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Secret Origins
Godiva
Bad Hair Day
The tall blonde woman looked around anxiously as she entered the restaurant, a task not made easy by the dark shades she wore over her eyes. Spotting her, Marcel, the head waiter, sashayed across and cocked his head to one side quizzically. "Does Madame have a reservation?"
"Madame does," said the blonde, the collar of whose elegant designer coat was pulled up high, partially obscuring her face. "An alcove table booked for two, under the name of Ms. Hare. H-A-R-E."
"Ah, yes, but of course Ms. Hare. If you will step this way... may I take your coat?"
"No thank you, I'll keep it on."
"As Madame wishes," said Marcel. "Your guest is already waiting for you."
"Oh. Is she?" The woman sounded dismayed. Marcel idly wondered who she was -- some pampered minor celebrity with a husband or lover who abused her, judging by her nervousness and the bruises on her face which the high collar did little to conceal. Well, it was nothing new. In his years in the restaurant business he had met many such women. The older woman already seated at their table was probably her agent or her lawyer.
The older woman in question made no effort to greet the newcomer, sitting still and impassive while Marcel held the blonde's chair back to allow her to sit. He handed menus to both women. "A drink, Mesdames, while you make your choices?"
"I'll have a large gin and tonic," said the older woman.
"Just a Perrier for me," the blonde said.
"As Mesdames wish," said Marcel. As he scurried away, he heard the older woman say: "Well, about time, Cas. I have been waiting here for nearly half an hour."
"Oh, mum, don't fuss so!" replied Godiva, sighing.
Dorien Leigh glared at her daughter. "I always brought you up to be punctual, Cas. I don't know what's come over you."
"I was held up in traffic. It's horrendous in London at this time of night, and I'm living out of town at the moment."
"Yes," Dorien said, "I'm not surprised, after that debacle the other day. Really! How could you make such a public spectacle of yourself? I hardly dared show my face at the Women's Institute that night -- my daughter, splashed all over the papers and showing her -- her..."
"I believe the word you're looking for is 'knickers,' mum. Or 'panties.' Or--"
"That will DO!"
"Well..." said Dorcas. "How was I to know those sodding photographers were there? I didn't ask that Janet Smith bitch to blow my secret identity wide open!"
"LANGUAGE! Is this what living in London has done to you?"
"Oh, give it a rest, please. I'm tired. I'm not in the mood to fight with you. And before you start on that topless pic in The Sun, it was a fake. Even they've admitted it. They had to, or my solicitor would've taken Rupert bloody Murdoch to the cleaners."
Dorien stared at her. "You look as though you've been fighting someone." She reached over and pulled off her daughter's sunglasses. "My God, Cas, what's happened to you? Your face is a mass of bruises!"
"Someone gave me a good kicking. I don't want to talk about it."
"A boyfriend? Cas, what have I told you about men like that? They're not worth it!"
"Not a boyfriend. An evil little punk calling himself Karma. You'll be reading all about it in tomorrow's papers, I daresay. Perhaps you can entertain your W.I. friends with tales of how much it all shocks you."
Dorien opened her mouth to make an angry retort, but checked herself as she saw how upset Dorcas was. She sighed. "We seem to have started off on the wrong foot, Cas. Shall we begin this conversation again?"
"Whatever."
Dorien shook her head. "Is this how it's going to be from now on, my sweet baby? Always wondering how badly you're going to be beaten by the next horrible little criminal you take on? Never knowing if next time you're not going to survive?"
Dorcas reached out and took her mother's hand. "Mum, I've been doing this for over five years now. Usually I manage to come away unscathed. I just got unlucky this time." She looked away. "Why do you think I didn't tell you about this before?"
"I would have found out sooner or later," said Dorien. "But it was a big shock, I can tell you, to find out that my only child is leading a double life as a... as a superhero. I still can't take it in. In fact, looking at you now, I can't see it. Your hair doesn't even reach your shoulders. How can you possibly be Godiva?"
Dorcas managed to smile. "Remember that 'Tressy' doll I had as a little girl, mum? You turned a key in her back and her hair would get longer or shorter. Well, I don't have a key, but I can will my hair to be more or less any length I want -- although the shorter I make it, the harder it is to stop it from spontaneously growing again. That's how I've got away with not wearing a mask. People look at Godiva and see only the hair."
"Incredible!" said Dorien. She paused as a waiter approached with their drinks. As he departed again, she said: "How in the world did you get like this? You were such a normal child, Cas -- tall for a girl, perhaps, but that's all." She paused. "This doesn't have something to do with your father, does it?"
Dorcas grimaced. "I'm afraid it does."
"I might have know," said Dorien, scowling. "Well, then, you'd better tell me all about it."
*
Where do I begin? At the beginning, I suppose. November, 1980. I was in my second year at Cambridge, of course, and struggling to make ends meet as a poor English Lit. student. I'd written some stuff for the college newspaper, and even a couple of sketches for the Footlights Revue, so I was beginning to realise I had a flair for writing. If only I could make some money from it!
Then it hit me: in his last letter, Daddy had said he was about to start a new dig at Coventry Cathedral. Perhaps I could do a feature on it for one of the glossy magazines. I'd already thought up an angle -- stuff about the new cathedral rising from the ashes of the old one, destroyed in the war, and yet there still being some life in those old ashes. Well, maybe the odd treasure or two still buried under the rubble, anyway.
I started ringing around, and to my surprise Into Focus magazine accepted my proposal and commissioned me to write the piece. So I needed to get my skates on. I persuaded a friend to lend me her old Vespa, borrowed a camera from another friend and set off for Coventry armed with a notepad and umpteen spare pencils...
I had a hell of a journey. The Vespa had a strange mind of its own and kept just cutting out for no reason and refusing to move again until it cooled down. It forced me to go by the back roads, because I shudder to think what would have happened if it had died on me on the motorway. And then, of course, I'd never driven around Coventry before and the ring road system was a nightmare. It didn't help that it was a Saturday, and Coventry City were at home to Manchester United. The entire road system was clogged with soccer fans on their way to the match and waving red and white scarves at me and leering suggestively.
I was a nervous wreck by the time I found my way to the cathedral, but I sat on the car park in the shadow of the new building, pulled myself together and got into the right mental frame. It might be only my father I was going to interview, but this was my first proper writing assignment and no way did I intend to botch it up.
I'll never forget the look on Daddy's face when he saw me. "Cas? Is that really you?" Of course, we hadn't clapped eyes on each other since I'd started university, and to say I looked a bit different was a major understatement. I was going through my post-punk Gothic phase -- black lipstick and eyeliner on a very pale face, black leather jacket, black Siouxie and the Banshees T-shirt, black ripped denims so tight I needed a shoehorn to squeeze into them -- you get the picture? Even my hair was cut short, spiky and dyed jet black.
"My God," he said. "I can't believe how much you've changed."
"College does that to a girl," I said, hugging him. And thank goodness you can't see my pierced navel, I thought.
"Yes, but your hair, Cas -- your lovely, long blonde hair?"
I shrugged. "It doesn't go with the image, dad. I'm in a band -- Vampire Chic. Blonde wouldn't look right."
Anyway, after he'd got over the shock, he told me about his project and introduced me to his team. It seemed some shoring up work was needed on the walls of the old cathedral that were left standing after it was bombed out by the Nazis during the war. Before that was done, it was decided to do some overdue archealogical work on the ruins -- and it gave Daddy a chance also to look for remains of a third cathedral, which had pre-dated the one destroyed by Hitler. A wealthy American foundation was financing the work, and he was expecting a visit from a couple of museum people from the States within the next few days with regard to further sponsorship.
The last member of his team he introduced me to was a really dishy boy named Tommy. "This is my daughter Dorcas -- Cas to her friends."
"Wow," said Tommy in a pronounced Geordie accent. "Y'r tall, lass, ain't you?"
Daddy grinned. "We were always hoping she'd be a star athlete, Tommy. Maybe even represent Great Britain in the Olympics. She won no end of trophies at school, mostly for running. I mean, look how long her legs are." He playfully cuffed Tommy's ear. "I don't mean look that closely, you dirty little... but no, she's given up running, haven't you, love?"
"I still keep in trim," I said. "But the running became a no-no when I started to fill out." I grabbed my boobs -- I thought Tommy's eyes would pop out of their sockets. I confess I wasn't wearing a bra. "I'm too top-heavy for competitive running these days," I said, laughing.
"Dorcas, really!" Daddy scolded. I knew I'd gone a bit over the top at that point -- he only ever calls me 'Dorcas' when he's mad at me.
I put my arms down demurely at my sides. "So -- have you discovered anything interesting that I can tell my readers about?" I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
"As a matter of fact, we have," said Daddy. "We unearthed a couple of real treasures only yesterday." He turned to Tommy. "Tommy -- why don't we show Cas Godiva's Comb?"
"Godiva's Comb?" I said. "Sounds interesting. What is it?"
"Have ye not hord o' Lady Godiva, pet?" asked Tommy.
"Vaguely," I replied. "Some mediaeval woman who had a habit of riding around in the nude, wasn't she?"
Naturally, that was their signal to give me the full works on who Lady Godiva was and what she was famous for. I'll just give you the brief potted version...
Godiva, it seems, had been an Anglo-Saxon gentlewoman, patron of the arts and horsewoman who had lived in Coventry in the 11th Century. She was the wife of Leofric, earl of Mercia, and Godiva became increasingly concerned for the well-being of the peasants under his control. They led miserable lives, spending almost all of their waking hours in working to pay the taxes which Leofric imposed. Godiva felt that they were suffering spiritually in having no time for the arts or other intellectual pursuits.
She begged Leofric to reduce the burden of taxes on the people, to allow them some time to enjoy their lives. However, Leofric was becoming almost megalomaniacal and imposing taxes on everything he could think of, even including a levy on manure! He considered his wife's demands mad. The arguments raged for weeks. Eventually, since Godiva would not give up, Leofric offered to allow some reduction in taxation capitulated -- but attached a condition to the offer which he believed she would never agree to.
Since Godiva had a passion for classical art and wanted to encourage the peasants also to appreciate art, he suggested that she emulate the ancient Greeks, who viewed the nude human body as one of the highest expressions of the perfection of Nature. If Lady Godiva truly believed in the crusade she was promoting, then she should lead it herself, and offer to the citizens of Coventry an example of the glorious beauty to be understood by careful consideration of a perfect nude human body.
In other words, he proclaimed, if Godiva would ride her horse through the crowded market-place of Coventry, in the full light of mid-day, completely naked, then he would reduce the burden of taxes on the populace.
To his amazement, she agreed, and, at noon on the appointed day, she rode her horse naked at noon through the marketplace, accompanied by two (fully clothed) lady attendants. Taken aback, Leofric not only pledged to reduce taxes, but removed all of them save for those tolls on horses which were already in place before he assumed his office.
That's about the whole story, although it has been embellished over the centuries. The most famous (and apparently quite fictitious) addition is that the citizens of Coventry were ordered not to look at her as she rode through the streets, and that only one man -- 'Peeping Tom' -- disobeyed and was struck blind for his troubles. The story that her nakedness was almost completely concealed by her long blonde hair is also claimed to be untrue.
"She did have long blonde hair, though," said Daddy. "Supposedly, it was worn in two long braids on the day of her ride, and she wore no jewellery or ornamentation of any kind. But normally a Saxon noblewoman would have secured her hair with ornamental combs."
"And you've found one of them. Wow!"
"We've found a comb, pet," said Tommy. "We divven't know if it's hers, of course. Not too likely, really, ah suppose."
"But it's not impossible," Daddy said. "It's certainly from the right period."
"Would y'like to see it, like?" Tommy asked.
"I certainly would. Can I take some photos?"
"Of course," said Daddy. "Follow me."
The team had set up a large shed in the grounds to use as a workshop, and the finds from the dig were inside, arrayed on a table so that the archaeologists could clean and catalogue them. I was led around to where a young woman was carefully dusting off a strange-looking piece of jewellery made of bone and inset with gold and precious stones.
"Wow! Is this it?" I said.
"It certainly is," replied Daddy. "We're making some remarkable finds here, but this one is our pride and joy." He grinned. "I can't wait to show it off to the Halls when they arrive tomorrow."
"May I touch it?" He nodded. I took it from the woman; it felt strangely light, considering it was made from such heavy materials. Somehow, too, it felt very familiar. I got a weird sense of déjà vu, as though I'd handled it -- or something like it -- before.
"I've got to get a photo of this," I said, fumbling in my bag for the borrowed camera. One of the assistants said something to Daddy while I was assembling it.
"Er... Cas, love... we'd rather you didn't take flash photography in here. Some of these artefacts are very delicate and even light-sensitive. They should be photographed only under controlled conditions."
"Okay..." I said. "How about if we take it outside then?"
"That would be all right, provided you're careful with it. Tommy, go with her and help out, will you? I have to sort something out here but I'll join you presently."
Tommy and I went back out and walked to one of the old walls, which I thought would make a better background. I have to admit I was talking twenty to the dozen; despite his weird accent, I fancied Tommy like mad and being with him was making me pretty excitable. Perhaps that's why I came up with such a stupid idea as what happened next.
I'd taken a few snaps of Tommy holding the comb, when I said: "You say that Lady Godiva -- or some other Saxon noblewoman -- would have worn the comb in her hair. How? Could you demonstrate?"
"Whay ay, lass," he said. "We'll haveta find somebody with longer hair, like. Neither of us could wear it."
"Ffff! Nonsense. Give it here." He handed me the comb. I handed him the camera.
"Y' haven't enough hair, pet," he insisted.
"Okay, I'll just hold it in place, then," I told him. I pushed the comb into my black-dyed spiky crop. "Just take the photo."
And that was when it happened. I don't actually remember it, of course -- how could I? But I'm told that, out of a clear blue and nearly cloudless sky, a bolt of lightning struck down and blasted me to the ground as surely as if it had been aiming at me!
*
"Has her mother been informed?"
"I don't know where her mother is, doctor. Apparently she's on a skiing holiday somewhere in the Alps with her latest boyfriend, but that's all I know. Her sister probably knows her whereabouts, but she won't speak to me."
"Ah. You're divorced, then, Professor Leigh?"
"Obviously."
I heard this conversation through a haze as I started to wake up. The hushed voices suddenly took on an excited tone as I heard my father say, "She's coming round! Look! I saw her eyelids flutter."
That was my cue to do more than just flutter. I opened my eyes and looked around. "Daddy?"
He rushed to me and took me in his arms. "Oh, Cas, sweet baby, thank God!"
"Professor Leigh, if you don't mind..." To be honest, I was grateful for the doctor interrupting. When you're nineteen years old, it's one thing for your father to gush over you and call you his 'sweet baby' in private, but it's embarrassing as hell in public.
"Where am I?" I asked the doctor as he felt my pulse, my brow and anything else he could get away with and still remain within the bounds of decency. He ignored me, of course -- they always do, don't they? The patient is the last one they want to actually tell anything.
So I decided to figure it out for myself. The last thing I remembered was posing with Godiva's comb while Tommy took my picture. Then there was a bright light, a terrible noise and I was waking up here -- 'here' obviously being a hospital. As the doctor left me alone momentarily to make a note on his clipboard I took the opportunity to sit up -- and my hair flopped down over my eyes.
I was halfway through brushing it back with my hand before I realised it was impossible. My hair was short, black and gelled into a spiky punk style. This was long, blonde and silky -- like it had been when I was still at school. In a state of panic, I felt my head and discovered that my hair now almost reached my shoulders! "Oh, my God!" I squealed.
"What? What is it?" cried Daddy, looking as panic-stricken as me.
"I've been in a coma, haven't I?"
"No, of course not," the doctor said reassuringly. Well, reassurance was his intention, that is. It didn't work.
"Don't lie to me!" I snapped. "Look at the length of my hair! I have to have been in a coma!"
"Cas, love," began Daddy, "you've been unconscious, but only for about sixteen hours. It's eight AM on Sunday morning now. You had your accident at around four in the afternoon only yesterday."
I stared at them both. "I'm not stupid! Why are you talking to me as if I'm stupid? Look at my hair! Do you expect me to believe that my hair grew like this overnight?"
"Cas, I--"
The doctor turned to address a nurse hovering in the background. "Nurse Green, do you have the pillowcase you took from Miss Leigh's bed?"
"Yes, doctor." She handed him an object which he passed to me. I examined it; it seemed to be covered in some horrible black gunge.
"So what is it?" I asked.
"It's the dye and gel that was in your hair when you were admitted, Miss Leigh. It all came out onto your pillow last night while you were unconscious."
"I don't understand..."
"A remarkable thing has happened, Miss Leigh. You were struck by lightning, but not only have you escaped without serious injury, it seems to have stimulated an incredible spurt of growth in your hair follicles. Literally overnight, your hair has been growing at an incredible rate -- and furthermore, it expelled the foreign substances absorbed into it onto your pillow. I've never seen anything like it in twenty years of medical practice!"
I could only slump back onto my pillow. This was just too much!
Something the doctor had just said suddenly sank in. "Struck by lightning?"
"That's right, love," said Daddy. "That's what witnesses said. Literally a bolt out of the blue."
"Literally is right. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. And it's November. Whoever heard of lightning striking from a clear blue sky at any time of year, much less in November?"
"No one said we had an explanation, young lady, either for your remarkable hair growth or the event which seems to have stimulated it," said the doctor. "Strange events do happen which even the best of modern science sometimes fails to explain. Just be grateful for the fact that you are alive and apparently in the peak of health. And now, if you don't mind, I have other patients to see. Goodbye for now." And he walked out of the room, the nurse following with my soiled pillowcase.
"I can't take this in," I said to Daddy. "You're telling me the truth, aren't you? That's what really happened? I haven't been lying here in a coma for six months or something?"
Daddy smiled. "Love, even in six months I doubt whether your hair would normally grow that much. The doctor was telling the truth, Cas. It's weird, I know, but we just have to accept it."
"I see. And what about Tommy?"
Daddy's body language suddenly went very evasive. "Tommy?"
"He was standing right next to me. If I was struck by lightning, was he hurt?
"Cas, you need to concentrate on getting yourself better. Don't worry yourself about -"
"I need to know, Daddy. If Tommy was hurt, then I'm responsible. It's my fault we were out there on that spot at that time. Was he caught in the lightning as well as me? And if so, is he okay?"
He turned his face away. "All right, Cas, I suppose you have to find out some time."
"Oh my God! Find out what?"
"The lightning also knocked Tommy down, Cas. Like you, he wasn't burned or anything, but the flash seems to have severely damaged his eyes. He's in another ward in this hospital, where the doctors are trying to find a way to restore his sight."
"He's blind?"
"I'm afraid so, Cas. And the prospect of him ever seeing again doesn't look good."
*
Sometimes it's nice to spend the morning in bed, having people fuss over you, but this morning it wasn't nice. A nurse brought me some breakfast after Daddy left, saying he had to meet some people named Hall at Birmingham Airport, but I really didn't feel like just lying there afterwards. For one thing, I felt fine in myself. My initial weakness and disorientation had worn off and I felt perfectly okay. And besides, I badly needed to pee.
"Stay there, I'll bring you a bedpan," said the nurse.
"No thanks," I replied with a grimace. "I'm perfectly capable of walking to the bathroom. Just point me in the right direction."
"Well, if you're sure..."
I got out of bed, relieved to find I was wearing my own nightie and not one of those horrendous backless gowns they give you in hospital, and I investigated the bedside locker. My overnight bag, which Daddy had obviously had the foresight to retrieve from my friend's Vespa, was in there, and my toiletries bag was inside that. I fished around for it and followed the nurse's directions to the bathroom.
On the way, I passed a porter with a trolley selling newspapers. I didn't have any money -- it was in my purse, which was still in my bag -- but I sneaked a look at the date as I was passing. It corresponded to what it should have been, dispelling any lingering suspicions that I had been in a coma after all.
While I was in the bathroom, I examined myself in the mirror. It was like looking at myself from three years before. The nurses had cleaned off my makeup, and with my hair being long and blonde again I looked like my school photo at age 16. In fact...
I recoiled in horror as I realised that my hair was even longer than I'd thought. It reached well past my shoulders -- halfway down my back, in fact! Good grief! I thought. Is it still growing?
I retrieved my scissors from my bag and hacked it off just below the level of my ears. It was a clumsy job, but it would do until I could get to a hairdresser tomorrow. It would also tell me whether it really was still growing.
A couple of hair grips found in the bottom of my sponge bag secured the fringe away from my eyes. I didn't bother to put my makeup back on as the Gothic look would have looked silly with the blonde hair. Instead I finished up my ablutions and made my way back to the private room Daddy had sequestered me in. I had made my mind up that there was no point in me hanging around in here. I felt fine.
So first priority was to get dressed. Then I was going to find Tommy. I really did feel responsible for his predicament, and there had to be something I could do to help him...
*
"This is not a good idea," said the doctor from the other side of the curtain.
"Why not?" I replied as I zipped up my jeans. "There's nothing wrong with me, doctor. What's the point of me lying here and taking up a badly-needed bed?" I opened the curtains to find him standing there with arms folded and a disapproving expression on his face.
"I should at least inform your father," he said.
"My father is at the airport picking up some VIPs from the States," I reminded him. "And anyway, good grief, I'm nineteen years old. I'm legally an adult, you know. I'm perfectly entitled to discharge myself from hospital if I don't want to stay here."
"Miss Leigh, I am not at all happy that there is 'nothing wrong with you.' You were struck by lightning. If nothing else, it did something strange to your body's metabolism to stimulate such freakish hair growth. I need to carry out more tests on you."
And that was the word that summed it all up for me. 'Freakish.' He regarded me as some sort of freak and he wanted to poke and prod me to see what made me tick, doubtless so he could impress all the readers of the British Medical Journal. "No thanks," I said.
"And your hair?"
"What about it?" I said flatly. "Whatever made it grow like that, it's back to normal now." It was a lie, of course. Even now, despite my hacking it off in the bathroom, it was down to my shoulders again. Fortunately he didn't know I'd cut it -- to him, it was around the same length it had been when he'd last seen me nearly an hour before. But no way was I going to let him use me as a lab specimen. I'd find a way to solve this problem myself.
"Very well, Miss Leigh," he said with a sigh. "You are correct, of course -- I cannot compel you to stay here agaainst your will. However, there are discharge papers to sign. You will stay long enough to allow me to make them out, I trust?"
"Of course," I said. "How long will that take?"
"About half an hour. If you will please wait here..."
I stopped him as he was about to leave. "If you don't mind, doctor, there was a boy brought in at the same time as me. My father said the lightning blinded him. May I see him?"
"Are you family?"
"No. But his family live in Newcastle. My father said they couldn't get a train until tomorrow morning. He has nobody until they get here, and, well, I feel kind of responsible if you know what I mean."
The doctor smiled. "All right, I suppose it can do no harm. I'll have a nurse take you to him. But I warn you, he is heavily sedated. His eyes were giving him a great deal of pain."
*
"Tommy?" I said quietly as I stood by his bed.
"I doubt if he can here you, luv," said the nurse. "But it won't hurt to talk to him. I'll leave you alone for a bit."
She left the room, leaving me wondering what you were supposed to say to somebody who is so heavily sedated he's barely conscious. "I'm sorry, Tommy," I said. "I wouldn't have wished this on you for the world. In fact, I like you. I like you a lot. I wish that we... well, maybe we can see each other when... I mean, I can see you but you won't be ... I mean -- oh, hell, I've got no idea what I mean. I just want you to get your sight back!"
Tommy stirred slightly. I had the distinct impression that he wasn't so far under the drugs that he couldn't hear me. "Y'know," I said softly, "this is just like the story you and Daddy were telling me about, isn't it? Lady Godiva and Peeping Tom. My bloody hair has gone berserk and won't stop growing..." It was already well past my shoulders. I'd have to find an opportunity to trim it again before the doctor came back or he'd never let me out. "... while you, poor thing ... they say you might never see again. Damn!" I turned away, on the verge of breaking into tears.
"You know what the ironic thing is?" I forced myself to say. "The long blonde hair bit and Peeping Tom are the parts of the story you said weren't true. It would be funny if it wasn't so... so..."
Luckily, the nurse came back at that point to tell me the doctor would be ready for me to sign the discharge papers in about five minutes if I'd make my way back to my room. I gratefully squeezed past her and headed for the nearest bathroom, where I attacked my wayward hair with the scissors again.
The doctor, of course, was still trying to convince me to stay and submit to more tests even as I put my monicker on the papers. "I think you're making a grave mistake," he said. "And the fact that you've rather clumsily trimmed your hair, my dear, doesn't fool me. It's still growing at an abnormal rate, isn't it?"
I opened my mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by an explosion that shook the building. "What the--?" exclaimed the doctor. "Please -- stay here."
The hell with that, I thought. I dashed after him, and realised that we were heading towards Tommy's room.
Except that Tommy's room wasn't entirely there any more. It looked as if a bomb had gone off in there, scattering the furniture to the four walls. Or rather, three walls -- where the fourth had been was just a gaping, smoking hole.
And Tommy was nowhere to be seen!
Needless to say, they wasted no time in evacuating that wing of the hospital, and I found myself helping to move bed-ridden patients onto trolleys or into wheelchairs. The hospital staff were obviously well-practised in the evacuation procedure, but they were grateful for the extra pair of hands. Within around ten minutes, the building was nearly empty, all of the patients having been moved into other buildings well away from the danger area. There were sirens going off all over the place as police cars and fire engines poured into the hospital precincts and took charge of what everybody seemed to be assuming to be a terrorist attack situation.
I wasn't so sure, and neither were other people who had seen the scene of the supposed 'bomb blast'. A bomb creates a lot of heat, and there were no fires, no scorching of the walls or the inflammable materials in Tommy's room -- and in a typical hospital room there are lots of inflammable materials!
But what had caused the devastation, in that case? And where was Tommy? Nobody else seemed to have been hurt or was missing, although there were a number of people obviously pretty shaken up by it all. It was a mystery.
Meanwhile, I found myself shivering in the hospital car park, to which all the few visitors present in the place at the time had been herded, along with those out-patients who were not in any immediate need of treatment. I was still wearing just a T-shirt and jeans -- I hadn't even put my socks back on -- and it was a cold morning, even for November, with a hint of mist still lingering which suggested there had been a frost. My nice, warm leather jacket was still in my hospital room, along with my purse, the keys to the Vespa -- everything, really. As I realised that my wayward hair was now past my shoulder blades and still getting longer, I cursed as I also realised that I'd left my scissors behind in the bathroom where I'd last trimmed it!
After a quarter hour or so I was starting to turn blue, and the police still weren't letting anyone past their cordon. When I asked when I could go and retrieve my things I was told curtly that the building had to be searched thoroughly in case there were other explosive devices, and of course the forensic team had to probe every inch of Tommy's room. It could be hours before the building was declared safe for anyone to re-enter; in fact, it would probably not be until the next day at the earliest!
That was the final straw! It was all very well for the others who had been evacuated to the car park. Most of them were sitting in comfy, warm cars or had drifted away back to their homes. The few remaining were dressed up warmly against the cold. But if I stayed here any longer I was going to develop hypothermia! I had to get away from here -- but to where?
I looked around. Where could I go? Even if there was a café open nearby I had no money even to buy a cup of tea -- it was all in my purse, behind a police barrier. However, I could see the cathedral from here, poking up above the rooftops beyond the busy inner ring road. The archaeological team would still be there -- maybe even Daddy, back from the airport with his VIPs. At least I'd be able to get a hot drink, if nothing else. And it would be warm inside the cathedral itself. I might even join in with the Sunday service and pray to God to do something about this crazy hair growth. It was a long shot, but you never knew...
Another thing also occurred to me. Did Godiva's Comb have anything to do with this? Okay, so it probably hadn't really belonged to Lady Godiva, but then again perhaps it had. And perhaps those parts of the story now believed to be untrue really did have a grain of truth in them. Had she really had unbelievably long hair which had covered her nakedness? And had someone named Tom perhaps really been blinded by seeing her? Perhaps the comb was some kind of magical artefact which had caused all this to happen!
Right. It sounded crazy, I know, even to me at the time. Perhaps the cold was getting to my brain. But there were stranger things going on in the world. I'd seen Superman once, rescuing a stricken oil tanker off the Scilly Isles, where I was on holiday. If a man could fly -- if other people could run at super-speed, stay underwater indefinitely, shrink, stretch their limbs and God knows what else -- then why shouldn't Lady Godiva have had a magical comb which was the cause of my uncontrollable hair growth?
So I set off. It didn't look far, even on foot. I didn't know the area, though -- I'd only been to Coventry once before, and that was years ago -- and finding a way to get past the riing road without getting killed trying to jaywalk across it proved more difficult than I had anticipated. The walk at least warmed me up a bit, but my hair -- oh, that was proving a nightmare. By the time I'd found an underpass to take me under the ring road it was well past the middle of my back. And as I finally found myself walking across the cathedral car park to where I'd left my friend's scooter, I could feel that it was down to my bum and still getting longer and longer! Furthermore, it kept flopping into my eyes, the two hair grips I'd found earlier proving hopelessly inadequate in controlling it.
I had visions of ending up like Cousin Itt from the Addams Family if this kept up -- just a walking mass of hair. I could only thank God that the hair in my armpits wasn't also growing -- or my ... well, I don't even want to think about that!!
My immediate concern was for my friend's Vespa, which had been presumably unattended in the car park all night. My heart sank when I saw it. The wheels were gone, it was on its side, and the words 'MUFC rlue' had been spray-painted in red across it -- presumably by some dyslexic football hooligan. I sank to my knees in despair. In the words of John McEnroe, this was the pits! Could my day get any worse?
It did, of course. As I dropped down, a shaft of radiance flashed over my head and I was thrown back as the scooter exploded into a million pieces!
As I picked myself up I realised, amazingly, that I didn't seem to be hurt, although there were bits of tangled metal in my hair. Had this huge blonde mane somehow cushioned me from the impact? I didn't know. All I knew was the need to throw myself flat again as a second explosion went off somewhere behind me.
"Cas? Help me... Please!"
I knew that voice! I looked up to see Tommy standing there, about thirty yards behind me, still in his hospital pyjamas and looking even bluer than I felt. But his eyes were no longer bandaged. He was looking straight at me, so he could clearly see -- and his eyes were glowing bright red!
"Tommy? What?" I started to get up -- a task made difficult by the tangle of hair getting caught in my clothes. "How did you get here? What's going on?"
Tommy's hands suddenly flew up to his face as the glow became brighter. "Oh, God, man, it's happenin' again! Cas, ah cannat control it! Help me!"
"Help you with what? I don't understand!" But he was running away from me, blindly, his hands still covering his eyes. I could only stand there, stunned, brushing the hair from my own eyes as I tried to make sense of it all. My college friend Ravindra's Vespa was a heap of smoking metal -- oh, God, I would be so dead when shee found out! -- and there was a car nearby in much the same condition. Worshippers were streaming out of the cathedral doors in panic, believing a bomb had gone off. Sirens were all around and getting louder.
And across the far side of the car park, I saw my father get out of his car with two smartly-dressed people and hurry them out of my field of vision towards the dig site.
What should I do? What should I do? People were screaming at me, demanding to know what had happened. How the hell should I know what had happened? I didn't understand any of this!
I finally snapped. Shutting my eyes, I yelled: "Shut up! Shut up, all of you! Go away and leave me alone!"
And suddenly something seemed to tug on my hair and there were bumps and bangs all around. I opened my eyes to see a circle had somehow cleared all around me. Around its perimeter, people were lying on the ground, looking dazed. My hair was up in the air, flapping in the breeze like something with a life of its own. As I took it all in, it settled down again, and I felt it hit the backs of my thighs, longer than ever!
I didn't understand what had happened, but I seized the opportunity to make my escape. Gathering up some of my hair in my arms to prevent it tripping me, I ran for the corner where I had seen Daddy and his guests. I had to get away from this angry and confused crowd before the police arrived!
And somewhere around here was Tommy, lost and confused and with those weirdly glowing eyes. Had he somehow been responsible for the explosions? I had to help him somehow, but I didn't have a clue what to do. After all, I couldn't even help myself!
To my surprise, as I rounded the corner, I saw the woman I had seen getting out of Daddy's car talking to him. There was no sign of the other man anywhere.
"Mrs. Hall," Daddy was saying, "I can understand that your husband is feeling travel sick after such a long flight, but is he likely to be long? There seems to be some sort of crisis going on here. I don't think this is really the time to be running off to find a toilet!"
The woman smiled at him reassuringly. "Carter doesn't fly well, Professor. But I'm sure he won't be long. In the meantime, please call me Shiera. Do you mind if I call you Simon?"
"No, not at all. But -- Cas?"
He had seen me running towards them. Halfway, I just lost it, and I was sobbing by the time I reached him and threw myself into his arms. "Daddy, oh thank God. Thank God..."
He extricated himself and held me at arm's length to examine me. "Cas, good grief, your hair!"
"It's still growing, Daddy. It won't stop! And Tommy ... we've got to help him..." I became pretty much incoherent after that. The woman was looking at us with a mixture of embarrassment and curiosity.
"Ah... Shiera Hall, this is my daughter, Dorcas. Cas, this is the lady I was telling you about."
"One of the museum people from America. I remember," I said, wiping the tears away. "Oh, I'm sorry, Daddy. But what are we going to do? Tommy's wandering around here somewhere and he's..."
"Your daughter seems distraught, Simon," said Shiera Hall. "I think you'd better take her somewhere warm. I'll wait for Carter."
"I couldn't do that--"
She held up her hand. "I insist. We'll find our way round to you."
"With all these police around? No, I'd better stay with you. I don't know what's going on, but you'd better have somebody with you who holds a little authority around here, just in case they think you have something to do with it."
She looked disappointed and bit her lip as if trying to find an argument against this. "Cas," said Daddy, "you'd better go around to the workshop we put up in the grounds. You know where that is, don't you?"
"Yes, but--"
"I'm sorry, darling, but I really do have to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Hall. And you look half frozen. There's a heater in there -- go and warm yourself up."
The trouble with my father is that there's no arguing with him when his mind is made up. I did as I was told, somehow managing to avoid the police and other emergency service people swarming into the area. When I got to the workshop -- which, as I said earlier, was just a wooden hut put up temporarily in the area of the dig -- I found it deserted. The rest of the archaeological team had obviously been evacuated.
The door was open, though. As I approached it, I remembered my earlier thoughts about Godiva's Comb. It would be in there. Maybe it could somehow stem the growth of the hair now flapping around my calves.
But before I reached the door I was thrown back again as half of the hut's roof exploded!
I turned to see Tommy standing there, sobbing from crimson-blazing eyes. "I'm sorry, Cas. I'm sorry. I cannat control it, pet! Please..."
But before he could say any more, from above us there was the sound of enormous wings, and down came swooping a hugely pinioned figure in green, red and gold, swinging an ugly-looking medieval mace towards Tommy's head!
"Hawkman?" I breathed. Well, of course it was Hawkman. How many men with wings were there around, anyway, for heaven's sake? But what was he doing here?
He was going for Tommy with a ruddy great mace, that's what he was doing! "No!" I yelled as he swooped down. "No, don't do it!" But it was too late. I wanted to stop him from attacking Tommy, but what could I do?
And then something totally amazing happened. My hair shot out towards Hawkman, elongating beyond belief and wrapping itself around him, literally plucking him from the air and hurling him away from Tommy!
Of course, a one hundred and eighty pound flying man carries a lot of momentum, and as he was flung to one side I was dragged along with him, literally by the roots of my hair. As he plunged into the ground, I tumbled through the air towards him and landed on top, both of us tangled in my impossibly long hair. I felt him struggling beneath me and lashing out, growling at me to let him go. I fell back and my hair came free, unwrapping itself from around him. I looked around. Tommy was nowhere to be seen.
He sprang to his feet, brandishing his mace. "Don't hit me!" I screamed.
"Give me one good reason!" he said angrily. "Great Polaris, who are you? Why did you prevent me from stopping that menace?" He halted, staring at my hair, which was lying all around us in golden heaps. I dreaded to think how long it was now! Incredibly, my roots didn't hurt at all, though... "What are you?" he said.
"Please," I began, struggling to regain my own footing. "Tommy isn't a menace, he's a victim..."
"He's been destroying cars and property with those rays from his eyes," Hawkman said, still goggling at my hair. "If I don't stop him, people are going to get hurt."
"He can't help it, Hawkman. There was an accident. It did this to my hair, and Tommy ... well, it's done something to his eyes. He doesn't mean to do any harm, but he can't help it. He needs help, not violence done to him."
He scratched his chin. "I see. I think I believe you, young lady, but first he has to be stopped. No one can do anything for him if he keeps running away."
"Promise me you won't hurt him?"
"I'll try not to," he said. "But a lot depends on him. Wait here. I have to find him." And he flapped his great wings and was in the air and away before I could say another word.
I flopped down again on a huge pile of hair, trying not to burst into tears. Hawkman seemed a good man, but he was used to fighting super-villains and the like. Tommy was no villain, just an innocent boy caught up in a nightmare.
I looked at the battered remains of the shed. Well, Dorcas, I thought. You're not going to help Tommy sitting here feeling sorry for yourself. Gathering up as much hair as I could (it must have been over twenty feet long now and still growing!), I struggled towards the shed and through the door.
Half of the roof had come down on top of the workbench. I struggled to clear the rubble away, and suddenly there it was, gleaming amid a pile of broken pottery and rusty iron -- Godiva's Comb! The cause of my troubles, and, I dearly hoped, the solution!
I grabbed hold of the comb, not quite knowing what to expect. In the event, nothing actually happened -- except that some of my hair got in my mouth and I stood there, spitting frantically. "Okay," I said. "Do your stuff, magic comb. Make my hair normal again."
Still nothing happened. "Oh, come ON! I don't deserve this!"
Nothing.
Okay, okay, Dorcas, think! Perhaps, I wondered, it only worked out of doors. I looked up. Well, I was hardly indoors now, with the roof gone from the shed. So it couldn't have been that. Right. So what was I doing when it did whatever it did before? I put it in my hair, that's what. Damn, I thought. It's so obvious. Why should it do anything just sitting in my hand?
I started to move the comb up to my hair, then hesitated. Wait! What actually happened before was that I was struck by lightning! I didn't want that to happen again!
What choice did I have, though? This might all have been nonsense, or it might actually be that the comb really was magical and it had caused all this. Which meant that it had to be my best chance of restoring sanity to my life. I had to take the risk.
I shoved the comb into my hair and shut my eyes tight, waiting for the lightning to strike. Nothing happened. I opened them again. There was still a mountain of hair billowing around my feet.
"NOOOO!" I yelled. "Don't do this to me! Make my hair normal again! Obey me!" I screwed my eyes up really tight and screamed at the thing.
Then I suddenly felt the same sensation I'd felt back in the car park when the people pouring out of the cathedral had been haranguing me -- and there was one almighty crash from all around!
I opened my eyes. The shed had gone -- burst asunder from inside! And my hair ... ? I was surrounded by a huge, floating golden cloud, drifting around me and writhing and rippling like a living thing. I held out my hand ... made a fist ... and part of that cloud formed into a similar shape. I was suddenly aware that it would obey my every command, do anything I wanted it to. I concentrated and the whole lot stood on end, soaring nearly twenty-five feet into the air. I willed it down and it fell, spreading out behind me like a bride's train -- except floating three feet above the ground.
"Amazing!" I breathed. But it was still insanely long. I wondered, though...
I closed my eyes again and concentrated. I felt a really strange sensation, as if my head were turning inside-out. When I opened them again, I found my hair was still long, but it now reached down only to my waist. And I could still make it obey my will. Keeping it out of my eyes now was easy!
It was true, then! Godiva's Comb really was magical! Using it a second time hadn't restored my hair to normal, but it had given me this incredible control over it. I experimented with it for a few minutes, discovering I could make it grow or contract at will ... I could reach out and grab things with it, just like I had involuntarily grabbed Hawkman ... I could make it as hard as iron or as soft as silk ... I could shape it any way I wished...
The sound of another explosion brought me down to earth with a thump. I wasn't the only one who had been changed by Godiva's Comb -- and, like me, Tommy had been given strange powers that he couldn't control. Well, I thought, the comb has given me the control I needed. If it could do that for me, it could do it for Tommy.
I set off in the direction of the noise. I had to find him before Hawkman did!
He wasn't difficult to find -- I just had to go in the direction that everybody else was running away from. When I got back to the street, it was full of running people, but fortunately I didn't have to fight my way through them. Within a few seconds they were gone, and I was running full-tilt towards the sound of more explosions. I could also see Hawkman now, swooping around and dodging crimson ray-blasts. I didn't know what had happened, but he obviously hadn't succeeded in persuading Tommy to come along quietly. If I didn't hurry, either one or the other of them was going to get hurt.
As I'd said to Daddy on the previous day, I'd given up competitive running some time before, but I was still fit and could run pretty fast. The only problem was that I was getting a painful reminder of why I'd decided to give up running in the first place, and being bra-less was only making it worse.
Suddenly I had an idea, though. I sent some of my hair down under my T-shirt and wrapped it around my, er... source of embarrassment, hardening it and forming an instant sports bra for myself. This was amazing! Was there anything it couldn't do?
Then I rounded a corner, and there he was, standing in the middle of the road, sending blast after blast at Hawkman but thankfully not connecting. Across the road, several police officers were running for cover behind some wrecked cars.
"Tommy!" I shouted. "Tommy, please! Stop! We're trying to help you!"
He looked in my direction, forcing me to dive out of the way of a blast. "Tell him to stop, Cas!" he screamed. "Leave me alone!"
Hawkman seized this opportunity to swoop down at his opponent. Thankfully, he chose not to use his mace, but connected with a punch which knocked Tommy flying back. Unfortunately, it didn't put him out cold, and a stray blast from his eyes brought down a lamppost onto his opponent as he was flying away. It didn't hit Hawkman squarely, but it did connect a glancing impact on his wings, sending him spinning into the ground, winded.
Tommy advanced on him, eyes blazing. I picked myself up and ran forward. "Tommy, no! Don't hurt him!"
"He wanted to hurt me, Cas!" Tommy cried. But he turned his head towards me as he did so, and this time I didn't quite avoid the blast. I instinctively threw my hair forward, hardening it into a shield, but the blast threw up the pavement in front of me, sending me sprawling into the road.
"No, Tommy! No!" He was advancing on Hawkman again. Hawkman was getting up, but there was no way he could take to the air again before Tommy could blast him, surely?
There was only one thing I could do. I had to get Godiva's Comb to him. Grasping it in a tendril of hair, I ripped it from my own head and hurled it towards Tommy, hoping to hit him on the head with it. He was already dazed from Hawkman's punch -- maybe this could finish the job and knock him out.
Unfortunately, he saw it coming. As it hurtled towards him, he turned his head and another blast issued from his eyes. Godiva's Comb exploded in a great golden fireball, hurling Tommy back into a nearby wall. At the same time, it expanded in my direction, hitting me and sending me gambolling backwards.
And then the lights all went out.
*
At least this time I was only out for a few minutes. I came round to find two paramedics easing me into a sitting position on the pavement. Daddy and Mrs. Hall were hovering in the background.
"Cas, love," Daddy said, pushing between the paramedics, "are you all right?"
"I think so," I said, trying to make some space for myself.
"Stay still," said the older of the two paramedics. "We need to make sure you have no broken bones."
"I'd know if I had," I said. "Leave me alone. Please. I'm perfectly okay."
Reluctantly, they backed off. Daddy helped me to my feet. "Are you absolutely certain you're all right, darling?" he said. "Hawkman said you took a nasty jolt from some kind of energy discharge."
"Hawkman? Where is he?" I looked around but couldn't see him.
"He had to fly," said Mrs Hall, looking, it seemed to me, a little too nonchalant for some reason. "He made sure you were okay first, of course, but he's over here working on an important mission. He had to get back to it, he said."
"He also said that you saved his life," said Daddy. "Is this true?"
"I suppose so -- but where's Tommy? I must see him."
"They've just taken him away in an ambulance." Daddy's face was grim. "He seems to be in a coma, so they've whisked him off straight back to hospital."
"Oh."
Just then, a tall, dark-haired man came walking towards us. "Shiera! Professor Leigh! At last!"
"Carter!" Mrs Hall called to him. "Where have you been?"
"Sorry, hon -- Professor -- I must've taken a wrong turning coming out of the bathroom. This is a big place and I couldn't find my way back to where I'd left you." He looked around and whistled. "What happened here? It looks like a war zone."
"It's a long story," I said quickly before anyone else could speak. He looked at me oddly, almost as if he recognised me, although we'd never met before. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hall, but I must ask my father something important. Godiva's Comb, Daddy -- what happened to it?"
"According to Hawkman, when those beams from Tommy's eyes hit it, it exploded, sending that energy discharge I told you about into Tommy and you. Tommy was obviously much nearer, so it injured him but only stunned you. You were incredibly lucky, though, love." He hugged me. "I could have lost you."
"Was it destroyed, then?"
He sighed. "I'm afraid so. A truly unique piece, blown to bits. I'm sorry, Carter -- Sheira. We've photographs of it, of course, but it's hardly the same."
"It is a shame," Carter Hall said, "but frankly, it sounds as if it had some pretty dangerous properties. And the important thing," he added, looking at me strangely again, "is that no-one was killed -- especially your daughter, Professor."
"By the way, honey," said Mrs Hall with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Interesting hair you've got. I'd swear it was shorter than when we first met. And do you always wear it under your clothes like that?"
Without thinking, I willed the hair which I'd shaped into a makeshift bra out of my shirt -- and to my surprise, it obeyed me, even without Godiva's Comb! Sheira's eyebrow went up, but she said nothing.
"Well," said Daddy, "if the police are satisfied and my daughter insists that she doesn't want to go back to hospital, let's round up the rest of my team and I'll show you the dig and the other artefacts we've unearthed. Cas, if you come with us, I'll take you to see Tommy afterwards if our guests don't mind."
"Okay," I said.
"It's okay with us, too," said Carter.
"That's settled, then." And the four of us set off. It was only when we were halfway round the cathedral that I remembered I'd forgotten to mention what had happened to Daddy's workshop...
*
Dorcas finished chewing the last bite of her meal and swallowed. "I think we'll gloss over his reaction when he saw that the shed had been demolished and his precious finds scattered all over the place. It wasn't nice."
"I can imagine," said Dorien Leigh.
"Fortunately, the Halls were pretty okay about it and even helped Daddy and his team collect everything back up. In fact, it mostly all worked out well in the end. He got his sponsorship from their museum, and I got my article written and a fat cheque for it, which helped to smooth over my friend Ravindra over the loss of her precious Vespa -- although her insurance paid most of the cost of replacing it, fortunately.
"And I found myself with a unique power. I thought the destruction of Godiva's Comb would be the end of it -- or at least that without it I would lose control of my hair again -- but that 'energy discharge' must have somehow internalised it all. I still had as much control over it as I'd had when I was wearing the comb."
"I see," Dorien said, sipping at her drink. "And so you decided to become a super-hero."
"Not straight away. But seeing Hawkman in action had inspired me. He had been deliberately making a target of himself in order to keep Tommy's blasts away from innocent bystanders. That's true heroism, mum, and as time went by and I practised with my powers and learned what amazing things I could do, I felt more and more that I should put them to good use and help people, just like Hawkman does.
"Of course, they caused me more than a few problems at first. Explaining to everybody at college how my short, spiky black hair had suddenly become long and blonde was the trickiest. There was no way I could convince it to become that short, and it won't take any kind of dye or gel or any other foreign substances at all: they just run off it. So I just made it as short as I could convince it to stay and told everybody I'd decided to go blonde and had hair extensions. It wasn't all that believable, but who could dispute it? My band didn't like it, though -- they kicked me out, saying I didn't look right any more. Prats."
Dorien put down her glass and glared at her daughter. "You're changing the subject again, Cas. Why did you decide to become a super-hero? Good God, girl, didn't you realise the dangers you were exposing yourself to?"
Dorcas nodded. "Of course I did. But it was the right thing to do. As I said, this is why I never told you, mum -- I knew you'd react like this."
"And that ridiculous fake Cockney accent you put on?"
Dorcas reddened. "I don't do that any more. It was a mistake -- although it did help to hide the fact that Godiva was really the middle-class Cambridge-educated daughter of a professor of archaeology." She snorted. "Not that that's a secret any more, of course. The whole world knows who I really am."
The two were silent for long moments. Then Dorien said: "Despite what I've said, I am proud of you, you know."
"You are?"
She took her daughter's hand. "Of course I am. I don't entirely approve of it, but at least you've managed to distinguish yourself. We don't have many super-heroes in this country, but if you were to ask anyone to name a British hero, they'd immediately say 'Godiva.' That's quite an achievement for my daughter."
"Really? And you don't think my being a leggy blonde with big boobs has anything to do with that, then?"
Dorien laughed. "Now you're putting yourself down. Don't." She suddenly became serious again. "And there's one part of this story you haven't finished, Cas."
"Oh?"
"You haven't told me what became of Tommy after they took him away..."
Dorcas' eyes fell. "Tommy... yes..."
"You said that you were taking Godiva's Comb to him because you thought it could enable him to control the destructive rays from his eyes, just as it had allowed you to control your hair. When he came out of his coma, had it done so?"
"Mum, I never got the comb to him, remember? I tried to hit him with it, but he blew it up."
"And the energy from it was absorbed into the two of you, yes? So you retained your control afterwards. Did it work for him as well?"
Dorcas looked up into her mother's eyes, her own eyes moistening. "I don't know," she said quietly.
"Don't know?"
"He never came out of his coma, mum. It's been over six years now, and he's still lying in a hospital in Newcastle upon Tyne, with intravenous drips feeding him what he needs to stay alive. His parents hope and pray that he'll come out of it some day, but there's little hope."
"Oh, my God. Oh, Dorcas, I'm so sorry..."
Dorcas shrugged. "So you see, mum, I have these powers, but at a price. The price is Tommy and the life he could have been leading since 1980. And that's the real reason why I have to use these powers, to try to make a difference to the world..."
The mood for the remainder of the dinner was more sombre. Some time later, they left the restaurant, Dorien hailing a taxi, Dorcas walking back to where she'd left her Range Rover. It had been a painful meeting in many ways, but a necessary one. At least mother and daughter were speaking again, and closer than they had been for some years. It was a beginning...
As Dorcas approached her car, she noticed, across the road, that an Asian-owned greengrocer's and florist's shop on the corner was still open. On a whim, she crossed over and purchased a large bouquet of roses.
She returned to the Range Rover, got in and strapped on the seat belt. From the glove compartment she withdrew a road atlas, which she consulted briefly. She then pulled away, heading not back to the Surrey countryside and Wordenshire Castle but north to the M1 motorway. Her team-mates were expecting her back tonight, but she'd ring them when she reached a service station to tell them she'd be away till the following afternoon.
It was a long way to Newcastle, after all, and the hospital visiting hours would be long over by the time she got there. She would have to book into a motel and wait until morning.
But it had been a long time since the new Godiva had last paid a visit to the bedside of her sweet, tragic Peeping Tom. The Paladins could wait. Tommy needed her more.