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The weirdest part of pretending to be married was not lying to her family, or lying to her coworkers, but going to bed every night. It had become a dance: Barbara would sigh and close up her book, placing it on the table and steel herself.
“I’m going to bed now,” she would quietly say. Ian would nod and keep making notes on his students’ assignments, or keep his head buried in the newspaper. She would get ready for bed and sleep alone, Ian confined to the sofa. He made no complaints, but had become more prone to rubbing his neck as of late.
Ian had been kind about the arrangement. He knew that it was an impossible situation to be in for a woman, even in 1965. To have been gone for two years with your colleague, then mysteriously show up with no plausible explanation would banish her to an asylum. Telling the truth would make it even worse. Better to pretend it was a whirlwind romance and try to politely break it off later.
So, for the past two months, they had been pretending to the whole world and God, that they had been married after a an unimaginable trip as tutors for their student, Susan Foreman. It killed two birds with one stone – both their absence, and Susan’s. Miraculously, Coal Hill School had their positions open upon their return.
They were settled in for the night, the radio playing in the background while Barbara graded her students’ tests, sitting in an arm chair. Ian was sitting on sofa, looking through the day’s newspaper.
“Do you know the strangest thing I miss about the TARDIS?” Ian asked, flipping a page in the paper.
“The food processor?” Barbara joked.
“Hardly,” Ian said. “I miss the hum of the ship. It was weirdly soothing, It would make me go to sleep. The hum of traffic certainly doesn’t accomplish the same thing.”
“I miss the smell. Is that strange?”
“That canned air smell? Like the smell in planes? It reminded me of my time in National Service. I could take you to an air base if you miss it so much,” he chided.
“I think I’d like the stay on the ground for a little while longer,” Barbara smiled.
A knock at the door interrupted them. It was an hour past dinner time; surely no one they knew would be bothering them. They exchanged a curious glance before Ian stood up and answered the door.
“Oh, hello, Ian,” Miss Partridge, their neighbor, greeted. She wore a house dress and had her curly gray hair pinned into a tight twist at the back of her head. She held a canvas sack in her right hand. “How are you and Barbara?”
“Quite well, thank you Miss Partridge. What brings you here this late in the night?”
“Oh, I was out at the market today, and I found this,” she handed the sack to Ian. “It’s ginseng root. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes. It’s used in some teas, I believe,” Ian said, keeping his voice light and neutral. Barbara furrowed her brow. Miss Partridge had been incredibly interested in them since they moved in; they were the newest and youngest tenets in the building in ten years. She spent their first week watching for them when they came home at night, checking that they were sufficiently close and holding hands. Barbara had developed a Pavlovian response to hearing Miss Partridge’s door creak, where she would grab Ian’s hand. He winked every time she did it.
“Yes, it has so many different functions, like mental stimulation, and…other stimulation. I thought you would appreciate it as newlyweds and to keep things -” Miss Partridge started, her lips cocking up at the suggestion.
“- Yes, thank you, Miss Partridge, I’ll let Barbara know about your kind gift,” Ian interrupted. “It is getting quite late, Miss Partridge, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow, goodnight, Ian,” Miss Partridge called out, as Ian closed the door. He turned around and pressed himself against the back of the door, rolling his eyes back. “Barbara, please do not tell me that our elderly neighbor just gave us an aphrodisiac.”
“Unfortunately, I think that is the case, Ian,” Barbara giggled. She stood up and walked towards him, crossing her arms. “That’s what we get for moving into a building full of pensioners I suppose; gossip and pure scrutiny.” She took the sack from him and gently threw it on the dining table.
“Do you think, maybe…she knows?” Ian asked, raising an eyebrow.
“That this is a rouse? I hope not. It’s not like you leave before me, or never stay the night.”
“I should hope so; I thought was always better date than that,” Ian smiled. Barbara batted playfully at his arm.
“To be certain, though, she can’t see that we aren’t sharing a bed, yes?” Barbara asked, lowering her voice. Their curious neighbor may have been shut out, but she could still be at their door, ear pressed to the crack.
“She shouldn’t be able to see. But…she might be able to hear,” Ian whispered.
“Hear? Like she’s listening for us…oh, that’s absurd!”
“This is an older building, and the walls aren’t that thick. Sometimes I can hear when the Thomases are listening to the cricket matches.”
“Oh Ian, how mortifying!” Barbara said, covering her mouth. She felt herself go pink all over. “Our neighbor is listening to see if we are…oh, how uncouth!”
“That would explain the ginseng and her rapt attention whenever we leave our flat,” Ian muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just a standard old biddy, I suppose.”
“But, what do we do, Ian? Muss up our bed and then invite her in?” She wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and pretend this conversation was not happening.
“We could always grin and bear it,” he suggested.
“I fear she may escalate it further if we do that.”
“I think there is one thing we can do,” Ian said, his voice measured. “We can make a convincing ruckus every so often in your bedroom to convince her.”
Barbara blushed deeper. “Are you suggesting we put on a show for Miss Partridge?”
“Just a few jumps on the bed and a few enthusiastic shouts might calm her down,” Ian said. “It’s an idea, Barbara. If you don’t care for it, we don’t have to do so.”
Barbara swallowed. “It may very well be our only choice to get her to leave us alone, for a little while.”
“Are you certain?”
“We don’t really have much of a choice, do we?” Barbara stated. “I think my bedroom is next to her parlor, that’s why she can hear everything…or nothing. She turns the telly on after dinner and leaves it on until midnight.”
“It’s about nine o’clock right now,” Ian said, checking his watch. “Should we give it a go?”
“Let’s give her a few minutes to settle back in for the night, then let’s try,” Barbara said. She straightened up her papers and stacked her pen on top. They would have to wait, for now.
___
Barbara tried not to think too much beyond the immediate solution this necessitated. They were simply kneeling on the bed because they had to convince their neighbor that their marriage was not, in fact, in need of repair. (Even if it was, indeed, a sham). She didn’t want to think about how close Ian was, or that they were performing lovemaking for their elderly neighbor. They just needed to give the be a few good bounces against the wall and some satisfactory sighs.
The muffled sounds of Miss Partridge’s telly came through the wall behind the headrest. “Sounds like she’s back in her parlor,” Ian said. “Now, follow my lead.” He shifted his weight forward and back, moving the bed against the wall. The brass headrest clattered, the metal resonating. Barbara rolled her eyes up at Ian, then joined in with his slow, rhythmic movements.
“Are you much of a talker, Barbara?” Ian muttered, a cheeky smile gracing his face. She playfully slapped his arm with the back of her hand, fighting the blush rushing up her cheeks. “Oh Barbara, you’re so wonderful.”
“Ian,” Barbara replied, in a warning tone.
“So soft and so warm,” he sighed, rolling his head back. The sounds of Mrs. Partridge’s telly seemed to grow softer.
“Ian, please,” Barbara giggled. She felt a warmth pool in her stomach. He took her hand, and she gasped. He quickened the pace, the brass clanging. The springs in the mattress harmonized with the headrest, metal and metal squealing under their weight. “Oh Ian, don’t stop.”
“I’ll never stop, Barbara,” he groaned, and Barbara had to fight everything in her body to not laugh. They were breathing heavily, sweat starting to bead on their brow. Ian turned to her and caught her eye. He grinned and quickened the pace once more. Barbara started to worry that her bedrest would leave a mark in her wall.
The sounds from Mrs. Partridge’s telly had stopped. Over the din of their breaths and the bedrest ringing, Barbara could hear the sound of her heart thumping wildly. It hadn’t beat like this since she left the TARDIS.
“One more thrust and shout, and then we call it, eh?” Ian breathed.
Barbara nodded. They gave it one last, mighty thrust.
“Oh, Ian!”
“Barbara!”
They collapsed on the bed, the springs creaking from the strain. Through the wall, they heard a faint “Well!” and the telly clicking back on. They exchanged a glance, and covered their mouths to stop from laughing. Barbara turned away, to keep from catching Ian’s eye and losing total control.
“I want my wife to face me when we’re in bed, Barbara.”
Barbara felt the warmth in her belly sluice throughout her body. His voice had been rough, ragged with want, unlike anything she had heard him say. Her heart, already racing, beat even faster. She imagined that he said that, didn’t she?
She turned around and met his blue eyes. They stared into her, unblinking. All traces of laughter had gone; now there was nothing but naked want.
He pulled the sheet over them and pulled her close.