Colin Smith sneezed explosively again and groaned. Opening his eyes, he watched the thin mist of droplets from his sneeze drift down past the TV screen to disappear on to the surface of the coffee table. "Bugger," he swore, reaching for the tissue box sitting on the sofa beside him. He hated colds, hated sneezing and having to blow his nose all the time, and hated being cooped up in the house, especially during school holiday times. It was always "Dad" this and "Dad" that, and could he get a chance to watch what he wanted on television? He wished he'd never bought that video for them now. Late at night was the only chance he got to watch what he wanted, except then there was usually bugger-all on.
Even the late-night football was lousy. He'd hated Manchester United since boyhood, and usually took great pleasure in cheering the opposition on, but in this case they were a French team, and he hated the French more than he hated Manchester United. Which was saying something.
He sneezed again, followed inevitably by a swearword. If Stella were down here too she'd be telling him off, but she was upstairs fast asleep, irritatingly immune to his germs. She never seemed to come down with a cold, which was pretty amazing considering her high regard for fresh air and open windows - even in the height of winter. No wonder he was so bloody ill.
He reached for his mug and took a gulp, pulling a face. Even his tea was cold. He cast a crafty look at the sideboard, and the tall bottle of scotch sitting on top of it.
"Just what I need to set me up... a nice hot toddy!" Good for what ails you, his dad always said. Dad always knew what he was talking about, except when it came to racing tips. Stella still hadn't forgiven him for blowing last years holiday money on that cert that fell at the first at last year's National.
He stumbled to his feet and snatched the bottle up, then wandered through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. He reached for a new mug, looking outside into the garden as he did so. It was dark and grim out there, rain splattering lightly against the panes, the trees and plants tossing in the breeze. Something fluttered in the branches of the tall yew at the foot of the garden overlooking the farmer's field beyond and he squinted at it. Piece of rubbish, probably, blown across from next door. They never shut their dustbins properly.
The something suddenly moved again, and Colin blinked in astonishment. It was a person! "What the bloody hell..." Horrible images of rampaging burglars filled his mind, and he was of a mind to run upstairs to get Stella down. See if she couldn't put all those martial arts courses she went on to good use. Then he wondered what sort of burglar would try to break into the house from a tree at the bottom of the garden.
"A nutter... that's what it is. A nutter. Just my luck, it'll be the axe-wielding variety."
Colin secured his dressing gown more tightly around him and then picked up the torch that sat on the worktop near the back door. Beneath it, Pongo, the family mongrel, opened its eyes and wagged its tail slightly.
"Fat lot of use you are," Colin muttered.
Pongo yawned as if in agreement and went back to sleep.
Colin also picked up his wife's rolling pin, just in case, though he was sure his nasal screams of distress would awaken even Stella from her deep sleep. At the very least, the kids anyway. Though all they'd probably do is come out and laugh.
"No respect," muttered Colin as he swung open the door and scuttled across the patio. "I get no respect! Bloody kids... bloody dog..." He suddenly sneezed again. "Bloody cold..."
He stopped at the bottom of the tree and shone his torch up. Something was indeed crashing around in the foliage, and the light beam picked out a strange figure clad in what appeared to be a green plastic leotard and pixie boots. It was struggling to unravel a length of long blonde hair that had become tangled with a branch. It squeaked when Colin shone the light in its face, and he saw it was a young woman.
"I say, you wouldn't happen to have a ladder handy, would you? I appear to be caught in this ruddy tree!"
"What are you doing up there?" croaked Colin.
"Trying to get out," the girl explained patiently. "Please, do you have a ladder? Or even a pair of garden shears?"
"There's a ladder in the garage," said Colin helpfully.
"Ah," replied the girl. She looked at him meaningfully. "Are you going to get it then?"
"Err..."
"This is a lovely tree, but I'd hate to destroy it. Which I will do, should I ever get free of it!" The girl gave a frustrated yank on the offending branch, and there was a thick snap. The girl squawked, and tumbled downwards. Colin jumped to one side to avoid the debris, and winced at the thud as the girl eventually hit the ground. She lay still for a moment, eyes closed, breathing hard. Colin approached her cautiously. Her eyes opened again.
"Please, don't attempt to break my fall in any way," she snapped.
Colin peered up at the tree. "You've made a right old mess of my tree," he declared.
The girl muttered something to the effect of whereabouts he could stick his tree, and got shakily to her feet. Colin backed away slightly and raised his rolling pin. The girl gave him a disparaging glance.
"Put it down, Jamie Oliver. I come in peace." She winced, feeling herself for bruises. "Or rather, pieces."
"What are you doing in my tree?"
"I was watching that field, but it seems the tree had other ideas." With a frown, she turned and aimed a kick at it. With a clatter, a branch dropped down and hit her on the head. She rubbed the sore spot and unleashed a torrent of abuse in a language Colin had never heard before nor ever wished to hear again.
"Why are you watching the field?" he asked when she seemed to run out of things to say to the tree.
"Ah," she said, and turned around with a sheepish expression on her face. "Ah. Well... would you believe I was on a stakeout?"
"Stakeout?" Colin looked her up and down, and then down and up. He gaped, almost forgetting his cold and the thin drizzle that was starting to soak him. The girl sighed and folded her arms. She still wasn't used to this kind of reaction. "You don't look like a cop," he stammered.
"I'm not." She held out a hand. "I'm Iris Wildthyme. I, er, do things for the UN from time to time. Ever heard of UNIT?"
"UNIT?" Colin looked baffled.
"They're doing something right then," she muttered to herself. "Look, mister, er..."
He stopped staring at her legs and finally noticed her hand, shaking it warily. "Smith. Colin Smith."
"Mr Smith, there are, erm, agents of a, erm, foreign power due to land in that field out here - and I'm supposed to, erm, arrest them."
"Foreign agents? What, like... spies?"
"Sort of."
Colin look dubious. "Leave off..."
"No, it's true..." She cast a look back towards the field nervously. "Look Mr Smith, they're due to arrive any minute, so I think it would be better if you went back to your house and... arghh!"
Iris jumped back in fright as something suddenly loomed over the fence dividing the garden from the field. Colin could only gape in horror at the sight that confronted him. A hideous visage, green and warty with two curved horns protruding from its forehead. Red eyes burnt like hot coals deep within sunken eye sockets. It reminded Colin of the troll in that fairy tale about the three billy-goats gruff his mother used to tell him as a kid. A massive clawed hand clutched at the top of the fence, and another one clutching some kind of pistol pointed at them both.
"Don't move!" it growled in thick, throaty tones dripping with menace.
"Corks! The Vermudgians have landed!" squealed Iris. She dropped her right hand instinctively to her side but the weapon holstered there was missing. As was the holster. She shot a look up into the tree and scowled. There it was, hanging from one of the upper branches. Fat lot of good it was up there. The wind rippled the branches of the tree in a way that Iris fancied was its way of laughing at her.
"What's that?" hissed Colin, terrified.
"A Vermudgian. From the planet Vermud 7."
"What?"
"An alien, you ninny!"
"Alien?" Colin squawked. "But you said spies!"
"They are spies. Spies for the Vermudgians!" Iris exclaimed in frustration.
The creature gestured at Colin. "Drop the weapon," it hissed.
"What?"
"It means your rolling pin, Fanny Craddock!" Iris hissed.
Colin dropped it to the grass. The creature started to attempt to heave itself over the fence, but couldn't quite manage it. It looked back quickly and hissed: "Sergeant, give me a leg up!"
Colin saw the top of a second creature loom into view, and with a grunt the first creature suddenly popped over the top of the fence and landed ungracefully in the garden. It was broad and squat and covered in thick green leathery armour. It covered the pair of them while the second creature attempted to get over. The fence swayed back and forth alarmingly.
"Sir," the second creature hissed, flailing an arm helplessly. The first creature hissed angrily and reached up to help its associate over.
Colin frowned. "Not exactly athletic, are they?"
"They're not used to the gravity. I assure you, on their homeworld, they hop around like springboks. Albeit very fat and grumpy springboks."
Colin didn't find that thought terribly appealing, but before he could say so, the second creature finally dropped heavily into the garden and scrambled to its feet. The first creature, obviously the leader, stepped forward and hissed at Iris.
"You shall shelter us in your domicile until the mothership has arrived to embark us."
"What did it say?" asked Colin nervously.
"It wants to hide in your house until it's ride turns up," explained Iris. She patted his shoulder. "Relax, and let me do the talking. I speak their lingo." She turned round to face the Vermudgians.
"Bog off," she said slowly and deliberately, accompanied by an old-fashioned Anglo-Saxon hand gesture.
The second creature hissed angrily and stepped forward, weapon raised to deliver a blow. Its leader stopped it. "Do not rise to the bait of these primitives infantile insults, Sergeant." It grinned savagely. "At least, not until the mothership arrives. We shall need some form of diversion on the long journey home."
"What did it say?" whispered Colin as they were shoved back towards the house.
"I rather fear we've been nominated as their in-flight entertainment." Iris shuddered, then noticed the horrified look on Colin's face, and patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll think of something."
Colin clutched at his forehead. "I don't feel well. I've a got a cold, you know."
Iris just looked at him. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she said dryly.
His face brightened. "That's it, isn't it? This is just a fever-induced hallucination, isn't it?"
Iris considered for a moment. "If it'll help you deal with it, yes."
Colin breathed a sigh of relief. "That's all right then. I'll, erm, wake up in a minute then, won't I?"
"I wouldn't, Mr Smith." She patted his arm. "Just go with it. Over in a mo." Iris shot a look at the weapons pointed at their backs and realised with a shudder how close to the truth that was.
The Vermudgians were about to enter the kitchen when Colin stopped them with a cry. "Stop! My wife cleaned that floor this afternoon. Can't you at least wipe your feet?"
The Vermudgians looked at each other. Helpfully, Iris wiped her boots on the mat in front of the door, and looked at them. The leader sighed.
"We shall observe their primitive customs. Wipe your feet, sergeant."
In his basket, Pongo looked up at the newcomers, ears going back slightly as he sniffed the air. Then he began to wag his tail again. The sergeant pointed at him.
"Is that a food producing animal?"
Colin blinked. "You wouldn't want to eat what Pongo produced."
Iris raised an eyebrow. "You'd be surprised what Vermudgeons do eat!"
The sergeant lumbered past and went into the living room. It pointed at the TV. "What is this device?"
"That's a telly," explained Colin.
" 'Telly'? A communications device?" It raised its weapon menacingly.
"Strictly one way only, sarge!" said Iris cheerily.
The sergeant pointed at the screen. "What is that hideous creature?"
Colin peered at the screen. "Gary Lineker."
"What is it communicating?"
"He's saying that goal was never offside." Colin studied the action replay unfolding on the screen. "He's right, too..."
The leader sniffed the air suddenly. "What is that odour?" Colin shot a look at Pongo, but the dog had gone back to sleep. The officer pointed to the mug steaming away on the worktop. "It is coming from that."
"That's my hot toddy," replied Colin.
"Hot totty?" Iris looked around suspiciously. "What sort of house is this?"
"Toddy!" said Colin, making a protective move towards his drink. But the leader stopped him, and waved the sergeant forward.
"The aroma is not unappealing. Sergeant, test it."
The sergeant cautiously picked the mug up and sniffed it, then took a sip. It smacked its lips. "Grain alcohol in boiled water supplemented by a sweetener." It drained the rest of the mug in a single gulp, and belched. "Not unappealing, sir." The leader snatched the mug away and ran a thick finger round the inside of the cup and licked greedily at the remnants. It nodded approvingly.
"My hot toddy!" exclaimed Colin.
The leader held out the mug. "More," it growled.
"Now hang on..." began Colin.
"Silence when you speak to an officer!" the sergeant barked, words slurring slightly.
Iris patted Colin's arm, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Do as it asks, Mr Smith. I have a cunning plan..." She nodded at the whisky bottle. "Give 'em another drink..."
Three quarters of an hour later the bottle of scotch was finished. As was the rest of the liquor in Colin's cabinet, including the half bottle of Pimms Stella had started last summer, the cooking sherry in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the dusty bottle of Ouzo someone had given Colin from a holiday in Greece a year or so back. They'd even polished off the last remaining bottle of Lemon Hooch left over from Christmas.
The effect of all that booze on the Vermudgians was not totally unexpected.
Both of them were slumped on the sofa, eyes shut, snoring thunderously. An empty mug slipped from the grasp of the leader and thumped to the floor. Iris grinned.
"The Vermudgians like their drink, but luckily for us, they can't hold it." She held up the empty bottle of Hooch and gave the neck of the bottle a big smacking kiss. "This little feller tipped the scales!"
Colin examined the creatures carefully. "They've passed out!"
"Yes, but not for long... may I use your phone?"
***
Minutes later there was a knock at the door. Colin opened it to reveal a tall man dressed in a long brown dustcoat with a battered tweed cap pulled over his face.
"17 Laburnum Avenue?" he muttered.
"Er, yes..."
"Through here, lads!" called Iris softly. The tall man stepped aside to make way for four more men all similarly dressed in long brown dustcoats with caps pulled over their faces. They hurried through into the living room, followed by the tall man. He pointed to the creatures.
"This them?"
"Yep," said Iris. The tall man nodded to the others and they started lifting the Vermudgians up. One of them accidentally kicked a mug across the floor. Iris raised a finger to her lips. "Quietly, now - there are people asleep upstairs." The men set about removing the slumbering Vermudgians more quietly. She turned to the tall man. "There's a mothership on the way to pick them up..."
The tall man nodded. "Got it in a loop in a geostationary orbit. We'll send 'em back in due course." He produced a clipboard and pulled a pencil stub from behind his ear. "Sign 'ere, lady," he said.
Iris obliged with a signature. "Told you I'd get 'em," she said.
The tall man added his own signature to the list and grunted noncommittally.
"Does that mean I can come back now?" she asked hopefully.
"When you've completed your quota," the tall man said, tucking his pencil back behind his ear. "Only 763 to go."
"Corks," said Iris, kicking the skirting board. "Stupid exile..."
The tall man nodded surreptitiously at Colin. "What about him?"
Iris glanced warningly at the tall man. "I'll look after him."
The tall man considered for a moment, then nodded. He noted that his men had finished taking the aliens away, and touched the peak of his cap in salute. "G'night, lady. Sir." He turned on his heel and marched back through the front door. Peering out, Colin saw a big van with the words CALDERWOOD, INSKIPP & ALTON REMOVALS (GREENWICH) stencilled across the side. Iris came into the doorway too and waved.
"Goodbye, Lord Ferain. Remember me to Gallifrey!"
The tall man jumped into the cab and the van pulled smoothly away. It rolled down the road a few yards then, with a faint wheezing, groaning sound, faded from view.
Colin shook his head slowly. "I don't know how much more of this I can take..."
"I know," beamed Iris. "Fun, isn't it?" She rubbed her hands together. "Don't suppose there's a chance of a cuppa before I go, is there? I think we could both use a cup! Extra sweet, for shock." And Iris had just the thing in her pocket to sweeten Colin's tea.
"I'd prefer a hot toddy," grumbled Colin, closing the front door. "Bloody aliens..."
***
Colin was awakened the next morning by Stella shaking his shoulder.
"Colin? What were you up to last night?"
"Eh?" He blinked blearily at her, then winced as she wrenched open the curtains, the bright sunlight harsh on his eyes. He clutched his head. "Oooh, I got a shocking headache..."
"I'm not surprised, the amount you drank. That whisky bottle was nearly full when I went to bed!"
Colin groaned and buried his head beneath the pillow. "I don't remember..."
"Drinking won't make you better, you know." She tugged open a window and took a deep breath. "Fresh air and orange juice. That's the ticket!"
"Blurgh..." said Colin. He really couldn't remember what happened last night. He could remember getting up from the football to get himself a hot toddy... maybe he had drank too much after all.
"Must have been a heck of a gale last night," said Stella. "That yew tree has come down across the farmer's field. Funny though, didn't hear it come down." She turned to look at her husband meaningfully. "The fence'll need fixing."
"Bloody tree..." Something about that tree tickled his memory, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. The doorbell rang, and Stella left the room to answer it. A moment later she returned, the suspicious look back on her face. She clutched a delivery note in her hand.
"You been ordering things over the Internet at work again?"
"What?"
"I only ask, because a big crate has turned up." She studied the delivery note, eyes widening as she saw what the contents were. "Full of Scotch whisky apparently."
That made him sit up and take notice. "What?" She passed him the delivery note. "Twelve bottles of Macallan..." He whistled. "That's good stuff!" He started to grin, then noticed his wife's expression. "I didn't order 'em, honest..."
"Hmph... had this letter with it." She waved a small white envelope.
"Probably say who it's from. Open it up and see, then."
Stella tore it open and unfolded the single note inside. "It says... 'Sorry about the tree. Here's a little something to make up for it... love Iris'. Love Iris?"
Stella realised what she'd read and exploded. "Who the bloody hell is Iris? And why are there so many kisses beside it?"
Colin groaned. Maybe Scotch wasn't the answer to all his ailments...
More from Iris in: Attack of the Giant Man-Eating Penguins
