back, relax, and pop your thinking caps on…

Gwen was bored and scared. Like waiting for test results. This was boredom with a creeping numbness. The itching had gone now. And all she had was this vague lack of sensation. And on top of the tedium, a creeping, creeping loss of… she felt tired, could almost sense her eyes closing, and knew that this could mean a sleep that she’d never wake up from. The minutes crept gently into hours. Her only hope was that perhaps nothing dreadful was happening, that perhaps Rhys would be all right (oh, please let him be all right) and that maybe Emma would come back alone, and she’d see sense and release her. Oh, if Rhys was all right and she could get out then she’d be fine about it. Honest she would.

… Don’t forget, you’ll need to be licensed to sponsor an immigrant!

And welcome back to three hours of the most slinky and relaxing music imaginable .

The key turned in the lock and Emma and Rhys fell through in a laughing, snogging heap, dragging and fumbling their way onto the couch. Gwen was gutted.

For a second she hoped that her rage and fear might let her do something. Might let her move, or that he’d hear her. That he’d stop. That he’d realise… She struggled and struggled. But she couldn’t move. And she just watched.

Every now and then, Emma shot a glance of triumph in Gwen’s direction. Gwen wanted to scream back. Emma had taken her life, and she was now taking Rhys – Rhys who wasn’t Rhys, Rhys who she’d changed, who she was somehow making do… this…

‘And you’re making me watch. When I get out of here, I am going to hurt you.’

Emma stood up, zipping down her top and throwing back her hair. ‘Oh, you’re a wild one, Rhys Williams. No wonder your ex couldn’t let you go.’

Rhys spluttered on his wine. ‘My ex? Not Gwen?’

‘Oh yes!’ said Emma brightly. ‘I met her in the street. She warned me away from you. Said you were bad news. I told her she was pathetic and that you’d moved on.’

‘Ohhhhh, good,’ said Rhys uncertainly, suddenly rather more like himself. He looked nervously round the room. ‘You did, did you?’

Gwen was roaring away invisibly. ‘Yes! Rhys! Yes! Come on, baby! Think. Remember me – you’ve got to remember me!’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Emma, with the faint air of a schoolgirl telling a really big fib. ‘I told her a few home truths. You were too good for her, and she knew it.’

Rhys looked around the room again, and glanced sickly back at her. ‘You told her this, did you?’ He glanced over at the window, as though expecting Gwen to come crashing through it with a machine gun.

Emma nodded. ‘Trust me. She’s history. I laid it down to her and she just had to take it. The truth hurts, but it works. You. Will. Never. See. Her. Again.’ And she laughed and reached out her hand, glancing over at Gwen. And Rhys took her hand, at first gently, and then placidly, a dopey grin spreading across his face.

Gwen suddenly knew that she’d lost him. That Rhys was gone, replaced with the plastic sheep. She howled. Howled with rage and frustration. She was dying, and Rhys was lost – Emma would use him, change him, and then when she got bored, he’d die too. Just like that. And there was nothing she could do but watch. Watch and rage. She never dreamt this would be the end – watching everything taken away from her so cruelly and slowly.

Rhys stood up, gathering Emma in his arms. She leaned into his ear and breathed, ‘Take me to bed, Rhys.’

‘Don’t go, Rhys. Please don’t go. I love you, Rhys!’