Dr. Who - BBC New Series 28 by Beautiful Chaos # Gary Russell

she’s done is go shopping in Glasgow. I get to see the gala-well, to see the world, things I never thought I’d get the chance to do, and all I get is moans.’
    Sylvia didn’t look up from her food. ‘Yeah, but they probably knew where Mooky was. All I know is when your granddad there bothers to say he had a postcard. And I’m never allowed to read them, oh no.’
    Donna was going to chastise Wilf for that when she remembered that said postcards were usually sent from another star system entirely.
    ‘OK, Mum, I’ll start sending you postcards too.
    Promise.’
    ‘Oh it’s not just that,’ Sylvia said. ‘It’s the whole life I have. Your dad’s gone, you’ve gone, and I’m stuck here as
    nursemaid for your granddad’s bit on the side.’
    Donna opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again.
    Then, as that comment sank in, her mouth opened again, but still no sound came out.
    ‘Bit on the side?’ the Doctor asked Wilf.
    Wilf glowered at Sylvia. ‘She’s a friend,’ he said. ‘I’m not gonna marry her.’
    ‘I should hope not,’ Sylvia said. ‘Mum would turn in her grave.’
    ‘Ahhh, so that’s what it’s all about,’ Wilf sighed. ‘You think Eileen wouldn’t approve. You think somehow me seeing a poor, sick old lady would make Eileen sad. Well, you’re wrong. She was your mother, but she was my wife.
    I knew her better than that.’
    The Doctor remembered why he didn’t ‘do’ families.
    ‘Lovely macaroni cheese, Mrs Noble,’ he said, stuffing his mouth. ‘Mmmmm…’
    ‘It’s mushroom raclette,’ she snapped.
    ‘Not macaroni?’
    ‘Mushroom.’
    ‘It’s… great… very cheesy. And…’
    ‘So, who is this lady, Gramps?’ Donna asked.
    Wilf smiled. ‘She’s a lady astronomer I know, from Greenwich. Helps out at the observatory there, has done for years. But about three years ago she was… well, she fell ill and had to stop working. We chatted on the phone a couple of times, met up, had dinner. You’d think I’d started dating a teenage married pregnant cousin the way Sylvia goes on about her.’
    The Doctor was looking at Sylvia Noble, however.
     
    Spotting what made her flush angrily when Wilf spoke. It had been the word ‘ill’.
    He looked back at the old paratrooper. ‘Why’d she give up at the Observatory then?’
    ‘Ask her yourself,’ Sylvia said. ‘She’ll be here any minute. Even on Geoff’s day, my daughter brings you round, and he brings her round.’
    And Sylvia was up and out of the kitchen.
    Donna sighed and went after her mum. Wilf made to follow, but the Doctor caught his arm.
    ‘I’m no expert, Wilfred, but I reckon best leave the ladies to it.’
    Wilf nodded.
    ‘And your friend?’
    ‘Netty. Henrietta Goodhart.’
    He smiled. ‘Most appropriate name I think she could have. But she was diagnosed with… She has Alzheimer’s, Doctor. And it’s not getting any better.’
    ‘It wouldn’t,’ the Doctor said quietly, just as the doorbell rang. ‘That her?’
    Wilf nodded and went to let her in.
    A moment later and the Doctor was grinning at a vision of eccentricity, charm and humour that only certain English women of a particular age and bearing could carry off.
    She was dressed from head to foot in brown – knee-length corduroy skirt, tan blouse, chocolate-coloured jacket – and carried a tan handbag. On her head was an amazing hat with at least half a dozen brown feathers of different shapes and sizes. Wilf was removing her long
    dark overcoat, and Netty offered her hand to the Doctor before Wilf had got the coat off her, meaning one sleeve, the handshaking sleeve, was still on.
    ‘Doctor, how marvellous to meet you. Hooray and huzzah, it’s a real pleasure.’
    ‘Mrs Goodhart.’
    ‘Miss, please. Better still, just Netty. Never been married and, despite what Wilfred’s daughter believes, have no intention to ever be married.’
    Wilf finally got the coat off her, and Netty slid neatly into a chair, grabbing a glass of water in an