You will probably want to read the Introduction before you start.
Prologue
The sky was black, darkened by pollution; the vista cruelly robbed of stars which were snatched away by moving times, as their light failed to touch the ground and the moon hid sadly behind a thick layer of clouds. That was Primrose Hill, the picturesque North London home of all those who sought some inner beauty in their city. But on such a bleak evening, there was no beauty, nor identity; on the hill stood an invisible gate to a city eclipsed by the shadow of storm-clouds, and amid the stillness was a tight, suffocating tension – words hovered in the air: the unspoken, the unspeakable. On that night which decency became exhausted, silence fell over Primrose Hill.
Such silence that the noise behind the shielding walls of each house existed as the only noise to each shielded person. To Robin Moon, that noise was the calm lapping of flames on a fire, the spinning of the dishwasher and the gentle ‘clomp’ with which she returned the photo-frame to the mantelpiece, the brewing fire radiating heat onto her legs and causing her feet to sweat inside their slippers. She stroked the face on the photograph, but bit her lip when her finger was confronted by the lifeless sensation of timeworn card. It had been two years since she laid her hands on another human being, and that moment had been upon the hands of a dead man. She could still feel the stiff coldness in her palm now, but the absence of contact sent her spiralling into a void of isolation. Isolation, itself, turned the human soul against itself. It defied one’s basic instincts – to live, to love – and the cold from those dead hands reached down to her heart, extinguishing each flame as it tried to relight the fire within.
“Christmas,” said Robin to herself, realising the bitter tone in her voice, and raising a glass of red wine to the ghosts that hung over her life. “Merry Christmas.”
She downed the glass and left it to rest on the mantelpiece as she turned off the lights, the fire and tiredly trod to the top floor, brushing her teeth with the all-too-bright bathroom light on and slipping into bed. She’d left the top window open, enough to prevent condensation when the morning came, but a sly breeze crept in and chilled her back in the night. As the images flashed through her easing mind, Robin struggled to get to sleep, but when her body fell comfortably into that calmed, natural position, the pool of her thoughts formed incoherent waves, and she slipped away into unconsciousness.
She was on the hill again; the tip of Primrose Hill, overlooking the city of London, but not a Shard to be seen. It was the past, if the peace and the joy itself did not say it, her own feelings did. Her drained mind was restored, and she attempted to picture what was holding her back but she couldn’t find it. No. Everything was fine. Everything was calm, peaceful…
“And I told him you might as well sack me,” remarked Harry, pouring a glass of champagne and closing the picnic basket, “because I’d rather go back to working for that old hag of a salon manager than be more than a second late home through my wife’s door.”
“So he did?” asked Robin, although it was an involuntary action: the words came out of her mouth before she opened it.
“So he didn’t!” chuckled Harry. “They wouldn’t lose me, I keep everyone else in order.”
“That’s…” Robin tried to collect her thoughts, to gather herself. It all fitted together as she noticed she couldn’t feel the grass between her fingers. She wanted to cry out, to scream so loud the whole imagined world could hear her. She thought she had it back, but it was an illusion. “I’m dreaming.”
“Another glass?” offered Harry. Robin couldn’t imagine any other words out of his mouth; it was how the memory went.
“I-“
There was a crash, but not the type of a vehicle collision by a hill. It was… closer, somehow. Greater. Snapping wood, falling dust…
That wasn’t how the memory went.
“What is it?” asked Robin. “What’s-“
She sat up as she woke, and noticing the beams above her creaking and cracking, leapt out of bed, darted out of the room and plummeted downstairs and out the door.
As she jumped off the doorstep she slipped and fell on the ground, twisting her ankle. She pulled herself up, ignoring the splitting sensation in her leg, and glanced up at what remained of her house.
The roof had fallen in down the middle, and a jagged square hole stood as testament to the curse that had befallen her. Movement came from above, as the shape of a slim, middle-aged man appeared, dressed in Victorian attire from head to foot; his face tarnished with ashes and soot and his curly hair a rugged mess. Noticing Robin he hauled himself up but lost his balance and fell over the top, dropping with a graceless thud to outside in front of the window.
Astonishingly he stood up, brushing himself down, and Robin saw the rest of him. He had twinkling eyes, a merry yet subtly charismatic smile, and a fob-watch hung around his neck.
“Sorry about that,” he said, in a charming and sophisticated voice. “I’ll buy you a new house.”
Such silence that the noise behind the shielding walls of each house existed as the only noise to each shielded person. To Robin Moon, that noise was the calm lapping of flames on a fire, the spinning of the dishwasher and the gentle ‘clomp’ with which she returned the photo-frame to the mantelpiece, the brewing fire radiating heat onto her legs and causing her feet to sweat inside their slippers. She stroked the face on the photograph, but bit her lip when her finger was confronted by the lifeless sensation of timeworn card. It had been two years since she laid her hands on another human being, and that moment had been upon the hands of a dead man. She could still feel the stiff coldness in her palm now, but the absence of contact sent her spiralling into a void of isolation. Isolation, itself, turned the human soul against itself. It defied one’s basic instincts – to live, to love – and the cold from those dead hands reached down to her heart, extinguishing each flame as it tried to relight the fire within.
“Christmas,” said Robin to herself, realising the bitter tone in her voice, and raising a glass of red wine to the ghosts that hung over her life. “Merry Christmas.”
She downed the glass and left it to rest on the mantelpiece as she turned off the lights, the fire and tiredly trod to the top floor, brushing her teeth with the all-too-bright bathroom light on and slipping into bed. She’d left the top window open, enough to prevent condensation when the morning came, but a sly breeze crept in and chilled her back in the night. As the images flashed through her easing mind, Robin struggled to get to sleep, but when her body fell comfortably into that calmed, natural position, the pool of her thoughts formed incoherent waves, and she slipped away into unconsciousness.
She was on the hill again; the tip of Primrose Hill, overlooking the city of London, but not a Shard to be seen. It was the past, if the peace and the joy itself did not say it, her own feelings did. Her drained mind was restored, and she attempted to picture what was holding her back but she couldn’t find it. No. Everything was fine. Everything was calm, peaceful…
“And I told him you might as well sack me,” remarked Harry, pouring a glass of champagne and closing the picnic basket, “because I’d rather go back to working for that old hag of a salon manager than be more than a second late home through my wife’s door.”
“So he did?” asked Robin, although it was an involuntary action: the words came out of her mouth before she opened it.
“So he didn’t!” chuckled Harry. “They wouldn’t lose me, I keep everyone else in order.”
“That’s…” Robin tried to collect her thoughts, to gather herself. It all fitted together as she noticed she couldn’t feel the grass between her fingers. She wanted to cry out, to scream so loud the whole imagined world could hear her. She thought she had it back, but it was an illusion. “I’m dreaming.”
“Another glass?” offered Harry. Robin couldn’t imagine any other words out of his mouth; it was how the memory went.
“I-“
There was a crash, but not the type of a vehicle collision by a hill. It was… closer, somehow. Greater. Snapping wood, falling dust…
That wasn’t how the memory went.
“What is it?” asked Robin. “What’s-“
She sat up as she woke, and noticing the beams above her creaking and cracking, leapt out of bed, darted out of the room and plummeted downstairs and out the door.
As she jumped off the doorstep she slipped and fell on the ground, twisting her ankle. She pulled herself up, ignoring the splitting sensation in her leg, and glanced up at what remained of her house.
The roof had fallen in down the middle, and a jagged square hole stood as testament to the curse that had befallen her. Movement came from above, as the shape of a slim, middle-aged man appeared, dressed in Victorian attire from head to foot; his face tarnished with ashes and soot and his curly hair a rugged mess. Noticing Robin he hauled himself up but lost his balance and fell over the top, dropping with a graceless thud to outside in front of the window.
Astonishingly he stood up, brushing himself down, and Robin saw the rest of him. He had twinkling eyes, a merry yet subtly charismatic smile, and a fob-watch hung around his neck.
“Sorry about that,” he said, in a charming and sophisticated voice. “I’ll buy you a new house.”
The Eighth Doctor Adventures
Pilot Episode
Miracle on Oxford Street
Written by The Genie
“What the hell is this?!” cried Robin. “I’ll-“
“Please,” begged the man, wiping some soot off his chin. It stuck out sorely from the rest of his blackened face now. “Pl-“
“I’m calling the police. I can’t-“ Robin tried to rack her brains. “This is-“
“Primrose Hill by the looks of it,” said the man as if he’d arrived there by mistake. He craned his neck to look up at the vacant sky. “Who stole all the stars?”
“Light,” replied Robin sardonically, then remembering her situation: “Give me one reason why not to call the police.”
“Put me up for the night,” answered the man as if it were something that should be appealing. “Put me up and I’ll repair your roof – and more.” He smiled erratically and darted into the house, shooting up the staircase as fast as he’d landed.
“Stop!” urged Robin. “You can’t go up there!”
“I hate the word ‘can’t’,” replied the man. Robin realised she’d followed him. He had charisma; a sparkle, in his voice. “I prefer to say ‘shouldn’t’. And anyway, I should, otherwise your house will fall down. Stay back.” He stopped at the stop of the staircase and Robin shuddered, sensing the creaking from above her. The man pulled something from his pocket – a torch of some kind – and flashed it across the ceiling. It made an irritating buzzing sound. “There you go,” he assured. “Safe, for the night. But I wouldn’t go up there. I’ll fix it tomorrow, when I can actually see.”
He hurried back down and straight past Robin, finding his way to the kitchen and treading more soot through the hallway. Pulling open the fridge as if he owned the place, he pulled out a lump of cheese and sat down at the table.
“Ahem?” coughed Robin.
The man bit straight into the cheese. “Famished,” he made out as best he could with his mouth full. “Blame Cleo.”
“Cleo?”
“Patra.” He took another bite. Robin sat down.
“I’m not going to get you to leave, am I?”
“Well…” he swallowed. “You could call the police, but if you go upstairs you’ll find a little ‘police’ sign, so best not. What’s your name?”
“Robin. Robin Moon.” She opened a round tin and found herself a rich tea biscuit.
“Nice to meet you Robin. I’m-“
Time slowed as the man scanned his surroundings. His eyes flashed across the room in less than a second, taking in everything they saw: the photograph and what was on it; its age and its position in the room, where upon the surfaces the dust had collected and which items of clothing had been hung over the coat-stand in the hall.
I can’t exactly call myself ‘the Doctor’, can I?
“-Gabriel” he replied after no time had passed at all. The kettle boiled, startling Robin who didn’t even realise the Doctor had turned it on. He walked over to the kettle, calmer now, and poured two drinks. Inconspicuously he pulled a cube from his pocket and dropped it in Robin’s tea, watching it dissolve as the tea looked as if it had become milkier.
“Spilled a bit of milk in one,” he lied. “I take it you want me to have the milkier one?”
“No, I’ll take it.”
The Doctor observed aloofly as she unknowingly downed a chemical that would send her to sleep in less than five minutes. Her eyes drooped moments after she started talking.
“You look tired,” he remarked.
“I am.”
“Busy day?”
“Busy life.”
“Boyfriend leave you?” The Doctor lifted up the photo-frame from beside him. It was Robin looking little younger than she did there in front of him, next to a handsome, dark-haired man.
“Husband,” she corrected.
“That explains why you’re so sad.”
“Who said I’m sad?”
The Doctor shook his head and placed the photo back. “You have sad eyes and you’ve crafted yourself a frown.”
“It’s none of your business,” retorted Robin harshly. “Give me one reason why I should trust you.”
The Doctor rummaged around in his pocket. How much, wondered Robin, does he actually keep in there? A Christmas card emerged and he handed it over. Robin stroked the glittery text and noticed the boy in the picture, building his snowman. Her grip tightened and the card creased. She threw it in the bin.
“I hate Christmas.”
She stood up sluggishly and took herself into the living room, sitting on the couch and crashing out. The Doctor walked past, preparing to make his way to his own bed of sorts. He stopped by the room, leaning gently on the doorframe. “What happened?” he asked rhetorically. “What happened, Robin?”
***
Robin awoke with a start. The memories came flooding back and she lifted her head. It was heavy; her sinuses were blocked. Sensing she was in her lounge, she realised what had happened wasn’t a dream. Rubbing her eyes, she darted out onto the landing. There was no creaking now; no sloping ceiling.
“Robin!” called the Doctor from upstairs. “Good morning!” He emerged at the top of the stairs, still as mucky as she’d left him the night before. He hauled some clothes down and Robin made an attempt to catch them. “I assume they’re work stuff. You might not want to come up here, but look.” He jumped up and down. “All fixed, and my motor’s in the garden. I’ll make the finishing touches while you’re at work.”
Suspiciously Robin poked her head out of the door. Sure enough, the roof was looking normal. She stepped back inside, noticing a box shape in the garden.
“You expect me just to leave you here?”
“Trust a man called Gabriel.” The Doctor smiled again. “Come on, I’ll make it all nice. Off you go. Don’t want to be late now, do you?”
Robin shook her head. This was mental.
But, gathering herself, she prepared for work.
Henrik’s Department Store – Oxford Street
“You said your store could match the prices of Oxford Street’s cheapest department stores,” complained the blonde woman, patting her neatly-arranged hair. “But I saw this very jacket just across the road for five pounds cheaper.”
“And?” asked Robin.
“And? That five pounds could have gone on something far more important. I don’t wish to be lied to.” She emphasised every word. A small woman, yet she spoke to Robin as if she were speaking to a child. “I want a refund. I spent two whole days shopping for a jacket like this. It doesn’t pay to attend major events in an anorak, does it? Not that you’d understand, of course.”
“Do you have kids?” retorted Robin.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Children. Babies. Teenagers. Whatever. Got any kids?”
“A boy, ten years old, though quite what conc-“
“Then why don’t you stop wasting my time, and spend some actual time with him?” responded Robin coldly. The other shoppers in the queue fidgeted in their spaces. There was the odd bit of stifled laughter.
The woman gasped. Robin expected a ‘how dare you’ or an ‘I’ll have you know’, but in the end the woman went for a more simple, speechless act and stormed off.
“Next, please.”
A young boy with curly blonde hair approached the counter, beaming and reaching up to put a dress on the counter. Robin’s heart melted.
“Is that for your mummy?” she asked, smiling. The boy nodded vehemently. He must have only been about seven or eight. “I think she’ll like it a lot,” assured Robin. She scanned the product. “Is your daddy in the shop?”
The boy pointed over to the men’s area. “He gave me this and said I could buy something.” He held up a wad of cash.
“Well, you chose well.” Robin scanned the item. “That’s thirty-five pounds then, please.” The boy passed the cash and Robin opened out the notes. Thirty.
“Do you have any more?”
The boy shook his head. “Daddy said I couldn’t have any more.”
“Well…” Robin leant over the counter and whispered. “How about I give you the extra five pounds, but you don’t tell anyone? Our little secret?”
The boy gave his passionate nod again.
“Okay, then.” Robin bagged up the dress and handed it over. “Have a lovely Christmas.” She watched the boy head over to his Dad, and felt a gentle tug in her heart as the Dad ruffled his son’s hair.
***
“Robin, I can’t take any more of this.” Frank slammed his fist on the desk. “We’ve cut you a lot of slack. A lot.” Robin noticed that his palms were sweating. He was mildly overweight, yet the veins of his hands were prominent when he squeezed his fist. “And we understand what you’ve been through, we really do. But this has got to stop, or you’ll be out. Insulting customers?”
“Customers like her-“
“No!” Frank ran his hand across his equally-sweaty brow. He calmed his voice. “No, Robin. This is your final warning and I mean it. One wrong move and you’re out. Understand?”
“Yes.” Robin headed to the door but was stopped as she put touched the handle.
“Robin?” Robin turned. “I know it’s been tough,” said Frank, “but you’ve got to let go now. You can’t go on like this. It’ll…” He made brief eye contact. “It’ll kill you.”
***
“Humans,” muttered the Doctor. He sat back in the sofa, allowing himself to shape the cushions to his will. He noticed they were well-worn. Often used, with one seat more worn than the other. He noticed the mark on the table; a place where a photograph had one sat. “Why can’t you ever make any sense? Seeing patterns in things that aren’t there… hiding life essentials in locked rooms, keeping your heart under a lock and key. Why can’t you wear it outside your coat?”
The door slammed and the Doctor turned his head. Robin entered, glancing first in at the Doctor sceptically and then up the stairs.
“You can go up,” said the Doctor. “It’s all fixed.” He waited while Robin tentatively edged through her home. After a few moments, he was startled by a cry of disbelief.
“I’ve got an attic!”
“Yes, you have!” he called up, smiling in pride.
“No, you don’t understand.” Robin swung over to the top of the stairs. “I didn’t have an attic before!”
“Whoops.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Another time.” The Doctor returned to his seat in the longue. Robin followed in. “Do you mind if I stay?” he asked. “A bit longer, until I’ve got my motor repaired. I’ll be out of your hair after, but, I could really use somewhere to rest my head.”
“You’ve given me an attic conversion,” laughed Robin. “I’ve been wanting one for years. It’s mad, but… oh… what, the hell.” She sat next to him. “You can stay. But one problem – the council are going to kill me for that attic.”
“I can make it invisible,” suggested the Doctor.
“Shut up.” Robin shook her head, mildly amused at what she innocently assumed to be a joke.
Henrik’s Department Store – Oxford Street – the Next Day
Robin meandered in, adjusting her uniform, her head miserably staring at the floor.
“Who…”
She looked up, gradually becoming aware of the incredulous murmurs around her. She was greeted by an explosion of colour. Decorations hung across the store; an enormous paper-chain that seemed kilometres long was hung along lights and railings, leading up to each of the floors. Displays were draped with a white, snowy fur, and a toy train ran ostensibly magically along the border of the room. Tinsel hung impossibly from high above, and flying baubles glided around, only metres above heads.
“What the heck…” Frank craned his neck to look at the changes to his shop.
“You didn’t know about this?” asked Robin, joining him.
“No! We haven’t even paid a decorator yet!”
“Nothing like a bit of Christmas spirit.” Hands rested on Robin’s and Frank’s shoulders. Robin jumped, recognising the voice.
“New member of staff.” The Doctor flashed up a wallet with some credentials at Frank, then more subtly flashed a wink at Robin. “Remember?”
“Just what we need, Mr-“
“Gabriel,” interrupted the Doctor. “Just Gabriel.”
“Well, Gabriel, we’ve got some staff absent today. Probably hung over from the Christmas party last night.” He rolled his eyes. “We’ve got bigger crowds than ever before. Can I get you both working extra hours? Robin, I would really appreciate the late shift – and, er, Gabriel, can we keep you until five? You’ll get paid overtime, of course-“
“It’ll be fine.” The Doctor waved it off. “I’ll just go and get changed.”
He strolled off, subtly sneaking a sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. He scanned the escalator. Nothing. Why scan the escalator? He cursed himself. I’ll find the source of those weird readings eventually…
“Please,” begged the man, wiping some soot off his chin. It stuck out sorely from the rest of his blackened face now. “Pl-“
“I’m calling the police. I can’t-“ Robin tried to rack her brains. “This is-“
“Primrose Hill by the looks of it,” said the man as if he’d arrived there by mistake. He craned his neck to look up at the vacant sky. “Who stole all the stars?”
“Light,” replied Robin sardonically, then remembering her situation: “Give me one reason why not to call the police.”
“Put me up for the night,” answered the man as if it were something that should be appealing. “Put me up and I’ll repair your roof – and more.” He smiled erratically and darted into the house, shooting up the staircase as fast as he’d landed.
“Stop!” urged Robin. “You can’t go up there!”
“I hate the word ‘can’t’,” replied the man. Robin realised she’d followed him. He had charisma; a sparkle, in his voice. “I prefer to say ‘shouldn’t’. And anyway, I should, otherwise your house will fall down. Stay back.” He stopped at the stop of the staircase and Robin shuddered, sensing the creaking from above her. The man pulled something from his pocket – a torch of some kind – and flashed it across the ceiling. It made an irritating buzzing sound. “There you go,” he assured. “Safe, for the night. But I wouldn’t go up there. I’ll fix it tomorrow, when I can actually see.”
He hurried back down and straight past Robin, finding his way to the kitchen and treading more soot through the hallway. Pulling open the fridge as if he owned the place, he pulled out a lump of cheese and sat down at the table.
“Ahem?” coughed Robin.
The man bit straight into the cheese. “Famished,” he made out as best he could with his mouth full. “Blame Cleo.”
“Cleo?”
“Patra.” He took another bite. Robin sat down.
“I’m not going to get you to leave, am I?”
“Well…” he swallowed. “You could call the police, but if you go upstairs you’ll find a little ‘police’ sign, so best not. What’s your name?”
“Robin. Robin Moon.” She opened a round tin and found herself a rich tea biscuit.
“Nice to meet you Robin. I’m-“
Time slowed as the man scanned his surroundings. His eyes flashed across the room in less than a second, taking in everything they saw: the photograph and what was on it; its age and its position in the room, where upon the surfaces the dust had collected and which items of clothing had been hung over the coat-stand in the hall.
I can’t exactly call myself ‘the Doctor’, can I?
“-Gabriel” he replied after no time had passed at all. The kettle boiled, startling Robin who didn’t even realise the Doctor had turned it on. He walked over to the kettle, calmer now, and poured two drinks. Inconspicuously he pulled a cube from his pocket and dropped it in Robin’s tea, watching it dissolve as the tea looked as if it had become milkier.
“Spilled a bit of milk in one,” he lied. “I take it you want me to have the milkier one?”
“No, I’ll take it.”
The Doctor observed aloofly as she unknowingly downed a chemical that would send her to sleep in less than five minutes. Her eyes drooped moments after she started talking.
“You look tired,” he remarked.
“I am.”
“Busy day?”
“Busy life.”
“Boyfriend leave you?” The Doctor lifted up the photo-frame from beside him. It was Robin looking little younger than she did there in front of him, next to a handsome, dark-haired man.
“Husband,” she corrected.
“That explains why you’re so sad.”
“Who said I’m sad?”
The Doctor shook his head and placed the photo back. “You have sad eyes and you’ve crafted yourself a frown.”
“It’s none of your business,” retorted Robin harshly. “Give me one reason why I should trust you.”
The Doctor rummaged around in his pocket. How much, wondered Robin, does he actually keep in there? A Christmas card emerged and he handed it over. Robin stroked the glittery text and noticed the boy in the picture, building his snowman. Her grip tightened and the card creased. She threw it in the bin.
“I hate Christmas.”
She stood up sluggishly and took herself into the living room, sitting on the couch and crashing out. The Doctor walked past, preparing to make his way to his own bed of sorts. He stopped by the room, leaning gently on the doorframe. “What happened?” he asked rhetorically. “What happened, Robin?”
***
Robin awoke with a start. The memories came flooding back and she lifted her head. It was heavy; her sinuses were blocked. Sensing she was in her lounge, she realised what had happened wasn’t a dream. Rubbing her eyes, she darted out onto the landing. There was no creaking now; no sloping ceiling.
“Robin!” called the Doctor from upstairs. “Good morning!” He emerged at the top of the stairs, still as mucky as she’d left him the night before. He hauled some clothes down and Robin made an attempt to catch them. “I assume they’re work stuff. You might not want to come up here, but look.” He jumped up and down. “All fixed, and my motor’s in the garden. I’ll make the finishing touches while you’re at work.”
Suspiciously Robin poked her head out of the door. Sure enough, the roof was looking normal. She stepped back inside, noticing a box shape in the garden.
“You expect me just to leave you here?”
“Trust a man called Gabriel.” The Doctor smiled again. “Come on, I’ll make it all nice. Off you go. Don’t want to be late now, do you?”
Robin shook her head. This was mental.
But, gathering herself, she prepared for work.
Henrik’s Department Store – Oxford Street
“You said your store could match the prices of Oxford Street’s cheapest department stores,” complained the blonde woman, patting her neatly-arranged hair. “But I saw this very jacket just across the road for five pounds cheaper.”
“And?” asked Robin.
“And? That five pounds could have gone on something far more important. I don’t wish to be lied to.” She emphasised every word. A small woman, yet she spoke to Robin as if she were speaking to a child. “I want a refund. I spent two whole days shopping for a jacket like this. It doesn’t pay to attend major events in an anorak, does it? Not that you’d understand, of course.”
“Do you have kids?” retorted Robin.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Children. Babies. Teenagers. Whatever. Got any kids?”
“A boy, ten years old, though quite what conc-“
“Then why don’t you stop wasting my time, and spend some actual time with him?” responded Robin coldly. The other shoppers in the queue fidgeted in their spaces. There was the odd bit of stifled laughter.
The woman gasped. Robin expected a ‘how dare you’ or an ‘I’ll have you know’, but in the end the woman went for a more simple, speechless act and stormed off.
“Next, please.”
A young boy with curly blonde hair approached the counter, beaming and reaching up to put a dress on the counter. Robin’s heart melted.
“Is that for your mummy?” she asked, smiling. The boy nodded vehemently. He must have only been about seven or eight. “I think she’ll like it a lot,” assured Robin. She scanned the product. “Is your daddy in the shop?”
The boy pointed over to the men’s area. “He gave me this and said I could buy something.” He held up a wad of cash.
“Well, you chose well.” Robin scanned the item. “That’s thirty-five pounds then, please.” The boy passed the cash and Robin opened out the notes. Thirty.
“Do you have any more?”
The boy shook his head. “Daddy said I couldn’t have any more.”
“Well…” Robin leant over the counter and whispered. “How about I give you the extra five pounds, but you don’t tell anyone? Our little secret?”
The boy gave his passionate nod again.
“Okay, then.” Robin bagged up the dress and handed it over. “Have a lovely Christmas.” She watched the boy head over to his Dad, and felt a gentle tug in her heart as the Dad ruffled his son’s hair.
***
“Robin, I can’t take any more of this.” Frank slammed his fist on the desk. “We’ve cut you a lot of slack. A lot.” Robin noticed that his palms were sweating. He was mildly overweight, yet the veins of his hands were prominent when he squeezed his fist. “And we understand what you’ve been through, we really do. But this has got to stop, or you’ll be out. Insulting customers?”
“Customers like her-“
“No!” Frank ran his hand across his equally-sweaty brow. He calmed his voice. “No, Robin. This is your final warning and I mean it. One wrong move and you’re out. Understand?”
“Yes.” Robin headed to the door but was stopped as she put touched the handle.
“Robin?” Robin turned. “I know it’s been tough,” said Frank, “but you’ve got to let go now. You can’t go on like this. It’ll…” He made brief eye contact. “It’ll kill you.”
***
“Humans,” muttered the Doctor. He sat back in the sofa, allowing himself to shape the cushions to his will. He noticed they were well-worn. Often used, with one seat more worn than the other. He noticed the mark on the table; a place where a photograph had one sat. “Why can’t you ever make any sense? Seeing patterns in things that aren’t there… hiding life essentials in locked rooms, keeping your heart under a lock and key. Why can’t you wear it outside your coat?”
The door slammed and the Doctor turned his head. Robin entered, glancing first in at the Doctor sceptically and then up the stairs.
“You can go up,” said the Doctor. “It’s all fixed.” He waited while Robin tentatively edged through her home. After a few moments, he was startled by a cry of disbelief.
“I’ve got an attic!”
“Yes, you have!” he called up, smiling in pride.
“No, you don’t understand.” Robin swung over to the top of the stairs. “I didn’t have an attic before!”
“Whoops.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Another time.” The Doctor returned to his seat in the longue. Robin followed in. “Do you mind if I stay?” he asked. “A bit longer, until I’ve got my motor repaired. I’ll be out of your hair after, but, I could really use somewhere to rest my head.”
“You’ve given me an attic conversion,” laughed Robin. “I’ve been wanting one for years. It’s mad, but… oh… what, the hell.” She sat next to him. “You can stay. But one problem – the council are going to kill me for that attic.”
“I can make it invisible,” suggested the Doctor.
“Shut up.” Robin shook her head, mildly amused at what she innocently assumed to be a joke.
Henrik’s Department Store – Oxford Street – the Next Day
Robin meandered in, adjusting her uniform, her head miserably staring at the floor.
“Who…”
She looked up, gradually becoming aware of the incredulous murmurs around her. She was greeted by an explosion of colour. Decorations hung across the store; an enormous paper-chain that seemed kilometres long was hung along lights and railings, leading up to each of the floors. Displays were draped with a white, snowy fur, and a toy train ran ostensibly magically along the border of the room. Tinsel hung impossibly from high above, and flying baubles glided around, only metres above heads.
“What the heck…” Frank craned his neck to look at the changes to his shop.
“You didn’t know about this?” asked Robin, joining him.
“No! We haven’t even paid a decorator yet!”
“Nothing like a bit of Christmas spirit.” Hands rested on Robin’s and Frank’s shoulders. Robin jumped, recognising the voice.
“New member of staff.” The Doctor flashed up a wallet with some credentials at Frank, then more subtly flashed a wink at Robin. “Remember?”
“Just what we need, Mr-“
“Gabriel,” interrupted the Doctor. “Just Gabriel.”
“Well, Gabriel, we’ve got some staff absent today. Probably hung over from the Christmas party last night.” He rolled his eyes. “We’ve got bigger crowds than ever before. Can I get you both working extra hours? Robin, I would really appreciate the late shift – and, er, Gabriel, can we keep you until five? You’ll get paid overtime, of course-“
“It’ll be fine.” The Doctor waved it off. “I’ll just go and get changed.”
He strolled off, subtly sneaking a sonic screwdriver out of his pocket. He scanned the escalator. Nothing. Why scan the escalator? He cursed himself. I’ll find the source of those weird readings eventually…
Primrose Hill
It had been a long day. Robin stretched out, walking up the path to her house. There was… snow.
But it hadn’t been snowing, and no snow was forecast. On the snow, in the most picturesque way, sat a sleigh with ropes disappearing into the mist. Robin blinked, wondering if tiredness had got the better of her. “What are you waiting for?” The Doctor popped up from the sleigh, raising a glass of champagne. “Hop on-board.”
Robin made her way over to the sleigh. The mist cleared and she saw that, unbelievably, it was being pulled by an unusually-strong reindeer. The reindeer grunted as Robin plonked herself on the soft, velvety fabric of the chair.
The sleigh started moving gently along the snow.
“What’s this?”
The Doctor handed her a glass of champagne and took a sip of his. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing.
“Thank you?”
“This. It’s a thank you, for putting me up. I’ll leave tomorrow. My motor’s almost ready.”
“But… how did you do all this?” Robin held back a grin of disbelief. “Who are you?”
“Do you want me to spoil the magic?”
“I just want the truth.”
“Oh.” The Doctor gave Robin a knowing smirk. “Then the magic’s only just beginning.” He looked up. “It’s stopped snowing! Still, I can fix that.” He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, flashing the light into the sky. More snow sprinkled down, landing softly on the handles of the sleigh. Robin held out her hand as it hit, forming droplets of water. Real snow.
“I’m Gabriel. That’s who I am. And I’m here to bring you news.”
“News?”
“That Christmas has come. Because – because I don’t think you’ve had Christmas for a very long time.”
The sleigh turned, moving around the street. A child pressed his nose against the window of his house, ogling the Christmassy sight. He gave the Doctor a thumbs-up.
“I hate Christmas,” dismissed Robin. She tightened her scarf and took another sip of champagne. “Saying that, I quite like this.”
The pair chuckled softly.
“Sorry about surprising you at Henrik’s. You weren’t even the reason I was there, but-“
“You put up those decorations, didn’t you?” interjected Robin.
“Well – yes, I did. There really should be more festive spirit in this place. I’ve never seen London so… dreary.”
“Wait for your first cruel Christmas, Gabriel,” instructed Robin pessimistically. She frowned, shaking her head. “That’s when you realise that Christmas. It’s…”
A momentary silence. Snow always brought silence. It even silenced the wind that carried it.
“It’s when he left you, isn’t it? Your husband.” The Doctor emphasised the last word, realising he’d cracked it. “It’s when he walked out on you.” He looked her in the eye. “It’s really time you let go. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
The sleigh turned back into the street and Robin climbed out, returning to her house.
“You know nothing about me!” she cried back at him. The Doctor followed in apprehensively.
He felt something not right. Something sent a shiver up his spine, as he stepped cautiously over the threshold into the unlit hall. He noted the position of the photographs again. He noted which caught the light, and which hid themselves away.
He realised his fatal error.
“What was his name?” asked the Doctor, quieter now.
“Harry,” answered Robin, not turning around as she reached the door to the kitchen.
“He didn’t leave you, did he?” The Doctor’s voice was down to a whisper. He leaned on the doorframe. “He left you behind. That’s why you hate Christmas. It’s a time of death.”
“Car accident.” Robin looked up at the Doctor. His eyes shone, even in the darkness of the house. “Christmas Eve. Two years ago.”
The Doctor lost his words. Robin moved past him, heading up the stairs to her bed.
“I’m…” the Doctor’s voice trailed off, as he took a seat at the bottom of the staircase. “I’m so sorry.”
The reindeer climbed sadly into the house. It must have unhooked itself.
“Hey, you.” The Doctor encouraged it over and stroked it on the head. “Better take you back to the TARDIS. And then home, when she’s up and running. Geoff will want you back.”
Henrik’s Department Store – Oxford Street – The Next Day
The Doctor and Robin waited, as everybody else did, behind the tape. But there was crime scene, Frank insisted. That’s what the police had said. Alison, the woman at the till, had been killed by a heart attack. Heart attacks happened, he’d said. Even at Christmas. The Doctor slipped away.
He knelt down, waving his sonic screwdriver along the floor. He picked up the energy trace again. It’s started.
He tugged Robin’s arm. “Come with me,” he whispered, beckoning her to follow to him to the changing rooms. She squeezed into a small room with him.
It had been a long day. Robin stretched out, walking up the path to her house. There was… snow.
But it hadn’t been snowing, and no snow was forecast. On the snow, in the most picturesque way, sat a sleigh with ropes disappearing into the mist. Robin blinked, wondering if tiredness had got the better of her. “What are you waiting for?” The Doctor popped up from the sleigh, raising a glass of champagne. “Hop on-board.”
Robin made her way over to the sleigh. The mist cleared and she saw that, unbelievably, it was being pulled by an unusually-strong reindeer. The reindeer grunted as Robin plonked herself on the soft, velvety fabric of the chair.
The sleigh started moving gently along the snow.
“What’s this?”
The Doctor handed her a glass of champagne and took a sip of his. “Thank you,” he said, swallowing.
“Thank you?”
“This. It’s a thank you, for putting me up. I’ll leave tomorrow. My motor’s almost ready.”
“But… how did you do all this?” Robin held back a grin of disbelief. “Who are you?”
“Do you want me to spoil the magic?”
“I just want the truth.”
“Oh.” The Doctor gave Robin a knowing smirk. “Then the magic’s only just beginning.” He looked up. “It’s stopped snowing! Still, I can fix that.” He pulled out his sonic screwdriver, flashing the light into the sky. More snow sprinkled down, landing softly on the handles of the sleigh. Robin held out her hand as it hit, forming droplets of water. Real snow.
“I’m Gabriel. That’s who I am. And I’m here to bring you news.”
“News?”
“That Christmas has come. Because – because I don’t think you’ve had Christmas for a very long time.”
The sleigh turned, moving around the street. A child pressed his nose against the window of his house, ogling the Christmassy sight. He gave the Doctor a thumbs-up.
“I hate Christmas,” dismissed Robin. She tightened her scarf and took another sip of champagne. “Saying that, I quite like this.”
The pair chuckled softly.
“Sorry about surprising you at Henrik’s. You weren’t even the reason I was there, but-“
“You put up those decorations, didn’t you?” interjected Robin.
“Well – yes, I did. There really should be more festive spirit in this place. I’ve never seen London so… dreary.”
“Wait for your first cruel Christmas, Gabriel,” instructed Robin pessimistically. She frowned, shaking her head. “That’s when you realise that Christmas. It’s…”
A momentary silence. Snow always brought silence. It even silenced the wind that carried it.
“It’s when he left you, isn’t it? Your husband.” The Doctor emphasised the last word, realising he’d cracked it. “It’s when he walked out on you.” He looked her in the eye. “It’s really time you let go. Plenty of fish in the sea.”
The sleigh turned back into the street and Robin climbed out, returning to her house.
“You know nothing about me!” she cried back at him. The Doctor followed in apprehensively.
He felt something not right. Something sent a shiver up his spine, as he stepped cautiously over the threshold into the unlit hall. He noted the position of the photographs again. He noted which caught the light, and which hid themselves away.
He realised his fatal error.
“What was his name?” asked the Doctor, quieter now.
“Harry,” answered Robin, not turning around as she reached the door to the kitchen.
“He didn’t leave you, did he?” The Doctor’s voice was down to a whisper. He leaned on the doorframe. “He left you behind. That’s why you hate Christmas. It’s a time of death.”
“Car accident.” Robin looked up at the Doctor. His eyes shone, even in the darkness of the house. “Christmas Eve. Two years ago.”
The Doctor lost his words. Robin moved past him, heading up the stairs to her bed.
“I’m…” the Doctor’s voice trailed off, as he took a seat at the bottom of the staircase. “I’m so sorry.”
The reindeer climbed sadly into the house. It must have unhooked itself.
“Hey, you.” The Doctor encouraged it over and stroked it on the head. “Better take you back to the TARDIS. And then home, when she’s up and running. Geoff will want you back.”
Henrik’s Department Store – Oxford Street – The Next Day
The Doctor and Robin waited, as everybody else did, behind the tape. But there was crime scene, Frank insisted. That’s what the police had said. Alison, the woman at the till, had been killed by a heart attack. Heart attacks happened, he’d said. Even at Christmas. The Doctor slipped away.
He knelt down, waving his sonic screwdriver along the floor. He picked up the energy trace again. It’s started.
He tugged Robin’s arm. “Come with me,” he whispered, beckoning her to follow to him to the changing rooms. She squeezed into a small room with him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “This isn’t going to be easy. But I’m not here for you. I crashed at your house because you had an energy trace. You carried it, all the way from here. This shop is emitting massive amounts of life energy, and I can tell show you why – if you want to see. If you think you’re ready to see.”
The room turned dark as Robin took the Doctor’s hand. Slowly, flames emerged. Slow, flickering flames. They danced across the room, as other dancing shapes moved through them. These shapes had depth; weight. They danced innocently. Robin realised, in horror, that these were the shapes of children.
“A world,” said the Doctor, beginning his story. His voice echoed. “See a world. A world, a very long way away.” He closed his eyes, hiding them from the child who fell into the flames, becoming one with them. “A burning world.”
Robin covered her mouth with her hand. A tear fell from her eye.
“That world was advanced. And as a last resort, the children of that world were saved. Their bodies converted into something else – a spirit, almost. Life energy.”
“Why children?” asked Robin.
“Why ever children?” questioned the Doctor. “Because of their emotions. The emotions – the intense emotions; their happiness, their fear, their love, their wonder – was what converted them. So they travelled, as raw, abstract emotions, across the galaxy. I followed them, and they arrived here. Now this world is real, and safe, they can manifest again. Become children. They can take shape. They can dance.”
“So why aren’t they?”
The Doctor sighed, opening the door again. The projection faded.
“I said there wasn’t much festive spirit. But look at you. Look at this city. It’s built up of fear, anxiety and chaos. It’s Christmas, but take a look around you. No one’s happy these days. Emotions manifesting in a world like this? The conversion’s become wrong. God help those children – they’re relying on you to help them. And look at what the human race has done. Through your fear, you’ve turned them into monsters. The manifestation’s started, and it’s too late.”
“What do we do?” asked Robin.
“We wait. And we do what we always do at Christmas, or always should do. And that’s hope.”
The Doctor turned around to face Frank.
“More staff shortages. We need a shop Santa.”
Suddenly, all eyes were on the Doctor.
***
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the Doctor, adjusting his beard, then suddenly dropping the act. “What would you like for Christmas?”
“I’d like a Lego Star Wars Death Star,” recited the boy, ”and I’d like a new hamster for my brother.”
The Doctor eyed the boy’s mother. He priced up her watch and haircut. She’d never be able to afford a Lego Death Star in a million years. “Hold on.”
The Doctor disappeared from behind his chair, returning with a gigantic wrapped gift. He checked his watch. Near enough to Christmas.
“Don’t open it yet!” he declared loudly, then leaned over to the boy and whispered: “the Death Star’s in there.”
“And the hamster?” murmured the boy.
“In the Death Star,” assured the Doctor with a crafty nod.
“Thank you Santa.”
Frank stormed over to the Doctor, holding off the next eager child.
“You can’t go away giving presents like that!” he lectured.
“Why not? He’s on the nice list.”
“The… the what?” Frank was red in the face.
Twenty years from now, he’s out in the Amazon Rainforest, raising money that will eventually find a cure for multiple sclerosis. If he wants a Death Star, I just think, let him have one.”
“I-“
Frank was interrupted as the building shook. Clothes fell off their hangers. Parents’ and childrens’ heads turned in unison to the window. A black cloud hung over the street.
The Doctor jumped up, exiting the grotto. Robin followed; the Doctor hurried in pace to get away from her, but Robin kept up. The Doctor ripped off his beard.
“Where are you going?”
“Away. Away from here.”
“Away?” gasped Robin.
“Yes, away.” They’d left the building, now. The air was bitter-cold. They turned a street corner. “Your problem. You made this, humans, you sort it out.”
“What are you talking about?” yelled Robin. “You were chasing them!”
“You fix your own problems!” retorted the Doctor. “You’re a better human than most, Robin. If you can’t fix it, neither can anyone else. And neither can I.” He started walking again. Robin stopped.
“You can’t just leave like this!”
“Oh. I can.”
The Doctor strode back through Oxford Street and back even more; all the way back to Primrose Hill, where he got inside his TARDIS and disappeared.
Children cried out and adults murmured. Held hands became tighter as families huddled together like penguins, sharing their sweaty palms. Crowd control, thought Robin, recalling the earliest protocols she was taught for the deadly Boxing Day Sales. It was a kind of policing. But this wasn’t a Boxing Day sale – this was, apparently, an alien visit gone wrong. Robin took a deep breath. This isn’t real. This can’t be… this sort of thing doesn’t happen, ever. Not to me. Defying all reasonable thought, she snatched a microphone off a street performer and darted into Henrik’s and up the escalator, climbing out of the window by Santa’s grotto and standing on the ledge which made up the shop’s sign.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” she cried out. Some murmurs died down, others grew. People wondered if she were an official or a lunatic. Some sighed, preparing for the ‘The End Has Come’ rendition. Robin raised the microphone to her mouth with trembling hands.
“What happens tonight, it…” She swallowed. Plan. Prepare. Deliver. “…this is not the end. This night, this…” She coughed. Somehow, she had got a lot of the street quiet. Even passing cars stopped. Peoples’ heads were drawn from the black clouds and red lightning to Robin Moon, stood behind the sign to Henrik’s department store in Oxford Street. “This will all be forgotten, one day. I was speaking to a man, a, a scientist. He knew this would happen. And he told me to prepare. ‘Prepare for what?’ I asked him. And he told me to prepare for something wonderful. I asked him why.”
Robin noticed a child trying to climb up his father’s leg to see a bit better. She addressed him directly as she spoke.
The room turned dark as Robin took the Doctor’s hand. Slowly, flames emerged. Slow, flickering flames. They danced across the room, as other dancing shapes moved through them. These shapes had depth; weight. They danced innocently. Robin realised, in horror, that these were the shapes of children.
“A world,” said the Doctor, beginning his story. His voice echoed. “See a world. A world, a very long way away.” He closed his eyes, hiding them from the child who fell into the flames, becoming one with them. “A burning world.”
Robin covered her mouth with her hand. A tear fell from her eye.
“That world was advanced. And as a last resort, the children of that world were saved. Their bodies converted into something else – a spirit, almost. Life energy.”
“Why children?” asked Robin.
“Why ever children?” questioned the Doctor. “Because of their emotions. The emotions – the intense emotions; their happiness, their fear, their love, their wonder – was what converted them. So they travelled, as raw, abstract emotions, across the galaxy. I followed them, and they arrived here. Now this world is real, and safe, they can manifest again. Become children. They can take shape. They can dance.”
“So why aren’t they?”
The Doctor sighed, opening the door again. The projection faded.
“I said there wasn’t much festive spirit. But look at you. Look at this city. It’s built up of fear, anxiety and chaos. It’s Christmas, but take a look around you. No one’s happy these days. Emotions manifesting in a world like this? The conversion’s become wrong. God help those children – they’re relying on you to help them. And look at what the human race has done. Through your fear, you’ve turned them into monsters. The manifestation’s started, and it’s too late.”
“What do we do?” asked Robin.
“We wait. And we do what we always do at Christmas, or always should do. And that’s hope.”
The Doctor turned around to face Frank.
“More staff shortages. We need a shop Santa.”
Suddenly, all eyes were on the Doctor.
***
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the Doctor, adjusting his beard, then suddenly dropping the act. “What would you like for Christmas?”
“I’d like a Lego Star Wars Death Star,” recited the boy, ”and I’d like a new hamster for my brother.”
The Doctor eyed the boy’s mother. He priced up her watch and haircut. She’d never be able to afford a Lego Death Star in a million years. “Hold on.”
The Doctor disappeared from behind his chair, returning with a gigantic wrapped gift. He checked his watch. Near enough to Christmas.
“Don’t open it yet!” he declared loudly, then leaned over to the boy and whispered: “the Death Star’s in there.”
“And the hamster?” murmured the boy.
“In the Death Star,” assured the Doctor with a crafty nod.
“Thank you Santa.”
Frank stormed over to the Doctor, holding off the next eager child.
“You can’t go away giving presents like that!” he lectured.
“Why not? He’s on the nice list.”
“The… the what?” Frank was red in the face.
Twenty years from now, he’s out in the Amazon Rainforest, raising money that will eventually find a cure for multiple sclerosis. If he wants a Death Star, I just think, let him have one.”
“I-“
Frank was interrupted as the building shook. Clothes fell off their hangers. Parents’ and childrens’ heads turned in unison to the window. A black cloud hung over the street.
The Doctor jumped up, exiting the grotto. Robin followed; the Doctor hurried in pace to get away from her, but Robin kept up. The Doctor ripped off his beard.
“Where are you going?”
“Away. Away from here.”
“Away?” gasped Robin.
“Yes, away.” They’d left the building, now. The air was bitter-cold. They turned a street corner. “Your problem. You made this, humans, you sort it out.”
“What are you talking about?” yelled Robin. “You were chasing them!”
“You fix your own problems!” retorted the Doctor. “You’re a better human than most, Robin. If you can’t fix it, neither can anyone else. And neither can I.” He started walking again. Robin stopped.
“You can’t just leave like this!”
“Oh. I can.”
The Doctor strode back through Oxford Street and back even more; all the way back to Primrose Hill, where he got inside his TARDIS and disappeared.
Children cried out and adults murmured. Held hands became tighter as families huddled together like penguins, sharing their sweaty palms. Crowd control, thought Robin, recalling the earliest protocols she was taught for the deadly Boxing Day Sales. It was a kind of policing. But this wasn’t a Boxing Day sale – this was, apparently, an alien visit gone wrong. Robin took a deep breath. This isn’t real. This can’t be… this sort of thing doesn’t happen, ever. Not to me. Defying all reasonable thought, she snatched a microphone off a street performer and darted into Henrik’s and up the escalator, climbing out of the window by Santa’s grotto and standing on the ledge which made up the shop’s sign.
“Can I have everyone’s attention?” she cried out. Some murmurs died down, others grew. People wondered if she were an official or a lunatic. Some sighed, preparing for the ‘The End Has Come’ rendition. Robin raised the microphone to her mouth with trembling hands.
“What happens tonight, it…” She swallowed. Plan. Prepare. Deliver. “…this is not the end. This night, this…” She coughed. Somehow, she had got a lot of the street quiet. Even passing cars stopped. Peoples’ heads were drawn from the black clouds and red lightning to Robin Moon, stood behind the sign to Henrik’s department store in Oxford Street. “This will all be forgotten, one day. I was speaking to a man, a, a scientist. He knew this would happen. And he told me to prepare. ‘Prepare for what?’ I asked him. And he told me to prepare for something wonderful. I asked him why.”
Robin noticed a child trying to climb up his father’s leg to see a bit better. She addressed him directly as she spoke.
“Because, he said,” continued Robin, “if you prepare for something wonderful, then nothing terrible will happen.” She turned back to the adults. “When the end comes, it comes, and there’s no escaping it. But this isn’t the end. For your children, do this. Take their hand and allow the inevitable to happen. Don’t fear. Treasure this moment.” She cleared her throat. “Close your eyes.” Robin steadied her voice, knowing that a shaking one would reflect on the others.
“Silent night,” she began singing, softly. “Holy night.” Some others joined, slightly off-time. The voices of mothers and fathers.
“All is calm. All is bright.”
Soon everyone began, their eyes closing. The red lightning became a hue behind their eyelids. A hue that could have been a flickering candle or a warm fire. Voices merged together, and Robin’s became buried amongst them. Smiles crept onto children’s faces.
Robin lowered the microphone and looked to the sky. The lightning was getting stronger. It was striking lower. “It’s not strong enough,” she whispered. “There needs to be something more.” She placed the microphone on the floor and clasped her hands together in prayer. “Please, Gabriel,” she begged. “Please, do something. Save us.” She wiped her face, clearing her teary eyes. “Help me,” she prayed.
Then there was a spark.
A bang, like a firework, from above.
Peoples’ eyes shot open and the singing stopped. There was an explosion of light above; all blues and reds and everything in between. Something, a box, shot across the sky, gliding elegantly in and out of the clouds. The sparks followed it.
“Wow…” purred children, open-mouthed.
Eventually the fireworks formed patterns, as the sparks fell to the ground like-fairy-dust. Others stayed, trapped by the wind. And, above Oxford Street, something impossible had happened. A word was spelt.
The younger children merely stared in disbelief. The older children who knew how to read identified the word instantly. The adults shook their hands, trying to find coherent explanations for the word that had appeared in the sky. But cries became laughs. Frowns became smiles. Despair became… hope. All because of that word.
‘Believe’.
“Gabriel,” marvelled Robin, beaming. “You impossible man.”
“Hello!” came a voice from all around. A voice that was new to these people, but Robin identified it. That reassuring voice. Her Angel Gabriel. “This is the Doctor speaking!”
The Doctor? wondered Robin. But it was the same man.
“You’re about to receive a gift. A gift from very far away. Christmas has come. Embrace it.”
There was a droplet. Water, Robin assumed. She felt it hit her head but as she wiped it off, she knew it. It had the familiar sensation she recognised from earlier. Snow.
The clouds became snow-clouds, as snow fell on Oxford Street for the first time in years. The clouds cleared and the snow thickened. But as it settled, the snow took shape. It was gradual at first; gradual like the turn of the London Eye, something huge in the centre of the city that was static to the naked eye. The shapes were only recognisable when the snow cleared. They were the shapes of children.
“Better get off the ledge now.” The Doctor startled Robin appearing next to her. “Sorry about walking off earlier. You had to do this on your own or it wouldn’t have worked.”
“You did it in the end, Doctor Gabriel,” snapped Robin scornfully.
“Only because you started it off!” encouraged the Doctor. “I couldn’t have done that on my own. And please, no Doctor. I just said that to the crowds to get their trust. It’s just Gabriel.”
“So that’s it, then,” observed Robin. “It worked?”
“Absolutely,” said the Doctor. He took Robin’s hand and led her back into the store. “The children are born through your hope and, well, your belief. All of you.” They reached the bottom of the escalator. “Might fill up a few orphanages, mind,” he joked. “But then again, perhaps loving families are taking them off the streets already.”
People moved aside, but something had changed in the air. The Doctor frowned, sensing it first. As the crowds parted, forming a natural semicircle, a long child was left in the middle, the snow at his feet cleared by boot-prints.
The child was a boy; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous and miserable. But not a sight to pity; not exactly. It was scowling and wolfish; prostrate in its humility. The Doctor recalled the same description in his mind, from A Christmas Carol. He treasured classical literature. The boy epitomised the image of the perverted humanity, with an appearance that looked like a twisted angel torn to shreds.
Robin began to approach the boy.
“Robin!” urged the Doctor. She ignored him. The boy edged backwards, his eyes forming a glower at anyone who caught them. Robin knelt down and opened up her arms for a hug. “You’re a part of this too. Come and join your brothers and sisters.”
As she embraced him, she felt, for a moment, the ice-cold of his body, and the grime of his clothes. Then he vanished as suddenly and unnoticeably as he’d appeared; fading, quite literally, from reality.
“What happened?” asked Robin.
“I’m sorry.” The Doctor walked up the spot where the child had stood and helped Robin up. “Consequence, maybe. Lingering negativity. You could never have saved the child – he was everything that isn’t human. The love you showed killed it. Some people are too far away from love to be able to embrace it.”
Robin cried and threw her arms around the Doctor. He supported her as she sobbed onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she cried. Crowds turned away as a sign of respect, helping the children to wherever their new lives would take them.
“It’s okay,” said the Doctor, patting her on the back. “Because I understand now. I think I’ve worked it out. The one thing I missed.”
Robin tensed, stepping back.
“It wasn’t just your husband who died in that accident, was it?”
Robin turned away, averting her eyes. She searched for a handkerchief. Anything to wipe the stream of tears from her face.
“You had a son,” informed the Doctor, as if Robin didn’t already know. “A son who died on Christmas Eve. All those photographs of you and Harry; husband and wife, I understand why they’re all there. Because you can bear them. But you haven’t looked at his face since he did, have you? You’ve buried your son away. Maybe you don’t even dream about him anymore.”
“It hurt too much,” sobbed Robin.
“You want to move on, and I can understand that.” The Doctor placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder, turning her around to face him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it to her. “I think I also understand why I’m here. Why fate has brought me here. I’m about to ask you something and I want you to think about it very, very, carefully.”
The Doctor led Robin around a corner to where his TARDIS stood, and pulled a key out of his other pocket. He held it in anticipation by the lock.
“Would you like to say goodbye to him?”
***
“It’s called the TARDIS!” exclaimed the Doctor, pulling madly at levers. Robin stopped by the entrance, not knowing where to look. If she had the energy, she’d have stepped back outside and examined it externally. Instead, she just stood. She rubbed her eyes a couple of times; preparing to see something different, or, more likely, to wake up.
It was a detached place, with graceless metallic columns, a cold wooden floor and a bulky central unit. In other ways, it was the warmest home Robin had ever stepped foot inside. Bookshelves lined the walls; chairs were scattered across the floor, even a few random rugs. Victorian furniture polluted the futuristic environment and candles competed with mechanical lights.
“Time and relative dimension in space! Because they say Christmas is about believing, and I wouldn’t argue that, but I don’t think a bit of seeing does any harm, really, whatsoever… so I had an idea. Come over here.”
Realising that Robin was still in shock, the Doctor ushered her over to the console more forcefully, practically doing all her walking for her. “Your son’s name,” he asked. “What was it?”
“Thomas,” she replied. “But we always used to call him Tommy-“
“Right,” interjected the Doctor. “This is a time machine.”
Robin gasped.
“It’s not strictly allowed to go back on your own timeline, so we’re going to have to do this carefully. Place your hand on here.” The Doctor guided Robin’s hand over to a pad on the panel. “Now listen. I want you to think about Thomas, or Tommy, or whatever you called him. I want to think about a time you weren’t there, for whatever reason. Maybe you were working, or at the shops. Maybe you were unwell. Take that memory of absence and think of him.”
The TARDIS jolted. The Doctor ran to the doors and poked his head out. “Second floor, a very familiar house on Primrose Hill,” he noted, “bit different to last time.”
Robin followed him out. Her house was dressed in Christmas decorations that peeked over the windows. She could see them through the window. She remembered most of them. She remembered when she’d got them; weekend trips to garden centres with her husband and son.
Lettering covered the door opposite – ‘Tommy’s Room’ in bright, mismatched colours. The Doctor checked his watch.
“Silent night,” she began singing, softly. “Holy night.” Some others joined, slightly off-time. The voices of mothers and fathers.
“All is calm. All is bright.”
Soon everyone began, their eyes closing. The red lightning became a hue behind their eyelids. A hue that could have been a flickering candle or a warm fire. Voices merged together, and Robin’s became buried amongst them. Smiles crept onto children’s faces.
Robin lowered the microphone and looked to the sky. The lightning was getting stronger. It was striking lower. “It’s not strong enough,” she whispered. “There needs to be something more.” She placed the microphone on the floor and clasped her hands together in prayer. “Please, Gabriel,” she begged. “Please, do something. Save us.” She wiped her face, clearing her teary eyes. “Help me,” she prayed.
Then there was a spark.
A bang, like a firework, from above.
Peoples’ eyes shot open and the singing stopped. There was an explosion of light above; all blues and reds and everything in between. Something, a box, shot across the sky, gliding elegantly in and out of the clouds. The sparks followed it.
“Wow…” purred children, open-mouthed.
Eventually the fireworks formed patterns, as the sparks fell to the ground like-fairy-dust. Others stayed, trapped by the wind. And, above Oxford Street, something impossible had happened. A word was spelt.
The younger children merely stared in disbelief. The older children who knew how to read identified the word instantly. The adults shook their hands, trying to find coherent explanations for the word that had appeared in the sky. But cries became laughs. Frowns became smiles. Despair became… hope. All because of that word.
‘Believe’.
“Gabriel,” marvelled Robin, beaming. “You impossible man.”
“Hello!” came a voice from all around. A voice that was new to these people, but Robin identified it. That reassuring voice. Her Angel Gabriel. “This is the Doctor speaking!”
The Doctor? wondered Robin. But it was the same man.
“You’re about to receive a gift. A gift from very far away. Christmas has come. Embrace it.”
There was a droplet. Water, Robin assumed. She felt it hit her head but as she wiped it off, she knew it. It had the familiar sensation she recognised from earlier. Snow.
The clouds became snow-clouds, as snow fell on Oxford Street for the first time in years. The clouds cleared and the snow thickened. But as it settled, the snow took shape. It was gradual at first; gradual like the turn of the London Eye, something huge in the centre of the city that was static to the naked eye. The shapes were only recognisable when the snow cleared. They were the shapes of children.
“Better get off the ledge now.” The Doctor startled Robin appearing next to her. “Sorry about walking off earlier. You had to do this on your own or it wouldn’t have worked.”
“You did it in the end, Doctor Gabriel,” snapped Robin scornfully.
“Only because you started it off!” encouraged the Doctor. “I couldn’t have done that on my own. And please, no Doctor. I just said that to the crowds to get their trust. It’s just Gabriel.”
“So that’s it, then,” observed Robin. “It worked?”
“Absolutely,” said the Doctor. He took Robin’s hand and led her back into the store. “The children are born through your hope and, well, your belief. All of you.” They reached the bottom of the escalator. “Might fill up a few orphanages, mind,” he joked. “But then again, perhaps loving families are taking them off the streets already.”
People moved aside, but something had changed in the air. The Doctor frowned, sensing it first. As the crowds parted, forming a natural semicircle, a long child was left in the middle, the snow at his feet cleared by boot-prints.
The child was a boy; wretched, abject, frightful, hideous and miserable. But not a sight to pity; not exactly. It was scowling and wolfish; prostrate in its humility. The Doctor recalled the same description in his mind, from A Christmas Carol. He treasured classical literature. The boy epitomised the image of the perverted humanity, with an appearance that looked like a twisted angel torn to shreds.
Robin began to approach the boy.
“Robin!” urged the Doctor. She ignored him. The boy edged backwards, his eyes forming a glower at anyone who caught them. Robin knelt down and opened up her arms for a hug. “You’re a part of this too. Come and join your brothers and sisters.”
As she embraced him, she felt, for a moment, the ice-cold of his body, and the grime of his clothes. Then he vanished as suddenly and unnoticeably as he’d appeared; fading, quite literally, from reality.
“What happened?” asked Robin.
“I’m sorry.” The Doctor walked up the spot where the child had stood and helped Robin up. “Consequence, maybe. Lingering negativity. You could never have saved the child – he was everything that isn’t human. The love you showed killed it. Some people are too far away from love to be able to embrace it.”
Robin cried and threw her arms around the Doctor. He supported her as she sobbed onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she cried. Crowds turned away as a sign of respect, helping the children to wherever their new lives would take them.
“It’s okay,” said the Doctor, patting her on the back. “Because I understand now. I think I’ve worked it out. The one thing I missed.”
Robin tensed, stepping back.
“It wasn’t just your husband who died in that accident, was it?”
Robin turned away, averting her eyes. She searched for a handkerchief. Anything to wipe the stream of tears from her face.
“You had a son,” informed the Doctor, as if Robin didn’t already know. “A son who died on Christmas Eve. All those photographs of you and Harry; husband and wife, I understand why they’re all there. Because you can bear them. But you haven’t looked at his face since he did, have you? You’ve buried your son away. Maybe you don’t even dream about him anymore.”
“It hurt too much,” sobbed Robin.
“You want to move on, and I can understand that.” The Doctor placed his hand on Robin’s shoulder, turning her around to face him. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and passed it to her. “I think I also understand why I’m here. Why fate has brought me here. I’m about to ask you something and I want you to think about it very, very, carefully.”
The Doctor led Robin around a corner to where his TARDIS stood, and pulled a key out of his other pocket. He held it in anticipation by the lock.
“Would you like to say goodbye to him?”
***
“It’s called the TARDIS!” exclaimed the Doctor, pulling madly at levers. Robin stopped by the entrance, not knowing where to look. If she had the energy, she’d have stepped back outside and examined it externally. Instead, she just stood. She rubbed her eyes a couple of times; preparing to see something different, or, more likely, to wake up.
It was a detached place, with graceless metallic columns, a cold wooden floor and a bulky central unit. In other ways, it was the warmest home Robin had ever stepped foot inside. Bookshelves lined the walls; chairs were scattered across the floor, even a few random rugs. Victorian furniture polluted the futuristic environment and candles competed with mechanical lights.
“Time and relative dimension in space! Because they say Christmas is about believing, and I wouldn’t argue that, but I don’t think a bit of seeing does any harm, really, whatsoever… so I had an idea. Come over here.”
Realising that Robin was still in shock, the Doctor ushered her over to the console more forcefully, practically doing all her walking for her. “Your son’s name,” he asked. “What was it?”
“Thomas,” she replied. “But we always used to call him Tommy-“
“Right,” interjected the Doctor. “This is a time machine.”
Robin gasped.
“It’s not strictly allowed to go back on your own timeline, so we’re going to have to do this carefully. Place your hand on here.” The Doctor guided Robin’s hand over to a pad on the panel. “Now listen. I want you to think about Thomas, or Tommy, or whatever you called him. I want to think about a time you weren’t there, for whatever reason. Maybe you were working, or at the shops. Maybe you were unwell. Take that memory of absence and think of him.”
The TARDIS jolted. The Doctor ran to the doors and poked his head out. “Second floor, a very familiar house on Primrose Hill,” he noted, “bit different to last time.”
Robin followed him out. Her house was dressed in Christmas decorations that peeked over the windows. She could see them through the window. She remembered most of them. She remembered when she’d got them; weekend trips to garden centres with her husband and son.
Lettering covered the door opposite – ‘Tommy’s Room’ in bright, mismatched colours. The Doctor checked his watch.
“The perception filter will last ten minutes. Use them wisely.” He nodded to Robin. She tiptoed up to the door and opened it slowly. The smell of a functional storage heater hit her instantly. And there he was, tucked up in bed, the lamp still on. Long, blue pyjamas and short, brown hair. Freckled nose. Warm, coloured face. The image she’d longed for for so long. She’d tried to picture him so many times, but here he was now, in the flesh. She blinked and he was still there. But this time, she knew they’d reached the end.
“Mummy?” asked Tommy, his eyes full of innocence. “I thought you were away.”
“I came home for you,” she answered. “Would you like me to read you a story before you go to sleep?”
He nodded, grinning, jumping up in bed. He made a space for her. Robin sat down next to him, ruffling his hair. In that moment, she’d arrived in heaven. Those she loved were all around her, and in that one moment, a warm, special eternity passed. Robin felt special. She’d been given a gift that no one would ever get again, and she’d been given it by her very own angel.
“It all started a very long time ago,” she began. “It started with a woman who thought she was alone, but she wasn’t. She had the most wonderful gift in the world…”
***
“Mummy?” asked Tommy, his eyes full of innocence. “I thought you were away.”
“I came home for you,” she answered. “Would you like me to read you a story before you go to sleep?”
He nodded, grinning, jumping up in bed. He made a space for her. Robin sat down next to him, ruffling his hair. In that moment, she’d arrived in heaven. Those she loved were all around her, and in that one moment, a warm, special eternity passed. Robin felt special. She’d been given a gift that no one would ever get again, and she’d been given it by her very own angel.
“It all started a very long time ago,” she began. “It started with a woman who thought she was alone, but she wasn’t. She had the most wonderful gift in the world…”
***
Robin exhaled, opening her eyes. She was back in the TARDIS, running the story through her head. She knew now that she’d formed a connection with her son – a shared tale that would remain in both of their hearts beyond death. And best of all, she thought; he was still out there. She’d seen him. Alive, innocent. His little heart was beating away somewhere at that very moment; at every moment. Death was just a phase that ran alongside the rest. With that knowledge, she’d never have to say goodbye.
“I’m the Doctor,” said the Doctor. He was resplendent in his home. His clothes were no longer outdated. They matched the environment. The glow of the console shone on his face, and if at any moment Robin believed he was an angel, it was then. “I’m an alien. I’m from the planet Gallifrey. I’ve got two hearts and I’ve worn eight faces.”
“I…” Robin stammered. “I thought you were called Gabriel. Why did you call yourself Gabriel?”
“Because ‘Doctor’ didn’t seem right.” The Doctor sighed. “What does a doctor do?”
“Makes you better?”
“Exactly. And they don’t just do it, they promise to. I wasn’t sure – with you, I wasn’t sure I could make things better.”
“But you did.”
“So, call me the Doctor.” He winked. “What do you say, then? Fancy staying?”
“Staying?” Robin frowned. “What, here?”
“Why not?” The Doctor moved around the console, flicking the switches so casually he’d have been able to do it in his sleep. “See some stars.”
“You know what,” started Robin, “I honestly don’t care about seeing any stars.”
“Have you ever looked?” asked the Doctor.
“What do you mean?”
Have you ever looked at the stars?”
“Yes.”
“Then prepare to look properly.”
Robin gave the Doctor and odd look and he pulled a lever. The ceiling parted to reveal a massive observatory. An observatory like no other – the stars were closer this time; they were no longer twinkling lights, but burning balls of gas and raging fire. Wrapped around them were other clouds of smaller stars. They danced, in bizarre choreography, with one another. Robin tried to take her eyes off them but couldn’t. They held you in the moment.
“I’ll ask you again,” said the Doctor, confidently. “Do you want to see some stars?”
Robin tripped and sat herself down, still staring up. “Yes…” she turned to the Doctor, and for the first time, smiled a true, joyful smile. “Yes please – if there’s room.”
“I don’t think room’s an issue!” laughed the Doctor, spinning around the console. The time rotor moved up and down. “So. Where do you want to start?”
No response.
He looked over at Robin, suddenly realising the comfy chairs were a poor buy after all. The day had been long and strenuous, and she’d fallen asleep staring at the stars.
“Oh, Robin,” chuckled the Doctor. “When you wake up, everything changes. I know exactly where you want to start.” He thought to himself, pointing up at one corner of the sky. “Start at that one,” he decided. “Then keep on going...”
“I’m the Doctor,” said the Doctor. He was resplendent in his home. His clothes were no longer outdated. They matched the environment. The glow of the console shone on his face, and if at any moment Robin believed he was an angel, it was then. “I’m an alien. I’m from the planet Gallifrey. I’ve got two hearts and I’ve worn eight faces.”
“I…” Robin stammered. “I thought you were called Gabriel. Why did you call yourself Gabriel?”
“Because ‘Doctor’ didn’t seem right.” The Doctor sighed. “What does a doctor do?”
“Makes you better?”
“Exactly. And they don’t just do it, they promise to. I wasn’t sure – with you, I wasn’t sure I could make things better.”
“But you did.”
“So, call me the Doctor.” He winked. “What do you say, then? Fancy staying?”
“Staying?” Robin frowned. “What, here?”
“Why not?” The Doctor moved around the console, flicking the switches so casually he’d have been able to do it in his sleep. “See some stars.”
“You know what,” started Robin, “I honestly don’t care about seeing any stars.”
“Have you ever looked?” asked the Doctor.
“What do you mean?”
Have you ever looked at the stars?”
“Yes.”
“Then prepare to look properly.”
Robin gave the Doctor and odd look and he pulled a lever. The ceiling parted to reveal a massive observatory. An observatory like no other – the stars were closer this time; they were no longer twinkling lights, but burning balls of gas and raging fire. Wrapped around them were other clouds of smaller stars. They danced, in bizarre choreography, with one another. Robin tried to take her eyes off them but couldn’t. They held you in the moment.
“I’ll ask you again,” said the Doctor, confidently. “Do you want to see some stars?”
Robin tripped and sat herself down, still staring up. “Yes…” she turned to the Doctor, and for the first time, smiled a true, joyful smile. “Yes please – if there’s room.”
“I don’t think room’s an issue!” laughed the Doctor, spinning around the console. The time rotor moved up and down. “So. Where do you want to start?”
No response.
He looked over at Robin, suddenly realising the comfy chairs were a poor buy after all. The day had been long and strenuous, and she’d fallen asleep staring at the stars.
“Oh, Robin,” chuckled the Doctor. “When you wake up, everything changes. I know exactly where you want to start.” He thought to himself, pointing up at one corner of the sky. “Start at that one,” he decided. “Then keep on going...”
COMING SOON
The first full series of The Eighth Doctor Adventures!
The Doctor begins his adventures with Robin Moon, but he quickly makes a fatal error of judgement that will have catastrophic consequences for both of them. Far across the universe, someone has it in for the Doctor, and will destroy everything he loves to see him suffer. Meanwhile, in an ordinary English village, a group of ordinary people learn an impossible truth about Planet Earth... Episode list: 1. The Time Museum 2. TBC 3. Peacepoint 4. Earthstop 5. Sunset Forever 6. The Planet Makers 7. The Night Watchmen 8. The Gods of War 9. Extinction 10. The Quest Through Time 11. A Village Called Nothing 12. Bigger on the Inside 13. Extermination of the Daleks |