Quote and TARDIS on the back

The blue box came back to Marram Terrace on Tuesday, wedged between the bins and Mrs Okonedo's bicycle, as though it had only popped out for milk. Mum wouldn't let me touch it. She says a thing that size doesn't belong to anyone on our street, and she's probably right, because when I pressed my ear to the door it hummed like the fridge in the back kitchen, only deeper, and the light over the porch flickered in time with it.

Lodgers have been talking. The retired organist in number four says it's a sign the pier will be rebuilt, and the Hartley girls think it's a film crew. I haven't said much. I've been thinking about the night you left, and how you stood at the gate with that cardboard suitcase and said nothing useful at all, only that everyone in this town was a story waiting to be finished badly.

Yesterday the door opened on its own, just a crack, and a man in a crumpled coat put his head out, looked at the sea, and asked me what day it was. I told him. He said, "Right, then, not too late," and shut it again. Nobody came out. The box is still there this morning, and the paint on the handrail looks fresher than it did.

So I'm writing this in case it helps. I've decided to stop waiting at the window. I'm going to walk down to the harbour and buy the ticket you never sent for. If you find this, make it a good one, eh?

Love, Nell