Sarah's Holiday Sarah Jane Smith was waiting for a red sports car to appear. It made a nice change from waiting for a blue police box to appear.
The red sports car was to be driven by Mike Yates. Sarah hadn't seen him in years, but she had rung him up in a moment of inspiration, and he had seemed game when she explained her plans for a holiday. Sarah smiled to herself as she remembered Mike's enthusiasm when he'd heard her voice.
“Sarah!” he had said. “I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you were still of traveling with the Doctor.”
“No, I've been back for a couple months now,” she had explained. “Back at work again. Nose to the grindstone and such. I'm waiting for him to come back, though.” At least, that was what she kept telling herself. “He's just taking such a blasted long time!”
“Well, how are you finding life back on Earth?” Mike had asked.
Sarah had grimaced, even though she knew Mike couldn't see her face over the phone. “Somehow, my workaday life just isn't as exciting as life with the Doctor. So I've decided I need a little holiday to take my mind off things. Give myself a sense of peace, you know? Which brings me to the reason for this call. I was wondering, are you still involved with that Tibetan monastery?”
“Actually, I work there now,” Mike said. “I teach some of the beginning meditation classes and help out with running the place. You're welcome to visit, any time. But I thought that you weren't interested in Buddhism, Sarah.”
“I'm not, really,” she said bluntly. “I just want to relax for a few days. I thought of all the obvious holiday destinations—Brighton, Cornwall, or a Torquay resort. But none of those places seemed right for me. All I want is a little peace of mind. I haven't had that since I got back to Earth. So I thought of your monastery, since that's where you went when you needed to pull yourself together. Haven't you got any programs for people like me?”
“I know the perfect package for you, Sarah,” Mike had said. “We've got a weekend stress-reduction program that's short on meditation, long on fun. It's almost like camping, with bonfires and hikes in the woods. Would that suit you?”
“Why not?” Sarah said. “If you've got one for next weekend, I could come up on the train.”
“Don't worry about trains, Sarah. I'll come round to your place and pick you up in the car.” Then, in a low, suggestive tone of voice, Mike had added, “We'll see if we can't take your mind off the Doctor.”
Sarah smiled to herself at Mike's attempt at seductiveness. But, she also couldn't help feeling flattered. And perhaps Mike was right—perhaps a little fling over the weekend was just what she needed to take her mind off waiting for the Doctor to return. “All right,” she had told Mike, “it's a plan.”
* * *
Right on time, Mike's car pulled up in front of Sarah's flat. It was the same red sports car that he'd had the last time he'd brought Sarah to the monastery. So far, so good, Sarah thought, feeling an electric jolt of excitement in her stomach. Mike was adventurous, and his driving style reflected that. Sarah also remembered that Mike was tall, lean, and trendy-looking, and she couldn't wait to spend time with him again. The driver's side door of his sports car opened, and Sarah ran out of her house to meet him.
However, the Mike who greeted Sarah was a changed man. He had a allowed his hair to grow down to his shoulders, where it hung in a shaggy, styleless mass. A thin, frizzy attempt at a beard and mustache covered the lower half of his face. Seeing Sarah's undisguised surprise at his “new look,” Mike explained, “Someone once told me that I look like George Harrison. So I thought I'd try old George's style. It looks pretty natural on me, doesn't it?”
“Yes, it does,” a nonplussed Sarah murmured politely. The more clean-cut Paul had always been her favorite Beatle; she didn't find Mike's new look at all attractive. She supposed, though, that the “shaggy” look of the late seventies was still what was trendy, even though this was 1980. Mike held open the passenger-side car door for her, and she got in. Once she and Mike got talking, Sarah supposed, she would forget all about his “shagginess” and enjoy the camaraderie.
But even the conversation in the car was not what Sarah had hoped. Mike was full of news about his work at the retreat center, and he chattered about it nonstop over the course of the drive, mile after mile after mile. Impatient by nature, Sarah could not bear it for long. “Listen, Mike,” she exploded, “I've just left the Doctor after traveling with him for years. I've been forward in time. Backwards too. I've been to other planets. Aren't you the least interested to ask anything at all about that? Or, for that matter, aren't you going to ask me anything about myself at all?”
“Of course I am,” Mike had answered, in an infuriatingly calm voice. Developing a pervasive sense of calmness, he had explained earlier, was an important part of the program at the monastery. Then, glancing in Sarah's direction and seeing the fierce look on her face, he seemed to decide it would be best to make some sort of appeasing comment. So, he added, “We're going to have a wonderful meal of brown rice and mixed greens tonight at the monastery. You can tell me everything over dinner.”
“Super,” muttered Sarah, hoping that her sarcasm didn't show. She would have preferred her favorite steak and kidney pie, but she supposed that wasn't the sort of thing that one usually ate at a Tibetan monastery, even if that monastery was in England.
* * * Sarah had been right to dread the rice and greens. Dinner was a sparse affair, served in a canteen with deep brown wood-paneled walls, an orange linoleum floor, harvest gold countertops, and avocado green appliances. It was pouring rain outside, so the evening's hike and bonfire had been cancelled, and all the holiday-makers hung around the little canteen after dinner. By way of entertainment, Tommy read aloud some poetry by William Blake. Sarah liked poetry as much as the next person, but somehow this wasn't how she had envisioned spending her holiday. Still, Sarah was glad to see that Tommy's newfound intelligence was undiminished, and when he approached her after he finished his poetry reading, she thought that she would be glad to talk to him. He brought her up to date, explaining: “I've been able to take on some teaching duties here, now that I've built up my skills.”
“Oh, Tommy, that's wonderful! Congratulations!” Sarah said.
He went on, “Since I'm so busy teaching now, it leaves me less time for my old janitorial duties. So, Miss Smith, I was wondering if you might be able to give us a hand with the dishes. If you don't mind, that is.”
Oh, so that's why he wanted to talk to me, Sarah thought to herself. Still, Sarah couldn't look into those earnest, ingenuous eyes of his and say no. . . even when she learned that “give us a hand with the dishes” actually meant “do all the dishes yourself.”
So, while the rest of the holiday-makers moved on to other indoor activities, Sarah found herself standing alone at a sink washing dishes by hand. They were plastic dishes that matched the décor of the room—deep brown, bright orange, harvest gold, and avocado green—colors very fashionable when the monastery had opened a few years ago, but already very dated-looking to Sarah. The muddy colors did nothing to brighten her mood, and she thought longingly of the near future, which she had visited with the Doctor. The bright colors that she knew would soon become popular seemed like they would do a great deal more to ease her mind than the drab hues that permeated this dull holiday.
And then there was the smell. Sarah noticed that the coffee cups she was washing seemed permanently imbued with the bitter smell of Mr. Coffee. No matter how much Sarah swished the lemony dishwater, and no matter how hard she scrubbed, that slightly-burnt Mr. Coffee smell permeated the cups. Again, Sarah's thoughts drifted longingly toward the future. This time, she dreamt of the early twenty-first century, when the Doctor had introduced her to Starbucks and its gorgeously aromatic Caramel Macchiato drink.
“Miss Smith?” a voice interrupted Sarah's thoughts. She turned and saw Cho-je, the guru of the monastery. He had always reminded Sarah of a chipmunk—clothed all in brown, bright-eyed, and eager. She put on a smile for him, since he was the sort of person that one couldn't bear to disappoint.
“Hello, Cho-je” she said.
Dismissing all formality, Cho-je replied bluntly, “I fear, Miss Smith, that you are not enjoying our monastery.”
She had forgotten his uncanny ability to read minds. Still, she thought it would be polite to protest. “Oh, no, Cho-je. I've only just gotten here. I haven't even had a proper look around yet.”
“I am sure,” he replied, “that the thrill of traveling with the Doctor cannot compare with what we have to offer, such as meditation, poetry, and dish washing.”
“Well, it is a bit different to what I'm used to,” Sarah relented.
“Miss Smith,” Cho-je said, looking her directly in the eye, “please know that you do not have to stay here in 1980. I can take you to a much more interesting place and time.”
Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing. “But, I thought you didn't have a TARDIS!”
In answer, Cho-je walked over to a section of the wood-paneled wall and placed his hand against it. A door-sized panel slid aside to reveal a hidden room that Sarah immediately recognized as the control center of a TARDIS. “Now that Tommy and Mike are teaching most of the classes here, I've had time to build a TARDIS from scratch,” Cho-je explained.
Sarah smiled broadly. “Are you really about to pop out of here in that new TARDIS of yours?”
“Miss Smith, the year is 1980. Interest in alternative lifestyles and Buddhist meditation peaked in the West in the last decade. Now the “me decade” has begun. My retreat center is fast becoming a relic. I believe that Tommy and Mike can keep the monastery going for a while, but my presence here is no longer required. After so long a period on Earth, I long to see the stars again. Now is the time for me to journey forth once again.”
“In other words, this place is the pits and you're skipping town,” Sarah smiled, translating Cho-je's eloquent speech.
“You are correct, Miss Smith,” Cho-je said. “And I hope that you will “skip town” with me.”
“You don't need to ask me twice!” Sarah cried, pulling off her rubber gloves and dropping them in a sudsy mound on the harvest gold countertop. With a bounce in her step, she strode into Cho-je's TARDIS, and he followed behind.
* * * Tommy and Mike heard an odd wheezing and groaning sound coming from the canteen, and they hurried to investigate. They arrived just as Cho-je's TARDIS dematerialized, leaving a blank section of pale plywood in the center of one dark wood-paneled wall. Cho-je's final words hung in the air. “Miss Smith, I am happy to travel with you. I forsee that you will become a very important person in the universe.”
Mike stood frozen, staring at the spot from which Sarah Jane had just disappeared. She had slipped through his fingers once again. He sighed, “Easy come, easy go.”
Tommy grinned and elbowed his friend. “Hey, I never thought she'd choose old Cho-je over you!”
Mike laughed half-heartedly and said, “You don't think she's really interested in him in THAT way, do you?”
“No,” said Tommy, “she just loves him for his TARDIS.”
“Anyway,” Mike said, philosophically, “if she's going to be as important to the universe as Cho-je just said she is, then this probably isn't the last that we'll see of her.”
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