Almost Perfect Read Online Free PDF Page A
Author: James Goss
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, Sagas, Fiction - Science Fiction, Space Opera, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Space Opera, Harkness; Jack (Fictitious character), Radio and Television Novels, Human-alien encounters - Wales - Cardiff, Cardiff (Wales), Intelligence officers - Wales - Cardiff
herself down. ‘Honestly, I just…’
Jack tutted. ‘Complete cellular exhaustion. The only thing holding those molecules together was boredom. Just a tiny nudge and…’
Ianto smiled. ‘Aw, Gwen, it’s made such a mess of your nice trousers.’
Gwen laughed. ‘Look at Ianto Jones, criticising my clothes! Fancy that – your first bitchy comment. Welcome to the sisterhood.’
Jack looked up from sweeping some dust into an envelope.
‘You two aren’t going to gang up on me, are you?’
Gwen’s mobile rang. Inevitably Rhys. No matter how many times she said ‘Please don’t call me at work unless another starliner lands in The Hayes, or there’s a new Heat with Gavin or Charl looking fat.’
‘Hello, lover!’ he said. ‘What’s up? Apart from Ianto’s cup size.’
Gwen stepped out onto the balcony. It was cold and windy, and she watched the wind blow vital crime-scene evidence off her and into the Bay. Ah well. ‘Nothing much. I’m covered in bits of corpse.’
‘Eugh!’ there was a pause. ‘I was eating a doughnut,’ said Rhys reproachfully.
‘I knew you were cheating,’ Gwen smiled. Rhys was on another semi-diet, which gave Gwen hours of innocent pleasure.
‘No… not really. Pastries left over after a meeting. Stolen food doesn’t count.’
‘Really?’
‘You’ve always said so. Anyway, corpse?’
‘Yeah.’ Gwen did a little relationship maths – how much could she tell him against how much would it make her feel better. ‘Yeah. Skeleton turned up at a table-for-two.’
‘You are kidding! Classy!’ Rhys sounded worryingly enthusiastic. ‘Where?’
‘You’ll never believe it – Abalone’s,’ said Gwen. Rhys laughed. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in there!’
‘Well quite,’ said Gwen. ‘Poor bugger seemed to be on a date.’
‘Abalone’s. What a way to go. It’s only one up from keeling over at the Chinese Buffet. What’ll you tell the relatives? Died of shame?’
‘Ah,’ said Gwen. ‘We’re still working out who he is. You see, I touched him and he… well, exploded over me…’
There was a dangerous pause, in which Rhys had the chance to say something reassuring. Instead: ‘So you’re seriously wearing skellington?’ Rhys was really amused. More amused than when Gwen had trodden in dog turd. Wearing flip-flops. ‘Well, mind you have a shower before tonight – we’re going round to Darren and Sian’s. They’ve got a new pet.’
‘What did they choose?’ Knowing them it was going to be something fluffy and low maintenance. Their ideal pet would be a spider plant that could purr.
Another laugh from Rhys. ‘A rat.’
Gwen squeaked. ‘Oh this is the best day ever.’
PATRICK MATTHEWS IS NOT
DEAD
Gwen scurried back into Torchwood. She’d nipped out for a sandwich and got soaked. She’d needed a break from combing through interviews with ferry passengers and CCTV from the bar. She’d been hoping to come back refreshed. Instead her teeth were chattering.
And there was Ianto. Sat at a desk, looking annoyingly perfect, not a hair out of place.
‘You bloody cow,’ laughed Gwen, dumping her bag on the desk. ‘How do you do it? You look… You’re not even wearing make-up.’
Ianto shrugged. ‘It’s getting weird, isn’t it? It’s like this body can only be pretty.’ He pointed to the hair. ‘And the hair! It just naturally… bounces into place. I’ve not even moisturised. This’ll take some getting used to.’
‘Hey, ladies!’ Jack bounded into the office, laying a fond hand on Ianto’s shoulder. I bet they’re at it like rabbits, thought Gwen. Jack picked up a leaflet on caravanning in the Gower and then favoured them with a wide grin. ‘Ianto Jones – looking amazing. Gwen Cooper – looking damp. Keep it up troops!’ They followed him through into Owen’s old medical area, where what remains they’d salvaged lay in an untidy heap on a slab.
‘I have news about our corpse,’ said Ianto. ‘His wallet says he’s
Jack tutted. ‘Complete cellular exhaustion. The only thing holding those molecules together was boredom. Just a tiny nudge and…’
Ianto smiled. ‘Aw, Gwen, it’s made such a mess of your nice trousers.’
Gwen laughed. ‘Look at Ianto Jones, criticising my clothes! Fancy that – your first bitchy comment. Welcome to the sisterhood.’
Jack looked up from sweeping some dust into an envelope.
‘You two aren’t going to gang up on me, are you?’
Gwen’s mobile rang. Inevitably Rhys. No matter how many times she said ‘Please don’t call me at work unless another starliner lands in The Hayes, or there’s a new Heat with Gavin or Charl looking fat.’
‘Hello, lover!’ he said. ‘What’s up? Apart from Ianto’s cup size.’
Gwen stepped out onto the balcony. It was cold and windy, and she watched the wind blow vital crime-scene evidence off her and into the Bay. Ah well. ‘Nothing much. I’m covered in bits of corpse.’
‘Eugh!’ there was a pause. ‘I was eating a doughnut,’ said Rhys reproachfully.
‘I knew you were cheating,’ Gwen smiled. Rhys was on another semi-diet, which gave Gwen hours of innocent pleasure.
‘No… not really. Pastries left over after a meeting. Stolen food doesn’t count.’
‘Really?’
‘You’ve always said so. Anyway, corpse?’
‘Yeah.’ Gwen did a little relationship maths – how much could she tell him against how much would it make her feel better. ‘Yeah. Skeleton turned up at a table-for-two.’
‘You are kidding! Classy!’ Rhys sounded worryingly enthusiastic. ‘Where?’
‘You’ll never believe it – Abalone’s,’ said Gwen. Rhys laughed. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in there!’
‘Well quite,’ said Gwen. ‘Poor bugger seemed to be on a date.’
‘Abalone’s. What a way to go. It’s only one up from keeling over at the Chinese Buffet. What’ll you tell the relatives? Died of shame?’
‘Ah,’ said Gwen. ‘We’re still working out who he is. You see, I touched him and he… well, exploded over me…’
There was a dangerous pause, in which Rhys had the chance to say something reassuring. Instead: ‘So you’re seriously wearing skellington?’ Rhys was really amused. More amused than when Gwen had trodden in dog turd. Wearing flip-flops. ‘Well, mind you have a shower before tonight – we’re going round to Darren and Sian’s. They’ve got a new pet.’
‘What did they choose?’ Knowing them it was going to be something fluffy and low maintenance. Their ideal pet would be a spider plant that could purr.
Another laugh from Rhys. ‘A rat.’
Gwen squeaked. ‘Oh this is the best day ever.’
PATRICK MATTHEWS IS NOT
DEAD
Gwen scurried back into Torchwood. She’d nipped out for a sandwich and got soaked. She’d needed a break from combing through interviews with ferry passengers and CCTV from the bar. She’d been hoping to come back refreshed. Instead her teeth were chattering.
And there was Ianto. Sat at a desk, looking annoyingly perfect, not a hair out of place.
‘You bloody cow,’ laughed Gwen, dumping her bag on the desk. ‘How do you do it? You look… You’re not even wearing make-up.’
Ianto shrugged. ‘It’s getting weird, isn’t it? It’s like this body can only be pretty.’ He pointed to the hair. ‘And the hair! It just naturally… bounces into place. I’ve not even moisturised. This’ll take some getting used to.’
‘Hey, ladies!’ Jack bounded into the office, laying a fond hand on Ianto’s shoulder. I bet they’re at it like rabbits, thought Gwen. Jack picked up a leaflet on caravanning in the Gower and then favoured them with a wide grin. ‘Ianto Jones – looking amazing. Gwen Cooper – looking damp. Keep it up troops!’ They followed him through into Owen’s old medical area, where what remains they’d salvaged lay in an untidy heap on a slab.
‘I have news about our corpse,’ said Ianto. ‘His wallet says he’s