Well, it's been a long
wait, but we promised you a sequel to Life Begins at 40, and here it
is! We're delighted to announce that BEHIND THE SOFA will be released
on Obverse Books this November, just in time for the 50th
Anniversary of Doctor Who. (Apparently they found it in Nigeria with all those lost Troughton episodes.)
Also, For any of you
who have yet to read the first book, Life Begins at 40 will be seeing
it's first release as an eBook to coincide with the sequel.
The book will be
available for pre-order in the coming weeks over at
obversebooks.co.uk
Anyone who pre-orders
Behind The Sofa will automatically be entered into a competition to
will a limited edition Doctor Who postcard signed by the Doctor
himself, Matt Smith.
In the meantime, here's
a sneak preview of what's to come. When we left them in 2011, Jeff
was trapped in a burning building and Pete had fallen from a second
storey window... Needless to say, they survived, but the incidents
were not without consequence.
Read on for a sample of
what's to come. Last time we saw Pete, he'd just fallen from his
bedroom window, seemingly to his doom ...
Pete: Tuesday 7th
December... Maybe
A rush of blinding
light flooded my vision, as a series of half-remembered events from
my life flashed in high-speed sequence, like a VHS on fast-forward.
My barely coherent muttering didn't make much sense and came out in
little more than a husky gasp. “...Shoes...”
Suddenly, there was a
flurry of noise and activity: lights blinking, babies crying, bleeps
bleeping. Shock #1: I wasn't at home. Where the hell was I? I poked
my stomach a few times to make sure I was still myself... Whoever I
was supposed to be. I needed a mirror. There was probably one around
somewhere, but... Shock #2: I couldn't move! My body felt leaden,
stiff, bruised in every possible way, and there seemed to be tubes
coming out of me. Tubes! I wanted to cry out, but I couldn't for the
life of me think who for. So I flapped my arms about like a pigeon
and, by chance, laid my hands on a pocket mirror. Bracing myself, I
squinted into the glass to see... A dandy with a mane of white hair,
shouting repeatedly, a serious expression on his old-young face. It
took some minutes, and a great degree of effort on my part, to
realise what he was saying.
“Resist! Channing is
controlling your mind!” But what did it mean?
“What?!” I
screamed, trying to make it stop... And, mercifully, it did. Or, at
least my hearing came back into focus.
I blinked and a
mad-eyed guy with a crazed grin appeared over me, just inches from my
face. “I said, looks like you're losing your mind!”
“I... I don't know
where I am...” I stuttered helplessly.
“I'm Barry
Waterhouse!” A disembodied hand thrust enthusiastically into my
line of vision and promptly pulled away again. “I've got a famous
brother, you know!” He spoke with the guarded cheeriness of a total
idiot, his accent definitely Geordie, but almost as certainly Brummie
too. “What's your name?”
“B...B... Barry?”
I asked quizzically. He spoke so quickly. It was all I'd been able to
take in.
“No way! You're
called Barry too?” His curly golden hair jumped up and down, as he
nodded vigorously, making him look like a cocker spaniel. “Are you
sure?”
“I... I don't know.
I don't even know where I am. Where am I?”
“Ehhhhhhh!” His
dazed eyes lit up. “I like your sweater!” I found this hard to
believe, until I saw that his t-shirt had a picture of Bob Marley on
it. “I like sci-fi! D'you like role-playing? We should be friends!
I've got a famous brother, you know!”
“What... Yeah?” I
wasn't really listening. Looking past the Bob Marley shirt, I could
see a line of beds in a long sterile corridor, people in white coats
bustling frantically. “Hang on! Are we in a hospital?”
“Duuuuuurrrrr!” He
stuck his tongue out and began began slapping his forehead. “Don't
you know what's wrong with you?”
“No... What's wrong
with you? You seem fine... Ish.”
“Me brother says I'm
a moron!” He announced proudly, weird accent coming across
particularly thickly. “Normally 'e looks after me... When e's not
busy being famous, like!”
“Then who am I? And
why am I here?” I whimpered. “I don't remember anything.”
“Ah, it'll come back
to you, mate.” He slapped me on the shoulder with surprising
strength. “Eh, you've got a nametag on your wrist. It says 'ere
that your called... Erm, Mr. R-O-T-H. So your name must be Barry
Roth!”
“Yeah, that's
right!” I breathed a sigh of relief, and drifted back to sleep.
Pete: Tuesday 7th
December... Probably
The next time I came
round, a tall bloke with severe eyebrows was leaning over me,
wiggling his fingers. Pen clutched in jaw, he scrutinised me
critically. I tried to speak, but he reared backwards and cut me off
with a clap of his hands. I felt my whole body reorientate, clicking
painfully back into consciousness.
“Marvellous!” He
said. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Roth. You're
making sterling progress... And you've got a visitor.” The man had
a badge swinging from his pocket. It showed his picture, except that
he was much younger, eyebrows only marginally offensive. Next to the
photo was the name 'Dr. Dre'. Of course, I was in hospital! Hang
on... Dr. Dre??! Now why did that remind me of...
“PETE!” Another
man, with a summer fete blazer and silly quiff, leaned in, seemingly
about to hug me until Dr. Dre yanked him back. It was only then that
I looked down, straining to see past my nose, cross-eyed. The shock
hit me in gradual waves of horror, much like a 70s B-Movie where they
could only afford a certain quantity of 'horror' per scene, 'Devil
Rides Out' notwithstanding. Shit - my leg was in a cast. Then
something else. Shit. Shit... Leg? Not 'legs', plural???
“My leg! My fucking
leg! What the hell have you done with my leg?!”
Dr. Dre chuckled. “I
think you may have miscounted, my boy!” Now, why did that sound
familiar? “Don't worry. You've still got all your limbs in tact.
The only things you've lost are...” He studied a clipboard. “...A
little mobility, and a tiny bit of memory function. But it's nothing
major. In fact, we've been surprised how quickly you've been
healing.” He ran a finger to the bottom of his chart, head shaking
as he muttered. “Temporary surge in intelligence... Possible
extra-sensory abilities... One might almost say you're recovery is
miraculous. Say... You haven't been exposed to any radiation
recently, have you?” The man in the tweed blazer shook his head
vigorously, a finger pressed against his pursed lips.
“No?” I replied,
genuinely uncertain. Although I was starting to remember some things.
Like... The man in the blazer was... “Jeff! What's with all this
'Pete' business? My name's Barry.”
“No it's not!” He
spluttered. “Who the hell told you that?”
“That guy in the
next bed...” I angled my head round, but he'd gone.
“Now then, Mr.
Roth.” Dr. Dre replaced my notes over the bed-rail. “I must get
on with my rounds, but I'll be back to check on you later. In the
meantime, I'm sure you'll relish some catch up time with your
boyfriend.”
Jeff spun round to
call after him. “He's not my...” But he was already gone. There
was an odd silence between us. It was all coming back to me now.
Obviously, it hadn't been that long since we'd last seen each other,
and already we had so much to talk about. But neither of us had any
idea where to begin. It was just too much to take in.
“What happened to
you?”
“Ah.” I tried to
shrug, and found I was unable. “Don't really wanna talk about it.”
“Alright. Don't you
worry. I've just got this feeling everything's going to be okay. And
they assure me you're gonna be back on your feet for Doctor Who at
Christmas. Which is the most important thing, eh?”
“Yeah... Jeff?” I
smiled politely. “What are you talking about?”
“You know... The
Christmas Special? That other thing we watch after the Queen's speech
and The Royle Family?” He was doing that voice people do when they
jokingly play something down.
“What? Wallace and
Grommit? Only Fools and Horses?”
“No! Not Only Fools
and Bloody Horses!” He spat. “Autons! Daleks! Cybermen! Yeti!
Matt Smith jumping over duck ponds, shouting 'Oh Blimey!'” He
grabbed me, panic stricken. “Amy? Rory? The gang? Off having
adventures in time and space? Somewhere the tea's getting cold?!” I
shook my head, as he violently shook my shoulders. “Wibbly wobbly?
Timey Wimey!! Doctor Who?!”
“I'm sorry... What's
Doctor Who?”
