Almost Perfect

EMMA WEBSTER IS A MARKED WOMAN

Gwen waited until Rhys was asleep, and then slipped out of bed and drove to the Hub. She loved the furtive feeling of wandering across the empty plaza, stepping up to the fountain, and then the click and the cold rush of night air as the invisible lift carried her down.

Sensing her presence, lights flickered gently into action, lighting up each of the storeys that the lift carried her through. Little pathways across the Hub’s floor lit up, and she stepped over to her desk, switched her computer on, then went over to put the kettle on. Ianto wasn’t around, so she figured she could make a cup of instant without getting into trouble. She guiltily kept a tiny jar hidden in her workstation. She’d tried telling him once that instant wasn’t so bad, really, but he’d just stared at her, like she was giving the ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech.

Once into the system, she uploaded the digital pictures she’d taken of the room, along with details of the people on the register. She watched as the complicated alien machinery at the heart of Torchwood’s computer reached out into the internet, cross-matching faces and names and pulling in information – phone numbers, more photos, blog posts, one small criminal record, a wish list from Amazon, a history of dodgy dealings on eBay, some ill-advised beach photos from Facebook, a video of a restored car from YouTube, and proof that Gavin was quite the best player of Warcraft in Cardiff. But there was one name and face that Gwen homed in on. She clicked her mouse, and watched as Emma Webster floated forward, gradually filling the screen. Another click, a slight fumble, a small curse, two right clicks, and more images of her from over the years popped up on several other monitors that flickered into life.

‘She is gorgeous.’

Gwen screamed and jumped.

Bugger.

There, holding out a cup of freshly brewed coffee, was Ianto. He looked a million dollars in a neat little dress with kicky heels, like he’d been to a board meeting, followed swiftly by a cocktail party and an awards ceremony.

Gwen sat there, guilty and dishevelled, in the old sweatpants she sometimes slept in and a baggy T-shirt, her hand still clasped in shock to her breast, waiting for her breath to come back.

‘Ianto! Don’t do that!’ She was furious with herself for being scared.

‘I’m so sorry. I thought you’d like some coffee. I really didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘And what are you doing looking like Grace Kelly?’

Ianto looked a bit blank. ‘Like what?’ He glanced down.

‘Oh this? Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just something I found in the Archive. Turns out there’s tonnes down there. Sometimes it’s nice to wear really good clothes. I’ve always felt comfortable in smart clothes – you know how it is, stick with what makes you feel comfy.’ He glanced at Gwen, and smiled.

Gwen felt herself curling up. Especially when she realised there were still bits of lasagne stuck to her T-shirt.

‘Yeah,’ she said slowly.

Ianto stepped forward and settled the cup down. ‘Truthfully, I didn’t feel much like going to sleep. I’ve not been sleeping well. Nothing really planned. Did a bit of tidying in the vaults.’

‘No Jack?’

Ianto shrugged. ‘Still out trying to track down the cause of his static cloud. You know how he is. So what’s all this, then?’

Reluctantly, Gwen turned her attention back to the screen. ‘Well, Rhys and I went to that speed-dating thing.’

Ianto smiled. ‘Taking your husband speed-dating is so modern.’

‘Yeah. He turned out to be quite useful, actually. More useful than Jack would have been.’

‘I’m always useful!’ Jack strode in from nowhere, flinging his coat onto the sofa. He adopted his big beam. ‘Twenty strangers, some alcohol, and a chance to make small talk? Thirty minutes and we’d all have been in a big naked heap.’

‘Exactly,’ said Gwen. ‘Lovely fun for you, I’m sure, Jack, but we wouldn’t have learnt anything. Whereas Rhys and I-’

‘I think it’s sweet,’ put in Ianto.

‘We learned a lot. I think. I had a hunch about one of the women there. It turns out she’s one of the women missing from Tombola’s. And that’s not all.’

Jack looked at the screens, filled with pictures of Emma Webster. ‘Her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Quite the babe. I would. I definitely would. Wouldn’t you, Ianto?’

‘If you promised not to film it, Jack, then yes.’

My eyes, thought Gwen. ‘Anyway – Emma Webster. Here’s the youngest picture we’ve got.’ A school photo flashed up. It showed Emma in her late teens, a bit sullen, a bit spotty, still a bit of puppyfat. Surrounded by her classmates, she just looked cold and unhappy.

Jack leaned in closely, smiling fondly. ‘You know, I’m in one of my school photos three times. The Time Agency gave me a medal and a small fine.’

Gwen pressed on. ‘Look – here she is at her thirtieth birthday party. A couple of weeks ago.’

‘Yeah. Better. She’s grown up well.’

‘Yeah – but… she’s not… jaw-dropping. She either’s really made an effort for speed-dating, or something… different’s going on here. I mean look – here she is last night.’

They looked. They saw what she meant.

‘It’s not like she’s had work done, it’s just like she’s… better.’

‘Emma 2.0,’ said Ianto.

Jack nodded. ‘Now she’s… stunning. She’s perfect.’

Perfect. They both looked at Ianto.

He coughed. ‘I’ll go and make some more coffee, shall I?’

Two sets of eyes watched him go.