Dr. Who - BBC New Series 28 Read online

  Ah well, it was Wilf’s night, not his.

  There was a knock on the door. ‘Yeah, I’m coming, Donna, give us a minute.’

  The door opened. It was Donna’s mum.

  ‘Ah. Hullo,’ he said. She was an intimidating woman and, like most mothers, she clearly didn’t like him much.

  Was he imagining it or was his cheek starting to ache again?

  Some mothers he could win over by sheer charm (ah, Jackie Tyler, what are you doing these days?), or by

  proving that their daughter’s faith in him was justified (still got a good right hook, Francine Jones, bless you).

  Now there was Sylvia Noble. Full of so much pride, tempered with so much rage, so much frustration. It was as if she never felt quite so in control of her life as she told herself she was, and that made her really angry.

  Of course, it couldn’t have been easy losing Geoff. The Doctor had only met him once, at Donna’s wedding, where he seemed to be the more… temperate of the Noble parents. Now poor Sylvia was trying her best to deal with a wayward daughter who was nowhere near as wayward as Sylvia imagined (she still had no idea where he really took Donna) and an elderly father, who was so determined not to be a burden on his daughter that he became a bigger one by default. Wilf Mott wanted to prove he was independent, strong and twenty years younger than he was, believing it would take pressure of Sylvia; he just didn’t realise that Sylvia saw through this and was twice as worried as she would be if he just sat in an armchair all day watching Countdown.

  How long was it since the Doctor had sat down and watched Countdown? He used to like Countdown.

  ‘You’ll take care of him.’

  ‘You’re not coming with us?’

  Sylvia looked as if she was about to say something, but then she just shook her head slightly. ‘Not my thing.’

  ‘But it’s your dad…’

  ‘We had a… discussion about that.’

  ‘Ah.’ The Doctor could only begin to imagine how that went. ‘Are you sure? Because I’m positive he, Donna and

  Netty would love you–’

  He stopped. Sylvia was one step away from flinching at the mention of Henrietta Goodhart.

  ‘Look after him, please, Doctor,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s not getting any younger, despite what he thinks.’

  The Doctor smiled disarmingly. ‘Course I will.’

  ‘There’s no “course I will” about it with you, Doctor, so don’t give me any of your so-called charm and flannel.

  I wasn’t asking a question, I was telling you.’

  The Doctor tried not to smile – it was like being told off by a headmistress. Then the glint in Sylvia’s eye reminded him this was not remotely funny.

  ‘Promise,’ he said, mentally adding, ‘And I’ll do three hundred lines: “I will not lose members of the Noble family in London”.’

  ‘They’re all I have,’ she said and walked out of the room.

  The Doctor licked his forefinger and held it up.

  Yup, the room’s ambient temperature had indeed dropped several degrees.

  Half an hour later, they had piled into a cab. Wilf and Donna sat on the seat, the Doctor on one of those fold-down spare seats. He wriggled uncomfortably on it for the whole journey.

  Wilf was dressed up to the nines – silk tie, good shirt, slightly tight jacket that had probably been bought in the early seventies – but was let down by the pair of trainers on his feet.

  As if sensing where the Doctor was looking, Wilf held up a tatty carrier bag. Inside it was a pair of black dress

  shoes. ‘They don’t half kill the circulation in my feet, so I wear ’em as little time as I can,’ he explained.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘You look nice,’ he said to Donna.

  ‘Thanks. Had to borrow something off of Veena, who’d lent it to Mooky, so she had to bring it round this afternoon while you were out getting your suit and –what?’

  The Doctor grinned. ‘Your friends have amazing names.’ He laughed gently. ‘Mooky.’

  Donna raised an eyebrow at this. ‘You can talk. Mister Ood. Mister Matron Cofelia. Mister Ventraxian Gol-Zeeglar. Where d’you get off thinking my mates’ names are funny-sounding, eh?’

  ‘Fair point, although Ood isn’t really a name, it’s more a sort of species designation, and I… um…’

  Donna was giving him one of her ‘do I look like I care’

  looks, so he turned to Wilf instead.

  ‘Excited?’

  ‘Too right I am, Doctor. I get a star to myself. Named after me. How great is that?’

  ‘It’s more than great, Gramps,’ Donna squeezed his hand. ‘It’s bloody marvellous. Spaceman over there, ask him if anyone’s named a star after him.’

  ‘Have they, Doctor?’

  Whether they had or hadn’t was neither here nor there right now. ‘Absolutely not,’ he told Wilf. ‘And I’m very jealous.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Wilf leaned forward, so the driver wouldn’t hear him. ‘Yeah, but you? You get to visit ’em, don’t you?

  You get to go up there.’ He turned to Donna and nudged

  her playfully. ‘You make the most of it, my girl.’

  ‘Oh, I am, don’t you worry,’ she said.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Oh, she is, don’t you worry at all.’

  ‘I mean, I’ve seen and done some things in my time, Doctor, but nothing can compare to what you’re showing my little girl, eh?’

  ‘Hey, I’m not just a passenger, you know,’ Donna smiled. ‘I get to make a lot of the decisions about where we go, who we see, how quickly we have to leave again, cos he’s gone and upset someone in charge. With an army.

  And a big axe. And twelve legs.’

  ‘Ten legs,’ the Doctor automatically corrected her.

  ‘Oooh, all right then. Ten legs, and two arms that hung down to the ground. If you’re being pedantic. Which you clearly are. Tonight.’

  The Doctor grinned at them both. ‘Maybe we should take you with us on a jaunt one day, Wilf.’

  ‘No!’

  Both Donna and Wilf had said that together, then looked at each other.

  ‘It’s dangerous, Granddad.’

  ‘You go!’

  ‘I’m… I can look after myself. If anything happened to you, what’d Mum do?’

  ‘Kill you?’

  ‘Well, she’d kill him,’ Donna nodded at the Doctor. ‘I’d get away with being skinned alive. Probably.’

  ‘You said “no” too, Wilf,’ the Doctor said.

  Wilf looked up at the stars as they drove into South

  London, crossing Vauxhall Bridge. ‘I like to look, Doctor.

  I like to look, and imagine and dream. But the reality? All them monsters and guns and stuff? Nah. I prefer my ideas.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Very wise. Mind you, you’d be a calming influence on her.’

  ‘Oh I know. She does go on, doesn’t she?’

  ‘I am sitting here. Right here,’ Donna said.

  The Doctor was still talking to Wilf. ‘And there’s obviously something in her childhood about centipedes, but she won’t say what. Cos we went to this one place—’

  ‘Oi!’

  Wilf laughed. ‘Oh I gotta tell you about that. When she was about eight, her dad and I took her up Norfolk way.

  To the Broads? Anyway, she was paddling about when—’

  ‘ OI!! ’

  They both looked at Donna. She was pointing to herself. One finger on each hand. At her head.

  ‘As I said. Sat here. Listening. Not liking.’ The two men grinned at each other.

  ‘Later,’ the Doctor said.

  ‘Later,’ Wilf confirmed.

  Donna broke them up. ‘We’re here.’

  The cab pulled up outside the Society, a huge red-brick building built in early Victorian times, just off the main circus by Vauxhall station.

  Donna paid the driver (‘You’re coughing up on the way home,’ she told the Doctor). As the taxi roared away, she straightened he
r dress, checked her heels and nudged the Doctor, who was staring up at the night sky at the stars.

  At the new star Wilf had shown him last night. Which was now brighter than before. And there seemed to be another couple of stars that he didn’t think should be there…

  Donna nudged him again.

  ‘What?’

  She indicated with her head towards Wilf, who was gripping a lamppost, trying to take off his trainers and hold onto his carrier bag at the same time.

  ‘I can’t bend in this thing,’ she hissed. ‘If I tear it, Veena will knock me into next week. She does the whole martial arts thing.’

  The Doctor took the bag from Wilf and let the old man lean on him as he slipped his trainers off and replaced them with the dress shoes.

  ‘Sylvia bought these,’ he said to the Doctor. ‘Bloody things are three sizes too small.’

  ‘No they’re not,’ Donna said automatically. ‘You’re not trying.’

  ‘Blimey, when did you turn into your mum?’ said Wilf.

  Donna opened her mouth to retort, but the Doctor, sensing retreat was the better part of valour, grabbed both their arms and placed himself between them.

  ‘Someone’s dinner awaits,’ he said and they marched up to the building.

  The huge wooden door swung open as they reached the top step and a smartly dressed gentleman, mid-thirties, olive skin, dark hair and eyes that twinkled, waved them in.

  ‘Good evening, Mister Mott,’ he said in a slight

  European accent. ‘Miss Noble. Doctor Smith. I am Gianni, Head of Hospitality.’

  Donna pulled a ‘blimey’ face. ‘He was well rehearsed.’

  ‘Guest of honour,’ Wilf said. ‘I had to tell them who I was bringing.’

  Gianni walked them into a small area where a couple of people aged somewhere between sixty and two hundred and eleventy were leaning on a bar. Or possibly the bar was holding them up. Either way, they looked like they were part of the furniture.

  Donna wrinkled her nose at the strong smell of Scotch and looked behind them, where another door led to a vast dining area, and a hubbub of noise.

  ‘Do go through,’ the Head of Hospitality said, so Donna led the way.

  As the trio entered the dining room, the hubbub stopped and was replaced by a round of applause led, Donna was pleased to see, by Henrietta Goodhart, resplendent in another bizarre but unusually tonally dour hat.

  She walked towards them, arms outstretched, kissed Donna, then the Doctor and finally Wilf, each of them on both cheeks, Continental style. Then she planted a quick one on Wilf’s lips and winked. ‘I’m fine tonight,’ she said to his unasked question.

  A man in his late fifties walked over, and shook Wilf’s hand. ‘Crossland. Cedric Crossland. Doctor Cedric Crossland. Doctor Cedric Crossland CBE. But you must call me Rick, Mr Mott.’

  ‘Oh, just Wilf’ll be fine,’ Wilf said, throwing a look

  appealing for help or rescue to Donna, the Doctor and Netty.

  Donna started forward but Netty held her back. ‘No, no, let him go. It’s his night and he has to take the rough with the smooth, bless his cotton socks. Besides, the chocolate pudding’ll make it all worthwhile.’ They watched as Wilf got caught up in the celebrations. ‘He looks so happy,’ she said.

  ‘I understand you have a big part to play in that,’ the Doctor said, adding ‘Not that I pretend to understand things like that.’

  Netty grinned at him. ‘Course you don’t, Doctor. Being from outer space.’

  The Doctor stared at her, then smiled. ‘Actually, I’m from Nottingham—’

  ‘He’s from Walthamstow,’ Donna said at the same time.

  ‘Born in Nottingham,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘But brought up in Walthamstow,’ added Donna, a bit sheepishly.

  ‘Wilf told me everything, Doctor. About you. About the ATMOS stuff. About where Donna is when she’s with you. No secrets, you see.’

  The Doctor blew air out of his cheeks. ‘Well, I’m not sure what Wilf has told you but, I’m… um… well…’

  Netty touched his hand. ‘It’s all right. Most days I can barely remember who I am, let alone what planet you and Donna are sending postcards from. Your secret is safe with me.’

  ‘I think I’ll kill him this time,’ Donna said, looking towards her grandfather who was being poured an

  extraordinarily large brandy by a group of old men and women.

  Netty shook her head. ‘He’s so proud of you both, please don’t be cross with him. Besides, it gives me a chance to talk to you both about the Chaos Body. You know, while I still can.’

  Donna frowned.

  ‘I’m sorry, Donna,’ Netty said. ‘Does me talking about my condition embarrass you? There’s no need, there’s nothing I have to hide from anyone. Least of all myself.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Donna said. ‘It’s just… well, a bit sad.’

  ‘It is. Very sad, believe me. But I have got used to living with it and I make the most of the lucid days because the ones that aren’t are getting more and more frequent.’

  ‘How frequent?’

  ‘Doctor! She’s not going to tell the world about us.’

  But he shushed her. ‘How frequent, Henrietta?’

  ‘If I can get through to Friday remembering what I did on Tuesday, that’s a victory.’

  Gianni was at their side, surreptitiously as a good Head of Hospitality should be, with drinks on a silver tray for them and they grabbed the glasses quickly, as if trying to fill in a gap in the conversation.

  ‘So,’ Netty said. ‘Chaos Bodies.’

  ‘When did it show up? The first one, I mean?’

  ‘Ah,’ Netty said, ‘you’ve noticed the others. Only saw them myself this evening and no one here tonight seems to have mentioned it.’

  ‘That’s cos they weren’t there last night. Or when we

  left Chiswick, actually.’

  Netty laughed. ‘I know you know more about outer space than this lot here do put together but, scientifically, stars can’t move that quickly. And if they could, the devastation would be phenomenal.’

  The Doctor toasted her. ‘Ah, but then they’re not stars.

  Not real stars. The chaos bit, though, that’s spot on.’

  ‘What are they, then?’ asked Donna.

  The Doctor shrugged. ‘I have a suspicion. The first one, the original, that looks like a star certainly, and it’s certainly a ball of superheated combustible energy that shares minor properties with a star, but the others, they’re like satellites. But not astral ones.’

  ‘Man-made?’

  ‘Well, Someone-made, yes. And somewhere at the back of my head is a little voice trying to tell me where I’ve seen it all before.’

  There was a tinkle of someone tapping a glass with a spoon.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, before we eat, I should like to introduce you to our guest of honour,’ Doctor Crossland was saying. ‘In honour of being the first to spot the new star M7432•6, officially known as 7432MOTT, I give you – Wilfred Mott!’

  There was thunderous applause and even a ‘hear, hear’, then one of the waiters led the Doctor, Donna and Netty to the table to join the rest of the guests.

  The Doctor was nabbed by Wilf and positioned between him and Crossland, while Netty was on Wilf’s other side and Donna next to her.

  The Doctor looked expectantly at the empty seat to his right, wondering who was going to sit there. It was, he thought, a bit like being sat on a train and hoping the empty seat beside you isn’t going to be occupied by a madman with a loud personal stereo or a kicking child or, worst of all, some frumpy businessman who would spend the whole journey loudly on his mobile phone. And, every time he hung up and someone else rang, he’d let the annoying ringtone go all the way through before answering.

  The Doctor often wondered these days when these trivial little things had begun to annoy him quite so much.

  Must have been hitting the big 900 mark.

  The seat
was yanked back by a woman whose clothing could at best be described as eccentric and at worst insane, a terrible clashing of colours, styles and, well, everything.

  The biggest crime against fashion was the blouse she was wearing, which appeared to have Galileo’s Map of the Heavens embroidered on it. By hand. They were the sort of clothes you might put on if you got dressed with both eyes closed after someone had taken your wardrobe and given it a really good shake.

  Not that the wearer seemed remotely aware of her…

  unique haute couture. More alarmingly, none of the other members seemed to bat an eyelid either – only Wilf and especially Donna reacted, Wilf with incredulity and Donna by stifling a laugh and finding the glass of water before her suddenly the most fascinating thing on Earth.

  ‘Ariadne Holt,’ she said in a tone that suggested to the Doctor that this wasn’t just an introduction but was in fact

  a complete explanation for why she looked as she did.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said, offering his hand. She held her own hand up as if to suggest he kiss it or, at the very least, bow slightly. He did neither, managing instead to turn it back into the handshake he had started.

  She gave him a look that seemed to say, ‘Oh, right, you’re going to be like that are you?’ and pulled her chair closer to the table and very slightly further away from him.

  ‘So,’ said Ariadne, ‘What’s your field?’

  ‘Ten Acre,’ he smiled.

  Steely glare.

  ‘In-joke,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Bad one.’

  Steely glare again.

  ‘I’m the Doctor, by the way.’

  ‘I know,’ Ariadne Holt said.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Crossland told me. Suggested I sit. Here. Next to you.

  For dinner.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right. Well, sorry, I don’t actually know Mr Crossland.’

  ‘Doctor.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What?’