THE EIGHTH DOCTOR ADVENTURES
THE 2017/18 SPECIALS - X2
THE DANGER MANGER
WRITTEN BY Peter Darwin
Act 1
All was quiet in the flat, nestled quietly in the dirty, urban sprawl.
It was the middle of the night in the city of 25-B3LHL3hem-12 (more commonly known as Bethlehem). The factories pumped smog into the atmosphere, and a thick layer of soot clung to the side of buildings. The snow floated wistfully to the ground, gently spattering the blackened buildings, and conglomerating on window ledges and in guttering. From the flat, it built a layer around the wide bayed window – a window that attempted to look out over the city, and half-failed, with the view partly obscured by other rooftops and skylights.
But there was a distinct gap between the concrete blocks – and in the distance, if one looked over the flurries and the stars, one could see the glass spires of the shopping district towering high – for it was an immense centre of commercialisation, covering half the world. And during the winter months, it almost felt like half the universe would flock there, just to do their Christmas shopping in the best shopping centre in the cosmos.
It was a happy planet, and the people bustled along nicely, many without much worry or fear as the years ticked by. Whilst occasionally, a gripe arose about the commercialisation on the other hemisphere of the world – and yes, it was not to be ignored – the issues of the people were dealt with as quick as possible, and all of them made their way through life with good will in their hearts – and that was only exemplified at Christmas.
At such a time of night, one would look down to the street, and see street lamps igniting a faint, orange glow, as if someone were desperately trying to bring to life a spirit of hope – but during the days and the evenings, there would be people about, greeting, cheering, laughing – being happy. Enjoying Christmas. Wrapped up in their woollies, for the winter on the planet was bitter and merciless, the people were not cold in spirit – and instead, they bestowed the warmth of their hearts to everyone.
That did not change the fact, of course, that the atmosphere outside was like teeth – fangs, honed to optimum sharpness, snapping away at anyone stupid enough to stray out in the middle of the night.
But in that flat, one watched all this from the bayed window – from the warmth and the cosiness. Though, in the middle of the night, there was no one watching. It was silent and still in the darkness of the flat, with an electric heater still sending out plumes of heat, to keep the whole place warm from the melancholy chill outside.
Silent, it was.
Until then.
Then, a peculiar draught blew through the flat – unlike the bitter, biting winds of outside, this one did not send the freezing cold through the building – instead, it made the Christmas cards flap, the curtains ruffle, the lampshade-less light fitting swing – and it brought in none of the outside weather.
In the corner, a blue box was fading into existence. It only just fitted against the low height of the ceiling – but slowly, it merged into the flat, emitting a soft wheezing sound, like that of a sore throat in the dead of winter.
The TARDIS made its arrival.
A few seconds of hesitation passed, as if those inside the box were, perhaps, squabbling – and then, eventually, the doors swung open.
Iris leapt out, her head adorned with a garish Turkey-shaped hat, a t-shirt upon which fairy lights had been sticky-taped, and a packet of Tesco’s Own mince pies waving in her hand. She strode into the flat with unbridled confidence, and then stopped immediately a few feet away from the TARDIS, amid the dawning realisation that something wasn’t quite right…
“Oh,” she muttered sheepishly. “Yeah, Liz, you were right. This is wrong.”
Iris continued into the flat, spying a lamp lying on the coffee table, balanced precariously on slats of outdated Radio Times, the wire snaking across the ground, a trip hazard of the highest order. She switched it on, and suddenly the domesticity was illuminated in a quaint, orange glow.
“This is cute…,” she said, pondering around the room, her eyes drifting over the menagerie of Christmas cards cluttering up the mantlepiece, upon which fairy-lights were strung across from one side to another. A well-singed fireplace was not in use, presumably due to the residents of the flat being asleep. It was, of course, at that moment that Iris realised there probably were residents to the flat. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, so tall that the top was oppressed by the ceiling, which almost seemed a little bit too low, with bending wooden beams holding it, and the faint-yellow, paint-cracking walls, up with trusty sturdiness.
In the night, there was a tranquillity in the flat. As Christmas approached, there was something akin to stillness and calm, as if all the world were at rest, and Christmas would bring a period of contentment for all.
“WHAT. THE. FU –”
The silence shattered in a clattering of doors, slamming open and smashing against the walls behind them. A figure fell out, skidding across the room and collapsing on the coffee table, the wood immediately snapping under the person’s weight, and sending said person slipping across the room in a flurry of old Radio Times like a fox trying to maintain balance on an icy lake.
“Ssshhh!” Lizzie hissed, dashing out after Kym, instantly noticing the stillness in the flat and making the conclusion that there had to be someone asleep.
“SORRY!!!” Kym screamed, picking herself up from the lake of now-torn TV guides.
“Oh my god, for… just, be quiet, please!” Lizzie said, desperate to keep the noise levels down.
“Sorry…,” Kym mouthed.
Iris peered out of the window. “Hmm. I think that’s where we should be,” she pointed to the glass, castle-like towers on the horizon, and then plucked a mince pie from its plastic container. “Hmm,” she said, speaking through mouthfuls of pastry. “Don’t know how we went wrong. Right planet… wrong place… time? Eh. Dunno.”
“Well,” Lizzie said, as Kym sat down in a battered armchair. The soft-furnishings in the room were a distinctive mismatch. “It’s fine. We’ll just… go, and we’ll fly over, find the Doctor, and Cioné..”
By this point, Iris had meandered over to a strange panel upon the wall – except, it wasn’t on the wall. It was a holographic screen, millimetres from the paintwork. Shining blue, black text scrolled across it, and there were various options; news, announcements, weather, culture, music, sport – a whole array of applications.
Iris clicked ‘weather’.
This is a message on behalf of President Herod’s administration.
She jumped back. “Hello…”
Please stay inside. Blizzards are likely. Keep warm.
“Who’s President Herod?” Kym’s face popped up over Iris’ shoulder. “Since when did we have a President Herod?”
“Wow, hilarious,” Iris laughed sarcastically.
Kym set a blank look upon her. “What?” she spoke, entirely seriously.
This time, it was blank looks for Lizzie and Iris.
Lizzie decided to hazard a guess. “I’m guessing President Herod is probably in charge here.”
“Here?” Kym said, like there was an echo in the room.
“Whatever planet this is.”
“Huh? What do you –”
Mid-sentence, Kym stopped. There came the look of dawning realisation in her eyes – of the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place, and the dense fog slowly beginning to lift.
Suddenly, Kym staggered back, clattering against the TARDIS doors – doors which nearly gave way and sent her spinning back into the TARDIS.
“OH. MY. GOD. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL. LIZWORTH – IRIS – WHAT – WHA – IS THIS –,” Kym yelled, through deep, heaving breaths. Hyperventilation was constricting her, and soon she began to choke, as she threw herself forward, creasing over the arm of the chair.
Iris sighed, leaning back against the curtains, and quickly checking her phone.
Mum (glowfly weirdo) – 19:21
Where are you??
“HOW THE HELL IS THIS POSSIBLE. HOW ARE WE – WHERE ARE WE??”
Iris was about to reply to her mother, but looked up from her phone to see Kym sat on the arm chair, keeling over, gasping for as much air as she could possibly find. Lizzie was stood over her, an arm awkwardly placed on Kym’s shoulder.
“What was the whole w.t.f thing about?” Iris mused, making no effort to go over and console the panicky Kym.
“Ph – phone – phone signal,” Kym spluttered. There hadn’t been any. It had been a terrible realisation.
“… bloody hell.”
And then, a pause, before Kym let out another shout. “WE’RE ON ANOTHER PLANET.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie consoled her, looking around with great uncertainty, slightly astounded by the situation. “Thought we’d, er, made that clear.”
“I didn’t think it was like – an actual thing!” Kym protested, finally beginning to regain herself. Iris looked up, and smirked.
“Right,” Lizzie said. “Kym. That’s the TARDIS. It goes anywhere in time and space. It’s bigger on the inside.”
Kym’s jaw hit the floor. “I thought it was a walk-in wardrobe!”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Iris strolled over and slumped down on the sofa by the fire place. She reached into her pocket, and took out her father’s sonic screwdriver, which she had so deftly taken. She pointed it to the fire and suddenly, a roaring flame crackled into life in the hearth.
“Okay, right – wait, no, Iris, don’t –,” Lizzie made an effort to protest her comrades making themselves at home. “We’re not stopping!”
“Cute place these people have…,” Iris gazed around at the décor of the room. It reminded her very much of her mother.
Kym immediately snapped out of her spate of disbelief. “Eww, no, those patchwork curtains –”
“Come on!” Lizzie hissed. “Before we wa –”
Lizzie’s head snapped around to the door at the far side of the room – and there was somebody looking out at them.
A little boy – looking up at the three strangers in his flat, a nervous, almost scared look etched upon his face. Only understandable – how often does one find three strangers in their house? He seemed to hover in the doorway, unsure whether to come in, or run in the opposite direction – and in his confusion and shock, he merely stayed with his feet planted on the spot.
“Yo!” Kym waved breezily from the armchair.
“Evening,” Iris said, lounging back on the sofa, warming her Doc Marten donned feet at the fire.
“Sorry,” was all Lizzie could offer, standing in the middle of the room. “We did try to keep the noise down.”
Iris sniggered. “Think that ship sailed a long time ago…”
An awkward silence followed, as the three of the stared at the boy, and the boy stared at them. He’d always thought that if strangers turned up in one’s flat, they usually had some kind of intention. The three women stood opposite him seemed to be just as unsure as to what was going on as he was.
“Who are you?” the boy eventually found some words. They came out shakier than he’d intended. He wanted to seem strong and brave, though in such a situation, it was difficult.
Without thinking, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym picked out the first name to come to mind.
“Santa Claus,” Lizzie, Iris, and Kym said at once. Iris shot a look at Kym, who then glared at Lizzie, who merely looked at Iris and sighed.
Another difficult silence followed.
“Which one of you?” the boy asked.
“Me,” said Lizzie, Iris, and Kym.
The boy looked up at them incredulously, and Lizzie was faintly reminded of Iris’ younger-self. Children could sniff out lies with remarkable ease.
“Well it’s not her, is it?” Iris gestured to Kym. “She’d have a tantrum every time she has to go down a chimney.”
Kym gasped theatrically. “Well, bitch. At least I’m not a complete ho-ho-ho.”
“Give me strength,” Lizzie whispered, hoping for nothing more than her sanity for Christmas. “No,” she spoke resolutely. “I am. Santa, I mean.”
The boy seemed satisfied with that answer. Reasonably. He stepped further into the room, gently closing the door behind him, and then leaning back on it.
“Sure,” Iris acknowledged. “Santa is a silent weirdo with a nervous disposition.”
Lizzie glared at her, and Iris laughed, finding her joke funnier than everyone else in the room. Apart from Kym, who snorted.
“Thanks,” Lizzie muttered.
“You’re a girl?” the boy asked.
“The next Santa is a woman,” Lizzie said.
“Huh,” the boy nodded. He sounded genuinely impressed. “Cool.”
“Look, kid,” Iris swung up off the sofa, swooping over to the little boy. “What’s your name?”
He hesitated, not certain whether he should reveal his name to strangers – even if they were either Santa Claus, or rubbish burglars (for he wasn’t entirely sold on ‘Santa’ yet).
“Jae,” he eventually said.
Iris gestured to the window. “Is this planet Bethlehem?”
Jae looked stunned. A ridiculous question. Though… this had been his home all of his life. Always making his way to school, to the shops, maybe to the factories if Uncle Si was stationed there. Back to the flat. A constant cycle, always.
“Ain’t that where Jesus were born?” Kym said, still sat in her armchair, her eyes now drifting over the photos on the mantlepiece.
“Yes,” Jae confirmed.
“I knew it!” Kym seemed delighted. “RE with Mr Forde. I once got kicked out his lessons when I called his wife a virgin.”
“Neat,” Iris said to Jae. “How old?”
“8,” Jae replied.
“He meant the Virgin Mary, but I thought he was talking about his wife,” Kym continued regaling tales of her lost youth.
“Legend of Shieldsman score?” Iris asked.
“Which version?”
“Which is most recent?”
“Rise of Methrodrax is coming out this Christmas.”
“Elf Kingdom then.”
“One-million seven-hundred and forty-two.”
“You’ll go far,” Iris said to Jae. “See you around,” she turned, and swiftly negotiated her way around the cluttered furniture (including the collapsed coffee table and lake of Radio Timeses, which Jae had noticed with a mournful look on his face).
Kym leapt up. “Toodle-oo, dude,” she grinned at Jae, and breezed over to the TARDIS, safe in the knowledge that it was definitely not a walk-in wardrobe, and certain that they were, somehow, on another planet.
Iris looked at Lizzie, as if to say, hurry up. Lizzie held up a hand, as if to say five minutes. Iris sighed, but, with immense irritation at being kept somewhere longer than she needed to be, and a desperate, youthful urge to rush along with her existence, she slipped into the TARDIS. Kym skipped after her, and then it was just Lizzie and Jae left in the room.
Jae sat down on the sofa, and Lizzie in the armchair.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Lizzie said.
Jae didn’t move. It was as if the words, however simple, had some kind of effect on him. As if somehow, Santa Claus, or the rubbish burglar, or whoever she was, was reading his mind, and knew what was going on in there.
Lizzie continued. “When everyone is so happy, and you’re not.”
Jae shrugged. Lizzie had noticed it in him. Ask a kid about Christmas, and they’re delighted. Ecstatic! Desperate for the day itself, the presents, the fun, the atmosphere, the hilarity. All of it was magic for children. But… Jae didn’t seem to care. To him, Christmas just seemed like a normal day – except one that was painful, and bitter – and one that he didn’t seem to like.
“Food’s nice,” Jae said. “And my aunt and uncle might have saved enough for the new Legend of Shieldsman game.”
“Are they asleep? I’m surprised we haven’t woken them…”
“They’re out. Aunt Mia and Uncle Si are working. Trying to get as many shifts in as possible.”
“And it’s… 23rd December?”
“Yup,” Jae said, fidgeting with a stray thread loose from the sofa. “Well. 24th now.”
Alone at night, on Christmas Eve… there were many times, Lizzie thought, when it was hard to be alone. But with a festival focused on people, and togetherness – Christmas was perhaps the hardest one of them. Especially in the dead of night, when it felt like nobody was around, with everyone cosily cooped up with their loved ones.
There was something familiar, with Jae – something that Lizzie almost seemed to recognise from herself. Not only an apathy towards Christmas, there was that appearance of looking like a wanderer. Never quite fitting in, like he was just… passing through.
“It’s like everyone wants to me to be happy?” Jae asked, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of his own thoughts, and had to run them past Lizzie. “And when I don’t, it’s like I’ve done something wrong.”
Lizzie left the armchair, and walked over to the sofa. Jae had looked so lonely sat there, and having to look at his solitariness had been a true pang to her heart – so she just had to go and sit next to him, if only out of the faintest hope that he wouldn’t feel so isolated.
“Jae – trust me. You haven’t done anything wrong, and there is no law telling you that you have to… be overjoyed constantly.
Jae didn’t seem satisfied. “But it’s the fact everyone else is happy. I’m almost… jealous of them. I want to enjoy it like that… but I just don’t.”
Lizzie looked over at him, sadness etched upon her face.
“Come and look at this,” Lizzie said, stepping over the Radio Timeses to the window, where she scanned the sky. She pulled her jumper tighter around her, as suddenly the night chill pricked her skin – and the distance between her and the cold outside felt so small.
She looked up to try and find it. Not only was the night thick with fog, but there was a dense layer of smog in the air, which didn’t make Lizzie’s task any easier… but almost as if it were meant to be, Lizzie found what she was looking for. It looked like the North Star – but they were on another planet, so she knew it couldn’t be. But regardless – it was a star, brighter than all the others. It had to be, just to be a light against the impenetrable layer of clouds in the sky.
A star to guide people home. To give them hope.
Lizzie pointed up at it. It did not take Jae long to find it, for it was the only light in the sky.
“Yeah. I see it,” Jae said.
“That star,” Lizzie said. “If you’re feeling sad at Christmas… look up at that.”
“Why?”
“Because it brings people home. The people you love. It’s so bright, that they’ll use it to guide themselves back to you.”
Jae hesitated.
“What if they can’t come back to me?”
“Cause even if they can’t be with you… chances are, that star is so bright, that wherever they are… they might see it as well. And then, in a way… maybe not in the same way, but at least, just a bit… you’ll be with them.”
Lizzie and Jae watched the star. She felt him tense, and she saw him staring intently at the star, as if desperately trying to put Lizzie’s theory into practise.
Jae smiled.
“You might not be happy at Christmas,” Lizzie didn’t see any point in lying to him. “But at least, if you look up at that star… you might remember that that’s okay.”
Jae slipped up onto the windowsill, and sat there, so it was like being in a capsule, and floating around the world outside.
Lizzie traipsed over to the TARDIS, and gently opened the doors.
“Thank you, Santa,” Jae whispered.
Lizzie nearly corrected him – but she didn’t.
She stepped into the TARDIS, and shut the doors behind her. The machine started up, and Jae heard that strange noise – and it was one that made him feel happy, on Christmas Eve.
The blue box vanished.
Jae watched the star.
***
“Would you like it gift-wrapped, madam?”
Cioné hesitated, thinking about her wrapping skills – or lack of. “Er… yes! Yes, go on. Ta.”
It was chaos.
Festive chaos.
There were three cashiers, though all looked as if they were struggling to bear the burden of so many customers filing through the shop. It was sizeable department store, stretching for what felt like miles behind her, and spilling out onto multiple floors above her. Embedded deep within the enormous shopping complex, which not only contained many department stores of similar size and stature, thousands of individual units, restaurants, services – everything that one could need prior to Christmas, one was quite certain to find it in the Bethlehem shopping district, due to the sheer massiveness of it all.
She could feel the customers behind her, overbearing – and amidst the festive, social pressure, Cioné suddenly felt approximately the size of an elephant, blundering through the department store with little coordination. She stood, watching the cashier tediously wrap the package (she had expected it to be rather quicker process), trying to negotiate some kind of action-plan with her husband.
“What’s the best way in?” the Doctor asked, his voice in her ear. Cioné stood, holding the phone as close to her head as she could manage, her other arm becoming a pseudo-rack for shopping bags. It felt especially uncomfortable, with the immense pressure of the ferocious hordes of customers behind her. Meanwhile, her husband was just off the edge of the planet, in his TARDIS, stuck in traffic. So many people were flocking to the world, that an immense backlog had built up – and now the Doctor was unable to move his ship amidst the huge number of vehicles clogging up the world and the space around it. Neither could he materialise – while the artron fumes had knocked Lizzie, Iris, and Kym off-course, they prevented the Doctor from managing it entirely.
So, he stood, leaning against the console, peering at an atlas of Bethlehem on the monitor in front of him.
“Er…,” Cioné hesitated. “The transport duct north of the Wetherspoon’s County in continent two is probably easiest… there’s a ring-road.”
Cioné was stood in front of the counter, with the man behind it, dressed in the ridiculous green suit, donned with a white faux-fur festive trim (for this shop prided itself on its eco-friendly nature), peering at her beneath the rim of an elf hat, equipped with a pair of pointy ears positioned from the hat’s rim. Remarkably, he didn’t look as if he felt like an utter moron, nor did he look as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Cioné wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.
At this point, the elf-man decided to interject with another question. “Would you like us to give the gift the exclusive snow, berries, and holly sprig decoration?”
“Should I park in the district or outside?” the Doctor asked, distracting Cioné from the shop cashier. There’s a shuttlebus…”
“No,” Cioné shut her husband off as quickly as possible, and she saw the cashier shrink away. “Sorry darling,” she turned to the cashier. “That wasn’t directed at you – er, yes, that sounds lovely, thanks.”
The cashier set to work, and Cioné turned back to the Doctor.
“Absolutely do not use the shuttlebus,” she insisted. “It’s heaving. Come to the shopping district, park in the lower level spaces in Zone H.”
She could almost hear the Doctor grimacing. “That’ll cost a bomb…”
“Ah, no, it won’t – I’ve got a discount code from the lady in at the help-desk. She was from Arcateen I think, and lovely. Had one of those, what are they called? Tattoo sleeves? Anyway, I’ll text the code to you…”
As Cioné spoke, she could feel the customers queuing up behind her. They were like angry wildebeest, steam heaving from their snouts in anger at this stupid woman having the luxury gift-wrapping experience whilst also being on her phone. The Christmas shopping madness had undeniably set in.
And yet, madness had set in. The bottom floor of the current establishment she stood in was the shop’s clothes department - and it was crammed with people, scraping through racks and rails, scrambling through accessories, desperately clamouring for their specific objects. They had not yet reached the stage of barbaric violence – though there was certainly a palpable atmosphere of stress, and tension amongst fellow shoppers.
Customers in shops. Nothing short of animals.
And she could sense it, creeping up behind her in the queue for the cashiers. Cioné tried to forget about it – and she realised her husband had been talking.
“… should’ve come to pick you up, I don’t know,” the Doctor muttered away to himself. “Would’ve been much less chaotic than this.”
“I really am sorry we had to go in separate cars, darling,” Cioné said, partly inferring from what the Doctor had said. “It’s just – well, logistically, it would have been a complete mess. Code come through?”
The cashier spoke again. When Cioné glanced over at her gift, it was wrapped, dowsed in fake snow, with a holly sprig and cluster of berries lounging on the top. “Would you like the deluxe elf gift bag with a complimentary set of imperial wedding baubles and mug?”
“Yes,” the Doctor acknowledged from the telephone. “Yes, you definitely had the right idea, I think.”
“Er, yeah,” Cioné said to the cashier. “Whatever, imperial baubles sound delightful.”
She felt an audible sigh from the queue behind her.
“Oh – code’s just come through,” the Doctor acknowledged.
“Wonderful,” Cioné declared. “And for you to go to the Front, and then to Bethlehem, it’d have been mad. The traffic outside Exxilon, good lord, thank goodness you avoided that. And besides, there’s no way in hell you’re ever bringing Iris to that godforsaken place.”
“Of course,” the Doctor agreed instantly. “You’re alright, though?”
“Me?” Cioné said incredulously, watching nervously as the cashier slipped the gift into its bag, and packed it with a bubble-wrapped mug and a flimsy box of baubles. “Tickety-boo, darling.”
“That’s 23 credits,” said the cashier. Cioné hmphed, the price taking her a bit by surprise, before taking her card, putting it in the card-reader, missing because of the phone now pressed between her shoulder and ear, and then having to do it a second time. The cashier helpfully took the card out for her.
“Hmm,” her husband said unhelpfully. Cioné typed in her pin.
A few seconds passed.
“Don’t get stressed, will you?” the Doctor instructed. “It’s only Christmas.”
The cashier pushed the box towards her. “Have a very merry Nicholson’s and Pan-Babylonian’s Christmas.”
Cioné smiled gratefully, and mouthed a ‘thanks’ (she hated being on the phone while talking to someone at the same time – it felt terribly rude. Clearly the Christmas stress had gone to her head), and scooped up the elf gift bag.
“I just…,” Cioné hobbled away from the counter, one arm entirely laden with baggage, the other fumbling for her phone stuck between her ear and shoulder.
Christmas, Cioné thought, was a very stressful time.
All the people panicking around her, desperate to get their hands on food and gifts and other festive possessions before some cheeky randomer came and snuck it right from beneath their nose. The burning desire, bordering on obsession, to transform so many wants into necessities, was something that Cioné was quite worn down by. As she’d navigated the shopping district, it had felt terrifyingly clear – and during the most chilling moment, Cioné thought she wasn’t so different. Entangled in stress over nothing.
“I just want this Christmas to be amazing for everyone,” Cioné said, navigating her way out of Nicholson’s and Pan-Babylonian’s to one of the benches in one of the shopping district’s many atria, where Cioné collapsed down, letting loose the immense weight of the shopping bags. Instantly, she felt moderately more relieved.
It was ridiculous. All she wanted was for Christmas to be wonderful – and yet… she was so desperate to the point of anxiousness at getting it wrong. It was as if there were a force bearing over her, telling her that she had to make Christmas fantastic, that the world was instructing her to ensure Christmas was happy, or it would come and constrict her with a tinsely noose – or something like that.
Cioné took a deep breath – and tried to suppress a strange inner urge to make the most perfect Christmas ever. She tried to think of the control-freak it made her into, the obsessed nit-picker over tiny details.
“And it will be,” the Doctor reassured her. “Don’t stress.”
Cioné sighed. It was unlike her to stress. Such was the power of Christmas. “I’ll try not to.”
“Good. Oh – I think I’m about to go through an astral underpass. I’ll probably lose signal.”
“Okay – speak later, dear!” Cioné almost-shouted, as she could almost hear the Doctor fading away into a sea of static.
“So long as you’re there…,” the Doctor said, his voice faint. “I think Christmas will be amazing.”
The call them dissolved entirely to the crackle of a dodgy phone signal – and the Doctor was gone. He hung up.
Cioné breathed a sigh of relief, and collapsed back against the bench. She just wanted to doze off – but there were things to buy – gifts to wrap (never by a cashier again, she’d decided) – celebrations to arrange. And while they would come – and in time, they would be enjoyed – Cioné decided to take five minutes.
The Doctor heard the phone signal go – and so he hung up, before leaning solemnly against the console. He was alone in the spaceship – and desperate to get to his family. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else during the festive season – though it seemed as if the Bethlehem’s space ring-road had other ideas. One console monitor displayed a view of the space surrounding the planet, the traffic marked on it in red lights (there were many red lights…), and the other displaying a map of the shopping district – his destination.
And the Doctor looked up to the observatory longingly – a clear sky, another dimension, where there were simply stars for as far as the eye could see. The Doctor knew that if he looked out the door, or if that planetarium replaced itself with a view directly outside the box – there would be a sight of pure, gridlocked, logjammed traffic. Spaceships, piled high – family crafts, the cruisers of the rich, planet-buses freighters, goods starvans – so many different means of vehicles and transport, all stacked upon each other, desperate to get to the surface of Bethlehem.
Therefore – the Doctor could not move.
Nor could he materialise on the planet below. So many vehicles, there was an abundance of artron pollution – and so his materialisation systems were entirely out-of-whack. Therefore, he had no choice but to make his way to Bethlehem the manual way – but with a dense thicket of engines and metal and glass blocking the way, he could not do so with his usual deft nimbleness.
It was quite shocking that even in a spaceship infinitely bigger than anything else around him, the Doctor was bored. But at Christmas, the last thing he wanted to be doing was trapped in such a jam. So, he had resigned himself to slumping back on his leather chair, flicking open a Netflix tab beside his maps, and watching a documentary on the life of the universe’s greatest artists of all time. But no matter how many documentaries he watched, or many cups of tea he sipped – it could not ease his mind.
But suddenly, he heard a small scream from the corner of the TARDIS.
Well – it was more an audible, high-pitched gasp.
When the Doctor turned to recognise the source, there was a woman stood by the doorway. She looked shocked, her eyes wide, her mouth open, her hand to her face in astonishment. She was wrapped up in an almost white knit cape, almost like a curtain disguising her, draping from her neck to her feet, which were adorned with sturdy Ugg boots. Ear muffs and a scarf were also on her person, along with sturdy looking snow trousers.
There was an awkward silence between the two of them, as the Doctor looked at her, down to his tea, up to his artist’s documentary, and then back to her. She looked straight at him, as if judging him, weighing him up… or something like that.
“Hi!” she exclaimed.
“Er…,” was all the Doctor could manage.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know if the teleport-thingy was going to work.”
The Doctor looked at her, mouth agape, entirely lost. “The… teleport-thingy?”
“Space-Donkey,” she said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“I’m – I’m sorry?”
“Space-Donkey,” the woman reaffirmed. “This company I found, Space-Donkey, they know it’s a nightmare getting to Bethlehem at Christmas – so what they do, is they teleport you into a random ship so they have to take you to the surface.”
The Doctor hesitated. He couldn’t even belief that was legal. “That’s dangerous,” was all he could say, slightly spellbound. Not necessarily at the person trying to get down to the surface below, more the fact that someone would desire to profit out of it – and that such a thing was allowed.
“Yeah, well,” the woman shrugged it off nonchalantly. “I’ve got to get down there.”
“Why?”
It was at that moment, the woman made the decision to take off her cape. She did it with hesitation – and the Doctor suspected that there had been a reason the woman had chosen to wear such a baggy garment. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed, and the woman shrugged the cloak off, hanging it onto the hat-stand, and then turning to the Doctor.
She was pregnant.
Very, very pregnant.
The Doctor’s eyes widened.
“This is a joke,” he said, leaping up from his chair and dashing over to the console. “This has just got to be a joke –”
“It isn’t, okay,” the woman dashed over to him, trying to calm him down. “My name is –”
“You have to be kidding me. This sort of thing just doesn’t happen –”
“My name is Mary,” the woman interrupted, grabbing the Doctor and holding him still. “And I’m pregnant, and you’re going to take me to Bethlehem. Okay?”
The Doctor looked at her. Not only was the Doctor afraid of not getting to his family for Christmas, but he was now also absolutely terrified of never getting to Bethlehem and having to deliver a baby in his TARDIS. Well. He’d done it before, but he was pretty sure he’d deleted midwifery during his most recent regeneration. So, anxiety burned in his eyes, as the Doctor had no idea what was going to happen.
“No,” was all he could manage. “Not really, but okay. Fine. Fine,” he repeated, as if having to reassure himself. When he caught sight of Mary’s bump, it didn’t last. “When’s the baby due?”
The Doctor had observed that Mary looked quite far-gone.
There was an awkward pause, and Mary looked up at him sheepishly.
“Last week,” Mary said.
The Doctor sighed. Quickly he’d felt his sanity crumble so much that he could barely react – though he quickly ramped up the accelerator a few seconds, just so that when they did get moving, they might just get to Bethlehem a little bit quicker…
“I’m being induced on Boxing Day!” Mary said, as if trying to make it all sound less-bad.
“That’s if you make it to Boxing Day,” he busied himself around the console. “Mark my words, I know how these things turn out…”
Mary grumbled, sitting on the Doctor’s chair, already quite out of puff from having walked from one side of his funny spacecraft to the other.
“Sooo…,” she said, as if waiting for the Doctor to say something. When it became clear he wasn’t going to, she finished. “Will you take me?”
The Doctor looked at Mary, and saw a look in her eyes that he recognised to be similar to his own. A look that almost seemed like a loss of hope, as if she were so desperate to get to Bethlehem that she had almost resigned her hope to a place of non-existence, knowing that if she did hope, she couldn’t make it home, then it would simply hurt too much. For that reason, the Doctor was reluctant to give her hope. There was also something else about Mary – a look of incompleteness – as if she were a part of something that hadn’t been entirely assembled.
“Of course,” the Doctor admitted. He wouldn’t deny her that. How could he let someone be alone on Christmas day? It was, as he knew, one of the hardest times to feel alone – and if there was anything he could do to fix it, then he would be willing. If there was anything he could do to restore hope to someone at Christmas – then he would do it. For hopelessness at Christmas was not something the Doctor would wish on anybody.
“Yay!” Mary exclaimed, making an effort not to sound too delighted in case it brought labour on. While, at this rate, she just wanted the baby out, she didn’t want to give birth to it on the floor of a strange spaceship with a strange man she’d never met. “Thanks… whatever your name is.”
“No problem,” the Doctor said, briefly letting off the TARDIS’ handbrake. They inched forwards, just slightly. “And it’s the Doctor.”
“Oh,” Mary chuckled. “So if I do give birth, we’ll be alright.”
The Doctor smiled. “Afraid not. I’m not exactly a medical Doctor.”
“Oh...,” Mary said, finding the notion distinctly amusing. She sat back in the Doctor’s chair, watching the last bit of this art documentary, using it to fill the awkward silence.
“You’ve got to be with your family at Christmas,” Mary mused, trying to make conversation. “That’s why I’m willing to highjack a stranger’s vehicle, y’know?”
“Yeah. I get how it feels. Going to see the dad?”
“Pfft, no. Anonymous sperm donor. Going to see my mum and sister.”
Not only for her sake – but Mary wanted her child to be with all their family at Christmas.
“Who are you going for?” Mary asked, as if she’d recognised the look in the Doctor that he’d recognised in her.
“Wife, daughter, best friend, best friend’s friend.”
“Nice,” Mary nodded, watching the Doctor. Perhaps that was what he saw in her. A parental need to get to his child – and maybe she’d only started noticing that sort of stuff being pregnant. It was like basically everything else about having kids – none of it made any sense until one actually had them. And now that Mary was about to have a child for the first time… the enormity of everything was beginning to sink in. It had only been recently that she’d started to identify it, those parental things that only parents understand.
One thing was for certain, and that was that she hoped she could be like the Doctor.
Mary knew, that when her child was born, she wouldn’t ever let them go – and if she ever did, she, like the Doctor, no matter how far she had to go or how hard it would be, Mary would travel to make sure they weren’t ever alone on Christmas day. Even if she did have to force her way through an immense traffic jam, or highjack another vehicle, she would get there.
“So, travel buddy,” Mary said, in a sudden feeling of hope and excitement. She whipped out a packet of sticky labels. “Want to play Guess Who?”
“Honestly, mum, I am literally, so excited,” Iris said, buzzing with Christmassy cheer.
The four of them walked (Kym a few steps behind, taking selfies at any opportunity) through Continent 3 Arcade 77 – one of the many, many branches of the shopping districts. It was truly an immense construction, with large pillars of glass propping up an enormous, curving glass ceiling, beyond which the midday sun shone through, cracking through a sky white in its wintery coldness. The precincts and arcades between the different outlets were enormous, at least the width of several trucks stuck lengthways along – and the different retailers themselves had gigantic units, multiple floors high, all crammed with reams and reams of stock.
And all of this, stretching all over the world. Continents full of shopping centres full of shops – hundreds and thousands of establishments, hundreds of versions of the largest chain stores – Lizzie was quite certain that she had never seen such shops in her entire life. And while she found it all rather nauseating, Kym was in her element, and had already brought some brand-new outfits that she was quite certain would go down brilliantly back on Earth.
“I just love Christmas,” Iris declared, looking up to the sky in a look of festive contentment. “A season of joy, of goodwill, of giving,” she proclaimed. While not someone who studied literature, Iris would occasionally like a good read – and A Christmas Carol was one of her favourites – and it had made her even more appreciative of her favourite time of year.
“The bloody stress of it all,” Cioné muttered, rejigging the baggage on her arms. The sheer enormity of the shops around them was sickening, in a way. And yet… they all rather enjoyed Christmas shopping. It could not be denied, that on the whole… they’d had quite a good time.
“One day, Liz,” Iris said. “You’re gonna have to have Christmas with us. Honestly, it’ll be such a laugh.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie said. “One day… it’s just, I don’t like leaving Maggie on her own.”
“I get you,” Iris reassured her.
“That’s why we love you, dear,” Cioné said, having to stop again to reshuffle the bags. “Are you doing anything nice, Kym?”
“Dunno really. Probs gonna get little T-J, O-Face, Lacco, and Susan over. Few drinks. Booze.”
“Sounds, er, lovely,” Cioné said. It did sound nice enough – she was just too distracted by the fact one of the bags seemed to be splitting. Lizzie thought it sounded nice. A Christmas with no expectation – a Christmas where one could just sit back and enjoy what the festival stood for, without concerning themselves over the stress of it. Lizzie was quite envious.
It was at that moment, the phone began to ring.
“Hello darling?” Cioné answered it, ushering herself over to a bench where she could sit and talk. Standing and phoning, as she’d discovered earlier, was not her forte. Lizzie, Iris, and Kym followed close behind.
The Doctor’s came through, urgent and hurried. “I need one of you to go to the imperial palace, and somehow be amazing, and get them to create a flight corridor for me.”
“Loud-speaker!” Iris urged.
“He wants a flight corridor…,” Cioné muttered, as she fumbled to put her phone on loud-speaker. “Why do you want a flight corridor?”
“I need one!”
Cioné did not seem convinced. “Right. And you think the authorities of this planet are going to open up a flight corridor for a blue box?”
The Doctor hesitated, not quite certain how to make his next remark any less weird, or any less stress-inducing.
“I have a pregnant woman on board.”
“BAHAHAHA,” Iris burst into a fit of laughter. Cioné spluttered, and then let out a small, airy chuckle of bemusement. Lizzie sat with her mouth wide open. Kym merely gasped theatrically, letting out an ‘OMG’.
“Yes,” the Doctor didn’t seem so amused. “She’s overdue, being induced on Boxing Day, it’s a medical emergency.”
“How the – did you – I mean, how – what?!” Cioné said, the words not forming as she’d intended.
“I’m not making this up,” the Doctor said. “It’s this company, they… teleport people into random ships to be taken to the surface. Space-Donkey, it’s called...”
Iris laughed. “Pfft, you always can make an ass of yourself…”
“Very funny,” the Doctor said. “Now – flight corridor. Can one of you try and arrange one? I don’t fancy having to deliver a baby. There’s a bureau at the Presidential Palace, I’ve checked it, it’s only a shuttlebus ride away from you.”
“Sorry,” Iris interrupted. “I just need to revel in the moment of you having to deliver a pregnant woman to Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. If her name is Mary or something, I’ll just have to give up because there’ll be no point in living.”
The Doctor’s silence spoke volumes.
“Brilliant,” shook her head in delighted bemusement. “Couldn’t make it up. Well. Someone did…”
“Look dear,” Cioné said. “I’ll set my best girls on it. Tell Mary I say merry Christmas!”
Cioné could hear the discussion in the background of the phone conversation.
“Mary says merry Christmas to you as well,” the Doctor came back on the line. “Look – there’s another astral underpass coming, can we speak later?”
“Yes!” Cioné said. “Of course. Er – well. I hope you get here soon. With your, er… pregnant woman,” Cioné said, still unable to quite get her head around the fact that her husband had a pregnant woman randomly teleport into his TARDIS.
The phone was hung up, and Cioné looked to Lizzie, Iris, and Kym.
“Fine…,” Iris grumbled.
Half an hour later, the shuttlebus rolled up in front of them. Lizzie, Iris, and Kym waited outside Continent 3 Arcade 77’s food court, in front of the largest Kronkburger King that Iris had ever seen. The logo in itself was perhaps larger than a small solar-cruiser, the great business’ symbol looming high above them all, a foreboding shadow over their festive time. Which, it must be said, was not feeling hugely festive. They were queuing with very civilised queue beside a rickety old sign, all looking out ahead of them.
They looked out at the immense concrete plaza ahead of them, a Christmas tree nearly as high as the Kronkburger King logo – though it seemed to sway slightly in the wind, and various of the awaiting shuttlebus passengers had exchanged words about how it seemed like it could topple at any moment. There was a fountain as well, though it was frozen (not really – the shopping district’s authorities had done so for effect), and the whole place seemed a wintery wonderland, with polystyrene snowdrifts, plastic icicles, MDF winter chalets, a meet-Santa zone for the children (30 credits a ticket – utterly extortionate) – and the shops weren’t far to be seen, for other than the miscellany of mobile food venders (1,725 credits to pitch for a shift), the gates of Continent 3 Arcade 76’s gates stood high above them.
After Iris let out a groan of impatience (much to the dismay of an elderly gentleman from Poseida stood behind her), the shuttlebus turned up. Iris apologised to the man – clearly her mother’s protestations at her uncouthness were beginning to settle in. A little bit.
“O.M.G, ladies, this is so hype-tastic,” Kym exclaimed, readying herself to board.
“Yeah…,” Iris rolled her eyes. “An ex-Imperial palace, what’s not to like…”
“I wonder if they have a Prince Harry. He’s superdoofulus cuteus,” Kym smiled dreamily, as if she couldn’t get any more problematic.
‘Rolled’ was perhaps the incorrect term – instead, it sort of… hovered. A metal box, suspended above the ground by some spacey technology, chugging in front of the cluster of Christmas shoppers, desperate to get to their destinations. Already the queue began to shift, as if one of them behind were hoping to stealthily launch their way in front of someone else.
“It’s where this President Herod guy lives, though, right?” Lizzie said. Her eyes were attuned to spot crowd density in any public situation – and there was no way she would be riding that craft in front of her if it was a wasted journey. For almost instantly, Lizzie had managed to identify that it was, as Cioné had said, heaving. Instead of a shuttlebus, it was more like a tin can, with the people crammed in like sardines.
“Yup,” Iris said. “Mum’s got a guidebook. She likes to draw in them.”
“Huh. That’s weeeird,” Kym said.
“Just because she has dreams and not a brain tuned to the vapidity of X-Factor…”
Lizzie looked at Iris, as if to say, don’t be so patronising. Iris replied with a grumpy look, but then set her sights on the bus. As if some kind of Christmas spirit were smiling down on them, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym were at the front of the queue – and Lizzie was holding out for them being able to find a place where standing wasn’t so awkward, or if they were truly blessed, seats.
The doors slid open.
Iris was on, Lizzie and Kym following close behind. Iris paid for the tickets, and then before anyone could barely blink, Iris had seized three seats, two next to each other and one behind, besides a grumpy looking woman from Officiora. Iris didn’t even point them out, for she knew that Lizzie’s eyes, honed like those of an eagle to try and avoid social contact, had already spotted them.
Soon, the three of them sit down.
It was as if the people piling on were not going to stop, however – and quickly, the aisle space beside them was filled, the area at the front of the bus beside the driver was crammed – by the racket coming from above, the entirety of the top-deck was full to bursting – and Lizzie even spotted people clawing for space on the stairs.
Like an accident waiting to happen, the shuttlebus shifted off.
“Yay gurls!” Kym exclaimed, sat next to Lizzie. Iris watched on from above. Kym’s voice was a little bit too loud, and already she was attracting attention from some of the many people surrounding them. “Road-trip!”
“It’s a bus ride?” Iris observed. “You live in London, how is this unusual?”
“Well, I got banned.”
Iris smiled like she wasn’t even surprised. “How?”
“Various reasons,” Kym said, shaking it off with unusual caginess. “Well! She declared. I’m thinking, when we get home, we should have a proper Christmas bash. I’ll ring Mario from the beauty parlour, he can get Red Jaquez from down north-end way to bring his music gear over, we’ll decorate my place up – it’ll be, absolutely, TOTES, amaaazeballs.”
Lizzie grimaced, and turned to the window, as the bus turned around a street-corner. She caught sight of a rag-tag bunch of carol-singers singing for all it was worth, garnering quite an audience from some of the many Christmas shoppers (though whether that was down to the mulled wine being distributed, it could not be said).
“What’s that face for, Lizzemmanuel?”
Oops.
“What face?!” immediately Iris leapt in to her defence. Not that she really needed defending – the case against Lizzie was pretty clear. There had certainly been a face – but Christmas and Parties, what did Kym expect? At Iris’ immediate protestation, an individual stood in the aisle coughed, as if to scold them for being public menaces.
“No, Christmas party,” Lizzie laughed it off. “Sounds – yeah, sounds brilliant.”
“I know you hate it Liz, but there’s need to be such a… such a Grinch!” Kym’s voice permeated the bus. By then, they seemed to have gained the attention of a group of teenagers from Somodax Blue leaning in to catch as much of the gossip as they could. Lizzie sshhed her, and Iris sniggered.
“Oh, brilliant,” Lizzie muttered. “Thanks a lot…”
“Just because you don’t like Christmas, Liz, don’t mean you’ve got to be all against Gomez-Claus,” Kym hissed, trying to be as quiet as possible. She wasn’t very good, and she caused the man cramped up beside her in the aisle to move away from her – which was quite a feat, considering there was such little space.
“Wh – what?” Lizzie was entirely confused. “I’ve literally never said anything against Christmas or your party? If you want to have it, then cool, definitely, go for it…”
Kym sighed. “I just wanted my friend there…”
“Look,” Lizzie spoke quietly, but she found herself snapping. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing, but it’s really not my scene, and I don’t care for anything like that, okay. So, please, don’t ask me about it.”
She felt a bit guilty after saying it. And then she told herself, no. Why should she feel guilty? Kym shouldn’t be… pressuring her into things that she didn’t want to do.
As this was all unfolding, Iris was leaning over them drinking up the drama like an eager viewer, eyes wide at the latest shocking soap-opera twist.
Kym sat back in her seat, deliberately turning away from Lizzie, crossing her arms sassily, pouting, deliberately trying to make a show of her opposition to her former friend being such a… such a bitch.
“T.b.h,” Kym eventually said. “This is probs about the time that I wouldn’t let Iris leech off my WiFi hotspot.”
Iris felt the need to leap in that this most recent accusation. “What?!”
“It’s not about that, at all!” Lizzie hissed, astounded.
“Although that was a hella snakey thing to do,” Iris muttered. Lizzie glared at her. Iris mouthed an apology.
Lizzie turned away from them both, and buried herself as close to the cold glass as she could manage, as if trying to escape the cramped confines of the bus. That was what it all was. Inescapable. And all Lizzie wanted was to escape – run from all these people trapping her. Christmas – it was everywhere, and it constricted her. Christmas. Everywhere. Inescapable. Why was it that any other time of year, it didn’t matter how you were, and then at Christmas it was like the festivity police were out to get you if you let a moments’ misery cross your mind?
“All I said, bitch,” Kym didn’t take kindly to Iris’ response, and her curses attracted the tuttings of a middle-aged couple sat a few rows in front of them, who looked like they were members of the imperial evangelical church. “Was that you needed to get the WiFi sorted!”
“It was only for two days,” Iris said slowly. “We’d moved in, and we needed it for two days.”
“That’s two days when I could be in Charing Cross and need a quick underground selfie.”
Lizzie thought it was good when people were nice at Christmas. When people kept an eye out for each other. Though as she listened to Iris and Kym bicker, she thought the expectations were just a little bit too much…
“Who takes underground selfies?”
“Pfft, you’re just jealous cause I once got a hella lit shot of the entire carriage.”
“I’m not!” Iris protested. I literally couldn’t give a flying whatever, even if you’ve developed the ability to breath in a vacuum and do the Macarena in space.”
She hesitated.
“Actually, if you can do that, I’d quite like to know. But my point stands.”
“This isn’t about the stupid hotspot!” Lizzie said a bit too loudly. The glares in the bus turned to her, and Lizzie quickly muttered a ‘sorry’ before reducing her voice to a whisper. “Look. It’s fine. Forget about it. Kym, I’ll come to your party. Whatever. Let’s just put it behind us.”
“You’ll come????” Kym yelped, her voice turning to a high-pitched squeal.
Lizzie hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”
Lizzie had no obligation to go. No need to satisfy Kym’s burning festive cheer. But she was, at least, very grateful for Kym inviting her.
“YAAAAAAAAAAAS.”
That time, the whole bus, including the upper deck, must have heard.
“I haven’t even said yes…”
Thankfully for the rest of the passengers, the shuttlebus had arrived at the President’s building, and they all parted in the middle, with a speed and efficiency that was almost a little bit too quick and a little bit too efficient. Kym and Iris strode off, and Lizzie followed close behind, muttering ‘sorry’ as she went – not least for merely brushing past people as she went, but in general for the racket.
***
Lizzie, Iris, and Kym looked up at the building ahead of them. It was tall, and crafted exquisitely of great white marble, an immense symbol from former days of Bethlehem being governed directly by the Empire. Now, it was only a planet on good terms with them – but the remnants of the Empire’s administration were still evident on the world, wherever one chose to turn.
And as Lizzie, Iris, and Kym stood in the great courtyard, one of those symbols was evident. Surrounded by glass and metal, the imperial palace – now the site of the President’s official residence – was the only non-skyscraper building in the area. And because of that, it stood out. The building was constructed towards the back of a great cobblestone plane, behind a great bronze statue of some ancient emperor, a variety of well-kept shrubbery, and a several fountains that, at this time of year, had been made to freeze over, so as to make the place look wintery.
The three of them made their way to the double doors at the front.
“Right,” Iris declared. “Our mission is as follows. Mum said that if we can get in and let down the shields, she can probably fly her TARDIS in. it’s only short distance, so the artron clouds shouldn’t get in the way. Then, Mum comes in, we open the flight corridor for Dad. Then we all go into town, celebrate Christmas, watch The Snowman, whatever.”
Lizzie nodded. Kym stood squealing, trying to contain her excitement.
“Honestly,” Kym said, almost dancing up to the building. “They should just call me Jane Bond, like seriously.”
Iris would reserve judgement.
The three of them made their way through the doors. They’d planned the next bit out in advance.
The hall that they stepped into was huge, and clearly a modern addition to the building. A glass reception desk stood at the front, and in the rest of the glass, sleek establishment, there were some vending machines, some circular tables, and a small café. Beside the reception desk were doors leading to the rest of the building, with metal scanners and security guards policing the entrances. However – Lizzie, Iris, and Kym were more interested in the door in the corner.
It was labelled fire escape.
And helpfully, as they had noticed on the schematics of the building, it connected with the fire escapes stretching higher up the building.
Lizzie and Iris nodded to Kym. Kym reached into her handbag… and she pulled out her weapon of choice.
Lizzie and Iris were by the fire escape – and Kym dropped the perfume.
Its glass container shattered instantly into a million pieces, and the pungent liquid spilled all over the entire floor. Its odour engulfed the entire atrium, and some of the visitors in the coffee shop were taken aback by the strong scent. But… most importantly, the shattering glass attracted the attention of the security guards, and instantly they dashed away from the metal scanners, the entrance, and their other positions around the room, dashing to the centre of the hall in a busy throng of chaos.
“Ooops, oops oops, silly me, ah!” Kym proclaimed, absolutely shocked at having dropped her perfume like that. “What a klutz! That’s what they all call me, darlings!” Kym waved her arms around, being deliberately theatrical. Then, she began to back away from the scene. “Kym the klutz! Klutzy the crab! Slutzy klutzy. Wait. No, that’s what I called Carly the bitch in my year at school.”
By the time Kym finished her monologue, she too was by the fire escape – which was now open. Carefully, she shut the door behind her, as the guards started to realise that there was no weapon, and that it was some crazy lady having just dropped a bottle of perfume. Oh well. They shouldn’t underestimate her…
Kym looked up. Lizzie and Iris were on the stairwell – and they gave each other the thumbs-up.
“What sort of spaceship is this?” Mary was peering around one of the entranceways leading to the corridors, that delved deep into the belly of the TARDIS. She was captivated by the whole thing – and it was like no other spaceship she’d seen before. Almost like a child on Christmas day, she traipsed around the place examining every nook and cranny, eyes wide with wonder and excitement – and yet, not daring to delve further beyond the confines of the room. “A big one by the looks of it…,” she answered herself, as she wandered down to the bar and found a neglected glass of mulled wine. She gave it a sniff, decided it was disgusting, and then side-lined it.
Mary seemed to do that a lot – to be captivated by everything, and to feel everything – to look out the observatory, and to see the stars, and be entirely caught up in their beauty. Well – if Christmas was a time for looking at the universe and seeing the beauty within it, Mary fitted perfectly.
“Imagine the biggest ship you possibly can,” the Doctor said. He was stood looking at one of the monitors, scrutinising it. There was something not quite right… but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Without looking to Mary (who, by the sounds of it, had ventured onto the balcony looking down onto the console room). “And then forget about it. Because this place is infinitely bigger.”
There was a pause, and in the silence, Mary’s shock seemed to be permeable. When the Doctor glanced over, just to make sure she was alright, he saw her, looking down at him – he felt quite small against how much she stood over him. She looked astounded, mouth wide – and then suddenly, she started to laugh.
And when she started to laugh, she couldn’t stop. And she kept laughing, until she was creasing over the balcony railing, and the Doctor became quite concerned that Mary was going to tumble over.
“Oh my god! That’s crazy. I shouldn’t believe you… but I do?” Mary had seen the imperial flagship during the imperial wedding – and to think of anything even double that size, let alone infinitely bigger… was chilling. Though, through the weirdness and strangeness that life seemed to be, Mary wasn’t that dazed by such an astonishing creation. Instead, she was simply overjoyed that it was possible.
“Welcome to the TARDIS, Mary,” the Doctor looked over at her, and smiled.
“TARDIS? What’s it mean?”
“Depends what mood I’m in,” the Doctor flicked some of the TARDIS switches to alter the scanner settings. Something definitely wasn’t right.
“I meant the word. TARDIS,” Mary played with it. The Doctor looked over at her, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at Mary’s intelligence. She’d seen straight through him.
“Time and Relative Dimension in Space.”
“Huh. Nice. Guessing then that this is another dimension?” In her youth, Mary was the first cohort in the newest Physics GCSE – and much to her dismay, they’d included a unit on dimensional mechanics. Worst half-term of her life.
“Yes,” the Doctor confirmed.
“Where’s it from? And can I get one?”
The Doctor hesitated. He decided there wasn’t much harm in telling Mary. Not like she could… crash his ship, or something. “It’s Time Lord science.”
That answered both her questions, and a grimace spread across her face. “Eww.”
“Yes…,” the Doctor said, just as full of contempt as Mary. He had a terrible feeling that it wouldn’t be long before everyone in the universe knew about TARDISes. The Time War seemed to loom like a shadow over the universe – and the Doctor had felt it, at the border control outside the Astra-GH-Pink asteroid belt, that people were savouring this celebration. That… everyone had a feeling that there wouldn’t be a day far off, when Christmas as everyone knew it would be a distant memory.
“So… you’re a Time Lord?”
The Doctor looked down to the floor. “Yes. But… I’m not part of that war. Never will be.”
“Okay,” Mary shrugged. The Doctor tried to make it seem as if he wasn’t as taken aback as he was – but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was shocked. “How’d you cope? Knowing that your part of the same species as Rassilon?”
“I could ask you the same, knowing that you’re the same species as Evangeline Cullengate.”
“True. We’re such speciesists,” Mary chuckled to herself and slumping down on the old armchair that Cioné and Lizzie had hauled up from the library. It sat under the lights of a Christmas tree, which was haphazardly decorated beside a set of bookshelves, and Mary sat beneath it, fiddling with a rogue piece of tinsel. “Oh well. Wouldn’t be Christmas with casual speciesism over the dinner table.”
“That and Monopoly…”
“Oh my god, Monopoly,” Mary spat the name of the dreaded board game with immense hatred.
“My entire family hate it and yet we still play it, every single year.” It had only just struck the Doctor that it was the oddest practise – but it felt like there was some unspeakable Christmassy law that everyone should play Monopoly, every year.
“My parents divorced over Monopoly,” Mary laughed. When she caught sight of the Doctor’s shock, she felt the need to explain. “Straw that broke the camel’s back”
“Ah.”
“Even so, I’m never not amused when I tell people that. And to be fair, my mum got seven bloody hotels, I mean if that’s not enough to divorce someone, I don’t know what is.”
Mary shut herself up, finding her laughs were perhaps over-spilling on a subject matter where one might deem such hilarity to be weird.
“Sorry,” she said. “Shutting up now…”
“No – don’t stop on my account,” the Doctor said. In truth, he found it quite wonderful how joyful Mary seemed to be.
“I said to my dad after he stormed off because mum was teasing him for buying her a bacon toaster for Christmas. Look. There’s nothing wrong with being bitter at Christmas – it’s not your fault. It’s mum’s. She needs to change her view, and realise that the way to help isn’t to be annoying about a bacon toaster. It’s about being kind, generous, letting him play Cluedo later. Anyway,” Mary noticed the Doctor’s silence. “Sorry. Shutting up now.”
In fact, the Doctor found Mary’s philosophising over Monopoly and a bacon toaster to be quite remarkable. “Thank you, Mary.”
“What for?”
“Being helpful,” the Doctor spun the monitor around.
“Really? Okay, er, thanks?”
“Truly. You’re a wise woman.”
“Well, what can I sa –,” unfortunately, Mary’s attempts at a sarcastic narcissism were interrupted when there was a sudden flash of light in the corner of the TARDIS.
It was at this moment Mary understood what it was like when she had randomly teleported inside the Doctor’s TARDIS. She stood by the Doctor, looking over at the doors, aghast at what she was witnessing.
There were two men, stood at the doors. They were big and burly, both in sturdy boots, thick, khaki trousers, winter fleeces, with reflective jackets bulging over the tops of the thick woollen layer beneath them. They wore gloves and woolly hats, and proceeded to dust themselves off – both of them had become covered in some sort of soot, and as they brushed they gave the clean white floor a light sprinkling of the black dust. They stood there, heaving in deep breaths, trying to gather themselves.
Somehow, they had teleported into the TARDIS – and both of them seemed quite out of breath, grabbing onto the railings by the doors, loosening their fleeces, taking off their woolly hats and gloves.
“Oh, buggering bugger bugger,” one of them muttered, grabbing onto the hat-stand for support. His hair – or the little patches at the side of his head, for he was bald – was singed. Both of their leather jackets were grubby and grimy, and as they strode further into the TARDIS, they left great dirty footprints.
“I knew something wasn’t right!” the Doctor said, spinning the monitor around the TARDIS and examining it closely. Briefly he glanced over at the two men and the dirt they were leaving on his floor. “And this is why I don’t have workmen…”
“Sorry boss!” the other one called to the Doctor. “We’ll be out of your hair soon as.”
Mary started laughing, again. “Who are you?!” she said, before trying to calm herself. Again. She wanted to hold off labour until she was in an actual place, and not in space.
The first sweary one pondered over and held up a card. “I’m Mark, ISA representative for this area. That’s Paul, also ISA representative for this area.”
“… right?” the Doctor asked, still at a loss. Mary was still trying to stifle a laugh.
Paul was busy looking out the doors at the gridlock of traffic outside. “Yeah, mate, I can see the craft we were aiming at. Big Trev’s aim was entirely kaput again.”
“Bloody Big Trev…,” Mark muttered, leaning against the console, still quite out of breath.
The Doctor had tried to decipher who the ISA were by looking at his equipment – but he wasn’t any closer, so he made the decision to ask them. “So – sorry, what are the ISA?”
Paul looked over at him, and called over as he shut the doors. “You serious, mate?”
“Very,” the Doctor said.
“Intergalactic Shepherd Agency,” Mark said, holding his card out again. When the Doctor looked closer, he could see the words embossed in gold, and a little icon of a sheep.
“… right?” the Doctor said, still not sure what that meant.
“What the hell is that?” Mary said, strangely captivated in the strange device Paul had just taken out of a big suitcase. When the Doctor looked over to see what she was so interested in, he dashed over to Paul.
“What is that?!” he asked. Paul readied the device – it was like a super-soaker – except much larger, the size of a rocket launcher, perhaps. There was a screen protruding from the side, a strange whirring disc at the front, and an instrument, a bit like a colander, fastened onto the top.
“Well, while we’re here…,” Paul marched over to the console. Mark stepped back, and Paul aimed the whirring disc towards the console. A grin spread across Paul’s face – he seemed to be taking immense delight in whatever it was he was doing.
“While you’re here what?!” the Doctor ran over to the console. Before he could do anything, a blue light shone from the disc, and a quiet humming noise, quiet enough to talk over, came from the colander.
“Right,” Mark decided to explain. “The atmosphere of Bethlehem is full of these stupid blighters, space-sheep.”
“Creative name…,” Mary mused.
“They travel in the residue astral energy, and they get into the computer systems of ships – and then they blow the ship up.”
The Doctor stepped back, shocked.
“We don’t deal with those sheep,” Mark explained. “And you all die. Simple as that.”
“Simple as that,” Paul agreed, concentrating on pointing the device at the console.
“Oh,” the Doctor said, regretting his adverseness to the two space shepherds, Mark and Paul. “Sorry.”
“No worries mate,” Mark said, slapping the Doctor on the back, and blokey gesture that admittedly, took the Doctor entirely by surprise. “Just doing our job. We were called out to a ship just over there, but Big Trev’s got his aim wrong again. No harm in giving your place a quick once-over.”
Paul took the device away from the console, a pleased look on his face. “No sheep to report here. You’re good to go.”
“Do you do this all the time?” Mary asked, as Paul placed the rocket launcher device back into its suitcase, and readied himself. They had quite a few ships to be investigating before they were obliged to take a rest break. And then… the shift would continue, just as it always did.
“Ain’t many of us,” Mark admitted. “Barring half hour rest breaks, we’ll be working through to the new year.”
“Through Christmas?” Mary looked up at him solemnly. She was terribly sad that the two men weren’t going to spend Christmas with the people they loved. She couldn’t bear that sort of thing to happen to anybody – especially people like the two in front of her, who did what they did. She respected them greatly.
“Through Christmas,” Mark confirmed, as he walked over towards Paul by the door. “Not too bad – apart from the fact the big wigs cut off our phone signals so we concentrate on what we’re doing. Means we can’t contact our families.”
The Doctor looked over at the two men, a painful look etched upon his face. He wanted to do something… though he wasn’t quite sure what. Two people who were willing to spend their Christmases looking out for people was something that had restored his faith in the universe – a faith that had, perhaps, been dwindling. With great respect and admiration, he looked at the two men, braving themselves for the teleport scoop, and hoping that this time, Big Trev would get it right.
“Wait!” the Doctor ran over to the two men. “Phones.”
He gestured for the two men to hurry up, and eventually, they both presented the Doctor with their mobile telephones. The Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver and pulsed it over the devices – and quickly, the screens of both displayed the image of a lock being opened. Paul gasped audibly, and Mark looked up at the Doctor, a concerned look on his face, as the Doctor handed the phones back over.
“Sir – if we’re found having bypassed the system, it’s instant dismissal.” Mark had heard it happen – friends of his, who had only wanted to contact their families on Christmas day, had found a way to bypass the signal block, and who had found themselves sacked before the day was out.
“Believe me,” the Doctor smiled. “They won’t notice this. They can scan it, do whatever they like to it. Isomorphically and psychically tuned to you. You want to phone… you just have to dial the number, and wish.”
The two men looked up at the Doctor, spellbound. “Thank you, sir,” Mark said, gratitude evident in his voice.
“Honestly!” Paul laughed. “Don’t know how to thank you. It means so much.”
“No need,” the Doctor said, stepping back, his heart content that he might have just made Christmas a little bit better for somebody. “Merry Christmas, gentlemen.”
The two men doffed their woolly hats (if such a thing weren’t possible, in the Christmas spirit, they managed it) – and before long, Big Trev had activated the teleport scoop. The two men vanished, and it was like they’d never been there.
“Are you magic?” Mary asked him. She seemed a little bit in awe.
The Doctor shook his head. “No,” he said. “Just… did what I could.”
“Yeah. I think that’s pretty magic.”
The hallway in front of Lizzie, Iris, and Kym was immense. They walked on a wide stone bridge, suspended above an almighty chasm. Great marble arches curved above their heads, and the ceiling had chandeliers dangling sturdily from above. Along the walkway, spaced at equal intervals, were pedestals, upon which were placed a variety of different artworks – sculptures, ceramics, china, vases, models – all sorts. The walls curving to the great ceiling above their heads were adorned with paintings, displaying all sorts of ancient, long forgotten scenes.
They crept as silently and stealthily as they could – but with one of them being as uncoordinated as Lizzie, one being Cioné’s daughter, and the other being Kym Gomez – it wasn’t an easy task. However, they had one thing to achieve. Somehow find a control room where they could let down the shields, and let Cioné in.
Couldn’t be too hard, could it?
Pfft. Who was Lizzie kidding? It was going to be a nightmare?
It was not made any easier by the question that Kym eventually chose to ask.
“Soooo, how’s Leo?”
Lizzie stopped beside an ornate sculpture that looked like a purple spider’s web suspended in a golden frame.
“Is now really the time?” Lizzie replied. The sculpture was right beside her elbow, and Lizzie was worried that even the slightest breath would upset it and knock it into the abyss below.
Kym shrugged.
“I think it’s the perfect time,” Iris said bluntly. Finally. She agreed with Kym on something, at least. The three of them began walking, keeping an eye out for any opposition they might face on their perilous journey through the halls of President Herod.
“We’re – hang on,” Lizzie had to take a moment, entirely astounded, brushing past some ceramic bust with terrifying closeness. “We’re breaking into the president’s office, and you both want to talk about the state of my relationship?”
“… pretty much,” Iris shrugged. Lizzie glared at her, and Iris returned a charming smile that couldn’t help but stop Lizzie from glaring at her
They continued their way down the corridor, silently skulking along as quietly as possible. Eventually, Lizzie hesitated. No. They didn’t need to know anything about Leo. She could sort it herself. And then Lizzie changed her mind. There was absolutely no way she could sort it herself, she needed help, and although they would probably provide more hindrance than anything else, at least Kym and Iris might have been able to help… a bit.
“Well,” Lizzie began, as if it were a very complex issue that she was trying to explain. To be fair, for herself – it was. “We’ve sort of hit a bit of a… lull.”
Iris looked over at Lizzie. “A… lull?”
Lizzie decided that was definitely the right word. “Yes. A lull.”
“Look girl,” Kym said, instantly breaking into her normal self and forgetting the fact that they were trespassing in a high security environment with some very valuable antique art items. Her voice rose to its normal volume, her movement became its usual, outrageous state, as she pranced theatrically in front of Lizzie and Iris and began to walk backwards. Already Lizzie was quite concerned that it would not end well. “Tell Aunt Kym all, kay? I’m the expert to end all experts’ expertise, you get me?”
“Erm, well, er, yeah, I get you –”
“Yay!” Kym span on her heels, stumbling over and nearly knocking over an exquisite vase that, according to the plaque, was blown in the china-fields of South Eresix-5. But with great dexterity, she managed to spin on her heels, grabbing the vase and placing it gently back on its pedestal.
Lizzie and Iris watched her, agog at Kym’s surprise act of agility.
“See? I’m not all just heels and clumsiness.”
Kym strode away, her Gucci handbag swinging behind her.
Lizzie closed her eyes, just knowing what was about to happen.
The bag connected with the vase, and the vase was swept off its pedestal, tumbling off the edge of the bridge and falling, far, far below them. There was a period of silence, as Kym looked up at Lizzie and Iris, and Lizzie gritted her teeth, and Iris looked hacked off. The vase still hadn’t hit the ground, and still they looked at each other, just waiting in bitter suspense for the inevitable sound to come.
Smash.
They’d barely been able to hear the inevitable noise of the vase breaking, due to the depth of the chasm the bridge was suspended over. But eventually, like the certainty of the length of shadows as the clock hits a specific interval – the vase smashed.
Lizzie, Iris, and Kym watched each other.
“Eh,” Iris shrugged. “Probably something made for some royal. I won’t lose sleep over it.”
Lizzie looked over at Iris as if she was clearly missing the obvious. “I don’t care that it’s broken,” she whispered. “But I probably will lose sleep if we get locked up after someone realises that we’re breaking into the highest security building on the planet?”
Iris hesitated.
“Oops,” she said.
“Yeah…”
“Shit,” Kym muttered.
“Yeah,” Lizzie said.
“Well” Kym began. “At least – actually, ignore me, there’s nothing I can say to make this better.”
Lizzie took a moment. Regaining herself, she took a deep breath. She straightened her coat on her shoulders. She was getting flustered, and stressed. She told herself – what was there to worry about? They were, as she said, only breaking into the most secure building on this planet. What could possibly go wrong?
Literally everything, Elizabeth, why are you even asking yourself that question, you stupid girl.
She shut the thought from her mind.
“Right,” Lizzie said, ignoring everything that her head was telling her. Focus on shutting down the shields. Let Cioné in. Open the flight corridor. “Let’s go.”
Kym gave the empty pedestal a melancholy look, and then skipped away, dancing off in front of Lizzie and Iris.
“Careful,” Lizzie whispered. “There might be… tripwires, or something…”
“Tripwires?” Iris looked at her incredulously.
“Tripwires…,” Lizzie confirmed.
“Soz,” Kym declared. “I just ain’t used to all this sneaking around, y’know? Actually, that’s a complete lie, I sneak around like, all the time. Usually it’s just into clubs and stuff that I’ve been kicked out of.”
“Well…,” Iris thought. “You manage that alright, why can’t you sneak into this place without literally smashing it up?”
Kym looked over at one of the paintings. “I don’t usually manage it,” she muttered quietly.
Iris wasn’t even surprised, as Kym turned back to them.
“So,” Kym quickly changed the subject. “Leo. Tell all, Lizmas,” Kym jumped in between Lizzie and Iris and threw her arms around both of them, making Lizzie seize up in an awkward tenseness, and simply giving Iris another reason to be irritated by her presence.
“I don’t know…,” Lizzie muttered not exactly sure what to say, and still a little bit uncertain as to why she was going to divulge all of this information in the situation she was currently in. “Like, we know each other well, we talk, and stuff. But that’s like… it.”
“Shag–”
“Oh my god, Kym, no,” Iris said, stepping out of Kym’s arms and in front of Lizzie and Kym. “Straight sex, line in the sand –”
“Also there’s like, no way I’m going round talking about… things like… yeah –”
“Alright!” Kym protested, raising her arms defensively. “Fine.”
They continued walking in silence.
“But are yo –”
“Kym,” Lizzie said, cutting her off. “Please. Stop. Look. Things have… yeah, er – got beyond a… a certain stage – but it’s like – what now?”
Lizzie was, in fact, quite glad to have some advice on this – even if it was Kym. It had been bothering her for a while – her and Leo. What was the point? Surely there were meant to be good things from a relationship? Otherwise everyone would just be single. Lizzie and Leo had almost… plateaued in their relationship – and Lizzie was beginning to lose focus in why she’d ever decided to be in a relationship anyway. It was much easier being on her own – she could do what she wanted, when she wanted, without constantly stressing over the politics of love. There was something quite appealing about breezing through life as a free spirit, without chaining herself to another person.
Lizzie was quite sure that a train of thought like her current one was probably not a good sign.
“Basically,” Lizzie said. “It is awkward. And not real. And fake. And it feels stupid.”
“You’re pussyfooters,” Iris said, trying very hard not to giggle at her unfortunate use of terminology. “Nope, sorry, can’t,” and then she sniggered.
Lizzie ignored her. “See. Awkward people. It’s rubbish.”
It was very true. Both Lizzie and Leo were too… awkward to do anything else. They just… didn’t talk about anything other than superficialities. They had certainly come to some kind of turning-point, and yet, they were too weird and silent to talk about it. Too reserved, and closed, and Lizzie was fed up of it. And yet… she didn’t know what to do. However – she knew that something had to be done. Because while her and Leo had originally made her feel beyond happy, it was veering into tedious – and Lizzie couldn’t bear the thought of her eventually getting bored of him.
So now was the time. Make sure she didn’t get bored of him. But how?
“You’re at the bridge,” Kym declared. Her silence had been long – unusually long, for Kym Gomez. “Short-term relationship to long-term. And you need to decide. Do you wanna stick around with him? If the answer is no, then his ass, Lizzious. If the answer is yes – then, gurl, you’ve got to stop being so hella awks. As Flower Power here –”
“Please don’t call me that,” Iris interrupted.
“– says,” Kym continued, ignoring her. “Gotta stop pussyfooting. Whatever pussyfooting means. Is it when a man –”
“No,” Iris said. “It’s really, definitely not.”
The girls were right. Lizzie was, as Iris had put it, a pussyfooter. And she’d known this – and to solve the current dilemma in her life, Lizzie knew that she needed to stop being a pussyfooter. In fact – Lizzie had known all along how to make things better with Leo. She didn’t even need to talk to Iris and Kym about it. But she had done – perhaps out of fear, or perhaps because her brain wasn’t quite ready to accept the truth that she’d already discovered herself.
“You should be quiet more often,” Iris observed, watching Kym as she strode down the stone bridge in her almighty pink heels, her fur coat, her leather jacket, and her sunglasses balanced on top of her head. “Because that was actually useful.”
“I’m not all a bitch,” Kym grinned, sounding as cheery and as happy as ever.
Lizzie looked at the two of them, and silently thanked them. She was quite confident now what she had to do with Leo.
“But, er,” Kym said, looking sheepishly at the ground. “Sorry for being a bitch earlier. When we were on that shuttlebus.”
“It’s fine,” Lizzie said, hoping to be able to brush it under the carpet. It was over, and Lizzie didn’t want to argue about it. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I just thought, right Lizworth, you are gonna have a totes AMAZEBALLS mass of Christ, whether you like it or not. But that’s a stupid way of thinking about it, and I won’t do it again.”
“Honestly,” Lizzie smiled, stopping and turning to Kym. “Don’t worry about it. Just a… difficult topic of conversation, that’s all.”
“Got it,” Kym said, understandingly. As Lizzie looked at her, she knew that Kym understood. While Kym often needed it spelling out to her, as she blundered through life with little consideration of others, blinded by an almost impenetrable wave of self-centred behaviour – when Kym saw she’d upset someone, and stopped and thought about it – Lizzie noticed that Kym had a very big heart as well. “Won’t bring it up again.”
The three of them pressed on. Ahead of them there was a big oak door, almost like a drawbridge – and to the side, a suspicious metal door, the sort that always, behind it, contains either electrics, a boiler room, or an enormous supply of paper towels.
“Also,” Kym continued. “I think I was superdoopus carried away by the fact that you do this, all the time?!” Kym gestured around her. “You’re like, Liz-I 5, or summit.”
“We’re really not…,” Iris muttered.
“Yeah, well… you still like, actually leave Earth. I mean, I didn’t even realise there were like, other planets, until I was like, 19. And now I’m on one! Like, argh, it’s hella cray cray.”
Hella cray cray, Lizzie thought to herself. Yes… that was certainly an apt description.
“I can’t actually believe I’m going to say this,” Iris began, with great hesitation. “But Kym, you’d be every entertaining to take around the universe.”
Kym thought about it. “Nah. I’d only do it every so often. Parties to go to. Soulcycle to do. Nails to paint. Ta darling, tho. Means a lot, innit”
Iris smiled at Kym – and maybe, Kym wasn’t such a pain in the backside as Iris had always intended.
They were at the metal door, a small walkway leading towards it. Iris reached into her pocket, and pulled out the device.
“What the hell is that,” Kym’s jaw dropped.
It was a knitting needle, and Iris pointed it at the door. With a quick press of the top, a blue light emerged from the end – and the lock of the door clicked open. Why? For it wasn’t just a knitting needle.
It was a sonic knitting needle.
“Took it from Mum,” Iris said, opening the metal door. Lizzie was left uncertain whether Cioné actually knew, or whether Iris had just… cheekily run off with it. Lizzie was sure that either outcome was possible.
The room beyond the metal door was cramped, but with a control desk – the sort that Kym immediately proclaimed was like something straight out of a nightclub – and a small swivel chair behind it. Iris immediately sat down, and prepared to do… something or other to the keyboard. She hadn’t decided what.
But before she did, Iris turned around to Kym. “You need to go.”
Kym gasped. “Why?! We ain’t on hotspot again, hoe?”
“Whatever happened to not being a bitch? No, you need to go tell my mum that we’re in here. We can’t disable the shields until you’re outside, because if all three of us are captured, then Mum’s never gonna know? Capiche?”
Kym sighed. “Fiiine. Stay outta trouble, ladies. Adios, amigos!”
It was, with remarkable ease, that Kym decided to leave. Lizzie kept an eye out as Kym strode off down the corridor, to the door at the far end, leading to the stairs, which in turn led to reception. A few minutes passed, as Iris looked around at the computer desk, waiting for the signal.
“Do you think she’s going to get out?” Lizzie enquired.
“They won’t doubt at all that she accidentally wandered in.”
Lizzie’s phone pinged.
Kym – 14:21
I’M OUT, BEYOTCHES. Told the security guard I accidentally wandered in looking for the toilets. GOOD LUCK GIRLIES. XX
“She’s out,” Lizzie said. Iris’ usual joke about coming out didn’t come, as she was too busy focusing her attention on the desk in front of her.
“I think…,” Iris muttered, her eyes trailing over the controls. “I think this is the one.”
She flicked a random switch.
Immediately, the entire building burst into the sound of blaring alarms. Sirens lit the place up red, flashing repeatedly. Lizzie glanced to the end of the corridor, and she could see the guards dashing down.
But thankfully, as desired, the controls showed the message they’d been hoping for.
Building shields down.
Iris used the sonic knitting needle.
Controls locked.
And with that, everything was in place. The shields were down – the security guards couldn’t do anything about it. If all went well… Kym wouldn’t get lost, and Cioné would eventually find their way to them.
“Hello ladies,” said the security guard. “You’re both under arrest. Get out of there.”
Iris gave the security guard the most innocent, sweetest smile that she could manage. “I’ve been out for years, mate. Just because you’re struggling to come to terms with your sexuality doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.”
The security guard did not like that at all.
Very quickly, Lizzie and Iris were wheeled out of the control room, and whisked off deep into the belly of Herod’s palace.
“So… you’re a Doctor, and you can make people’s phones magic?” Mary sat lounging in the Lizzie’s armchair, steadily making her way through a large box of Celebrations that the Doctor had said she could eat. Mary didn’t even leave the Bounty untouched, such was her all-accepting nature. “How’d you get so good with computers?”
“I did a correspondence course,” the Doctor shrugged, having pulled a wooden stool up to the TARDIS. He sat leaning over the controls and entwining a rubber-band ball together. He was terribly bored, and as his daughter, best friend, and Kym hadn’t managed that flight corridor yet, both the Doctor and Mary were left, the threat of labour looming ever closer, with the well of conversation having dried up.
“What sort of correspondence courses do they do on Gallifrey?” Mary enquired, gobbling up a Galaxy Caramel. “Haha. Courses in starting illegal wars?” She found her own joke distinctly amusing, and chuckled along quietly.
“It was either one in technology or Gallifreyan politics,” the Doctor admitted. And he toppled enough plutocrats to know enough about them, let alone expose himself to an onslaught in biased educational material about the government.
“This man we had living down our road when we were kids, he was an idiot, and he used to run a correspondence course on traditional Earth English game animals.”
“Was there… much demand for it?”
“You’d be surprised. People trying to reclaim some history or something that never existed. The glory days of killing innocent creatures, and all that.”
A demand that always seemed worse at Christmas, as people obsessed over old-fashioned traditions and ideas that, while perhaps the foundation of the festivities, were no longer the sole pillars of what people celebrated every year.
“My brother once killed a pigeon and brought it in, and my mum did her nut when she found out,” Mary reminisced. “Said, you do that again, and Santa won’t come. It was hilarious. I was 15, though, and he was like, 7 –”
Mary looked over to the Doctor, realising that he hadn’t been listening. Instead, he was looking at the doors of the TARDIS, with similar shock to the way in which he’d looked at her, and in a similar way to the way in which he’d looked at the space shepherds. Mary came to a conclusion about why the Doctor was so captivated without even needing to look – but before she drew her eyes over the location that the Doctor stared, she could hear them without even needing to look.
“Casper,” came a well-spoken, Queen’s English, feminine voice. “Oh for – Casper, I told you that they weren’t going to let us straight through with the purple-grade badge! I said so, and now look! They’ve done a complete botched job of it all. For goodness’ sake. What has the universe come to, can’t even get lazy individuals to work a teleporter properly…”
Mary looked over, and she saw the three women stood by the TARDIS door. They looked exactly how they sounded – middle-class and pearls, and looking at them, Mary was quite certain that the curlers came out every morning.
The woman who had been complaining about Casper came striding over. She was tall and thin, and strode confidently, heels clacking against the floor. She looked the epitome of sleek, and crow-like features eyed the Doctor up. “Good afternoon, young man. What ship is this?”
“Sorry,” the Doctor enquired. “Who are you?”
“I don’t see what that business is of yours, you petulant individual,” replied the thin woman, shooting him a look of death. The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Well, you’re on his ship?” Mary stepped in. “Technically, you’re trespassing.”
That seemed to unnerve the thin woman slightly, and when Mary looked over to her pals, they too seemed a little concerned. The Doctor mouthed Mary a ‘thank you’.
The shorter, rounder lady stumbled over. Her hair was curled, and her face read – and the Doctor suspected that perhaps she’d been at the gin. She crossed the floor, and shook the Doctor’s hand. “Afternoon, afternoon. This is Balthazar,” she pointed to the thin woman. “I’m Caspar. Over there, that’s Melchior.”
The Doctor nodded a greeting to Balthazar, and waved over at Melchior. Melchior gave him a look that transcended the meaning of the word ‘judgemental’.
“And might I ask,” the Doctor said. “What are you doing in my TARDIS?”
“A TARDIS, hmm?” Balthazar seemed interested. The Doctor could read straight through her features, and knew that, in fact, Balthazar had no idea what she was talking about.”
“They’re opening a new Conservative club on Bethlehem,” prowled Melchior. Her voice was silky, but falsely attractive, as her words dripped with poison.
“We were asked to open it,” Balthazar proclaimed proudly. “But…”
It was like Balthazar couldn’t even bring herself to say the words.
“We’re late,” Caspar chipped in – before going off on a rant, her words taking on a form of nostalgia honed to optimum sharpness and deadliness. “Honestly. It’s despicable. Back in my day, we used to be dedicated. We were never lazy, we gave it our all, all day. We used to work, we used to graft. Never expected it all on a plate, that’s for sure!”
The Doctor gritted his teeth, and then bit his tongue. He looked over at Mary, who was seething. The three women were circling around the TARDIS, like lions circling around prey – and yet, the Doctor knew that while they moved, the three women circled on nothing but brash overconfidence and rose-tinted glasses – and that it was those qualities that made them dangerous. Their teeth weren’t sharp – but their motives, and their influence… was clearly dangerous.
“What can I do for you?” the Doctor asked, determined to move the three women on as much as possible. He was also slightly concerned that people kept wandering into his TARDIS. Perhaps the shields needed repairing.
“We need up-to-date mapping software,” Balthazar declared. Mary giggled, and even when Balthazar shot her an evil look, Mary kept giggling. The three women looked furious, disgusted at the audaciousness of the youth. Just because their equipment was outdated, and they had got themselves a little bit lost, should not make them the object of ridicule.
“Ours is entirely out-of-date and shan’t do at all,” Melchior said. “Sort us out, or we can’t move along.”
“What’s the magic word?” the Doctor said, in a way akin to that he used to use with Iris, many years ago. Mary, meanwhile, unwrapped a Mars bar, quite gobsmacked that three old women were, in a way, holding the Doctor hostage. While they were without weapons, the behaviour of the three women, and the threat of having to endure it for longer, was threat enough.
The three women looked horrified. The Doctor suspected that they probably hadn’t heard the word ‘no’ in at least a good… 50 years or so. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so patronising. Perhaps now, the three of them would somehow… sabotage his TARDIS, or initiate some sort of –
No. He was being ridiculous. He would stand his ground.
Unfortunately, the three women ignored him, as Caspar gravitated towards Mary.
“Can’t be giving birth in space, you know,” Caspar looked up to the Doctor, a grave look on her red face. “You know what they say. It’s the artificial air,” she mouthed the last two words, as if they would somehow bring doom upon them all.
“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Mary ignored her, sitting back in the chair and moving onto the Twix.
“And certainly not true for my TARDIS…” the Doctor said.
“No need to be so insolent,” Melchior interjected. “If my grandchildren spoke to me like that, I’d give them a damn good scolding!”
“Well, we’re not in Enid Blyton,” Mary looked up at the three women, who had gathered around her chair, seemingly fascinated by the baby bump. “And you can’t give me a good slap either, or confiscate my ginger beer.”
Again. The three women seemed horrified.
“This is why women need a husband…,” Melchior muttered, having spotted Mary’s lack of a ring. Sex before marriage – good lord! Whoever came up with such a notion was just inviting a generation of loose morals and bad parenting!
It was at that moment that Mary retorted with a line aimed right at the jugular, an artery that in these three women, clearly pumped venom instead of blood. She readied herself, and tried to stop herself from smiling.
“I don’t even know who the father is. Anonymous sperm donor.”
For a few seconds, Mary was concerned she’d given the women a heart attack. They were entirely paralysed in front of her, disgust pouring from their features. It was like they hadn’t heard anything so disgraceful in their entire lives – like Mary was the epitome of everything they despised. The women’s beady sets of eyes had widened, and their vitriolic mouths lay open.
“The young people of today,” Caspar whispered, her voice hoarsened by the revelation.
“Despicable behaviour,” Melchior said, her eyes narrowing once more at Mary.
For once, Balthazar was speechless.
Mary revelled in it all.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor interrupted. “I don’t carry mapping software.”
Balthazar span on her heels and strode confidently over to him, wagging a finger like one would at a naughty child. The Doctor stood up straight, flattened his collar, made sure his shirt was tucked in. He was ready for the lecture this time.
“Now, now,” Balthazar said, as if the Doctor’s previous sentence had been utter nonsense. “We all know that that’s not true.”
“Would do you want for it?” Suddenly, Melchior appeared from nowhere like a vulture – and Caspar wasn’t far behind, the three women having lost interest in Mary. “We can give you gold.”
“Or Frankincense,” Caspar piped up.
“Or Myrrh,” Balthazar hissed.
The Doctor gave the three women a smug look. They’d looked at him with similar holier-than-thou glares – now it was his turn. “Do you think I’m that easily bribed?”
Yes… the Doctor would not be willing to indulge the ‘wise’ women in what they wanted. He knew their tricks, and as they approached him, forcing him to back away to the console, he felt it all the clearer. Belittling him. Trying to make him feel as if he were smaller than them, as if they were better than him. But the Doctor was determined not to let these such women play their usual tricks. To often did people of this sort get their own way, and then exploit people to get their own way even more.
But not anymore.
“You prey on people,” the Doctor retorted, pushing back against them. “Try and make them let go of their principles, because they need money.”
Caspar laughed at him. “If one drops their principles, then that’s they’re problem. To shallow for values. Welcome to the modern world.”
“Oh, no, no,” the Doctor retorted. “I think you’ll find, it’s your fault. For putting them in that position in the first place.”
The three women did not look fazed. The Doctor shook his head. He should have realised that their minds would not be so easy to change.
“Oi!” came Mary’s voice from the chair. A few seconds passed, before slowly, Balthazar, Caspar, and Melchior turned to face Mary. She had nearly finished the Celebrations, and was eating one of the Maltesers. Underrated gems, Maltesers. “Why don’t you three go away back to your own ship and bother someone else? Sorry for telling them this, Doctor, but look – he’s not going to give you the mapping system because you’re awful people? Honestly, sexism, homophobia, literally, everything. Why can’t you just be nice? Be accepting? And be understanding? Because while you’re going off to have a lovely time schmoozing with wine and nibbles and fancy Christmas crackers with little mental utensils in them like cheese graters or whatever, some people are going to wake up on Christmas morning with nothing. So get your heads out of your arses, and start focusing on what matters. Be generous, and be loving, and stop being such twats.”
The TARDIS fell silent. The Doctor looked concernedly over at Mary, worried that she was about to give birth following that outburst. He would have calmed her down, but he’d been far too captivated – and far too inspired. Mary was, perhaps, someone one could aspire to be like at Christmastime – who held acceptance, goodwill, and love close to her heart.
And while the Doctor’s protestations had done little to stir the three old women, Mary seemed to have had, at least, a certain effect. The three women looked awkwardly around – but they didn’t say anything. All three looked a mix of dejected, remorseful – and perhaps a little bit sheepish.
Mary moved onto the final chocolate in the box. Milky Way. Hmm. Delicious. She smiled. Then she looked up at the three women, and caught Melchior giving her the nastiest, most malevolent of looks. Mary shrugged it off and looked miserably down at the bottom of the Celebrations box.
The Doctor walked over to the three women, and placed a memory stick in Balthazar’s hand. She looked up at him, entirely confused.
“Mapping systems,” was all he said. Balthazar’s face turned into a picture of horror, as finally, she realised that for once in her life, she’d been beaten. But before any of them could truly enjoy it, the three women vanished in a flash of blue light.
The Doctor and Mary were alone again.
“Got the teleport ready when you were shouting at them,” the Doctor explained.
“I swear, they’re proper ‘Christmas drinks and nibbles followed by midnight mass’.”
The Doctor flicked a few of the switches on the TARDIS console. The TARDIS was moving, albeit only a few feet. But, it was a few feet more than before.
“And you said I was the magic one?” the Doctor laughed.
Mary smiled. “Sorry. You must’ve been pretty worried that I was about to give birth.”
The Doctor looked over at Mary, and as he looked at her, he understood Christmas.
***
The cell was small – and Lizzie and Iris watched through the bars, at the corridor outside. It shouldn’t have been long before Cioné turned up – and thankfully, it wasn’t. Her TARDIS materialised in that outer area, taking the form of the statue – like those upstairs in the central corridor.
“Oh. Afternoon,” Cioné looked up at the statue as she stepped out of her TARDIS, and winked at it. The statue did not wink back.
“Mum, finally,” Iris scowled, walking up to the door. As she grabbed onto it and leaned back, she found that the door swung back with her.
Lizzie looked stunned. Cioné was beyond surprised.
“Blimey,” Cioné murmured. “The security here is terrible.”
“Oh well,” Iris shrugged, not particularly caring as she sidled out of the prison, and, with Lizzie and her mother, began to make their way down the corridor.
“You found us, then?” Iris said, as they walked quickly away from the prison. Thankfully, Lizzie could remember the way. Along the corridor, take a left, up the stairs, a right, another corridor, and then a left, and then some more stairs – and then they would be at the main corridor – the great stone bridge, suspended over the great chasm – a chasm that also contained the remnants of a very valuable vase.
As they proceeded along the corridor from the garish festive wonderland jail, Lizzie looked left and right, looking for any guards in the immediate area. They moved at a half-walk, half-run, and Cioné clutched her chest, quite out of breath from their escape.
“Can we slow down a bit?” Cioné said, huffing and puffing, desperately trying to take in as much air as possible.
“Well, we’ve sort of just escaped from the President’s private jail?” Iris hissed. “So, not really.”
“I think I’ve had one too many mince pies and glasses of sherry…,” Cioné muttered, as they approached the end of the corridor. “How far is it?”
“I dunno. Liz?”
“Er… two flights of stairs.”
“Goodness gracious,” Cioné muttered, as they turned onto the first set. She clawed onto the bannister, knowing it was going to be vital in getting up. “I’m so unfit.”
“I’m usually alright. The stairs always get me,” Lizzie muttered, leading the way to ensure the coast was clear. Having said that, in stark contrast to how she had been a year ago, Lizzie had become quite fit. The Doctor – best exercise regime in the universe.
They dashed up the stairs (or stumbled, in Lizzie and Cioné’s case), and then turned onto the next corridor.
“I should’ve flown us up…,” Cioné murmured, as they began to journey down the next corridor.
“Stop complaining Mum, for god’s sake…”
“Where is Kym?” Lizzie asked. Kym had quite the technique of being conspicuous in her absence.
“I left her holding the hand-break down,” Cioné said. “It’s faulty, and it needs a hand on it, constantly.”
“Oh, that was a really wise thing to do, mummy,” Iris said. Knowing Kym, she was probably going to do the equivalent of letting go when on a hill. Iris could steadily feel their chances of slipping away further.
“Ah, you joke, but listen. I’ve put coordinates in for the control room up here. When the flight corridor is open, we text her, tell her to let go, and she’ll materialise upstairs.”
“So…,” Iris didn’t entirely understand. “Why does she have to hold it if she’s going to materialise upstairs?”
“Because if it’s off for too long it’ll bypass the coordinates, and we’ll probably never going to see her again.”
Iris raised an eyebrow. “Would that really be such a bad thing?”
Lizzie, Iris, and Cioné continued on – along the corridor, taking a left, ascending the stairs, and then being on the main corridor – but before they walked along it to the metal door which contained the small control chamber, Cioné stopped them. There was a security guard, at the far end of the offshoot bridge – however, he had prowled down the corridor to chat to another individual who was meant to be keeping them out of the control chamber.
Cioné stopped them, and put a finger on her lips. They had to be quiet – to sneak past both security guards, and get into that control chamber. She gestured to their destination, and to the guards – and the mission plan was communicated with only a few brief movements.
It wasn’t a far distance, and Cioné thought it would be coverable with ease.
So off they snuck.
It was as if coordination skills that Lizzie had been lacking, and agility skills that Cioné had never quite mastered, suddenly slotted into place – for the three of them crept down the red carpet, and no eyes fell upon them, apart from those of the ornate statues and sculptures peering at them from their pedestals. They swerved around the corner to the offshoot bridge, and the door was ahead of them. Only a few feet to go – and they continued, slinking along towards the control chamber which lay wide open, like a present left without protection, a beacon to a child on Christmas day.
“OI!” came a yell from behind them.
The three of them didn’t even look – they ran, as fast as they possibly could, into the little control chamber, bundling themselves in, creating quite a noise as their bodies clattered against all walls of the little room. Iris grabbed for the door, and she could see them – the security guards running for them, batons and handcuffs at the ready – but Iris’ fingers, quite thankfully, slammed onto the metal handle, and she lurched herself backwards, sending her entire person into the computer desk, knocking her mother over in the process, but most importantly, shutting the door to the guards.
Only seconds later did someone try and open it – a person grabbing onto the other side, pulling the handle up and down, up and down, giving it the almightiest pull – and Iris had to try with all her strength to keep it shut.
However – Iris reached into her pocket, pulled out the sonic knitting needle, and pointed it to the lock. With a quick buzz, the door clicked – and Iris fell back onto the swivel chair, heaving for breath.
Silence fell, and Lizzie, Iris, and Cioné stood, regaining themselves, trying to breathe for what felt like the first time in ages.
And then Iris laughed. Bursting into a fit of giggles, she sat back in her chair, and she couldn’t stop herself. The laughter spilled out of her, as she was engrossed in the absurdity of the situation. Cioné started as well, and when she caught Iris’ eye, they collapsed further into hysterical fits. Lizzie caught it too, and soon all three of them, trapped in the tiny broom cupboard-like control chamber, were howling with laughter.
“You three!” cried a guard from the outside. The three women went silent. “Come out with your hands up!”
Another silent pause – and then they started laughing again, creasing and falling back against the walls of the tiny chamber.
“Stop laughing!” the guard proclaimed, which only made them laugh more. “You have broken into the secure control room of President Herod – this is a serious crime, and punishable by life imprisonment!”
“It’s a bloody broom cupboard!” Cioné shouted out, causing the three of them to laugh even more.
Iris fell back, knocking into one of the buttons, making the whole control panel glow red for a few seconds. None of them were quite certain what it had done, but it tickled them further, and they still couldn’t contain themselves.
“Right!” called the guard. “We’re going to kick this door down.”
The three of them looked at each other. Perhaps it was time to do some work.
Cioné ushered Iris out of the way and sat down in the chair. She looked at the controls for a few seconds – and then realised she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
“Try searching for it…,” Lizzie suggested.
There was a little key in the corner with a picture of a magnifying glass. It was worth a shot – so she opened it, and slowly began to type, one key at a time.
F. L. I.
Cioné could feel Iris tense behind her.
H.
“Oops,” Cioné muttered, backspacing – but accidentally deleting too many letters. By now, the aura of irritation that Iris was exuding had reached enormous proportions, and the grip that Iris had on the back of the swivel chair was tightening. Cioné glanced at her daughters’ knuckles. They were turning red.
I. G. H. T.
Cioné spent a good few seconds looking for the space bar.
“Can you just let me do it?” Iris said, the words spilling out of her uncontrollably. She was seething – it was almost physically impossible trying to watch someone middle aged or older use a computer.
“No,” Cioné said defiantly, determined that she was going to do it.
C. O. R. R.
Suddenly, an immense ringing sound exploded from behind them – and when Iris turned, there was a great dent in the door. A few seconds later, and another dent emerged in the door, alongside an immense, ear-piercing rattle of metal. Iris counted the seconds before the battering ram collided again.
BANG.
“Mum!” Iris hissed, the dents in the door looking ever larger by the second, and the look on Lizzie’s face looking grimmer each time. “They’re breaking down the door, just hurry up!”
“Oh, it’s fine, just use my sonic knitting needle, they’ll never get in – oh wait,” Cioné looked at her daughter sarcastically. “We already have.”
BANG.
Iris looked down at the ground sheepishly. Lizzie looked at both of them, despair etched in her features, wishing for them to stop bickering.
“Yes,” Cioné continued, too smugly for Iris’ liking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you took it…”
“Get on with it, mum!”
Another thing that parents did – decide to bring up the things you did wrong at exactly the wrong moment.
I. D. O. R.
Enter.
The sigh of relief from Iris was enormous, and the look of relief on Lizzie’s face was great. Unfortunately, the crash of the battering ram did not keep them appeased for long.
Only one result appeared on the screen, and not wanting to irritate her daughter anymore, she selected it. It read GPS Windows, and already Cioné was quite intrigued as to what it meant. However… that would have to come later. For now, she had to focus on opening the flight corridor.
She clicked it.
Global Protection System Windows. Select ‘open’ to create a flight corridor to the planet’s surface. Thank you for using GPS Windows.
Cioné, as instructed, selected open.
Please enter your coordinates.
Cioné opened her texts to find the coordinates her husband had sent her. And then, as slowly as before, she began to type them in. Unwavering and uncaring of her slowness, the battering ram proceeded to charge into the door again. As she looked at the long numbers on the phone, Cioné decided that computers were a waste of time and she couldn’t be bothered.
“Oh for… right, yes. Darling, you can do it.”
Iris took the chair, and within seconds, the coordinates were entered – and Iris clicked finish.
The door flew in.
A conglomerate of guards stood outside, armed, with beady eyes staring straight at them. They pointed their ray guns at the three of them in the chamber, and slowly, the blasters whirred into life.
Lizzie waved at them awkwardly. Iris scowled at them.
“Afternoon,” Cioné smiled. “Lovely place you’ve got here. Bit tight. And the controls are sticky. 2 points.”
Unfortunately, the guards were not impressed, and Cioné wondered whether she should have left her thoughts on Trip Advisor, as one of them grabbed her. Another one grabbed Lizzie, and another went for Iris, who was hauled from her chair.
“Oi! Get off me,” Iris struggled against her captor, as she was dragged out of the small chamber. “Why’re you being such a twat? It’s not my fault your security is rubbish.”
The guards marched Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris across the off-shoot bridge, to the bridge passing across the chasm. It suddenly felt rather more regal than it had done before – and the sight that they were paraded in front of was quite majestic.
Previously, the main corridor had looked like quite a lavish art gallery, with the wide bridge stretching from one end to the other, containing the eccentric array of antiques and artworks that it did, under the shadows of the chandeliers hanging from the ceilings.
But now, it was no longer simple statues and paintings watching them. Instead, the bridge had become lined with guards, stood perfectly to attention, with their guns strapped perfectly over their chests. Then, standing in a line in the centre of the overpass, was a line of guards dressed in black robes. They were hooded, with two, red, beady lights watching from underneath.
And in front of them, was a man.
He managed to look large, which was quite something considering the enormity of the hall around them – its infinite chasm beneath their feet, the immense chasm beneath their feet, the beautiful, massive chandeliers, the giant, larger-than-life paintings – all of it suddenly seemed quite small in comparison to the man who stood in front of the guards. He too wore black robes, but with a white sash across his shoulder. He had shoulder-length, wavy, jet-black hair, and boots reaching to his knees. He was young, too, and yet, despite the smoothness and youthfulness of his appearance, there was something about his piercing eyes that looked somewhat… older.
“Blimey,” Iris said, as the Cioné, Lizzie, and herself were lined up directly opposite him. “Look like you’re straight off Welcome to the Black Parade.”
The man did not seem impressed.
“Apologies for my daughter’s insolence,” Cioné stepped forward, offering the man a friendly smile. “I did try.”
Iris raised her arms in protestation, and Cioné offered her a gloriously sarcastic smile.
“Now,” Cioné continued. “I presume, from all this ridiculous pomp and ceremony, that you’re President Herod?”
The man, presumably President Herod, did not respond.
“Well?” Cioné prompted. “Haven’t got all day, dear.”
The President Herod-presumptive seemed to be looking at Lizzie and Iris, his eyes drifting over them, as if they were straight from a dream. He looked as if he were trying to place them. But his eyes recognised them – and Cioné recognised that recognition. Perhaps he was trying to place them in time – his time. For whatever it was, Herod watched them with wide, wistful eyes, as if two of the women in front of him were some sort of… distant memory, or forgotten dream, brought to life before his eyes.
“These guards,”
“Your names,” said the Herod-presumptive.
“Gerard Way,” Iris shouted. “Oh, wait no, that’s you, sorry.”
Cioné turned around and gave her daughter a scolding, parental glare. Iris shrugged a ‘whatever’ shrug, and Cioné returned to Herod-presumptive.
“Name for a name, darling,” Cioné said. “Go on.”
“I am President Herod,” said Herod-presumptive – though not as if he were adhering to Cioné’s request – more like he was planning on making that declaration anyway,
“Right. Well, I’m Cioné, this is lovely Lizzie…”
Lizzie offered them a wave.
“And that’s Iris,” Cioné continued. “My daughter, who is sometimes lovely, when she’s not stealing my knitting needles.”
“Your needles… being the possession you’ve used to lock our computer systems?” Herod said. His voice was quiet – almost a whisper. And yet, it was hugely effective.
“Just the ones!” Cioné said, drawing one of them from her pocket and holding it up to her face. She looked at the end. “Quite wonderful bits of kit, if I do say so myself.”
Herod gestured, and one of his guards began to make his way over to Cioné to confiscate her needles. Lizzie gritted her teeth, knowing what was about to happen.
“Like so,” Cioné pointed the knitting needle at the guard, and suddenly a plume of sparks erupted from his gun. The guard lurched back, and the other guards recoiled in shock. Herod did not stir. He continued to watch them shrewdly.
“What do you want?” Herod growled, looking at them from beneath his wavy locks of hair. Lizzie had noticed something about him… a strange hardness to his being, but combined with a lack of malevolence. She could not decipher his motives at all.
“We’ve got what we want,” Cioné admitted. “But… I’ve got about two minutes, unless Kym’s let the hand-break off...”
“Which is probably the case,” Iris muttered.
“And…,” Cioné continued. “I’ve got to admit, I’m confused. Because, Mr President,” she began to pace around. “There’s something entirely wrong about this whole situation. Look at you.”
Lizzie looked around at them – at the guards, at the paintings, at Herod. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary.
“You’re heating the surface of this planet – enormously,” Cioné explained. “Call me an old hippie, because I am a bit, I knitted this sweater myself and before I arrived I was drinking green tea – but I accessed the records on your environmental policies. You’ve got atmospheric editors working on full-blast, almost trying to boil the atmosphere. And when I enquired why? Withheld.”
The word seemed to hang in the room – and again, all Herod’s guards looked uncomfortable. But Herod himself remained unfazed.
“You are keeping the public in the dark,” Cioné continued. “As you try and heat the world. And do you want to know what it is that stops all of this funny situation from fitting together?”
Herod watched her blankly.
“It’s because you’re nice.”
That was it. That’s what Lizzie had been missing.
“Seriously,” Cioné said. “Your guards are funny, you’ve got a mulled wine dispenser in your jail, you don’t even have any nasty dogs. If you were an arse, I would get it. Heat the world, use it to fuel the geothermal generators you’ve got working, and even if you drown entire cities, who cares? You’ve got enough energy to fuel your factories for years to come. But that’s the thing. You’re not an arse. And I can’t get it.”
Herod looked at her in silence – and there was a glimmer of something on his face. But he had learned to hide how he felt – and quickly he removed the flicker of emotion, so his features remained indecipherable again.
“Why criticise me for that?” he asked.
“I’m… I’m not?”
Herod paused again.
“You will not understand the operation,” he said. “Let them go. Wipe their memories.”
“Wait, hold on a second –” Iris began to protest. Lizzie started to back away, and suddenly, Cioné didn’t seem so confident. And the guards were now walking in, and beginning to enclose them. Closer and closer they were getting, like tides, creeping ever inwards and preparing to drown them.
So, Lizzie set to work. She tried to piece it all together – to understand the whole situation. President Herod, the environment, his weird palace thing – even the traffic outside the planet, which in itself had struck Lizzie as odd. She arranged the puzzle pieces in her head, sorting through them, trying through trial and error to piece them together – but no matter how hard she tried, they just wouldn’t stick. The pieces were so random and unconnected, and she could not fathom what was going on – and Lizzie saw the guards, mere feet away now, ready to wipe their memories – and Lizzie, in those few moments, realised she couldn’t think of much worse.
But then the statue fell down from the sky.
It was the most peculiar incident, and all the guards turned away from the three ladies to watch as it swung over the chasm, knocking over pretty much all of the pedestals, and sending all of those ancient, priceless antiques crashing down through the darkness below. Yes – there was a flying statue, whizzing through the enormous hall, causing carnage as it brushed over all the possessions. The guards squinted to look at it, and fell onto their knees out of fear of being hit. Herod watched it with his usual, shrewd stare.
Meanwhile, Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris were grinning, as the statue span through the sky. They knew exactly what it was – not least because it was accompanied by a sound so frequent in their lives. Almost like the slow sound of warm, content breathing – a sound of hope, and of joy. And at this point in time – the sound of Christmas.
Clearly, after Kym had taken the hand-break off, she’d put it back on again – and the statue tumbled down to the stone bridge, landing with a thwack behind Herod’s hooded guards.
An awkward silence fell, as Herod’s guards tried to make sense of what happened. They looked at the statue, of some figure – rather muscular and, er, not wearing huge amounts. Then they looked to Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris. Then they looked at Herod, as if awaiting more direction. Herod didn’t seem sure where to look.
At that moment, Kym stepped out of the pedestal.
“YO LADIES!” she screamed, her voice reverberating in the hall. “Oh. Hey everyone! Soz, didn’t realise you were having a party.”
Immediately, all the guns in the room pointed at Kym, and they were all instantly loaded. Kym looked up at the statue. “Oh,” she caught sight of its stony nudity. “Heeelloooo.”
Cioné thought about apologising for the chameleon circuit, but didn’t. Lizzie didn’t know where to look. Iris sniggered. It was also apparent that the guards were suddenly struck by the statue, and also were uncertain as to where to lay their eyes.
At that moment, Kym hopped across the bridge, and Lizzie smiled awkwardly at her. However, Kym seemed to take quite a lot of interest in Herod’s hooded guards, and she pranced up to them, running the fabric of their hoods through her fingers. “Awww, this is cute. I saw something like it in Primark, didn’t go for it though.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Herod looked at Kym, and then to Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris.
“Okay, so,” Iris explained. “Basically, we’ve broken into your place, then broken my mum in, now we’ve opened a flight corridor –”
“You’ve done what?” Herod sounded horrified, but Iris continued, as Kym came over to join them. She picked up Cioné’s sonic knitting needle from the floor, and found herself quite fascinated – before accidentally using it. When it made its noise, she quickly pretended it hadn’t happened and then slipped it into her pocket.
“… So my dad and a pregnant woman can get down to the planet?” Iris finished. “Okay?”
Before Herod could say anything, he looked over to one of his paintings. Clearly, Herod was talented at paying attention to detail – for as soon as he saw the canvas of that great artwork begin to ruffle, even just the slightest bit, his ears pricked.
And before he knew it, there was a great gust of wind blowing through the corridor, causing cloaks in the room to flap and billow, and sending Herod’s hair wild – and causing smile to spread across the faces of the ladies at the centre of the room. Once again, the guards looked around in confusion – and it was turning out to be quite an odd day at the office for them. Most of them had barely been able to truly get their heads around the flying statue – so the strange materialising blue police box was another matter entirely.
Yes – that sound echoed in the curved ceilings of the hall, as that oh-so familiar shape faded into life. In the ensuing kerfuffle, as the guards watched the shape realise itself, Cioné, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym dashed over to the Cioné’s TARDIS.
Clearly, the Doctor was much better at parking, as no goods were damaged upon his landing.
Only seconds later, his head peered around the frame of the blue wooden doors – and milliseconds after that, the sounds of guns being locked onto him was audible.
The Doctor merely sighed, as if it were something he were used to. He meandered out of the TARDIS, and another head popped up in the doorframe. When the rest of her became clear, and Lizzie saw how pregnant the woman was, she became certain that this was Mary.
“Sorry dear,” the Doctor said. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any change for parking?”
“I gave you some earlier!” Cioné exclaimed. At the sound of her voice, the guns switched back to her.
“It’s those machines,” the Doctor admitted, as the guns switched back to him. “They reject half the coins!”
“Got to give it a good kick, darling.” The guns again.
“I’ll bear that in mind…,” the Doctor stopped, once more realising he was staring down the barrels of a lot of weapons. “Terribly sorry for interrupting. You must be Herod. Can I suggest that you build another ring-road? Or, an underpass, or…,” the Doctor saw one of the guards wavering their finger over the trigger, and then saw Herod’s steely glare. “Or... no. Actually, on second thoughts, days of traffic, doesn’t seem that bad…”
What none of them had noticed, apart from Lizzie, was the way in which Herod looked at Mary. There was something about it in his eyes – a look of sadness, perhaps. Of longing, maybe. Yes… that was it. Herod had entirely lost focus of the situation continuing around him, his eyes becoming fixed on Mary, like she was enough to make the whole world stop for him, or had reignited a sadness enough to take him out of existence. Because… Herod looked sad. Very, very sad.
Lizzie didn’t know why.
Mary looked at Herod blankly. She offered him a smile, just as Mary offered everyone a smile – but it was the same smile that one offered someone they met on the street.
That seemed to hurt Herod more than anything else – and at the sight of it, he had to look away, down to the ground, desperate to escape it. Nobody seemed to see it… but Lizzie did. Herod’s eyes and the way he looked down was a sight so familiar to Lizzie – simply because she recognised it from herself. And it was a feeling that Lizzie wouldn’t wish upon anyone – when one felt that pang of pain, so harsh and sharp it seemed to gut one from the stomach, making their very essence hurt.
Lizzie watched him sadly.
“You will realise the consequence of your actions,” Herod said, his voice clear. But Lizzie knew it was disguised.
“I’m sure we will,” the Doctor returned Herod a gaze just as icy. “We’ll be back. We usually are.”
The Doctor gestured for Mary to step back into the TARDIS – she did so. Meanwhile, Iris and Kym stepped into the pedestal, into Cioné’s TARDIS. Lizzie hung back, watching Herod. He was trying to hold it together, and make it look as if he was in control. Admittedly, he was doing a very good job. Perhaps if he wasn’t doing such a good job… things would start to make sense. Because Lizzie still couldn’t get it.
“Dear,” the Doctor called over. “You don’t mind if we meet outside? I’ve texted you the coordinates.”
“Not at all,” Cioné said. “We’ll follow you. Go slow if we lose you at the lights.”
“Will do.”
Cioné shut the doors behind her.
“I protect people,” the Doctor said. “I make them feel safe, and happy, and content. And, President Herod – it’s Christmas. A day where one shouldn’t have to feel scared or alone – and so if there’s one day where I’m going to try and be a doctor… then it’s today.”
Herod looked up at the Doctor, his face emotionless.
“Then you will want to return,” Herod said.
Little did the Doctor know that his previous speech was one he needn’t have made.
The TARDIS disappeared.
Lizzie liked this new place a lot.
They were on a street, consisting of grey brick terraced houses – the row stretched on for ages, and when Lizzie tried to look past their current location, there seemed to be streets of them, going back for miles and miles. Some of the houses were bigger, more like small sets of apartments – the sort that was familiar to Lizzie from her days living on the estate at Dunsworth. The sky was a similar, murky, foggy grey to the houses, choked with pollution and smog. Though… that evening, orange light burned through it, peeping through cracks in the clouds.
There were two suns was setting over the houses – over the glass horizon. The shopping district was distant to this part of the world, in almost every way – but one could still see it, looming in the distance. As the great suns came down, they shone their rays of light through the crystal spires of the shopping district, like light being pulsed through a prism.
But there were no pretty patterns on the ground – no refraction. Just the hard, grey concrete beneath their feet, and a sky that was faintly beautiful. They all stood underneath it, in front of the two TARDISes – the Doctor, Cioné, Lizzie, Iris, Kym, and Mary.
“If you’re here on a good night,” Mary said, gazing up at the whole world above their heads. “The light shines through the glass, and it is like a prism. They send rainbows, all over the city.”
It was beautiful, when it happened. Though… for the world to align in such a way was truly rare, for it seemed that the shopping district had been designed to ensure that such an event happened infrequently. But Mary had seen it. Only once. She’d sat out there, with her brother and sister. They’d watched the sun go down, and they had sat in a sea of rainbows.
Lizzie would have loved nothing more than to see that.
“This is it, though,” Mary gestured around her, smiling nostalgically. “The real Bethlehem. The non-shopping bit.”
“Where you grew up?” Cioné asked, gazing around at the street. It was quaint, but she could picture there being a lovely, close-knit group of people. She could see some of them, sat in their windows, reading books, or watching the TV. Of course, at Christmas, their lives seemed framed through the lights hung over the windows, and the candelabras and little festive ornaments on the sills. There was a feeling of great contentment on that street.
“Where I grew up,” Mary confirmed. She could remember it all – long days playing outside as a kid, mucking about on the streets and in general having the best of times. She missed her childhood, occasionally. Days of innocence and happiness, where it almost felt as if there were nothing that could hurt her.
Mary held her baby tight.
Not only where she grew up… where she was spending Christmas. With her family.
They were right by her house – her mother’s house. The crimson front door was so familiar to her, with its gold numbering of ‘15’ hanging by loose screws, the ‘5’ occasionally flopping upside down. Every time she’d passed it as a kid, Mary had always corrected it – always been looking out for it, in some strange way.
“Well. Thanks, Doctor,” Mary turned to him. She didn’t really know how to find the words to thank him. She had, after all, randomly teleported into his spaceship, and he’d been nice enough to actually drive her straight to her front door. “You’ve been… wonderful. Really, truly.”
Mary began to drift off to her front door.
“You lot,” she addressed Cioné, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym. “Stay safe, yeah? Have amazing Christmases. Be happy. Be kind.”
They all nodded.
And that was that. It was time for Mary to go. But she hesitated – and she looked at the sunset, and the way it shone through the glass towers. She felt so small – and it was in those sorts of moments, where Mary understood the immensity of the world. That although everyone was just a victim to their own, enormous consciences, there she was, with people around her, with an entire community sprawl and streets stretching out for miles and miles and miles around her, under a vast expanse of sky, lying alone in the infinity of space.
Mary looked down at her feet, to see a sole rainbow. It was alone, and in that, it had a strange melancholy to it. But somehow, the sun had shone, at exactly the right moment – and even the appearance of one rainbow made Mary smile. For even the smallest things could manage that. As Mary had always told herself – the little things had to be treasured. Kept close – for one never knew when they were going to go away.
And that was what she’d always tried to do. Value the small things that shone with glimmers of happiness and hope and joy, the things that always came to the fore at Christmas.
But while she smiled at the lone rainbow, there was a sad look on Mary’s face… like she knew something was coming to an end, and she never wanted it to stop.
Mary. Herself, so full of life. Laughing at everything, smiling at everything, accepting of everyone, and giving to anyone she could, even if it was only in the smallest way. Those things made her happy. They made her feel alive.
Mary loved being alive.
And she never wanted to not be happy – but that was why Mary always found that the happiest moments were always tinged with sadness. For in those moments, there was always the knowledge that the happiness could not last forever. That only felt harder at Christmas. Sadness was always harder at Christmas.
But for now, she would hang onto this time. For the happiness, the hope, and the joy. And when that time would eventually fade, Mary would be content in the knowledge that she had lived.
Mary gave her new friends one last look – a family, they were. Mary could see how close they were.
Then, Mary turned to her front door, and she stepped up to it, like one would when hugging an old friend. The ‘5’ was wonky, and so she corrected it. She felt she needed to try and ensure everything was in order – that even if things could not be perfect, and never would be perfect – that there would be someone there, looking out for them. Ready to make sure that things would, at least, feel loved.
Mary opened the door. Immediately she was greeted by the sound of her mother, and then her sister and her sister’s husband. It made her smile, as Mary walked into her home.
The door shut behind her.
Act 2
There was a strange, solemn feeling in the air.
And Iris was suddenly struck by something.
She got herself into position, as if she were looking out the window of the flat above. She tried to visualise it… link it to some memory from before.
That’s when it struck her.
Upstairs… that was the flat that she’d been at earlier, with Lizzie, and Kym.
“Mary is Jae’s mother,” she said aloud. Lizzie looked at her, entirely confused.
And then she too realised. “There was a photo of her in the flat.”
Kym gasped theatrically. Even she had realised.
“Who’s Jae?” Cioné asked.
“Before we came to you at the shopping centre… we had some trouble, getting the TARDIS to land properly. Artron fumes, all that stuff. We knew we’d gone wrong, but we could see the shopping district – and thought it was just a space thing.”
“But it was a temporal matter too?” the Doctor asked.
“We are thick,” Iris said. “Of course it was the wrong time. It was night, when we were at the flat. Day when we were shopping.”
“Hold on a sec,” Kym said. “We were in like, the actual future? The one with the kid and the Radio Times and the bad phone signal?”
“Yeah,” Iris confirmed.
“Sorry,” the Doctor said. “Why is this significant?”
“Because he was alone. On Christmas Eve, Jae was alone
They arrived only seconds after the Lizzie, Iris, and Kym had originally left. This time, only the Doctor and Lizzie went to visit Jae. This was not a matter that would take anyone more than them. There was a little boy, alone in the middle of the night. Who better to send? Cioné, Kym, and Iris were back at the shopping district, regaining themselves after the escapade in Herod’s lair.
Lizzie and the Doctor, however, were certainly not regaling any epic adventures. They stepped out into the flat, to see Jae sat there, in the window. He was just as Lizzie had left him – watching the star.
Lizzie stepped out of the TARDIS, on her own. She walked over to him – and eventually, he heard her, and turned.
“Hi, Jae,” she smiled.
“Santa?” he asked incredulously, smiling at her too.
“No flies on this one,” the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, walking over to him. “Jae? Jae, isn’t it?”
“Hello?” he looked up, intrigued as to this new individual. Another rubbish house-breaker, perhaps. But… there was something different about this one. The Doctor, as Lizzie referred to him. Something about the Doctor that, like Lizzie, made Jae feel safe. As if… even when he was staring at the darkness outside his window, he could still feel content.
The Doctor went and sat in the armchair beside the windowsill that Jae sat in.
“I’ve come to tell you, Jae… that you can sleep now. Everything will be alright.”
Jae looked up at the Doctor, as if he’d truly lost his marbles. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the Doctor also looked as if he’d lost his marbles. They both knew it – Lizzie as well. That there were some things that just couldn’t be alright.
That’s when Lizzie saw it. The order of service balanced on the mantlepiece.
In Loving Memory.
24th June 5144 – 25th December 5175
Then a photo of Mary.
And suddenly… it all seemed to fall into place. She pocketed the order of service, and then walked over to Jae. Of course he didn’t like Christmas – no child to ever lose a parent, let alone lose a parent on Christmas Day itself, would ever be able to experience that festival without unbearable pain. As Lizzie looked up at Jae, she could see it, etched on his features. That pain lining itself deep inside his young face – that sense of longing for the one person he wanted most, and the one person he couldn’t ever have. Oh… Lizzie wanted nothing more than for Jae to feel safe, and content, and to never experience the Christmases that she had.
But she knew how impossible that was.
The Doctor sat in the armchair – he’d propped up Jae’s head on some cushions. “Sit back, Jae. Sit and watch the stars. I know Lizzie told you – watch the stars, watch the lights – they can bring people home. Even if they’re not with us anymore, they can still be… with us.”
Jae did as he was told – he watched the stars. Lizzie could see it in his face – as although a child, Jae was not stupid. He knew that… looking at some star would never make him feel any better. But looking at that star did, at least, give him some sort of hope – it was nothing much. In fact – it was barely anything at all. But, at least it was somewhat a distraction… and it almost seemed to turn the sky into some sort of comfort blanket to swallow him up.
And before long, Jae was asleep. Sleeping soundly, comforted by the soothing words of the Doctor and Lizzie. Oh – what contentment they had brought him. And that was almost the saddest thing about it – that they could help Jae sleep soundly, and never make him live soundly. The scars that Jae would have to bear would be unfathomable, and painful beyond words. Lizzie wanted nothing more than to help Jae – but she knew that to a certain extent… he would always be hurt.
“How’d you manage that?” Lizzie asked, as the Doctor walked over to her.
“Psychic link. Dad skills, Doctor skills… call it what you like. Also… my voice. It helps,” the Doctor took a blanket, and gently covered up Jae.
“Mary died. Last Christmas day,” Lizzie passed the Doctor the order of service. “And… there’s something else.”
“Yes?” asked the Doctor, as he scanned over the paper.
Lizzie braced herself. Her idea was ridiculous. Quite insane. And she thought it would probably be laughed down by everyone – but she had to share it – because if she was right, it would change things entirely. Even so… it didn’t help that the whole thing was conjecture, stemming from some part of herself she’d made an effort to bury.
But she had to do it.
She… had to.
So she just said it.
“I think Mary is Herod’s mother. And that… Jae is Herod.”
Nothing.
The words hung in the air, and she just wanted the Doctor to say something. He didn’t but eventually he turned to her. His eyes were wide, shock etched upon his face. He had no idea what to say, how to make something out of whatever it was Lizzie had just come up with.
“What… what makes you say that?”
Lizzie had a feeling that the Doctor would ask. She didn’t want to tell him… she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. But she knew how to disguise it.
“I saw the way he looked at Mary. I… recognised it…”
Lizzie didn’t tell him where from.
But the Doctor could see it on her face that Lizzie was not going insane – the honesty with which she spoke to him was evident. And he understood, that Lizzie was not merely making things up. As if she ever would. He understood, that if Lizzie was saying this – daring to voice something that said a lot about her – for the Doctor had deciphered what this meant – then it would be serious. He saw the look on Lizzie’s face – the way she looked guiltily to the ground, for things she shouldn’t ever have felt guilty for. He wished she would stop doing that.
Especially things like this.
“We need to go to him,” the Doctor said. To find Herod. To find what he’s doing – and how he’s coping…”
A few seconds later, the TARDIS vanished. As Jae slept, the darkness hung over him, creeping through the window, almost as if it were seeping into Jae’s life. Well… it would have a hard time doing any more damage. The darkness had already sunk, deep inside Jae.
And at the same time, so had the light. What the darkness and the night outside didn’t know, was that there was a future for Jae.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so cold.
They stepped out into the chamber.
It was big, and dark, and the Doctor suspected that wherever they were, they were high up. He did a brief jump to test his theory – and sure enough, there was another room beneath them. Lizzie walked out of the TARDIS, into the centre of what she slowly realised was a circular chamber. Like the central corridor below, there was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling – except this one was ignited, the little candles flickering providing wisps of light, and in the blackness, that only seemed to make the slightest difference.
But it was, at least, a difference.
Ominously mounted to one of the walls was a wide monitor, displaying an array of readings and statistics. The Doctor pondered over to it, over a woven patterned rug, looking like that of a mosaic. In a way, all woven rugs were mosaics – unfitting bits and pieces bound tightly together. In a way, it seemed out of place in the chamber, which seemed cold, and somewhat clinical. The monitor only affirmed that aura the Doctor had gathered from the room. There was other equipment around it, scattered across a wooden desk – the monitor seemed to be running from an old laptop, and various hard-drives and processers were scattered across the table.
The Doctor looked at the equipment, scanning over the screen and turning through the bits and pieces of technology scattered across the table. It seemed to be where the atmospheric editor was working from – heating the planet’s atmosphere up, as much as it possibly could. For such a powerful device, the set-up seemed crude, as if it had desperately been thrown together.
“You came…”
The Doctor looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice. It was only after Lizzie gestured in the right direction that the Doctor saw the chair, sat alone beside a crackling fire. It was an old armchair, beside a wood basket piled high, and beside it a small side table, upon which stood a lamp. The cosy place was obscured in the corner of the room, like it was deliberately trying to hide from the other furnishings. No – it was as if it was trying to cut itself off from the other furnishings.
“I always do,” the Doctor said, watching as the chair turned. President Herod sat in it, dressed in black. The firelight danced in his eyes, and Lizzie thought he seemed like a man of principle, of burning passion to achieve what he wanted.
It was also at that moment the Doctor realised the chamber wasn’t cold at all.
When he looked up at the wall above the fireplace, he saw photos.
So many of them, a collage of mishmash memories all stuck together upon the wall. It was as if someone had opened Herod’s mind, found his days-gone-by, and thrown them at the chimneybreast. For there were so many of them, of Herod as a child, of him sat beside the fire, reading from a great collection of short stories, on a park swing, off on his first day of school. It was notable that none of them featured Herod alone – for why would he want to remember that? All of them were salvaged because of the others in them, his grandmother, his aunt, his uncle, his friends –
His mum.
From the wall, the Doctor could see Mary – and it didn’t seem right seeing her in such old photos. Not long ago, she’d been there, right in front of him, so very, very alive. But upon the wall, she was but a memory – a fading photograph, being one of the few remaining things she left behind in the world. Those photos on the wall… along with the values she held close, and the people she’d impacted. And most importantly, the individual sat in the chair, looking up at them from his wavy locks of hair.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Jae,” the Doctor said, his words loud in the room. They echoed against the curved surface of the top, ghosts of what he’d said creeping down and becoming audible again. “To lose your mother on Christmas Day… I can’t imagine.”
Herod hesitated, as if he were going to tell them not to call him by that name. But he did not. Instead… he was trying to find the words to reply to the Doctor’s, which had merely been words he was sick to the back teeth of hearing.
“Terminal cancer,” he explained. “I was seven years old.”
Lizzie could hear it in his voice – the way it had changed him. Rooted inside his head.
“What did you do to the controls?” Herod cut straight to the point. Though only because the Doctor’s condolence had brought to the fore a reminder of something truly important to Herod.
The Doctor watched Herod – and then decided to cut straight to business himself. “Simple buzz of sonic technology, they can be unlocked with ease. If you have a sonic device.”
“Which I don’t…,” Herod stood up from his chair, and slowly began to make his way towards the Doctor. He was dressed all in black, including a cape hanging from his shoulders and draping on the floor. The clasp seemed like that of a locket, which presumably contained a photo of someone or other. As Herod walked, he seemed to hold the chain close to him, like he never wanted to let it go.
“Then, Herod, if you would like me to unlock the controls for you,” the Doctor said. “I will oblige – but only if you explain to me what you’re doing here.”
“You have no idea what the consequences of your actions have done,” Herod neared the Doctor, getting closer and closer. Lizzie backed out the way, as Herod didn’t show signs of stopping – whilst it had been the fire lighting up Herod’s eyes, even now, several feet away from it, Lizzie didn’t notice much difference.
“You see, I don’t get it,” the Doctor dashed over to the monitor and the miscellany of computer equipment. “Because this is interesting. You’re heating the atmosphere as high as you possibly can – and I can’t understand why. Because… these sorts of editors were invented during the 45th century intergalactic energy war for rich kings to heat their worlds up to power geothermal generators, to sell off energy for extortionate prices. And so, Mr President, I ask you – what are you doing here?”
“It’s Christmas,” Herod shrugged. “What else would I be doing?”
The Doctor stopped, seemingly trying to process what Herod had said. Lizzie could see the cogs in his brain, turning, as he tried to make sense of it all. “What do you mean by that?”
“Doctor –,” Lizzie said, trying to interrupt. She had realised – not entirely, not every detail – but the puzzle was beginning to make sense in her head. And she understood it.
He didn’t listen and continued. “Because if you’re exploiting people, Herod, I will make sure that I stop you.”
“Doctor!” Lizzie strode over to him – though he still wouldn’t listen. All this time, Lizzie had known there was a reason that she found Herod strange – and it because she could relate to President Herod.
“I’ve been doing it many years, and I won’t stop now. So tell me – why? What’s going on here? And why shouldn’t I stop you?”
Then Herod spoke – and his words changed everything.
“Because this planet has about half an hour to live, so, Doctor, if you’ve ever done any of the stuff you say you have, you’ll listen to me.”
Silence fell on the chamber. Herod looked to the ground, like he was desperately trying to hide himself. The Doctor looked down sheepishly. Lizzie stood in the middle of them both, fiddling with her hands, not sure where to look. That was the reason why – the planet was on the countdown to destruction – and yet, even then, it explained nothing. The Doctor seemed to be waiting, Lizzie too, for more answers. Herod was hesitant, though. Answers… he’d always tried to keep them hidden away. But the two people in front of him, they had discovered him – and not only that, but ‘Lizzie’ – Santa Claus, had been there when he was a child. Almost… a defining force in his life.
Perhaps now it was time, to come to terms with what was happening on Bethlehem. It had been alright, until then – Herod had been able to keep the world ticking over. Yes, there was the inevitable ticking over him – an inevitable that he had always kept to himself – but it had always been, at that point, far enough away for him to ignore. But now… the inevitable was closer, and to confront it publicly was to have to face it. Not only that, but to do so would mean to face other reasons as well – motives. And Herod wasn’t sure he was ready for that, not just yet.
But he had no choice. It had happened. And so, President Herod prepared to tell his story.
Herod clicked his fingers, and a holographic image appeared in the centre of the room. It was of the planet around them – and the space around that. As Herod zoomed the image out, something else came into focus. Something huge, and something much bigger.
The Doctor recognised it instantly.
“Bethlehem,” Herod said, trying to keep his voice in check, trying to disguise his emotions. For once, he wasn’t doing such a good job. “… Bethlehem sits under the shadow of a cold-star.”
The words sent a chill down the spine of the Doctor – mainly because the words had also sent chills down the spines, literally too, of many, many civilisations. It could not be denied that no natural life ever took hold in the light of a cold-star – the temperatures were just too inappropriate. But problems began when cold-stars grew. The Doctor had seen it in a few scenarios – a sun burning hot begins to burn cold – and with that, begins to expand at an enormous rate. And he’d witnessed it – the reigning chaos of a burning cold-star. The Doctor had seen whole planets, whole peoples, scrambling for evacuation.
Always enough time – never enough people willing to help.
And usually, a few people would get away – hundreds of thousands, in fact, would often escape. But in comparison to populations of billions, hundreds of thousands was little. Then, the rest of the people would have to sit by, cosy up in their homes, and wait. Wait, sometimes for days and days, as the icy winds of space slowly creeped closer and closer towards them, and eventually, froze everyone remaining on the surface of the planet below to death – everyone, of all ages. It was merciless, and it took no prisoners.
If someone remained on a planet haunted by a cold-star, then that person would, before long, be dead.
“I’m sorry,” was all the Doctor could say. Another defining factor of that bloodcurdling natural phenomenon was the way in which it could never be stopped. It was impervious to alternation and impassive to anything. No matter what one would do, it would eventually gobble up the whole world.
“It’s not your fault,” Herod shrugged.
“I’m guessing that the atmospheric editor is an attempt at increasing the planet’s temperature?” the Doctor looked at the monitor, and the futility of the desperate measures sent a pang through both his hearts.
Herod nodded grimly. “I know it won’t have an effect – but it’s all we can do to try and hold off the effects.”
Herod paused, thinking for a few seconds. About what, Lizzie couldn’t be sure – but then she saw him looking up at the photographs on his wall. Herod continued his tale.
“I’m from the future of this planet, if you didn’t guess,” Herod explained. That was how he was governing at the same time that his mother, pregnant with himself, had just arrived back on Bethlehem to give birth to him. “When I saw the effects of the cold-star, further down the line, I sourced a vortex manipulator to come back in time and try and slow down the damage.”
Lizzie realised… that was why Herod changed his name. He couldn’t govern as himself – people would notice, perhaps. Maybe there was a past he’d wanted to isolate as well.
“The cold-star will destroy other worlds before this one,” Herod continued, wandering over to part of the wall, upon which was mounted a panel. “So I tried to attract as many people here, through various means. Shops. Facilities. New housing. Anything to bring people from the surrounding worlds. Because they don’t know – they don’t know about the cold-star. I coordinated with the governments of other worlds, and it was agreed. But they come anyway, and they stay. It works nicely. The rich people come for the goods and services. The poor people come for the work. None them know – hence the traffic. We take in as many as we can, to keep them all safe, just for a bit longer – but there’s so many, it’s bottlenecked.”
The Doctor looked astounded. A strange mix of confusion, horror, and general shock. “You commercialised a planet to save people? That’s…”
“Bad?” Herod finished the Doctor’s sentence. “I know. But the only other choice I had was to tell them. I was protecting them.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make. You can’t keep them in the dark because you don’t want to ruin Christmas.”
Herod smiled smugly. That was what people did – always assumed he was trying to give people hope, or ignite flames of joy in their hearts. Ridiculous notion.
“I don’t care if I ruin Christmas,” Herod spat. “I did it because if I told people the truth, there would be outcry. When people flock to your world because they’re running from hell, the people already there can’t stand it. When you disguise it as wealthy people coming to feed millions into the economy, or workers coming to dutifully pay their taxes, it’s much more palatable for the masses.”
The Doctor shook his head, as if willing for it to be different. But it was an impossible situation – and the Doctor had no idea what to do.
“Perhaps I did get it wrong,” Herod continued. “But above all, this is a condemnation on the hearts of people, who, not only at Christmas, but all year round, won’t be considerate of those who have nothing. Because for some… Christmas is the worst time of the year.”
Herod pressed a few switches on the wall panel.
This is a message on behalf of President Herod’s administration.
Window controls.
And within seconds… one wall of the great dark chamber began to slide.
Up and up it went, slowly – it was like a curtain at some sort of sadistic theatre, slowly rising to reveal the fun and games of the planet below. The gears behind the door scraped and rattled, and it was almost like a eye reluctant to open and see the truth. But eventually, it did so – revealing Bethlehem below them.
They were far above the city, and they could see the tops of the shopping centres, and tall glass apartments, and immense steel skyscrapers – and in the distance, the real world, the grey, smog-stained stone constructions. But at that moment, none of it mattered, for it was all one planet waiting to be decimated by the force of nature itself, united under one, navy night sky. And it was a sky congested with clouds, with no stars to be seen. To the Doctor, Lizzie, and Herod, it seemed like a planet without hope, that had a destiny set in stone.
“I’ve contacted neighbouring systems,” Herod solemnly put his hand up to the glass. “None are sending help.”
And all of it so full of people. Billions on the world below them, continuing with their daily existences with so many cares and so many anxieties – but ploughing on through them, just trying to hold it together. And yet, all were blinded by a government to the hell unfolding outside. As Lizzie watched them, it hurt – that so many people were content at Christmas – and that all were oblivious that their whole lives were going to be destroyed. There it was… the system blinding people to the fact that Christmas was always framed with hurt – and because of it, the people became lost in their happiness, and forgot that for others… Christmas was never so easy.
“You came back in time to slow the cold-star damage,” the Doctor looked down at the people below. They were milling about on the streets, filing from shop to café to shop to restaurant to bus station to wherever – off back home, perhaps. And yet, however small they were, and however unknowable the contents of their lives were, the Doctor felt their pain – all of it. “But the damage isn’t slowing?”
“No,” Herod admitted. “It’s got worse.”
“Time is in flux.,” the Doctor explained. “Sometimes, you go back, the stream becomes muddied.”
The Jenga tower of time, Lizzie muttered. Oh… what a year it had been.
“And opening that flight corridor wasn’t helpful,” Herod said, irritation notable in his voice. “We have a set number of gaps in the atmosphere for vehicles to cross through, enough to try and strike a balance between slowing down the process, and letting in as many vehicles as possible. You’ve ended up creating another route for the cold to get through. And I should think that now… we only have fifteen minutes to spare.”
The Doctor was at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry…”
That was all he could manage – and he didn’t think there would ever be enough words to describe how he felt about condemning a whole planet earlier than it should have to die. Because… the Doctor didn’t know what to do. Or, at least, there wasn’t anything he could do. The cold-star was nature itself. Unstoppable – and there was nothing that anyone as small as him could do anything about.
And he knew that he’d just end up flying away. As he always did, he’d hop into his TARDIS with his lovely family, and they’d go somewhere. Who knew? Who cared? They’d have an incredible Christmas, just themselves, and it would be like none of this was happening. There was no point in feeling guilty about it… but the Doctor, at that moment, realised how important it was to simply understand.
He chuckled quietly under his breath.
“Though in fairness,” the Doctor continued. “We did have to get your mother down here so she could give birth.”
Herod laughed. Not much – but just a little bit. It had reminded him of his mother, that joke. She’d have found it hilarious – and perhaps she’d have been angry, that they’d risked the whole planet just so she could give birth.
“Mum told me the story,” Herod looked up at the sky. He had fond memories of looking in the window and gazing up at the sky – and it had become almost a comfort blanket. For the briefest of seconds, he wondered why – but then he realised, it couldn’t have been anything else. Santa Claus. “She told me about the teleport, and the shepherds, and the wise men.”
Herod paused, and turned to the Doctor, stood in the light of the night.
“She told me about the Doctor, and how amazing he was.”
The Doctor walked away from the window, as he could not bear to look at all the people below anymore. Wasn’t that telling? How privileged a life he led – that he could simply fly away in that old TARDIS of his. And yet… it was haunting him. All the time, something or other. If it wasn’t something like the Bethlehem cold-star, it was something else, or the Time War.
With each passing day, the Doctor found the Time War always haunting him.
And most importantly, the Doctor turned away because he couldn’t bear having to hear Herod talk like that. Because the Doctor certainly didn’t feel amazing.
“Is that why you’re doing this?” Lizzie asked, entirely out of the blue. Perhaps it was something that Herod had said, that just struck a chord with her.
Herod nodded. He was only a child when she died – but he knew his mother, so very well – and he understood exactly what she would have wanted. And so Herod was trying desperately to live up to that. To be kind, and to be generous. In knowing that, Herod had become content in the knowledge that he might die to keep this planet safe for as long as possible. But if it meant protecting them? Then he would do it without question.
“In a universe like this,” Herod thought. “Trying to be like Mum is all I can do.”
As Lizzie looked at Herod, she saw the sadness in his eyes, and the years on his face. It was a quality Lizzie had noticed as soon as she’d seen Herod for the first time – that for someone who could be no more than a young adult, he looked much older than he was. The youth of his face was, at the same time, scarred with age, and pain – a few lines etched deep, and eyes that had seen suffering. And while Herod hadn’t got it entirely right – and in some cases, he had got it wrong – he had to function on the impossible day. And in a way, Lizzie admired him.
And as the Doctor walked away from the window, unable to look at Lizzie, at Herod, and at the people, he realised that Herod’s story had resonated with him. Now all that he wanted was to live up to Mary as well. Live up to her joy. Her goodwill. Her generosity. Her acceptance. Her hope.
It was at that moment that the Doctor had the most amazing idea.
“Herod,” the Doctor span on his heels, and dashed back to the window. As he did so, he quickly sent a text message, and then turned his attention to Herod. He took President’s hand, and shook it. An enormous grin spread across the Doctor’s face, and excitement and delight danced in his eyes “Merry Christmas,” he said, shaking.
The Doctor turned to Lizzie.
“Elizabeth,” he said, hugging her, and then stepping back, and holding her. Lizzie could see it, that look on his face, that ‘I’ve got an amazing idea’ look, that manifested all across his features.
“Well done,” she congratulated him, genuinely impressed. She was quite used to the Doctor managing to pull out an amazing plan at the last second – but thinking of a way around an entire natural phenomenon was quite something, even for him.
“Thank you,” the Doctor said, evidently looking delighted.
“Doctor…,” Herod hadn’t quite grasped what was going on, and the grin and the excitable aura were rather confusing and, if Herod did say so himself, offensive.
It was at that moment, a strange gust of wind blew through the room – and seconds later (parked effectively, without the hand-break on), there was another fireplace, right beside the Doctor’s TARDIS.
“Yo yo yo!” cried Kym, prancing out of the fireplace, and dancing over to the gang at the end of the room. “Oh, hey there, Mr H,” Kym said, sliding up to Herod right beside the window. “I love an emo. Call me.”
Iris emerged close behind, reindeer antlers perched on her head, cradling a bowl of Christmas pudding in one hand. “Wow. Nice place.”
And, finally, Cioné appeared as well, looking terribly flustered. “I’ve just got the turkey on, are you alright?” she asked. Normally the Doctor did the cooking – and so being asked to start cooking a turkey was stressful enough – let alone start cooking a turkey and then being summoned by one’s husband.
“Everything is wonderful!” the Doctor exclaimed, spinning into the centre of the room and taking out his sonic screwdriver. Herod still looked entirely lost. “Long story, I’ll explain later, we’ve got… how long?”
Lizzie glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes before the planet is frozen by a giant cold-star,” the Doctor said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Ten minutes to save the entire thing.”
“Bloody hell,” Iris grimaced. As a physicist, she knew her stuff about cold-stars. There was a whole unit on them.
“Oh good lord,” Cioné said, suddenly feeling quite faint.
“What’s a cold-star?” Kym asked.
“Sorry Miss Gomez,” the Doctor said. “I’ll explain later – because, President Herod,” he turned to Herod. “I’ve got a plan for how to save Bethlehem.”
It would be wrong to say that Herod’s face lit up – but something changed in his features. It was the light, passion, and hope that had resided in his eyes, at that moment it flickered across his entire face. It disappeared soon after, as he suddenly realised how impossible it was. “Are you – are you serious, can you actually do it?”
“We can,” the Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at his TARDIS, and quickly gave it a pulse of energy. Straight away he did the same thing to Cioné’s – starting the preparations for his plan.
“Darling,” Cioné strode over to him, entirely bemused. “We’re going to save this planet from a cold-star expanding? Have you been on the sherry again?”
The Doctor gestured for everyone to gather around him – Lizzie, Cioné, Iris, Kym, and Herod. And then he said it – his quite ridiculous plan.
“We’re going to drag this world, and all the others around it, to a new star.”
A silence fell. It was – in a way – a stunned silence.
“I beg your pardon,” Cioné said.
“Totes been on the Shezza Cole,” Kym laughed, even though she actually had no idea what the Doctor was saying. Kym always said – maths and science. Her worst subjects, by far.
“You’re not going to use a spatiotemporal net to drag it off to another orbit, are you?” Iris looked up at her father incredulously. “Have you actually gone insane?”
“Probably. A long time ago,” the Doctor grinned.
“Hold on,” Cioné thought it through to herself. “It’s not entirely impossible.”
“See!” the Doctor exclaimed, delighted at his wife’s approval.
“Just mostly impossible,” Cioné finished.
The Doctor shrugged grimly. Close enough.
“But we might just manage it?” Cioné asked, almost like it were a question – as if she were seeking approval from herself for her own thoughts. “If we park ourselves at equidistant intervals? I’ve got a good tow cable if need be.”
“Hold on,” Herod said, trying to stop them all from getting too carried away. “Are you saying…?”
He looked at all of them – all these people he’d only just met. And all these people that it was like he’d known throughout all his life. All of them looked a little bit nervous (apart from Lizzie and Kym, who only looked nervous because, of their own self-admission, they didn’t exactly understand the plan) – and all of them looked a tiny bit hopeful.
Maybe they could do it.
The Doctor turned to Herod. “We’re going to save your world.”
Herod looked out of the window, and out at the sky, and was beyond grateful – for everything.
“Right – I’m going to dig out that cable,” Cioné strolled off to her TARDIS. “I’ll see you up there, darling?”
The Doctor tried to hold in his delight at such an insane plan. Cioné couldn’t help but find it a little bit irresistible. Iris and Kym followed her back into her TARDIS, leaving only the Doctor, Lizzie, and Herod behind.
“Thank you,” Herod said to the Doctor. “Thank you, so much.”
The Doctor smiled, as if to say it was no trouble. As if no thanks were needed. The Doctor stepped into his TARDIS, Lizzie following close behind.
Time to drag a whole planet to a new sun.
How hard could it be?
“People of Bethlehem….”
President Herod’s voice crackled from the television. They were sat there, upon the settee. Two kids watched from the door, having been told to go off to bed – and yet, in great trepidation of why the President was speaking to everyone, they held back – hanging by the door, waiting to see what was about to unfold. Their grandmother sat in one of the armchairs, their grandfather stood by the wall. An aunt watched too, leaning around the kitchen door.
“I am speaking to you today to deliver some grave news.”
All of them were focused on the TV. It had been sent out as a national news alert – President Herod would +
625address the whole planet. Such an event was unheard of – and yet, here it was. On Christmas Eve, when families gathered together, hiding from the dark in the fear that it might, one day, swallow them up. And little did those families know, that that was what the news was about.
The dark, swallowing them up.
There was something all wrong about it – the Christmas trees, the warm orange glows of lamps and fireplaces and candelabras – the soft light of the fairy-lights, twinkling on trees and mantlepieces and windows and streets – food stacked in the larder, ready for the next day’s dinner – a TV box ready to record the sheer enormity of Christmas television. All of it, idyllic. And all of it… about to be crushed.
And the people had no idea.
All of them had gathered about their televisions – nobody was going to miss it. This family was no exception – though the children had been sent away. Why else would a president address his people but to announce something terrifying? And so the parents did the parental thing – sent the children to bed. And yet… when the children hovered, they didn’t send them away. It was like all of them knew, subconsciously, that although they did it, sending the children away was wrong. Whatever was about to be announced, it would surely would affect the youth more than anybody else – and so why should they have their eyes covered and their ears blocked?
“It has been confirmed that a cold-star is expanding across our planet.”
There was something most peculiar happen, then. It was as if their older relations had suddenly received the most devastating news. They collapsed – some into tears, some watching the screen with stony silence, contemplating the killer blow announced by the television. The children watched on, entirely lost, and confused, as to what could cause it – what could cause a room full of adults to break down and cry?
“It is suspected that, without intervention … this world will have 15 minutes left.”
Something changed in the world outside – like everyone was connected to the atmosphere – and everybody knew what was about to happen. The whole world felt it – like a sense of immense sorrow, and of pain. Everybody was watching the TV – and so everybody knew about it. And maybe, it was because of the children. With Herod’s last chilling words, now they understood – understood that their lives were about to come to an end. And they waited, paralysed by the door with fear.
A child having to grasp the end of their life was one of the worst things in the universe.
“Schemes to rehome citizens of other worlds displaced by the cold-star have been secretly in progress for the last 10 years.”
And of course. The governments had known for years. The governments and the rich and those with power, drip-feeding everyone else with fake knowledge, while they got on with the work. Blind to the truth.
“I am so very, very sorry that we kept this information from you all. While it is of little comfort to you now, we would suggest that you stay in your homes.
Everyone felt it. The solemn mood, that had descended across the whole planet. A whole world of people, grappling with what was about to happen – most of them numb to the whole thing, the shock of it all, entirely out of the blue, stunning them into silence. Those were, perhaps the lucky ones. Others endured their whole lives, flashing before their eyes, themselves as they had to comfort the family member who had just collapsed into their lap, bitterly terrified of what was about to happen.
Terror. Misery. Fear. All of it – uniting a whole world.
And sadness. Sad that it was all going to end.
“However – thankfully, I can announce that we would advice against that.”
And that’s when the adults looked up.
“We are receiving assistance – our planet will shift in its orbit to prevent the cold-stars effects from destroying our world, and worlds around it.”
The atmosphere outside changed, then, from permeable misery, to something else. Was it joy? Yes… joy, or something like that. Maybe it was hope. And instead, that was the mood suddenly uniting the people. Or, at least, blind confusion at the sudden emotional rollercoaster, at the heart-stopping scare they’d all just been exposed to. For some, the tears of sadness turned straight to tears of delight, and they collapsed on the ground, simply so grateful for the fact that they would continue to get to feel it beneath their feet. Some of them simply breathed a sigh of relief, some of them, inside, felt the greatest spark of euphoria leap up inside them.
How often was it that one would be told they had been given another chance?
“And I can confirm that you will all be safe. There is no need to worry. It is being taken care of.”
And that was it. A feeling of safety. That was what everyone felt like. As if, at Christmas, there was somebody looking out for them. The world could be dark, and cold… but that was okay. There was no shame in suffering. And there were people out there too, who would always stand by. People who would always go to impossible lengths to save them.
“I thank you for your cooperation in this darkest time. However, the news of hope waiting around the corner has, I hope, lifted your spirits. The government would advise you all make your way outside to an open space, as the movement of the world will likely cause some tremors.
“I wish you all the merriest of Christmases. Thank you.”
And within that family, already the kids had dashed to the front door. Their parents and grandparents and aunt weren’t far behind – and soon, the door swung open, and the whole family tumbled out onto the street.
And they were not alone.
Whole families, striding out to greet the night, which had just been ignited in hope and joy. In the values that were to be treasured at Christmas – the values that, somewhere out there, a group of people who just wanted to help were trying to live up to. It was cold, but the people were grateful for it – simply for having some sense of feeling. And all the people, all across the planet, they welcomed each other. They accepted one another, even those they had once disagreed with.
And why?
Because of them understood. That they were alive.
They were taken care of.
They were safe.
And only minutes later, the planet started to shake – people started to fall, slipping over – and they just laughed, entirely uncaring of how stupid they looked. They were alive – what a brilliant day to be stupid. Who knew when one couldn’t be stupid? It was most strange – like standing on a boat, perhaps, when it sets sail out to see, perhaps being guided home by some distant lighthouse. That’s what it felt like to all the people on the world – clinging to the skin of the world as it was hauled beneath them.
Not everyone laughed and cheered. There were people on Bethlehem who couldn’t care less whether the world was going to end – for what would be the point in living without a loved one? Or living alone? Or living a certain way, with something or without something? But some of them, they looked out of the windows of wherever they were, and they saw the black smog shrouding the sky clear, as the planet seemed to zoom into the view of space.
And the stars were visible.
For once, people could see nothing but stars in the sky. Christmas lights, all twinkling, all shining.
It was okay for them not to be okay, as the clock struck Twelve, and Christmas Day dawned. But some of them looked to the sky, and for the briefest of seconds… they felt protected.
They were back in Herod’s time.
It was like before. When they’d been around outside – dropping Mary off, to return home to her family for Christmas. And in most respects, the world around them looked exactly as it had done when they had brought her home. The slate-grey buildings still lined the street, a jungle of houses and apartments, all piled up haphazardly, like a child had constructed them from building blocks. Just as before, there were so many of them – so many people, all living in this funny little community.
The Doctor’s TARDIS was parked, just outside the apartment building of Herod’s family – the same one they’d dropped Mary off at. Cioné had taken Kym home, and was then off with Iris to attempt cooking some of the Christmas dinner, until the Doctor could arrive to salvage the ruins that they would inevitably create. Meanwhile, the Doctor, Lizzie, and Herod stood there, looking sadly up at that building. Especially Herod.
“Normal life?” the Doctor asked.
Herod nodded. He didn’t want to do anything big. Anything special. To do less, in his eyes, was special enough. As long as he did what he’d always tried to do…
“Thank you, Doctor,” Herod said. “I understand why Mum said what she said.”
The Doctor shook his head. No… definitely not the case.
“She never said you were magic,” Herod clarified. “Or that you were a legend, or a hero, or anything like that. She said you were kind. And… I think that’s just as good.”
The Doctor smiled, for those words meant a lot to him.
“Would you mind if I spoke with Lizzie on my own?”
“No – no, not at all.”
The Doctor vanished into the TARDIS, leaving Lizzie and Herod, standing on the street alone.
Some things changed… sometimes time would take its toll on a place, or a person. Lizzie looked at Herod, and Herod glanced briefly at Lizzie. They could see it in each other, that mutual understanding. They’d noticed it in each other for a while.
But at the same time, some things stayed exactly the same. It sometimes felt, to Lizzie, that while people faded in and out of life, and while the existence of the universe changed as well – that the things surrounding a person never seemed to alter that much. And sometimes, Lizzie would blink, and feel as if she was in exactly the same place as she’d been so many years ago as a child – a place that she always wanted to escape from. It always happened like that, though, at specific times of year.
Lizzie knew at the same time, however, that things never stayed exactly the same. As she looked around at the ashen-grey world surrounding them, there was something more alive about it – as if the glass spires of the shopping district didn’t drink the life out of everything around them. And the sky, although dark, didn’t seem so constricted by the clouds. The beautiful navy of the space above their heads was clear, and stars glimmered gently against it, as if they had been lightly embossed onto a thin fabric draped over the globe.
“How long has it been?” Lizzie asked. “Since you last saw them?”
Herod shook his head. He had no idea. He hadn’t ever kept track. It was harder when one kept track of things like that – it made him feel as if he still wanted them. And if he still wanted them, then that made not being able to see them all the harder. He’d blocked it from his mind.
And then, without hesitation, he said… “15 years.”
He stopped himself then, captivated in a confusion sparked by his own brain. He’d always tried to block it out, to ensure that he never kept count – but he realised, then, that he knew the exact number of years. Subconsciously, perhaps, he’d never been able to stop. But, he suspected, that was just normal – for even when he didn’t realise it, some things had rooted themselves deep inside his head, and had become so part of his being that he had stopped even realising they existed.
Lizzie smiled, looking at Herod. So different to the little boy that she’d met so long ago. “They’ll have a shock.”
“I’m... not looking forward to it. I just… disappeared.”
Lizzie nodded. She understood. Would they let him back in? Embrace him, as if he’d never been away? Would they be too astounded to even grasp what was going on, or maybe think he was a ghost? Well… there was only one way of finding out.
“And I’m not looking forward to it? My aunt and uncle, they were younger, and they have kids of their own now. And… they celebrate it. They… do a lot for Christmas.”
And Herod was afraid that they would think him to be bitter. For he didn’t like Christmas – he spent the time mourning his mother, often alone. It was not a thing he could simply side-line for goodwill, festivities, and annoying, overly-long Christmas specials. It was not a scar that would ever heal – it was a part of him, a knot that had somehow… twisted him. And somehow, Herod thought that although the knot would loosen, it would never become undone.
Lizzie could understand that – she knew what it meant to be called that. The bitter one. The Grinch. When, in fact, it was nothing of the sort – it was just finding Christmas hard.
“Your aunt and uncle?” Lizzie suggested, even though she knew that her suggestions wouldn’t make it any easier. “They’ll still be grieving too?”
Herod looked to the front door with unease. The letters were lopsided, still waiting for Mary to come and rearrange them – something that would never come. “I can’t help but feel they’ve moved on better than me? That they’ve healed more than I have?”
“I think…” Lizzie hesitated, looking up at the sky – trying to look away from Herod. “I think people suffer from these things in different ways, and there’s no way to judge it. But, I think they’ll understand. And maybe if you explain it, they’ll understand why you had to go.”
Herod nodded. Maybe they would. He could remember it so vividly, and he knew that they would as well… the way in which her cancer took away from her everything she held dear – stopped her from laughing, stopped her from feeling happy. He hadn’t seen his mother cry until the final days of her life – and he could say, quite certainly, that there was nothing worse than seeing a parent cry. And at the same time, as Mary had slipped out of this world, she had always been optimistic. As time narrowed further to her last, Mary would always say that she had a good feeling about the next day. That it was going to be a good day.
And maybe Herod could tell them, that he had been living up to those qualities that had been taken away from his mother. Her joy, her laughter. And that at the same time, he was riding on his mother’s hope. Doing what he did because he thought that if he tried, he might be able to make it a good day for people.
“She’d have been so proud of you,” Lizzie said, turning her gaze to Herod, pinching her fingers at the same time.
Herod looked at her, and she could see him blinking tears from his eyes. There is was. The emotion he’d been trying so hard to bury.
“I’ve always tried to live up to her,” Herod said, turning his eyes to the stars above. He could see it – the big star, the star he’d spent Christmases looking at, hoping that his mum was out there, somewhere, doing the same.
“And you have done,” Lizzie reassured him, leaning back against the TARDIS and fiddling with one of the toggles on her coat. Then, she fixed her eyes on Herod. “And… I know you won’t stop.”
He wouldn’t stop. Even when it got tough. Even at times like Christmas – which she knew was hard for him. But if Herod had shown anything, it was that it was okay to suffer at Christmas.
Lizzie realised, then, that Herod’s family would accept him. They would see her – Mary, shining through him and everything he did. And not only that, but they would see what Herod had developed on his own – his strength and his principles and his willpower, and his determination and grit to plough on through, even when it broke his heart. And if that family were good – which, considering its two members that she had so far run into, was quite likely – then Lizzie knew that they would understand.
“They’ll get it,” Lizzie reassured Herod. “They’ll understand that you’re not bitter. That you find it hard.”
Herod nodded, regaining himself. “I hope so.”
At that moment, Herod began to start walking slowly towards the front door of his house. This was it – a moment that, although he hadn’t realised it, he’d been dreaming of for such a long time. And with each step, the moment of truth came closer – the moment he’d been filled with so much anticipation and fear of. He just hoped, perhaps, that they would understand, just as Lizzie had.
And as he walked past Lizzie, his eyes connected with hers’ again, and there was that understanding – that link between the two of them, formed once more.
“You need to listen to your own advice,” he said.
Lizzie looked up at him, unsure as to what he meant. “Hmm?”
“You’re still fighting something, and… although you’ve accepted it, it’s Christmas. And now you feel like it’s not okay.”
Herod moved in front of a streetlamp, giving him an almost ghostly aura as he spoke to Lizzie. The words of advice scared her, a little bit – her own words, thrown straight back at her. She suddenly felt the night grow colder, and she pulled her coat tighter, as if protecting herself against… something.
“You’ll be with someone?” Herod asked. He was concerned for Lizzie. Lizzie could see he was. “At Christmas?”
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled. “Definitely.”
Herod walked up to the doorstep. This was it. Goodbye. He hadn’t ever felt as if he wanted to help a stranger more than he felt the need to help Lizzie. He wasn’t even sure why.
“Understand, Lizzie, that it’s okay to be sad at Christmas. It always is. And always remember that there are people who love you as well.”
Herod put his hand on the door handle. He nearly reached up, and straightened the numbers on the door – but he didn’t. They were waiting for Mary, and it couldn’t be alright if he did it.
“Goodnight, Herod,” Lizzie said, her voice almost a whisper in the night.
Herod opened the door. He still had a key. But before he went, he looked at Lizzie once more.
“Goodbye, Lizzie. I think… we’ll be alright.”
And then Herod stepped inside. Mary’s legacy had been lived – and it would still be lived. But that night, as Jae, or Herod, or whatever name one wanted to know him as – as he stepped into that house, to be with his family, Bethlehem slept soundly. They rested, dreaming, and hoping. All had in their hearts the qualities that Mary had bestowed onto Herod, and that Herod, in keeping the planet safe, had bestowed onto all of them – the value of Christmas. Love, and hope.
Herod didn’t look so uneasy now. He looked confident in who he was – in knowing that even if the world was dark, and the night was cold, he was allowed to be afraid of the dark, and he was allowed to be chilled by the cold.
And he was allowed to be loved as well.
Lizzie gave Bethlehem one last look.
Then she stepped into the TARDIS.
“So…,” the Doctor said,
The doors opened. Lizzie’s street. Exactly as it always was, apart from the big blue box underneath the streetlamp. Obviously. Lizzie walked out from underneath it, and the Doctor came too – just hovering beside the doors.
“Christmas with Maggie?” the Doctor enquired. Just looking out for Lizzie. Always looking out for Lizzie – making sure that she wouldn’t be alone.
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled, trying to hide herself together. Trying to… keep her emotions buried. She was good at it, to be fair. Maggie had always said it was one of Lizzie’s greatest talents. Lizzie wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.
“Tell her I say hello…,” the Doctor smiled. Lizzie laughed – Maggie always gave the Doctor quite a hard time whenever she saw him. Lizzie wondered whether things would be any different at Christmas – probably not. But Lizzie could see it – Maggie liked the Doctor – and Maggie would always vet anyone close to Lizzie, to ensure that they wouldn’t hurt her. And although she would never say it… Lizzie could see it, whenever the Doctor was on the scene, that Maggie thought he was a decent guy.
“I will.”
“And… you’ll look after yourself? Because…,” the Doctor said, not sure what words to use. “I – I worry about you, Lizzie. All the time.”
Lizzie shook her head, as if to ridicule what the Doctor was saying. “Honestly. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Always will be.”
The Doctor looked at her incredulously. That was exactly the reason he always worried. Especially at Christmas. Season of goodwill and cheer, and… happiness. Of course Lizzie was going to say she was fine. He did not believe her for a second, however.
“Straight to Maggie’s, yes? I don’t want you alone on Christmas Day…”
“‘Course,” Lizzie smiled. She hesitated – and so did the Doctor. It felt strange, almost… too quick. That was what life was like with the Doctor, though. One minute, you’d do… such mad, amazing things. And the next, it was over – like they’d just been on some sort of errand.
Lizzie realised what she needed to say. It was Christmas. Why not tell him the truth?
“It means a lot,” she said, smiling at him, a look of sheer gratitude upon his face. “That… you take me to all these places. Include me in your family. So… thank you. So much.”
The Doctor gave her that look. He always gave her that look. That look, as if to say ‘you’re part of my family, and you always will be’.
“No, Elizabeth,” the Doctor shook his head. “Thank you. And… I hope that you have the most wonderful of Christmases.”
Lizzie had to look away, then, unable to watch him as he said those words. She bit her tongue, and looked out of the light of the streetlamp.
“Goodnight, Doctor,” she turned back to the Doctor, like she was willing him to go. She could see that that was the way he’d interpreted it. She saw the brief look of disappointment flicker across his face.
The Doctor paused, not wanting to say it.
“Goodnight, Lizzie.”
He stepped back inside the TARDIS, as the doors shut behind him.
Lizzie looked away, at the street ahead of her. She heard the noise – the slow wheezing sound, and she could picture it – see it fading away, disappearing off to wherever the Doctor was destined next. Often, Lizzie was on board, excitement and intrigue leaping in her heart, as she wondered what beautiful corner of the universe they would see next. And they would fly, so fast through space, facing the universe with determination and hope – and they would greet the universe with open arms.
But not this time. Lizzie felt her feet firmly on the Earth – and she did not move. She looked away from the box, unable to bear the sight of it – so instead, Lizzie’s eyes drifted over the street, and she bit her tongue, trying hard not to cry, Nobody would see – but Lizzie still didn’t want to cry.
She saw the houses and sets of apartments lining the road. There were Christmas trees in their windows, the glow of Christmas lights hanging on the ledges, as if each property was even endeavouring to get into the Christmas spirit. Lizzie could see candelabras, Christmas cards, little ornamental ceramic snowmen, probably from the primary school’s Christmas bazaar. Lizzie saw wreathes on doors, ‘Santa stop here’ signs, and even a pair of welly boots tied upside down on top of a chimney.
It just hurt more, and so Lizzie looked at the ground. Her eyes traced the concrete, in all its bleak greyness. No snow. There never seemed to be any snow at Christmas. The dreaded sound of the TARDIS finally died down, and Lizzie could breathe again.
Stood alone, by the side of the road, Lizzie took in the air. It was freezing out, and she pulled her coat around her – but it was so chilly, that it didn’t make too much of a difference. Therefore, Lizzie resigned herself, to drift slowly off to her flat. It might be warmer in there, and at least she wouldn’t have to look at all the festivity constricting the world around her. So, she turned, and hesitantly walked to the door behind her.
But she stopped, when she heard the bells ring.
Some nearby church – the bells rung in melodic fashion – and then she heard them strike.
One. Two. Three.
That church. People gathered inside, worshipping some deity, warmed by the spirit of each other and the community they enjoyed. Content in their faith, in a way, Lizzie was happy for them. If that was how they got their kicks, so long as they didn’t harm anyone, she couldn’t care less. They probably had more focus on Christmas day than her.
Four. Five. Six.
Having said that, the religious elitists who got stroppy about Christmas now acting against their faith were truly irritating. While she was no die-hard Christmas fanatic anyway, and most certainly not religious, even Lizzie could see that the yuletide season transcended far beyond its Christian watermark.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Lizzie just thought Christmas should be celebrated however one chose to celebrate it. Not to be forced down one’s throat, as Lizzie was too used to experiencing.
Ten. Eleven.
Twelve.
Midnight.
Christmas Day.
Nothing changed. Much. Except… now it felt like a confirmation. Christmas was here. Joy to the world, etc.
Lizzie breathed again, and this time it was shaky, and nervous. An insomniac, alone at home during the small hours of Christmas day. Perhaps she would go insane.
So, contrary to every and any degree of sensibility, Lizzie turned from her doorstep, and began to walk down the road. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t really care. She just walked down the road, past the houses with their decorations, past the sleeping people waiting for a day of giving and togetherness, past the children sleeping contently, Santa Claus watching over, protecting from the dark outside. Lizzie made an effort to ignore it all.
Maggie – 00:04
Ho ho ho! Hope you’re okay love. Phone me at some point xx
Lizzie stopped beneath a street lamp, and tapped out a reply.
Me – 00:05
Am good. Will phone at some point x
That was good enough. Lizzie eyed the underground station at the far end of the road, and decided to make her way over to it. Hop on a train, go… somewhere.
Though as she walked over, her phone began to ring. As expected, it was Maggie – and Lizzie answered it, after a brief spell of hesitation.
Maggie’s voice was crackly, and almost a little bit muffled, in that way that mobile phone voices so frequently are. But it did not matter – as soon as Lizzie heard it, she felt a little bit better.
“Merry Christmas, love!” Maggie’s voice came down the phone. It was just a voice – and yet, it was like Maggie was with her. Lizzie saw a bench, and she sat down on it, holding her phone tight to her ear, as if there were a risk that it might slip away. Regardless of how stupid it was – it was a chance Lizzie wasn’t willing to take,
Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. “Merry Christmas.”
“You alright?” Maggie asked – and then stopped. “Where even are you? Are you on Mars or something?”
“No,” Lizzie said, chuckling. “I’m on Earth.”
With a bit more trepidation and uncertainty, Maggie asked… “You sure you’re alright, love? You sound… shaky,” Maggie wasn’t actually sure what shaky meant.
The words, however simple, were like a knife to Lizzie’s heart. But she didn’t waver. Wouldn’t cry.
“Yeah,” Lizzie shrugged it off nonchalantly, doing a pretty good job at sounding alright. “Shivering. Just out and about.”
Technically she wasn’t lying.
“Well, get inside!” Maggie instructed, and Lizzie heard Maggie quickly drawing her Dunsworthian curtains. “Looks bloody freezing out…”
Lizzie could tell that Maggie still wasn’t 100% certain of Lizzie’s excuse. “It is. Really cold. I’ll go in soon.”
A brief spell of silence passed – one unusual in their conversations.
“Chaos at the home earlier,” Maggie said, trying to stir up some conversation. “Absolute madness.”
“Really?” Lizzie asked. “The kids alright?”
Maggie made a noise to indicate her uncertainty. The answer was probably no. To be a child in care at Christmas was a truly terrible thing, and Lizzie would be quite happy if those memories just… left her brain, and never returned. “Some kids acting up, some not doing anything, some just being normal. Such a sad place to be at Christmas. Not nice at all. Pat and Sarah really have to work the impossible.”
“They always did try,” Lizzie acknowledged. Even if they couldn’t make much of a difference, at least they were there, and tried to understand what it was like. “Chaotic here as well. In a different way, of course.”
“Yeah. ‘Course. But nice chaos?” Maggie asked. “Because… I’m so glad that you’re going to be spending Christmas with the Doctor and his family. I wouldn’t have agreed to work if I knew you weren’t.”
Lizzie hesitated, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Eventually, she spoke.
“Yeah. Nice chaos.”
Only three words. Four syllables. Meant it was very hard to make the words tremble, and Lizzie could just about struggle through them without tripping over them. She still had to force them out, though, much to the pain in her gut. Lizzie pushed her forefinger nail into her thumb, the sensation of pain a welcomed distraction – and even that was barely enough.
Somehow, Lizzie found herself continuing. “The Doctor is watching some documentary on the telly about classical composers and Christmas carols. Cioné is knitting, and Iris is sat deliberately trying to wind her up. Kym’s here as well, pouring herself another mulled wine…,” Lizzie stopped, realising that she’d started to sound… almost wistful, and as if she could talk about it and somehow be transported to that place. “Yeah. It’s good.”
“Blimey,” Maggie exclaimed. “All at this time of night?”
“They’re Time Lords,” Lizzie quickly said. “They sleep weirdly. And one of them is Kym, who basically… never sleeps.”
Maggie laughed. She’d met Kym once. Quite an unforgettable presence.
Lizzie was content with her life, and for a few seconds, she put the phone to her shoulder and looked away, to blink the freezing tears from her eyes.
“So yeah! All good here,” Lizzie said. She sounded content. Genuinely, properly content. In a strange way, for someone who tried to be honest and kind… Lizzie thought herself to be quite a good liar.
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god Lizzie was going to be alright. It was what she’d been most afraid of, when she’d agreed to work on Christmas day. But… so long as Lizzie wasn’t going to be alone. Maggie laughed, just so happy that she finally had her mind put to rest. “You really need to get out of the cold, love!” Maggie exclaimed, a chuckle creeping into her voice.
“Y – yeah,” Lizzie laughed as well.
“You know, Lizzie,” Maggie began. Lizzie listened as she spoke the words, and she held tightly to them. “I’m so happy for you. Happy that you could finally find a family. I’ve… I’ve watched you grow up, and honestly – that means so much.”
Lizzie nodded, even though Maggie wouldn’t know. At least if she nodded, it might make Lizzie feel as if she was being honest. It might just make her feel that there were people waiting for her.
“That doesn’t make you any less important,” Lizzie said. And this time, she was being honest.
“Me? Ha! Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not! Honestly. You deserve the best Christmas, Maggie.”
Maggie paused. “Thank you, love. So much.”
“Right,” Lizzie said. “I really need to go inside. It’s so cold…”
“Yes,” Maggie declared. “Yes, you do. Get back in that flat, make sure Kym isn’t drinking the wine – enjoy it. Embrace it!”
“I will,” Lizzie said.
“Ta-ra, love.”
“Bye.”
The phone bleeped, and Maggie was gone. Lizzie held the phone by her ear, just for a bit longer – as if, in some blind bit of Christmas hope, Maggie might still be there. Might still have something to say to her on Christmas morning.
But it was silent. And in that silence, and the night, and the cold, Lizzie Darwin felt very, very small.
Slowly, she took her phone from her ear, and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. Maggie’s voice already seemed distant – Maggie seemed further away than she’d done before. And Lizzie stood, and walked across the sullen tarmac to the other side of the road.
Yes. Lizzie had… twisted things, a little bit. Told the Doctor she was spending Christmas with Maggie. Told Maggie she was spending Christmas with the Doctor.
Lizzie traipsed over to the underground station, and made her way down the steps. Soon, she was engulfed by the ground, and she scanned her oyster card over the car-reader. The barrier, notorious for its inability to read cards and tickets, let her through with little fuss – and Lizzie felt that even it was embracing Christmas with open arms.
Passing through the barrier, she stepped onto the escalator, and began a descent to the belly of the Earth. Reduced services, but the night tube was still chugging through, a thankful reminder beneath the surface of society that life still went on.
It didn’t totally feel that way, however. There were adverts, electronic and paper, stuck to the wall, eying Lizzie up as she made her steady crawl downwards, as if the very businesses they promoted were eying her with nothing but contempt. Good, she thought.
But that was it – it was like Lizzie could not escape it, not even beneath the surface of the Earth. Because it was there, wherever she went. Christmas! Christmas, Christmas, bloody Christmas, all the time from 1st of bloody November through to mid-January when the post-Christmas sales eventually dried up. And it was painful, and torturous to endure.
Lizzie waited for five minutes on the platform. Five, long, dragging, tedious minutes. Normally she was patient, but sometimes, Lizzie just felt the passing of time, and felt it to be so quick, and to feel a desperate need to chase after it so it couldn’t get her first. And yet… it was impossible to beat it. Time was a thing so immense and so invincible, that what hope did anyone have in beating it? What hope did anyone have of understanding it?
And that was all Lizzie wanted. For people to understand that she did not hate Christmas. And if she ever had to hear the phrase ‘don’t be such a Grinch’ ever again, Lizzie was quite certain she would finally lose her marbles for good. She was not bitter, or cruel, or nasty. She did not hate what Christmas stood for. In fact, she thought it was very admirable, and she respected it greatly. She just found it hard. Nothing more than that. Just hard.
Eventually, the train wormed its way through the tunnel and to the platform. Its doors opened, and Lizzie stepped on board. A couple sat at the far end of the carriage, one of them chatting about she was flying out to see her cousins in Japan and grandparents in the Himalayas, and how her grandparents were keeping an alpaca stronghold and making cheese out of the milk, or something. Lizzie ignored them, and sat close to the doors, so she could make as quick an escape as possible when the time eventually came.
And because she found it tricky, all she wanted was for people to understand that for some, a festival of love and unity was not always so easy.
Lizzie was content in the family she had around her. Why, she was not willing to cut off her nose to spite her face, although her brain did do some blatantly illogical things.
No… it was the simple fact that Lizzie was not in the mood for expectation. It was not a simple matter of simply having people around. The point still stood. Christmas was a time of year tinged with sadness, and to live Christmas as a child in care was nothing short of one of the hardest things she had endured. And whenever the festivities rolled around again, as they did every year, Lizzie felt those memories stir from their slumber, a reverse hibernation, leading monsters out to the front of her mind again.
A world of joy was painful, when all Christmas did was awaken memories of the absolute antithesis.
Hence her isolation.
She loved them all dearly. Maggie. The Doctor. Iris. Cioné. But they would be happy, and Lizzie would not. And she did not want to dampen their days – especially Iris, who held Christmas so close to her heart. She also did not want to feel as if she had to feel like them.
All she wanted was to be alone.
And yet… being alone was nearly just as hard.
There it was. Christmas. The one time of year when she could never win. And it wasn’t even her fault, like Christmas had been destined to be rubbish ever since she was a kid.
It always came back, every year. Those memories of the past, always resurrected by seeing all those families, so close to each other. Lizzie had a family now – one who she loved dearly – and she was grateful to them – for being there for her. Lizzie always thought, it was one of the worst things – the people that had nobody to go to at Christmas – it was one thing her shutting herself off by choice, but quite another for those who had nobody – and quite another for those who were scarred, and were so often ignored.
And togetherness at Christmas only brought back the memories of the times she hadn’t been with anyone.
Lizzie had spent Christmas alone before. In her little flat in Dunsworth, or back in Durham. She was used to it, and… numb to it, perhaps. Maybe it had reached the point where she just… didn’t care.
Lizzie didn’t think about her mum much. She didn’t think about either of her parents much. Perhaps, though, it was because the presence of both of them was always felt simply in everything Lizzie did. They had shaped her past – set forth the events that led to her ending up in care. And through that, they had breathed life to the events and demons that had slept inside her head. Besides – she had enough things to face without having to face her parents as well, with her parents an issue that she had laid to rest a while ago. Hence why her father’s little dream appearance had come along at perhaps the worst time – for it simply awoke things she’d been done with, a long time ago.
It was, instead, what her parents had done to her that messed her up.
But at Christmas, it sometimes crossed her mind. Her parents… what would life be like, if things were different? What would Christmas be like? Her parents would be rich, and she’d have gone to some private school, and married some rich, stuffy old Tory, someone she’d been matched to at one of her mum’s crazy social dos.
Maybe that was the plot of Bridget Jones.
Lizzie loved those films. Socially inept weirdo stumbling through life with no Christmas.
And yet… Bridget Jones had a heart. Always tried to do what was right. That was what Lizzie tried to be, at Christmas – even if it was not ‘the most wonderful time of year’ for her, she could at least try and be somewhat like Maggie. Do something… good for people.
She’d often been inspired by someone, not much older than her, who’d built The Fox Force – a charity to help children and young people affected by major attacks and disasters – who, every Christmas, embarked on an enormous charity drive. She’d raised it from nothing, fought tooth and nail to get it to where it was – and still fought hard to prevent the big companies – Google, Apple, Anástasis, Facebook, from endorsing their efforts, and using them to piggyback their way to appearing like good, moral corporations.
So… she tried to be kind. So hard, just in the hope it might make things easier for someone like her.
The train continued its way through London, and the darkness of the tunnels blended into one black constancy – a monotony of travel. That was, perhaps, an apt way for Lizzie to think about her Christmases. Things that just… happened, every year, at a regular interval. Not anything she hated. Not anything she loved… just something she didn’t care about.
That was it. Ambivalence. Not having a feeling of wanting to enjoy anything.
Half an hour later, it stopped. As Lizzie filed out onto the platform, and made her way up to the surface, there were people – a lot more, going about whatever it is they did. The numbers increased exponentially as Lizzie traipsed up to the ground – and soon, as Lizzie wandered up to the steps, and stood back in the night, looking out over the people ahead of her – it could easily just be the daytime.
People, late at night – and as Lizzie walked out and around the corner, and stood on Oxford Street, it was like the world didn’t sleep. That was the one thing about London that Lizzie didn’t like – once upon a time, in Dunsworth, she could be awake from any time after midnight, and it would be like time itself had stopped – like the world had ground to a halt – and Lizzie was the only one with the permission to walk over it. And she could do it – living, pulling herself together – all outside the confines of existence.
But in London, that time window was drawn so short, to an hour or two at most – and even then, it barely existed. Time kept ticking, with restaurants and bars and places still open – and when they closed, it wouldn’t be long before supermarkets that opened so ridiculously early started taking in cash. And all that time, there would be someone about, somewhere. Company, that Lizzie didn’t want – when she just wanted to be alone. Because that was her time. While Lizzie craved company and understanding, she needed that way out too. Oh, to be an introvert was such a paradox.
As Lizzie walked down Oxford Street, through the throngs of people all wrapped up in winter woollies and kept burning by the heat in their hearts, she could see it. The life passing her by – packs of individuals, laughing and chatting and smiling, kept alive through the night by the sheer act of enjoying themselves. The darkness didn’t matter, when the world was lit up.
And actually – Lizzie didn’t feel not alone. Instead… she felt more alone.
For the briefest of seconds – she was scared. There wasn’t much worse than to be in a place full of people and still feel alone – for it made her feel isolated – an outsider. It was even worse, when with a group that one loved – to feel isolated from the individuals who held such stature was truly one of the hardest things. But it was tough too, when walked through a crowded street, or a place where life seemed to be captured in some sort of microcosm, and to feel like she wasn’t part of it. To feel like… Lizzie was drifting by, a ghost unable to live it.
That’s all Lizzie felt like sometimes.
A ghost.
Lizzie looked up, as she walked down Oxford Street. She stood alone in the middle, the crowds washing over her, trapping her in the middle. But that was okay – and she stopped, and looked up.
She saw the Christmas lights.
Orbs, shining brightly, spherical, almost like moons – celestial objects, shining in blue and gold, suspended above and through that, almost distant but drawn so close – like a dream that was somehow being lived. The shops were covered, blanketed in a tight-knit cover, draped over the buildings as if to protect them from the cold that could come and freeze the world at any moment. They hung over the street, joining at the centre, like two arms had reached out to each other to guide each other through the dark. And all shone, as if they could light up the world, and guide people home.
And Lizzie remembered then why she liked London – for it was a place that she felt at home – and as Lizzie looked up at those lights, it was as if she’d just been returned there – brought back to that place she felt alive. It worked for her, to blend into obscurity, and to drift along on the periphery as if she didn’t quite exist – in a way, it brought her to life, simply watching the world tick by. For at the same time, everyone else becoming background noise meant she saw those that she loved in even greater focus.
When she had, that one, fateful time, dared to go clubbing with Lizzie and Iris, she had hated it – the sheer volume of people in the room constricted the life from her, crushing her – and she hated it. But at the same time, she had seen Iris and Kym, and Ulysses too – and it was like everyone else had been invisible to the people who mattered.
It was then that she had found Leo.
Lizzie stood there, letting the world walk past her – and she looked up at the sky, and to the lights. Not only did they bring the world to life around her, but they brought her to life too.
She watched them, holding them close. Hoping that one day, even when things hurt – even when Christmas hurt – that she could hold onto those lights, and they would guide her through – home.
And then Lizzie’s eyes fell down. There was a man, nestled between the units of two of the shops. He looked as if he was in his 50s, though perhaps stress had taken its toll, as he seemed weathered simply by the act of living. His face was rough, his features sharp, his facial hair a straggly mess, a jungle upon his head. He looked to the floor, burying his eyes in the ground beneath him – and occasionally, he would glance up. He looked sad, sat alone in his patchwork threadbare quilt, with damp, sodden and flimsy trainers on his feet, and an old blazer, once white, but faded a murky grey by the elements. His trousers were plaid, his shirt a faded yellow, and a spotty tie lay loose on an open neck.
He wrapped his garments and accessories tightly around him, though Lizzie could see him shivering from where she stood. It was freezing, and Lizzie could not even fathom what it would be like to be outside on such a night. Not only a night of such bitter conditions, but on Christmas morning. While the world would sleep cosily in their beds, warmth burning in their hearts in the excitement for Christmas Day – the man would waver in and out of consciousness, upon his bed of cardboard, only to wait for another day, the same as any other – just a little bit more painful. And that was what it was like – the world, and the man. An outcast to everyone else.
Lizzie hated it, that there were people sleeping on the streets. Not because of the people, of course – but because nobody ever did anything about them. ‘Them’. Even a subconscious division that Lizzie didn’t think about. Because… they weren’t a ‘them’. They were an ‘us’, and Lizzie despised the way in which others, just like her, were treated like dirt. It made her angry, and sad, and everything in between, that there were men and women who had to live like the man she saw below her – and it always felt like no matter how many times she cast her vote a specific way, or signed petitions, or did whatever… nothing ever seemed to happen.
This time, while it might not have made that much difference, Lizzie decided to do something.
She walked across the street, to the McDonalds beside which the man was sitting, and she entered.
McDonalds, open at night. Probably just another push for commercialisation, but Lizzie was too enamoured by its convenience to care. It was a tall building, airy, with white lights shining down from above, like a divine slap to the face after emerging from the darkness outside. There were not many gathered around the tables, barring a rowdy group of teenagers, two middle-aged women sat gossiping, a few young people who looked like students… Lizzie walked past them all.
“Next please!” the guy at the counter called, even though there was nobody else that could want serving. Lizzie walked up to the counter.
“Oh, er, hi,” she muttered.
“What can I get you?”
For all Lizzie loved fast food (which she did – considerably), the environment was one of immense stress. She had braved McDonalds during the lunchtime rush before, and she would never do so again – and while, at quarter to one in the morning, it was not so busy – it still stressed her.
“Er…,” she hesitated, her eyes scanning over the banner thing at the top. What to get? She had no idea – burgers? Nuggets? Fries? “Can I have a, er… yeah, two lots of twelve nuggets, er… two large fries…”
Yes. Lizzie was going to need the fries.
“… a Big Mac, a strawberry milkshake, a latte, er… an apple pie? Yeah,” Lizzie looked up at the menu again, as if to confirm. “Yeah, that’s all, thanks,” Lizzie confirmed. “It’s, er, erm, not all for me,” she quietly added the disclaimer.
“Eat in?”
“Yeah,” she said, sticking her card into the machine and paying. Then, the man behind the counter turned and began preparing the food. He fumbled around, taking longer than it usually took at McDonalds. Then again. Lizzie hadn’t ever ordered so much before.
A few minutes later, and the man presented her with everything on two trays.
She noticed that he had given her an extra fries. Lizzie looked up at them, and then looked at the man.
“Have them. And have a happy Christmas.”
Unfortunately, Lizzie didn’t actually hear him – whether it was simply her mind drifting off somewhere else at one o’clock in the morning, or whether it was her usual ineptness and the way she tended to gravitate towards awkward situations like a moth gravitated to a flame – Lizzie wasn’t sure.
However, because she did not hear him, she stood, presenting the fries at arm’s length, returning them.
“I said take them!” he said, a bit more insistently.
Lizzie realised her faux pas. Well. That would require her to recognise everything she did in public – but at least she realised her idiocy. When she looked up at the man behind the counter, she saw his face. Not a look of anger, or irritation. Merely a look of pity.
“Oh, er, sorry…” she murmured, not really concentrating. The guy smiled his pitiful smile as Lizzie tried to balance both trays on her arms. “Actually, er…,” Lizzie realised that it would not end well, taking both trays at once. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll do two journeys.”
She invited the man in – ‘invited’. Made it sound as it were some kind of posh dinner party. Posh, neither of them were. Dinner party – yeah. As Lizzie looked down at the paper bags, she thought to herself – this was better than any dinner party.
The man came in, and he sat down in front of Lizzie. There was a sort of awkward tension between them, and neither of them spoke much. The man pulled his chair in, though he seemed to pull his jacket even tighter – he’d been outside for so long, than the warm building almost didn’t feel any different. Lizzie hesitated, and then reached over to the food.
“Sorry, I, er, didn’t know what you liked, so I just sort of… got loads. Er...,” she rifled through the paper bags and began fishing stuff out.
“I’m not exactly… choosy,” the man smiled.
“Er… there’s some nuggets, a big mac, oh, I brought you a latte but like –”
“Seriously,” he stopped her. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Lizzie smiled, as if to say ‘no problem’. It wasn’t a problem. Nothing of the sort. Even as Lizzie looked down, she felt useless, like what she was doing meant nothing.
Another awkward silence passed between the two of them.
“You got family to be with?” the man asked. Perhaps it struck him as odd that she was out and about at such a time in the small hours of Christmas Day.
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled. “Just… not with them. That’s all.”
The man seemed taken aback. “Why not?”
Complex question, Lizzie thought. She didn’t even know herself. Her whole life was one entire paradox apparently, and this was no exception. Why wasn’t she with her family?
Why?
1. She didn’t want to rain on what would be, for them, a wonderful parade. Lizzie was quite sure of that.
2. She wasn’t with them because she was afraid. So many Christmases alone, it had almost made her scared to spend them with someone else.
3. She couldn’t face Christmas. To spend Christmas with a family was to do just that – spend Christmas. And as she’d deduced – for her, that was easier said than done. Couldn’t be dealing with everyone else being happy, when she just… didn’t want to be.
And yet, all three reasons were almost voided by the fact she didn’t want to be alone.
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Lizzie said, shrugging it off.
The man looked as if he were weighing the factors up. Christmas day. People you love. Perhaps he just saw Lizzie and saw her internal dilemma, that burning confusion. “Matters quite a lot.”
Lizzie didn’t agree. The three reasons she had discussed with herself were quite clear. In fact, Lizzie had made quite a good case for her argument. If she wasn’t so lacking in confidence and so unable to argue anything she didn’t believe in, Lizzie would make quite a good lawyer. But, she had certainly convinced herself that, for the reasons mentioned, there was no need for her to be with anyone on Christmas Day.
“Why, then? Why doesn’t it matter?” as if he were reading her expression. He sat back, taking a sip from his latte.
“I dunno. I just…”
Her voice trailed off, and she didn’t finish. Lizzie looked at her chicken nuggets, thought eating one, and decided she just… couldn’t.
Her mind did that. Convinced itself of various different mental lists that were, in fact, utter shit. She always needed someone to tell her that, though – that her brain was being useless.
So. What was it?
That was it.
She just hated being sad on Christmas day. She couldn’t bear those beautiful people to see her sad on Christmas day.
Lizzie looked at the man – and their eyes met. A mutual flicker of recognition across each other’s faces – as if they understood something about each other.
“You should go to your family,” he said bluntly, tucking into a chicken nugget.
“Why?” Lizzie was entirely confused.
“Because you’re sad.”
The words caught Lizzie short, just for a few seconds. She hadn’t been expecting them. Was it that obvious? Perhaps with anyone privy to the constant implosion that was her mind, then yes. But to anyone else… Lizzie had become accustomed to disguising herself. That was, after all, why she was so frequently known as the Grinch, or… whatever else one cared to insult her with. And, in fact, while Lizzie would not credit herself for much, she would certainly credit herself for that.
Though maybe, the man just understood her. He could, perhaps… see through her.
“I’m fine,” Lizzie said, like she was trying to bury what the man had said by drinking her strawberry milkshake.
“You… look sad.”
That was Lizzie’s natural aura. Sad. A bit grumpy. She could hide anything behind that.
“I’m honestly not,” she smiled at him, in the way she smiled at the Doctor when she told him not to worry about her.
“Christmas makes it harder.”
Lizzie didn’t answer back this time. What did one say to that? The words hit so true, that she couldn’t even bring herself to lie about them.
“Out there,” the man gestured outside the window to his usual spot. “I don’t look at the ground because I worry what others think of me. It’s just too painful.”
Lizzie nodded.
Some things… people just didn’t understand.
Lizzie was about to say something, then stopped. It had been a convenient way to change the subject, but, in fact, Lizzie realised it was tactless. She thought to herself, then spoke again. “Everyone is so bothered about there being a white Christmas. But I guess that for you, it’s awful?”
“It’s not great.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t have anything to apologise for. Don’t know why people get so worked up about snow anyway.”
Mention the shitness of the salvation army
“Yeah?”
“I like the lights,” the man said. “Look out there now.”
The lights on Oxford Street. Beautiful.
“Yeah,” Lizzie agreed. “They’re beautiful.”
“Aren’t they? Guiding people home…”
May all your troubles soon be gone, those Christmas lights, keep shining on. Some song lyric, one that had just become faintly lodged in her head. She liked it. Maybe, one day, her troubles would be gone, and those lights would guide her there. The man had used a funny choice of words.
“Can’t do you any much harm to go home,” the man said. “Warmth. People to love. Maybe not happiness, but at least…”
“I’m… not worried about the harm it’d do me.”
She was lying. She totally was.
There was a pause.
“Why’d you say that? About Christmas lights… guiding people home?”
“They guided me home.”
“Yeah?”
“Not literally. Few years ago, I realised something. It was Christmas night, and I saw the lights. That was all.”
She did not know what it was he realised.
“Haven’t slept in a bed for longer than a night since.”
Lizzie wondered what he could have realised, that could have brought him out to the streets. She didn’t need to know. It was okay for her not to know.
“It’s alright, though,” he said, looking up at her. And now, he was the one who looked sad. “To be sad at Christmas.”
“I know… doesn’t make it any easier.”
“No. No, ‘course not.”
“But promise me you won’t stay out?”
“I can’t promise that…”
“Because even if you are sad… there might just be a light, somewhere, that’ll make you realise that not all hope is lost, and not all love is gone. Christmas, hmm? The hardest time, for so many – and that’s fine. But we can get through it, hmm?”
Lizzie smiled.
“Yeah. Yeah, we can.”
They didn’t even know each other’s names. But that was okay. Like… ships passing in the night.
Lizzie eventually made it up to the top of the last stair – and she stood, outside her flat. She watched the door, just for a few seconds. Home. Perhaps she would be alone at Christmas… but Lizzie felt okay about it. Because no longer was she trapped in feeling guilty about being sad at Christmas. While she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a wallower – Lizzie would be happy in living her life as she always did. And maybe she’d put on a few Christmas specials. She liked Christmas specials.
She smiled, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was quite tired. It was late, and as sleeping was entirely out of the question, she decided that she’d go inside, make herself a nice cup of tea, and slump down in the armchair. Lizzie would read her book for a while – maybe she’d lose consciousness at the bidding of slumber, but it didn’t matter if not. She slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door.
However, Lizzie was quite taken aback – for the lights were on. Now… Lizzie could distinctly remember turning the lights off before she’d left for Bethlehem, simply because she remembered Iris leaving them on, and she remembered herself complaining about it, declaring it a waste of electricity.
But they were on. Quietly, Lizzie entered the flat. She snuck in, embracing her newfound post-Herod’s lair agility skills, and she slunk down the hallway, passed Iris’ general piles of clutter building up at various intervals on the floor. There didn’t seem to be anybody about… but Lizzie continued, out into the main body of the flat. It seemed entirely empty, just as the rest of the flat had done. So, she walked further out into the flat, senses honed, ready to run away from any intruders.
But there was nobody to b –
“Hello,” came a voice a few metres to the right of her.
Lizzie jumped, almost leaping backwards to catch a good look of the voice she recognised pretty instantly. “Jesus ch – oh,” she spluttered, as the familiarity finally registered with her brain.
The Doctor. He was stood there in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. However, at the sight of her shock, he quickly placed the mug on one of the kitchen surfaces and dashed over to Lizzie as quickly as he could. “Sorry, sorry, sorry – it’s me.”
“Yes,” Lizzie protested, trying desperately to catch her breath, and having to sit down in one of the armchairs to fully regain herself. “I can see that! I thought somebody had broken in…”
“Sorry – do you want my tea to recuperate?”
Lizzie sounded the situation out further. “Have you drunk from it?”
“A bit.”
“Eww. No thanks.”
The Doctor shrugged. “None taken.”
Rather irritatingly, the Doctor had a face that was very difficult not to smile at. He had wandered over to the balcony, and was looking out at the night sky. Christmas morning – and the stars shone brightly over London. His face shone in the moonlight and the starlight, and the Doctor thought that it all looked quite beautiful.
“You’ve got a lovely view here,” the Doctor smiled, his voice distant, almost as if it were being carried off into space by the stars outside the window.
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled, standing up to join him. It was cold, by the window, and she pulled her coat close around her – but although it was cold, Lizzie didn’t feel as if she wanted to get away from it. Perhaps, inside, she felt okay enough not to care. The Doctor and Lizzie looked out the window – the small hours was always the weirdest time to be awake… because nobody else was. The world had a strange quality to it – of utter peace and contentment. It only felt stronger, on a morning like Christmas.
“Wait,” Lizzie said, suddenly realising something. “You bought this place and you never even checked it out?”
The Doctor looked sheepishly to the ground. “I was very tied up. Cioné came, though. She approved.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Lizzie shook her head, a smile dancing across her face. “I thought you liked architecture…”
“I do,” the Doctor admitted. “Just… not this sort of architecture.”
“You’re so middle-class,” Lizzie chuckled. Had anybody told her a year ago that her best friend would be a middle-class Edwardian gentleman, she’d have laughed in their face.
“I’m not!” the Doctor protested.
“Such a champagne socialist…”
The Doctor jokingly scowled at her. “I… do my bit.”
“Look,” Lizzie continued. “Nothing wrong with having money and being a socialist. So long as you practise what you preach.”
The Doctor smiled, holding onto the windowsill and gently rocking backwards on the balls of his feet. It was like he was trying to hold onto the moment – holding it closely to himself. That was, perhaps, something that everyone should do at Christmas. Hold onto things, as one never knows when they might end. And so the Doctor treasured it – himself, and Lizzie.
“It’s been… the weirdest year,” Lizzie admitted. It felt as if it had gone on forever, and as if so many weird things had happened. Well. So many weird things had happened. When she looked back on the person she had been at the start of the year… they were so different. Almost two different people. And yet, at the same time… almost exactly the same. Lizzie had learned to live – and at the same time, she was still tired of living. She had come to terms with her depression – and there were still days when she wanted nothing more than for life to just… stop.
And that was the hardest thing. To know what a crazy year it had been, and to know that there were just going to be more of them. That life was just going to keep coming at her, thick and fast, and that it would keep wearing her down. And it scared Lizzie to think what might happen if she ever broke again, like she when the universe had ended and she’d faced a childhood version of herself. Again – another weird thing that had happened in the space of a year.
But what defined it, more than anything? Perhaps it was that now, finally, Lizzie had learned to be sad. Accepted how she felt – all the time, and at Christmastime.
Not much of an achievement.
But it still made the impossible make sense, just a bit.
As she looked to the Doctor, she remembered. He’d packed a lifetime into her one year – literally, the start of his daughter’s lifetime. So many years for him, all wrapped around one for her – and he could see it in his eyes, the age weighing on them. It always confused her, and made her brain hurt, the way their times had aligned. And at the same time, it didn’t matter.
They were still together, at that moment, looking out the window.
“How did you know?” Lizzie asked. She knew he would understand what she meant. Lizzie had built something with him – and the Doctor would understand.
“It’s Christmas. I just… know these things.”
Lizzie sighed, and smiled, for she hadn’t expected an actual answer.
Though, in a way, that was enough of an answer.
“Why did you lie to us?” the Doctor asked her. The words were a slap around the face, for she hadn’t actually thought about it. She’d just… done it, as if it were the subconscious thing that she always did.
Lizzie thought about it – and then realised. That’s why she’d done it. Because it was the subconscious thing she always did. Lizzie was simply being herself. Same old Lizzie Darwin. Again. Barely changed. Still a coward. The girl who couldn’t bear to face Christmas – and so just decided to run from it.
“Didn’t want to… rain on your parade, or whatever,” Lizzie shrugged it off, as if it meant nothing.
“You’re not a coward, Lizzie. We understand, though. I do.” The Doctor. Reading between the lines of what she said – she felt it’s what he spent half of his time doing.
Lizzie nodded. The Doctor knew she understood.
“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth Darwin.”
“Merry Christmas, Doctor.”
They stood, and watched the stars for a few minutes.
And then suddenly, the Doctor snapped his fingers. Lizzie looked up at him, entirely bemused – and that’s when the TARDISes started to arrive. Slowly they faded into existence, just as they always did – and Lizzie felt that flare of hope rise up inside her, just as it always did.
Cioné’s TARDIS appeared like a bookshelf, and she emerged carrying several paper bags. And from the iconic blue police box, Iris and Kym also came out carrying several paper bags.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” Cioné walked over, and gave Lizzie a peck on the cheek. “Sorry – don’t get too close, I’ll get you terribly greasy, if you’ll pardon the innuendo.”
“Eww,” Iris grimaced, dumping her set of paper bags on the kitchen table. “Mum, that’s gross.”
“SISTAAAA,” shouted Kym, pointing at Lizzie, waiting for Lizzie to point back. Tentatively, Lizzie did as she desired, before Kym swooped in and hugged Lizzie.
“Oh, bloody hell,” came a voice from the corner of the room.
Kym gasped audibly. “O. M. G,” Kym spun on her heels (a description that was, in multiple ways, quite apt), and turned to confront the individual who had just prowled down the hallway and into the living room. “ULY, MA G,” Kym yelled at the cat, bouncing over to him and scooping him up into her arms.
Lizzie had never seen such an accurate grumpy-cat impersonation, as Ulysses resigned himself to being engulfed by Kym’s arms. Iris giggled, and Lizzie smiled too.
She glanced over, to see Cioné fumbling through the cupboards, clattering crockery as she hunted for plates – which weren’t anywhere to be seen. “Do you lot ever wash anything up?” she muttered.
“Nah,” Iris slumped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table.
“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Well. I do. Ulysses dries.”
At that moment, Ulysses deftly leapt down from Kym’s arms, causing Kym to squeal slightly. “I do…,” he murmured in his silky, dulcet tones.
“You wash things up?” Iris looked up at Lizzie, entirely confused. “I just assumed we had a lot of plates…”
Cioné gasped. “Oh my goodness, Lizzie, I am so sorry. I cannot believe my sprog’s behaviour.”
“Can we get a dishwasher?” Iris enquired.
By this point, the Doctor had already sat down in one of the armchairs, and was reading The Guardian over the rim of his glasses. “If you behave.”
“Dad, I’m 108, not 42.”
“Really?” the Doctor murmured, not looking up from the crossword. “Going by your inability to wash things up, I wouldn’t have realised…”
Iris looked up, laughing in shock at her father’s brutality.
“O.M.G,” Kym proclaimed, revelling in the Doctor’s cutting remark. “Savage.”
“Right everyone, grub’s up,” Cioné began taking the polystyrene tubs out of their paper bags. “Sorry – we’ve just got fish and chips, as I burned the turkey hauling a planet into a new orbit. Ulysses, I got you a battered sausage as well.”
“Uly loves a battered sausage,” Iris chuckled, swooping off the chair and descending for one of the polystyrene tubs and a plastic knife and fork, before returning to her undisputed place on the sofa.
“I can’t think of much better,” Ulysses prowled, as Lizzie came over to her armchair with a container of fish and chips for herself, and Ulysses’ fish and chips (with battered sausage), placing it down on the ground in front of him.
The Doctor stood up to get his food, but before he could return, Kym had descended into his chair, leaving the Doctor looking around in dismay.
“Sorry old man!” Kym smiled breezily.
“That’s the point,” the Doctor said, hauling over a kitchen chair. “I am old, I need the seat.”
“Kym, if you don’t give it to him you’ll be my best friend forever,” Iris turned around and called behind her.
“Look Doc-brain,” Kym explained. “You ain’t broken into a president’s office in heels.”
“Not for many years, no,” the Doctor smiled.
Cioné gasped. “You dark horse…”
“Oh my god, Dad.”
The Doctor smiled smugly, opening his food and readying his plastic cutlery. Best Christmas dinner ever, he smiled to himself.
Lizzie thought the same, in fact.
Cioné now descended over to Iris, having the bravery to slump down beside her daughter on the sofa. “Budge up.”
“No!” Iris protested. It was almost a statute that the entire sofa belonged to Iris, and if anybody else sat on it, they were probably going to die. However, Cioné did not care for the law, and shifted her daughter along anyway. She laughed at her mother’s uncaringness, and Cioné couldn’t help but chuckle too.
And this was them. Her crazy family. This lot, and Maggie too.
“Well, everyone,” the Doctor stood up. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
“To my sanity, hopefully…,” Iris murmured.
“To a merry Christmas,” the Doctor declared. “And a very happy new year.”
“To a merry Christmas,” they all said. “And a very happy new year.”
And for the briefest of seconds, Lizzie was content.
They had all left her to it. Kym had gone off to some party down the road. Iris was out somewhere with Jada. The Doctor and Cioné had gone off to watch Love Actually.
And Lizzie thought that was that. It had been the most incredible time – and for someone who didn’t always find Christmas the easiest of times, Lizzie certainly felt, just this once, that it had been alright. The dilemma she’d spent so long wrestling with… she’d settled it, in her own way. And now, she could be content. So, Lizzie had taken her book, and curled up in the armchair. It could not be denied that regardless how depressed she had felt at Christmas before, that there was always something strangely peaceful about the season.
For once, Lizzie now felt at peace.
She knew it, for the fact she was alone – and she was content.
It was at that moment, however, that there was a knock on the door. If it was the Salvation Army, Lizzie would be fuming, and tell them to go away. Well. Maybe not so abruptly. She would politely tell them to leave her alone. It was, then, with great confusion, that Lizzie took herself over to the door, absolutely in the dark as to who she might be about to greet.
With nervousness, and slight trepidation, Lizzie put her hand on the door handle – and gently, she opened it.
There he was. Leo.
“Hello. I’m collecting for the Salvation Army, can I come in and tell you about the important work we do?”
Lizzie looked at him, a sarcastically miserable look on her face. He smiled, charming and a little bit cheeky, and for a few seconds she was just a little bit tempted to shut the door in his face. It was perhaps a good thing that Leo was so rubbish at keeping a straight face, and also that Lizzie was too rubbish at pretending to be angry. She held open the door, shaking her head and smiling.
“Come in.”
The only time she would ever open the door to someone from the ‘Salvation Army’. He followed her in, traipsing down the corridor after her, negotiating his way around Iris general piles of clutter. There was something about the way that Leo walked, as if he were trekking into a place where he didn’t belong – like the way that Lizzie walked, whenever she left the TARDIS onto some strange new world. Slight nervousness and trepidation.
She didn’t want Leo to feel like that, as he made his way inside, still wearing his coat.
“Just, er…,” Lizzie pointed to the coat-hooks.
“Oh, er, yeah,” he took off his coat, and after a few failed attempts, hung it up. “Thanks,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked into the living room – and then deciding not to put his hands in his pockets – and then re-deciding to put his hands in his pockets.
“Tea? Coffee?” Lizzie asked.
“Oh, er… not just yet.”
“So…,” Lizzie said, making her way over to the sofa and sitting on it. Leo did the same, though it was more of a perch, as if he felt entirely like he had to be on his best behaviour. He was only a few feet away – and yet… Lizzie felt distant. Stuck from the real him, trapped behind some walls of awkward social gesture and ritual “What can I do for you?”
Like she was in a shop. Forced, unnatural smile. Sometimes Lizzie was spellbound that she ever managed to find a job serving people in a café. Clearly the Dunsworthian employee pool had been sparse.
Bloody hell, Lizzie, she told herself. Come on.
“I just wanted to bring you this,” Leo presented her with a gift. She took it, and awkwardly smiled. She hated receiving gifts – she sort of… never knew how to react. Of course, ‘gratefully’ was the obvious answer. But it felt like a matter of course – something that Leo was doing simply because he was doing it. And that was the whole thing about them.
That was why it never worked.
Because they did what couples did. What all fresh-faced naïve, uncertain early-day people in relationships did. All the standard stuff, the awkwardness, the pussyfooting, as Iris had put. They walked upon the walls of the conduct of a relationship – when between the two of them, one might ask, what was there? Of course, there was something between the two of them – but what was being made of it, what sort of connection being created?
They didn’t do what they did. They didn’t understand each other.
“Oh, er… thanks. You want me to open it now, or…”
“Whenever you want.”
“Yeah, er, okay. I’ll – I’ll open it later.”
No. No, you stupid girl, Lizzie said to herself. He wants you to open it now. Moron. However, no matter what protestations emerged from her brain, she put the present to the side, and turned back to Leo.
“Anyway, yeah. Wanted to bring you that. And, er… well, Iris texted me –”
Immediately, Lizzie was a little bit on edge. They had been talking about her behind her back. Again. Not a big problem. Loads of people did that. Probably. All the time. Even so – a confirmation of it only made it a little bit harder to listen to. Clearly, he either noticed a look a look on her face, or realised his very poor choice of words.
“No,” he tried to backtrack, or correct himself, or whatever. It didn’t work. “I mean – I was on my own. I… heard that you were on your own. And thought, well. Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, er, thanks.”
Lizzie was struck by that. The fact that Leo was on his own at Christmas.
“Not spending Christmas with family?” she asked, entirely intrigued.
Leo shook his head grimly. “Told them I was in Austria skiing because they’re manipulative shits.”
Lizzie was quite taken aback by his answer – it hadn’t been the sort of thing she’d been expecting from someone who was usually not exactly… confrontational. For a few seconds she wasn’t exactly sure what to say.
“You got rid of your manipulative shit parents by manipulating them?” Lizzie looked at him incredulously. “Nice.”
“Eh. No worse than anything they’ve ever done to me.”
“Hmm…,” Lizzie mused. Just don’t let it set a precedent.”
“You did it!”
“True,” Lizzie admitted.
And that’s when she realised. It wasn’t just… small things. Little things that they were talking about, discussing. Leo had known about it. The way she’d lied to everyone. And that’s when it dawned on her – the feeling of having almost no control over any of it – everyone talking about her, discussing her, judging her and the things she did. Why would she want to be in a relationship with someone who did that?
“Wait,” she looked up at him, a look of something that was… almost the feeling of having been betrayed, etched upon her face. “Iris told you that?”
“No, well –”
“Don’t lie to me, Leo.”
“Well, yeah.”
There was something about him, then. He wasn’t all sweet, and awkward, and funny. There was something sneaky about him, in that moment. Devious. Not much – but in a way, it reminded her of herself. Not that Lizzie would call herself devious… but Lizzie could lie, if she wanted to. She was good at it. And there it was – another parallel, between the two of them. One that was, perhaps, a bit darker…
“And do you talk about me often?”
NoLizziewhywouldyousaythatyoustupidgirl.
It wasn’t meant to sound confrontational. It bloody well did sound confrontational, though – but it had just slipped out.
“No, no – of course not. I was just – can we not argue? It’s Christmas.”
“Sorry,” Lizzie said, quickly shrugging it off. In a way… Lizzie quite liked it when they argued. It made things between the two of them a little bit interesting – when, the rest of the time, they weren’t.
“It’s just… Liz,” Leo said. “Sometimes I feel like… you’re so reserved –”
Oh, here we go again. Blame me for having trust issues. “Wow, Leo,” she said, standing up and walking over to the kitchen, trying to increase the distance between him and her as much as possible. “That’s not a low blow at all.”
“I just think you need to be more open.” Leo’s response was almost like he was advising her on some essay she’d written. Some teacher having marked it, giving her feedback to act upon.
“What? Like the guy who’s been talking about me with my sister behind my back?”
… Shit.
Lizzie realised she was getting quite confrontational. She liked it. She liked it a lot. Was this what it was like to argue? To properly argue? In fact… in the funniest of ways, she was quite getting into it. It was cathartic.
“I was looking out for you!” Leo grumbled. That typical masculine response. It was quite fitting that as he proclaimed his dutiful gallantry he stropped angry, like any male did, to the other side of the room.
“You were being weird!” Lizzie retorted back. She didn’t even know what she was arguing about – but she was getting into it, whatever it was. Cathartic – why? Maybe because this had been building up inside for so long – feelings towards Leo that she just needed to… get rid of, in some way.
“Me? Being weird? Liz, I’m not the one who is quiet and socially awkward to the point of difficult –”
Says the person who is socially inept as hell, Lizzie thought, as Leo continued.
“ – who spends more time watching Coronation Street than she does actually living her life.”
“Well at least I don’t have a nervous disposition that I don’t try and hide from by making jokes about everything and trying to be a charming idiot. Seriously, Leo, ‘it’s always funny’, there are some things you just shouldn’t make jokes about.”
“Well what can I do? You’re not exactly a laugh a minute, you’re mopey as hell.”
“Mopey as hell!?” Lizzie realised she was full-on shouting now, but she didn’t care. “Just because I have the emotional maturity to deal with more than two emotions, then yes, Leo, that’s me. Mopey as hell. Also, quite frankly, don’t judge what I am or what I’ve been through by the standards of your own, self-centred little brain. It’s not all about you! Just because I’m upset doesn’t mean I’m annoyed at you, I probably fell over my shoelaces or something. Seriously, don’t flatter yourself.”
“I just want people to be happy!”
“By what? By thinking the sun shines out of your arse, or by embracing that whole, ‘oh, look at me, I’m so sweet and awkward and funny and cute and charming’, act?”
“Clearly I have a stable personality. I’m not the one who won’t commit to a relationship,” Leo said.
“Then, for Christs’ sake, just move in or something, I don’t care.”
Huh.
Lizzie had meant to correct him on the fact that it wasn’t her who couldn’t commit, but what she’d said instead had just sort of come out. She didn’t even know what she was saying now – Lizzie was just saying it – speaking how she felt. In fact, in a way… it was the first time she’d ever done it.
And Lizzie felt more alive than ever before.
“You want me to move in?”
“Yes. I do. But you’re just being really, really, ann –”
Leo was laughing.
And suddenly, it fell into place. All of it – to say that the tension entirely evaporated would be too idealistic… but it was at that moment that the walls fell down. To think that once, she’d dreamed him up. But this person… he wasn’t a dream. He was an entirely different, real, alive, thing.
And as Leo looked up, he saw Lizzie. She was a girl who, perhaps confused her. Scared her, a little bit.
And then Lizzie started laughing as well.
“I’ve never seen that side to you,” said Leo, laughing. Secretly, he was quite amazed
“I’ve never seen that side to me.”
They both kept laughing.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” Lizzie said, murmuring through broken breaths.
“Me too,” when Leo caught sight of her again, they couldn’t stop. They just kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing.
Perhaps that’s what they’d needed… to just shout at each other.
“Can I actually move in?” Leo said, looking a bit too excited.
“Er… sure?” Lizzie was quite shocked – they’d gone from a lull to Leo suddenly moving in. “I think?”
Should she ask Iris? She should probably ask Iris. And Ulysses. And Ky – no. No, Kym had no reason to know – Kym didn’t actually live with them, although occasionally, it did feel as if she did.
“Brilliant!” Leo exclaimed. “Wow. Okay. Wow.”
“Alright, calm down. You’d have thought Christmas had come early…,” and as Lizzie said it, she realised it was a very poor choice of words, considering it was actually Christmas.
Leo sniggered, and then stood up, as if waiting for something.
“So? Show me around! It’ll be like an episode of… whatever it is.”
“Cribs?” Lizzie suggested, still sat down and looking up at him like he’d lost his marbles.
“Yeah,” Leo said. “Probably. I dunno, I’ve… not seen it.”
“It’s… good,” Lizzie said, realising that if she told Leo she watched it he’d probably think she did nothing but watch TV. Which to be fair, was a bit true.
“Please? Just a quick tour?”
Lizzie yielded, and stood up. “Fine. It’s not that exciting…”
Lizzie shifted around to the back of the sofa.
“This is the sofa,” she explained. “You can’t sit on it when Iris is here.”
Leo looked quite unnerved.
“Don’t ask, you just… can’t.”
“Right…”
Lizzie guided him around to their hallway, where the other rooms extended from.
“Bedrooms,” Lizzie skipped over all that as quickly as possible. “Coat-rack. Shoe-rack. Bookshelves. Iris’ clutter. Bathroom. Er… yeah. That’s it really.”
“Well. It’s a lovely place, Liz.”
“Yeah. It’s nice enough. Oh,” Lizzie pointed at the light in the bathroom. “It’s temperamental. We need to get a new bulb. So don’t go around, like… randomly pulling the switch thing hard or… or anything.”
Lizzie walked into the centre of the flat, and stopped, leaning back on the sofa.
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Leo sort of… hovered. Lizzie had noticed he had quite a way of doing that… wanting to say something, but never quite saying it. Again – another thing that she found herself doing a lot.
“Ten minutes ago… you were shouting your head off at me? What changed? Am I dreaming? I mean, wow, if you were in by dream, I don’t know, I’d be… yeah,” he started laughing.
It was a question that had been bugging him. Some… niggling insecurity. He had a lot of those… and he needed them put to bed.
Lizzie shrugged, pretending not to know the answer. In reality, she did. When she’d been having a go at him… she’d seen him for who he was. Maybe that was why she got so caught up in it… but now, Lizzie felt she understood Leo in a way she hadn’t before. That she grasped his insecurities, his quirks, and his intricacies. He understood her, what she had been through. He found a lot in life to laugh about, perhaps because otherwise, the world was just too dark. She had seen a sort of… cowardice brewing in him, and the occasional flash of egocentricity as well.
“I don’t want to do this, Lizzie, if it’s going to put too much strain on you.”
But she also saw the way that he had a heart. Leo tried to get things right, even if he couldn’t always manage it.
“I dunno,” Lizzie lied. That was a habit she needed to get out of. “I mean – you’re not dreaming. I think. Probably.”
She paused, and then walked over to the kitchen.
“Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
Lizzie pottered over to the cupboard, and took out the teabags. “I think,” she said hesitantly. “Iris said it earlier. I think… we’re not pussyfooting anymore.”
“Pfft,” Leo sniggered, also seemingly tickled by the word. Everyone was, apparently. Lizzie also found it faintly amusing – though Leo’s amusement made her laugh more.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Lizzie smiled and turned away at the same time, as she fumbled around for the teapot. “What I mean, is…, “ she tried to find the words. She wasn’t sure they would make any sense. “I think…”
Oh… it just wasn’t going her way.
“I understand you,” she admitted. “That’s it. You’re not just a scary image of something…”
“… scary person?” he chuckled.
“… that I go out for dinner with occasionally, and sometimes go to the cinema with. You’re an actual real… person. I think before, I loved the idea of a relationship.”
The dream of it.
“… whereas now,” Lizzie continued. “I think…”
Those were the words.
“I think now, I love you.”
They stopped, in the middle of the kitchen. Lizzie even put the teapot down on the counter, just so she could wait for what he had to say. There we go – that was clearly the start of something. Not many people Lizzie would delay tea production for.
Leo was about to say it – or at least, say what she thought he was going to say. So she stopped him.
“Don’t say it – I don’t want it to be something you just… reply to. I had to say it then, because I had to accept it. I don’t ever want those words to become something we just… say for the sake of it.”
Leo nodded. He understood. He always seemed to understand.
She reached up, gently put a hand on his face. For a few seconds, she just stared at him. Then, she kissed him.
“Merry Christmas, Liz,” he said to her.
“Merry Christmas, Leo.”
Then Lizzie walked back over to the kettle, which she removed from its stand and put under the sink, where she began to fill it with water.
“Where’d you keep the biscuits?” Leo asked.
“Er… top cupboard, there on the left.”
“Thanks...,” he murmured, as he slunk past her as she moved around him to start boiling the water. Leo opened the cupboard, where he saw the biscuits, loitering at the back. He fumbled for them, but accidentally knocked over two packets of pasta in the process and a stray pot noodle (Iris had taken quite a liking to them). “Oops,” he muttered, trying to sort out the cupboard. Lizzie thought it was quite nice being the more coordinated of the two of them.
“Just balance them back up again. Actually – what’s the use-by date on that pot noodle?”
Leo glanced at it, the gasped. “Two-years ago.”
They hadn’t even been living in that flat for two months, let alone two years.
“Bin it,” Lizzie grimaced. “Like… right now.”
Leo did as he was told, and then went back to fishing out the biscuits. Meanwhile, the little switch on the kettle popped, and Lizzie took it off, before pouring the boiling water into the mugs. And as she did so, everything around her began to blend into something strange, and menial, and… constant. The monotony of every-day life, the sort of constancy she’d wanted to escape from with Leo.
Except… this time. It wasn’t bad.
This time, it was good. Because this wasn’t them… lulling, or pussyfooting, or anything of the sort.
Now, Lizzie was content. Because she loved him – and because of that, the simple act of doing the simple things of living, felt so much more… real. So much more alive.
And finally, Lizzie felt happy at Christmas. It was okay for her to feel sad at Christmas – but this year, she felt she had been accepted. That she had been loved.
And not only by Leo Akram – although, of course, he made her so very happy.
But Lizzie felt like she had been loved by everyone. In this crazy year of her life, she had met the Doctor, who had shown her what it meant to feel alive. She had met Cioné, and her quirkiness. And Iris, too – her sister – although not biologically, but what did blood ties mean? All of it, along with Maggie’s guidance, and Kym’s audaciousness, and Ulysses’ wit.
Leo making her happy.
And that was it. Lizzie felt loved. And while the year had its ups and downs, at least Lizzie could, quite certainly, say that.
As Lizzie poured the tea, she glanced out of her window.
She saw the Christmas lights, lighting up the world.
All was quiet in the flat, nestled quietly in the dirty, urban sprawl.
It was the middle of the night in the city of 25-B3LHL3hem-12 (more commonly known as Bethlehem). The factories pumped smog into the atmosphere, and a thick layer of soot clung to the side of buildings. The snow floated wistfully to the ground, gently spattering the blackened buildings, and conglomerating on window ledges and in guttering. From the flat, it built a layer around the wide bayed window – a window that attempted to look out over the city, and half-failed, with the view partly obscured by other rooftops and skylights.
But there was a distinct gap between the concrete blocks – and in the distance, if one looked over the flurries and the stars, one could see the glass spires of the shopping district towering high – for it was an immense centre of commercialisation, covering half the world. And during the winter months, it almost felt like half the universe would flock there, just to do their Christmas shopping in the best shopping centre in the cosmos.
It was a happy planet, and the people bustled along nicely, many without much worry or fear as the years ticked by. Whilst occasionally, a gripe arose about the commercialisation on the other hemisphere of the world – and yes, it was not to be ignored – the issues of the people were dealt with as quick as possible, and all of them made their way through life with good will in their hearts – and that was only exemplified at Christmas.
At such a time of night, one would look down to the street, and see street lamps igniting a faint, orange glow, as if someone were desperately trying to bring to life a spirit of hope – but during the days and the evenings, there would be people about, greeting, cheering, laughing – being happy. Enjoying Christmas. Wrapped up in their woollies, for the winter on the planet was bitter and merciless, the people were not cold in spirit – and instead, they bestowed the warmth of their hearts to everyone.
That did not change the fact, of course, that the atmosphere outside was like teeth – fangs, honed to optimum sharpness, snapping away at anyone stupid enough to stray out in the middle of the night.
But in that flat, one watched all this from the bayed window – from the warmth and the cosiness. Though, in the middle of the night, there was no one watching. It was silent and still in the darkness of the flat, with an electric heater still sending out plumes of heat, to keep the whole place warm from the melancholy chill outside.
Silent, it was.
Until then.
Then, a peculiar draught blew through the flat – unlike the bitter, biting winds of outside, this one did not send the freezing cold through the building – instead, it made the Christmas cards flap, the curtains ruffle, the lampshade-less light fitting swing – and it brought in none of the outside weather.
In the corner, a blue box was fading into existence. It only just fitted against the low height of the ceiling – but slowly, it merged into the flat, emitting a soft wheezing sound, like that of a sore throat in the dead of winter.
The TARDIS made its arrival.
A few seconds of hesitation passed, as if those inside the box were, perhaps, squabbling – and then, eventually, the doors swung open.
Iris leapt out, her head adorned with a garish Turkey-shaped hat, a t-shirt upon which fairy lights had been sticky-taped, and a packet of Tesco’s Own mince pies waving in her hand. She strode into the flat with unbridled confidence, and then stopped immediately a few feet away from the TARDIS, amid the dawning realisation that something wasn’t quite right…
“Oh,” she muttered sheepishly. “Yeah, Liz, you were right. This is wrong.”
Iris continued into the flat, spying a lamp lying on the coffee table, balanced precariously on slats of outdated Radio Times, the wire snaking across the ground, a trip hazard of the highest order. She switched it on, and suddenly the domesticity was illuminated in a quaint, orange glow.
“This is cute…,” she said, pondering around the room, her eyes drifting over the menagerie of Christmas cards cluttering up the mantlepiece, upon which fairy-lights were strung across from one side to another. A well-singed fireplace was not in use, presumably due to the residents of the flat being asleep. It was, of course, at that moment that Iris realised there probably were residents to the flat. A Christmas tree stood in the corner, so tall that the top was oppressed by the ceiling, which almost seemed a little bit too low, with bending wooden beams holding it, and the faint-yellow, paint-cracking walls, up with trusty sturdiness.
In the night, there was a tranquillity in the flat. As Christmas approached, there was something akin to stillness and calm, as if all the world were at rest, and Christmas would bring a period of contentment for all.
“WHAT. THE. FU –”
The silence shattered in a clattering of doors, slamming open and smashing against the walls behind them. A figure fell out, skidding across the room and collapsing on the coffee table, the wood immediately snapping under the person’s weight, and sending said person slipping across the room in a flurry of old Radio Times like a fox trying to maintain balance on an icy lake.
“Ssshhh!” Lizzie hissed, dashing out after Kym, instantly noticing the stillness in the flat and making the conclusion that there had to be someone asleep.
“SORRY!!!” Kym screamed, picking herself up from the lake of now-torn TV guides.
“Oh my god, for… just, be quiet, please!” Lizzie said, desperate to keep the noise levels down.
“Sorry…,” Kym mouthed.
Iris peered out of the window. “Hmm. I think that’s where we should be,” she pointed to the glass, castle-like towers on the horizon, and then plucked a mince pie from its plastic container. “Hmm,” she said, speaking through mouthfuls of pastry. “Don’t know how we went wrong. Right planet… wrong place… time? Eh. Dunno.”
“Well,” Lizzie said, as Kym sat down in a battered armchair. The soft-furnishings in the room were a distinctive mismatch. “It’s fine. We’ll just… go, and we’ll fly over, find the Doctor, and Cioné..”
By this point, Iris had meandered over to a strange panel upon the wall – except, it wasn’t on the wall. It was a holographic screen, millimetres from the paintwork. Shining blue, black text scrolled across it, and there were various options; news, announcements, weather, culture, music, sport – a whole array of applications.
Iris clicked ‘weather’.
This is a message on behalf of President Herod’s administration.
She jumped back. “Hello…”
Please stay inside. Blizzards are likely. Keep warm.
“Who’s President Herod?” Kym’s face popped up over Iris’ shoulder. “Since when did we have a President Herod?”
“Wow, hilarious,” Iris laughed sarcastically.
Kym set a blank look upon her. “What?” she spoke, entirely seriously.
This time, it was blank looks for Lizzie and Iris.
Lizzie decided to hazard a guess. “I’m guessing President Herod is probably in charge here.”
“Here?” Kym said, like there was an echo in the room.
“Whatever planet this is.”
“Huh? What do you –”
Mid-sentence, Kym stopped. There came the look of dawning realisation in her eyes – of the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place, and the dense fog slowly beginning to lift.
Suddenly, Kym staggered back, clattering against the TARDIS doors – doors which nearly gave way and sent her spinning back into the TARDIS.
“OH. MY. GOD. WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL. LIZWORTH – IRIS – WHAT – WHA – IS THIS –,” Kym yelled, through deep, heaving breaths. Hyperventilation was constricting her, and soon she began to choke, as she threw herself forward, creasing over the arm of the chair.
Iris sighed, leaning back against the curtains, and quickly checking her phone.
Mum (glowfly weirdo) – 19:21
Where are you??
“HOW THE HELL IS THIS POSSIBLE. HOW ARE WE – WHERE ARE WE??”
Iris was about to reply to her mother, but looked up from her phone to see Kym sat on the arm chair, keeling over, gasping for as much air as she could possibly find. Lizzie was stood over her, an arm awkwardly placed on Kym’s shoulder.
“What was the whole w.t.f thing about?” Iris mused, making no effort to go over and console the panicky Kym.
“Ph – phone – phone signal,” Kym spluttered. There hadn’t been any. It had been a terrible realisation.
“… bloody hell.”
And then, a pause, before Kym let out another shout. “WE’RE ON ANOTHER PLANET.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie consoled her, looking around with great uncertainty, slightly astounded by the situation. “Thought we’d, er, made that clear.”
“I didn’t think it was like – an actual thing!” Kym protested, finally beginning to regain herself. Iris looked up, and smirked.
“Right,” Lizzie said. “Kym. That’s the TARDIS. It goes anywhere in time and space. It’s bigger on the inside.”
Kym’s jaw hit the floor. “I thought it was a walk-in wardrobe!”
“You never cease to amaze me,” Iris strolled over and slumped down on the sofa by the fire place. She reached into her pocket, and took out her father’s sonic screwdriver, which she had so deftly taken. She pointed it to the fire and suddenly, a roaring flame crackled into life in the hearth.
“Okay, right – wait, no, Iris, don’t –,” Lizzie made an effort to protest her comrades making themselves at home. “We’re not stopping!”
“Cute place these people have…,” Iris gazed around at the décor of the room. It reminded her very much of her mother.
Kym immediately snapped out of her spate of disbelief. “Eww, no, those patchwork curtains –”
“Come on!” Lizzie hissed. “Before we wa –”
Lizzie’s head snapped around to the door at the far side of the room – and there was somebody looking out at them.
A little boy – looking up at the three strangers in his flat, a nervous, almost scared look etched upon his face. Only understandable – how often does one find three strangers in their house? He seemed to hover in the doorway, unsure whether to come in, or run in the opposite direction – and in his confusion and shock, he merely stayed with his feet planted on the spot.
“Yo!” Kym waved breezily from the armchair.
“Evening,” Iris said, lounging back on the sofa, warming her Doc Marten donned feet at the fire.
“Sorry,” was all Lizzie could offer, standing in the middle of the room. “We did try to keep the noise down.”
Iris sniggered. “Think that ship sailed a long time ago…”
An awkward silence followed, as the three of the stared at the boy, and the boy stared at them. He’d always thought that if strangers turned up in one’s flat, they usually had some kind of intention. The three women stood opposite him seemed to be just as unsure as to what was going on as he was.
“Who are you?” the boy eventually found some words. They came out shakier than he’d intended. He wanted to seem strong and brave, though in such a situation, it was difficult.
Without thinking, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym picked out the first name to come to mind.
“Santa Claus,” Lizzie, Iris, and Kym said at once. Iris shot a look at Kym, who then glared at Lizzie, who merely looked at Iris and sighed.
Another difficult silence followed.
“Which one of you?” the boy asked.
“Me,” said Lizzie, Iris, and Kym.
The boy looked up at them incredulously, and Lizzie was faintly reminded of Iris’ younger-self. Children could sniff out lies with remarkable ease.
“Well it’s not her, is it?” Iris gestured to Kym. “She’d have a tantrum every time she has to go down a chimney.”
Kym gasped theatrically. “Well, bitch. At least I’m not a complete ho-ho-ho.”
“Give me strength,” Lizzie whispered, hoping for nothing more than her sanity for Christmas. “No,” she spoke resolutely. “I am. Santa, I mean.”
The boy seemed satisfied with that answer. Reasonably. He stepped further into the room, gently closing the door behind him, and then leaning back on it.
“Sure,” Iris acknowledged. “Santa is a silent weirdo with a nervous disposition.”
Lizzie glared at her, and Iris laughed, finding her joke funnier than everyone else in the room. Apart from Kym, who snorted.
“Thanks,” Lizzie muttered.
“You’re a girl?” the boy asked.
“The next Santa is a woman,” Lizzie said.
“Huh,” the boy nodded. He sounded genuinely impressed. “Cool.”
“Look, kid,” Iris swung up off the sofa, swooping over to the little boy. “What’s your name?”
He hesitated, not certain whether he should reveal his name to strangers – even if they were either Santa Claus, or rubbish burglars (for he wasn’t entirely sold on ‘Santa’ yet).
“Jae,” he eventually said.
Iris gestured to the window. “Is this planet Bethlehem?”
Jae looked stunned. A ridiculous question. Though… this had been his home all of his life. Always making his way to school, to the shops, maybe to the factories if Uncle Si was stationed there. Back to the flat. A constant cycle, always.
“Ain’t that where Jesus were born?” Kym said, still sat in her armchair, her eyes now drifting over the photos on the mantlepiece.
“Yes,” Jae confirmed.
“I knew it!” Kym seemed delighted. “RE with Mr Forde. I once got kicked out his lessons when I called his wife a virgin.”
“Neat,” Iris said to Jae. “How old?”
“8,” Jae replied.
“He meant the Virgin Mary, but I thought he was talking about his wife,” Kym continued regaling tales of her lost youth.
“Legend of Shieldsman score?” Iris asked.
“Which version?”
“Which is most recent?”
“Rise of Methrodrax is coming out this Christmas.”
“Elf Kingdom then.”
“One-million seven-hundred and forty-two.”
“You’ll go far,” Iris said to Jae. “See you around,” she turned, and swiftly negotiated her way around the cluttered furniture (including the collapsed coffee table and lake of Radio Timeses, which Jae had noticed with a mournful look on his face).
Kym leapt up. “Toodle-oo, dude,” she grinned at Jae, and breezed over to the TARDIS, safe in the knowledge that it was definitely not a walk-in wardrobe, and certain that they were, somehow, on another planet.
Iris looked at Lizzie, as if to say, hurry up. Lizzie held up a hand, as if to say five minutes. Iris sighed, but, with immense irritation at being kept somewhere longer than she needed to be, and a desperate, youthful urge to rush along with her existence, she slipped into the TARDIS. Kym skipped after her, and then it was just Lizzie and Jae left in the room.
Jae sat down on the sofa, and Lizzie in the armchair.
“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Lizzie said.
Jae didn’t move. It was as if the words, however simple, had some kind of effect on him. As if somehow, Santa Claus, or the rubbish burglar, or whoever she was, was reading his mind, and knew what was going on in there.
Lizzie continued. “When everyone is so happy, and you’re not.”
Jae shrugged. Lizzie had noticed it in him. Ask a kid about Christmas, and they’re delighted. Ecstatic! Desperate for the day itself, the presents, the fun, the atmosphere, the hilarity. All of it was magic for children. But… Jae didn’t seem to care. To him, Christmas just seemed like a normal day – except one that was painful, and bitter – and one that he didn’t seem to like.
“Food’s nice,” Jae said. “And my aunt and uncle might have saved enough for the new Legend of Shieldsman game.”
“Are they asleep? I’m surprised we haven’t woken them…”
“They’re out. Aunt Mia and Uncle Si are working. Trying to get as many shifts in as possible.”
“And it’s… 23rd December?”
“Yup,” Jae said, fidgeting with a stray thread loose from the sofa. “Well. 24th now.”
Alone at night, on Christmas Eve… there were many times, Lizzie thought, when it was hard to be alone. But with a festival focused on people, and togetherness – Christmas was perhaps the hardest one of them. Especially in the dead of night, when it felt like nobody was around, with everyone cosily cooped up with their loved ones.
There was something familiar, with Jae – something that Lizzie almost seemed to recognise from herself. Not only an apathy towards Christmas, there was that appearance of looking like a wanderer. Never quite fitting in, like he was just… passing through.
“It’s like everyone wants to me to be happy?” Jae asked, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of his own thoughts, and had to run them past Lizzie. “And when I don’t, it’s like I’ve done something wrong.”
Lizzie left the armchair, and walked over to the sofa. Jae had looked so lonely sat there, and having to look at his solitariness had been a true pang to her heart – so she just had to go and sit next to him, if only out of the faintest hope that he wouldn’t feel so isolated.
“Jae – trust me. You haven’t done anything wrong, and there is no law telling you that you have to… be overjoyed constantly.
Jae didn’t seem satisfied. “But it’s the fact everyone else is happy. I’m almost… jealous of them. I want to enjoy it like that… but I just don’t.”
Lizzie looked over at him, sadness etched upon her face.
“Come and look at this,” Lizzie said, stepping over the Radio Timeses to the window, where she scanned the sky. She pulled her jumper tighter around her, as suddenly the night chill pricked her skin – and the distance between her and the cold outside felt so small.
She looked up to try and find it. Not only was the night thick with fog, but there was a dense layer of smog in the air, which didn’t make Lizzie’s task any easier… but almost as if it were meant to be, Lizzie found what she was looking for. It looked like the North Star – but they were on another planet, so she knew it couldn’t be. But regardless – it was a star, brighter than all the others. It had to be, just to be a light against the impenetrable layer of clouds in the sky.
A star to guide people home. To give them hope.
Lizzie pointed up at it. It did not take Jae long to find it, for it was the only light in the sky.
“Yeah. I see it,” Jae said.
“That star,” Lizzie said. “If you’re feeling sad at Christmas… look up at that.”
“Why?”
“Because it brings people home. The people you love. It’s so bright, that they’ll use it to guide themselves back to you.”
Jae hesitated.
“What if they can’t come back to me?”
“Cause even if they can’t be with you… chances are, that star is so bright, that wherever they are… they might see it as well. And then, in a way… maybe not in the same way, but at least, just a bit… you’ll be with them.”
Lizzie and Jae watched the star. She felt him tense, and she saw him staring intently at the star, as if desperately trying to put Lizzie’s theory into practise.
Jae smiled.
“You might not be happy at Christmas,” Lizzie didn’t see any point in lying to him. “But at least, if you look up at that star… you might remember that that’s okay.”
Jae slipped up onto the windowsill, and sat there, so it was like being in a capsule, and floating around the world outside.
Lizzie traipsed over to the TARDIS, and gently opened the doors.
“Thank you, Santa,” Jae whispered.
Lizzie nearly corrected him – but she didn’t.
She stepped into the TARDIS, and shut the doors behind her. The machine started up, and Jae heard that strange noise – and it was one that made him feel happy, on Christmas Eve.
The blue box vanished.
Jae watched the star.
***
“Would you like it gift-wrapped, madam?”
Cioné hesitated, thinking about her wrapping skills – or lack of. “Er… yes! Yes, go on. Ta.”
It was chaos.
Festive chaos.
There were three cashiers, though all looked as if they were struggling to bear the burden of so many customers filing through the shop. It was sizeable department store, stretching for what felt like miles behind her, and spilling out onto multiple floors above her. Embedded deep within the enormous shopping complex, which not only contained many department stores of similar size and stature, thousands of individual units, restaurants, services – everything that one could need prior to Christmas, one was quite certain to find it in the Bethlehem shopping district, due to the sheer massiveness of it all.
She could feel the customers behind her, overbearing – and amidst the festive, social pressure, Cioné suddenly felt approximately the size of an elephant, blundering through the department store with little coordination. She stood, watching the cashier tediously wrap the package (she had expected it to be rather quicker process), trying to negotiate some kind of action-plan with her husband.
“What’s the best way in?” the Doctor asked, his voice in her ear. Cioné stood, holding the phone as close to her head as she could manage, her other arm becoming a pseudo-rack for shopping bags. It felt especially uncomfortable, with the immense pressure of the ferocious hordes of customers behind her. Meanwhile, her husband was just off the edge of the planet, in his TARDIS, stuck in traffic. So many people were flocking to the world, that an immense backlog had built up – and now the Doctor was unable to move his ship amidst the huge number of vehicles clogging up the world and the space around it. Neither could he materialise – while the artron fumes had knocked Lizzie, Iris, and Kym off-course, they prevented the Doctor from managing it entirely.
So, he stood, leaning against the console, peering at an atlas of Bethlehem on the monitor in front of him.
“Er…,” Cioné hesitated. “The transport duct north of the Wetherspoon’s County in continent two is probably easiest… there’s a ring-road.”
Cioné was stood in front of the counter, with the man behind it, dressed in the ridiculous green suit, donned with a white faux-fur festive trim (for this shop prided itself on its eco-friendly nature), peering at her beneath the rim of an elf hat, equipped with a pair of pointy ears positioned from the hat’s rim. Remarkably, he didn’t look as if he felt like an utter moron, nor did he look as if he wanted to be somewhere else. Cioné wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.
At this point, the elf-man decided to interject with another question. “Would you like us to give the gift the exclusive snow, berries, and holly sprig decoration?”
“Should I park in the district or outside?” the Doctor asked, distracting Cioné from the shop cashier. There’s a shuttlebus…”
“No,” Cioné shut her husband off as quickly as possible, and she saw the cashier shrink away. “Sorry darling,” she turned to the cashier. “That wasn’t directed at you – er, yes, that sounds lovely, thanks.”
The cashier set to work, and Cioné turned back to the Doctor.
“Absolutely do not use the shuttlebus,” she insisted. “It’s heaving. Come to the shopping district, park in the lower level spaces in Zone H.”
She could almost hear the Doctor grimacing. “That’ll cost a bomb…”
“Ah, no, it won’t – I’ve got a discount code from the lady in at the help-desk. She was from Arcateen I think, and lovely. Had one of those, what are they called? Tattoo sleeves? Anyway, I’ll text the code to you…”
As Cioné spoke, she could feel the customers queuing up behind her. They were like angry wildebeest, steam heaving from their snouts in anger at this stupid woman having the luxury gift-wrapping experience whilst also being on her phone. The Christmas shopping madness had undeniably set in.
And yet, madness had set in. The bottom floor of the current establishment she stood in was the shop’s clothes department - and it was crammed with people, scraping through racks and rails, scrambling through accessories, desperately clamouring for their specific objects. They had not yet reached the stage of barbaric violence – though there was certainly a palpable atmosphere of stress, and tension amongst fellow shoppers.
Customers in shops. Nothing short of animals.
And she could sense it, creeping up behind her in the queue for the cashiers. Cioné tried to forget about it – and she realised her husband had been talking.
“… should’ve come to pick you up, I don’t know,” the Doctor muttered away to himself. “Would’ve been much less chaotic than this.”
“I really am sorry we had to go in separate cars, darling,” Cioné said, partly inferring from what the Doctor had said. “It’s just – well, logistically, it would have been a complete mess. Code come through?”
The cashier spoke again. When Cioné glanced over at her gift, it was wrapped, dowsed in fake snow, with a holly sprig and cluster of berries lounging on the top. “Would you like the deluxe elf gift bag with a complimentary set of imperial wedding baubles and mug?”
“Yes,” the Doctor acknowledged from the telephone. “Yes, you definitely had the right idea, I think.”
“Er, yeah,” Cioné said to the cashier. “Whatever, imperial baubles sound delightful.”
She felt an audible sigh from the queue behind her.
“Oh – code’s just come through,” the Doctor acknowledged.
“Wonderful,” Cioné declared. “And for you to go to the Front, and then to Bethlehem, it’d have been mad. The traffic outside Exxilon, good lord, thank goodness you avoided that. And besides, there’s no way in hell you’re ever bringing Iris to that godforsaken place.”
“Of course,” the Doctor agreed instantly. “You’re alright, though?”
“Me?” Cioné said incredulously, watching nervously as the cashier slipped the gift into its bag, and packed it with a bubble-wrapped mug and a flimsy box of baubles. “Tickety-boo, darling.”
“That’s 23 credits,” said the cashier. Cioné hmphed, the price taking her a bit by surprise, before taking her card, putting it in the card-reader, missing because of the phone now pressed between her shoulder and ear, and then having to do it a second time. The cashier helpfully took the card out for her.
“Hmm,” her husband said unhelpfully. Cioné typed in her pin.
A few seconds passed.
“Don’t get stressed, will you?” the Doctor instructed. “It’s only Christmas.”
The cashier pushed the box towards her. “Have a very merry Nicholson’s and Pan-Babylonian’s Christmas.”
Cioné smiled gratefully, and mouthed a ‘thanks’ (she hated being on the phone while talking to someone at the same time – it felt terribly rude. Clearly the Christmas stress had gone to her head), and scooped up the elf gift bag.
“I just…,” Cioné hobbled away from the counter, one arm entirely laden with baggage, the other fumbling for her phone stuck between her ear and shoulder.
Christmas, Cioné thought, was a very stressful time.
All the people panicking around her, desperate to get their hands on food and gifts and other festive possessions before some cheeky randomer came and snuck it right from beneath their nose. The burning desire, bordering on obsession, to transform so many wants into necessities, was something that Cioné was quite worn down by. As she’d navigated the shopping district, it had felt terrifyingly clear – and during the most chilling moment, Cioné thought she wasn’t so different. Entangled in stress over nothing.
“I just want this Christmas to be amazing for everyone,” Cioné said, navigating her way out of Nicholson’s and Pan-Babylonian’s to one of the benches in one of the shopping district’s many atria, where Cioné collapsed down, letting loose the immense weight of the shopping bags. Instantly, she felt moderately more relieved.
It was ridiculous. All she wanted was for Christmas to be wonderful – and yet… she was so desperate to the point of anxiousness at getting it wrong. It was as if there were a force bearing over her, telling her that she had to make Christmas fantastic, that the world was instructing her to ensure Christmas was happy, or it would come and constrict her with a tinsely noose – or something like that.
Cioné took a deep breath – and tried to suppress a strange inner urge to make the most perfect Christmas ever. She tried to think of the control-freak it made her into, the obsessed nit-picker over tiny details.
“And it will be,” the Doctor reassured her. “Don’t stress.”
Cioné sighed. It was unlike her to stress. Such was the power of Christmas. “I’ll try not to.”
“Good. Oh – I think I’m about to go through an astral underpass. I’ll probably lose signal.”
“Okay – speak later, dear!” Cioné almost-shouted, as she could almost hear the Doctor fading away into a sea of static.
“So long as you’re there…,” the Doctor said, his voice faint. “I think Christmas will be amazing.”
The call them dissolved entirely to the crackle of a dodgy phone signal – and the Doctor was gone. He hung up.
Cioné breathed a sigh of relief, and collapsed back against the bench. She just wanted to doze off – but there were things to buy – gifts to wrap (never by a cashier again, she’d decided) – celebrations to arrange. And while they would come – and in time, they would be enjoyed – Cioné decided to take five minutes.
The Doctor heard the phone signal go – and so he hung up, before leaning solemnly against the console. He was alone in the spaceship – and desperate to get to his family. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else during the festive season – though it seemed as if the Bethlehem’s space ring-road had other ideas. One console monitor displayed a view of the space surrounding the planet, the traffic marked on it in red lights (there were many red lights…), and the other displaying a map of the shopping district – his destination.
And the Doctor looked up to the observatory longingly – a clear sky, another dimension, where there were simply stars for as far as the eye could see. The Doctor knew that if he looked out the door, or if that planetarium replaced itself with a view directly outside the box – there would be a sight of pure, gridlocked, logjammed traffic. Spaceships, piled high – family crafts, the cruisers of the rich, planet-buses freighters, goods starvans – so many different means of vehicles and transport, all stacked upon each other, desperate to get to the surface of Bethlehem.
Therefore – the Doctor could not move.
Nor could he materialise on the planet below. So many vehicles, there was an abundance of artron pollution – and so his materialisation systems were entirely out-of-whack. Therefore, he had no choice but to make his way to Bethlehem the manual way – but with a dense thicket of engines and metal and glass blocking the way, he could not do so with his usual deft nimbleness.
It was quite shocking that even in a spaceship infinitely bigger than anything else around him, the Doctor was bored. But at Christmas, the last thing he wanted to be doing was trapped in such a jam. So, he had resigned himself to slumping back on his leather chair, flicking open a Netflix tab beside his maps, and watching a documentary on the life of the universe’s greatest artists of all time. But no matter how many documentaries he watched, or many cups of tea he sipped – it could not ease his mind.
But suddenly, he heard a small scream from the corner of the TARDIS.
Well – it was more an audible, high-pitched gasp.
When the Doctor turned to recognise the source, there was a woman stood by the doorway. She looked shocked, her eyes wide, her mouth open, her hand to her face in astonishment. She was wrapped up in an almost white knit cape, almost like a curtain disguising her, draping from her neck to her feet, which were adorned with sturdy Ugg boots. Ear muffs and a scarf were also on her person, along with sturdy looking snow trousers.
There was an awkward silence between the two of them, as the Doctor looked at her, down to his tea, up to his artist’s documentary, and then back to her. She looked straight at him, as if judging him, weighing him up… or something like that.
“Hi!” she exclaimed.
“Er…,” was all the Doctor could manage.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know if the teleport-thingy was going to work.”
The Doctor looked at her, mouth agape, entirely lost. “The… teleport-thingy?”
“Space-Donkey,” she said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
“I’m – I’m sorry?”
“Space-Donkey,” the woman reaffirmed. “This company I found, Space-Donkey, they know it’s a nightmare getting to Bethlehem at Christmas – so what they do, is they teleport you into a random ship so they have to take you to the surface.”
The Doctor hesitated. He couldn’t even belief that was legal. “That’s dangerous,” was all he could say, slightly spellbound. Not necessarily at the person trying to get down to the surface below, more the fact that someone would desire to profit out of it – and that such a thing was allowed.
“Yeah, well,” the woman shrugged it off nonchalantly. “I’ve got to get down there.”
“Why?”
It was at that moment, the woman made the decision to take off her cape. She did it with hesitation – and the Doctor suspected that there had been a reason the woman had chosen to wear such a baggy garment. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed, and the woman shrugged the cloak off, hanging it onto the hat-stand, and then turning to the Doctor.
She was pregnant.
Very, very pregnant.
The Doctor’s eyes widened.
“This is a joke,” he said, leaping up from his chair and dashing over to the console. “This has just got to be a joke –”
“It isn’t, okay,” the woman dashed over to him, trying to calm him down. “My name is –”
“You have to be kidding me. This sort of thing just doesn’t happen –”
“My name is Mary,” the woman interrupted, grabbing the Doctor and holding him still. “And I’m pregnant, and you’re going to take me to Bethlehem. Okay?”
The Doctor looked at her. Not only was the Doctor afraid of not getting to his family for Christmas, but he was now also absolutely terrified of never getting to Bethlehem and having to deliver a baby in his TARDIS. Well. He’d done it before, but he was pretty sure he’d deleted midwifery during his most recent regeneration. So, anxiety burned in his eyes, as the Doctor had no idea what was going to happen.
“No,” was all he could manage. “Not really, but okay. Fine. Fine,” he repeated, as if having to reassure himself. When he caught sight of Mary’s bump, it didn’t last. “When’s the baby due?”
The Doctor had observed that Mary looked quite far-gone.
There was an awkward pause, and Mary looked up at him sheepishly.
“Last week,” Mary said.
The Doctor sighed. Quickly he’d felt his sanity crumble so much that he could barely react – though he quickly ramped up the accelerator a few seconds, just so that when they did get moving, they might just get to Bethlehem a little bit quicker…
“I’m being induced on Boxing Day!” Mary said, as if trying to make it all sound less-bad.
“That’s if you make it to Boxing Day,” he busied himself around the console. “Mark my words, I know how these things turn out…”
Mary grumbled, sitting on the Doctor’s chair, already quite out of puff from having walked from one side of his funny spacecraft to the other.
“Sooo…,” she said, as if waiting for the Doctor to say something. When it became clear he wasn’t going to, she finished. “Will you take me?”
The Doctor looked at Mary, and saw a look in her eyes that he recognised to be similar to his own. A look that almost seemed like a loss of hope, as if she were so desperate to get to Bethlehem that she had almost resigned her hope to a place of non-existence, knowing that if she did hope, she couldn’t make it home, then it would simply hurt too much. For that reason, the Doctor was reluctant to give her hope. There was also something else about Mary – a look of incompleteness – as if she were a part of something that hadn’t been entirely assembled.
“Of course,” the Doctor admitted. He wouldn’t deny her that. How could he let someone be alone on Christmas day? It was, as he knew, one of the hardest times to feel alone – and if there was anything he could do to fix it, then he would be willing. If there was anything he could do to restore hope to someone at Christmas – then he would do it. For hopelessness at Christmas was not something the Doctor would wish on anybody.
“Yay!” Mary exclaimed, making an effort not to sound too delighted in case it brought labour on. While, at this rate, she just wanted the baby out, she didn’t want to give birth to it on the floor of a strange spaceship with a strange man she’d never met. “Thanks… whatever your name is.”
“No problem,” the Doctor said, briefly letting off the TARDIS’ handbrake. They inched forwards, just slightly. “And it’s the Doctor.”
“Oh,” Mary chuckled. “So if I do give birth, we’ll be alright.”
The Doctor smiled. “Afraid not. I’m not exactly a medical Doctor.”
“Oh...,” Mary said, finding the notion distinctly amusing. She sat back in the Doctor’s chair, watching the last bit of this art documentary, using it to fill the awkward silence.
“You’ve got to be with your family at Christmas,” Mary mused, trying to make conversation. “That’s why I’m willing to highjack a stranger’s vehicle, y’know?”
“Yeah. I get how it feels. Going to see the dad?”
“Pfft, no. Anonymous sperm donor. Going to see my mum and sister.”
Not only for her sake – but Mary wanted her child to be with all their family at Christmas.
“Who are you going for?” Mary asked, as if she’d recognised the look in the Doctor that he’d recognised in her.
“Wife, daughter, best friend, best friend’s friend.”
“Nice,” Mary nodded, watching the Doctor. Perhaps that was what he saw in her. A parental need to get to his child – and maybe she’d only started noticing that sort of stuff being pregnant. It was like basically everything else about having kids – none of it made any sense until one actually had them. And now that Mary was about to have a child for the first time… the enormity of everything was beginning to sink in. It had only been recently that she’d started to identify it, those parental things that only parents understand.
One thing was for certain, and that was that she hoped she could be like the Doctor.
Mary knew, that when her child was born, she wouldn’t ever let them go – and if she ever did, she, like the Doctor, no matter how far she had to go or how hard it would be, Mary would travel to make sure they weren’t ever alone on Christmas day. Even if she did have to force her way through an immense traffic jam, or highjack another vehicle, she would get there.
“So, travel buddy,” Mary said, in a sudden feeling of hope and excitement. She whipped out a packet of sticky labels. “Want to play Guess Who?”
“Honestly, mum, I am literally, so excited,” Iris said, buzzing with Christmassy cheer.
The four of them walked (Kym a few steps behind, taking selfies at any opportunity) through Continent 3 Arcade 77 – one of the many, many branches of the shopping districts. It was truly an immense construction, with large pillars of glass propping up an enormous, curving glass ceiling, beyond which the midday sun shone through, cracking through a sky white in its wintery coldness. The precincts and arcades between the different outlets were enormous, at least the width of several trucks stuck lengthways along – and the different retailers themselves had gigantic units, multiple floors high, all crammed with reams and reams of stock.
And all of this, stretching all over the world. Continents full of shopping centres full of shops – hundreds and thousands of establishments, hundreds of versions of the largest chain stores – Lizzie was quite certain that she had never seen such shops in her entire life. And while she found it all rather nauseating, Kym was in her element, and had already brought some brand-new outfits that she was quite certain would go down brilliantly back on Earth.
“I just love Christmas,” Iris declared, looking up to the sky in a look of festive contentment. “A season of joy, of goodwill, of giving,” she proclaimed. While not someone who studied literature, Iris would occasionally like a good read – and A Christmas Carol was one of her favourites – and it had made her even more appreciative of her favourite time of year.
“The bloody stress of it all,” Cioné muttered, rejigging the baggage on her arms. The sheer enormity of the shops around them was sickening, in a way. And yet… they all rather enjoyed Christmas shopping. It could not be denied, that on the whole… they’d had quite a good time.
“One day, Liz,” Iris said. “You’re gonna have to have Christmas with us. Honestly, it’ll be such a laugh.”
“Yeah,” Lizzie said. “One day… it’s just, I don’t like leaving Maggie on her own.”
“I get you,” Iris reassured her.
“That’s why we love you, dear,” Cioné said, having to stop again to reshuffle the bags. “Are you doing anything nice, Kym?”
“Dunno really. Probs gonna get little T-J, O-Face, Lacco, and Susan over. Few drinks. Booze.”
“Sounds, er, lovely,” Cioné said. It did sound nice enough – she was just too distracted by the fact one of the bags seemed to be splitting. Lizzie thought it sounded nice. A Christmas with no expectation – a Christmas where one could just sit back and enjoy what the festival stood for, without concerning themselves over the stress of it. Lizzie was quite envious.
It was at that moment, the phone began to ring.
“Hello darling?” Cioné answered it, ushering herself over to a bench where she could sit and talk. Standing and phoning, as she’d discovered earlier, was not her forte. Lizzie, Iris, and Kym followed close behind.
The Doctor’s came through, urgent and hurried. “I need one of you to go to the imperial palace, and somehow be amazing, and get them to create a flight corridor for me.”
“Loud-speaker!” Iris urged.
“He wants a flight corridor…,” Cioné muttered, as she fumbled to put her phone on loud-speaker. “Why do you want a flight corridor?”
“I need one!”
Cioné did not seem convinced. “Right. And you think the authorities of this planet are going to open up a flight corridor for a blue box?”
The Doctor hesitated, not quite certain how to make his next remark any less weird, or any less stress-inducing.
“I have a pregnant woman on board.”
“BAHAHAHA,” Iris burst into a fit of laughter. Cioné spluttered, and then let out a small, airy chuckle of bemusement. Lizzie sat with her mouth wide open. Kym merely gasped theatrically, letting out an ‘OMG’.
“Yes,” the Doctor didn’t seem so amused. “She’s overdue, being induced on Boxing Day, it’s a medical emergency.”
“How the – did you – I mean, how – what?!” Cioné said, the words not forming as she’d intended.
“I’m not making this up,” the Doctor said. “It’s this company, they… teleport people into random ships to be taken to the surface. Space-Donkey, it’s called...”
Iris laughed. “Pfft, you always can make an ass of yourself…”
“Very funny,” the Doctor said. “Now – flight corridor. Can one of you try and arrange one? I don’t fancy having to deliver a baby. There’s a bureau at the Presidential Palace, I’ve checked it, it’s only a shuttlebus ride away from you.”
“Sorry,” Iris interrupted. “I just need to revel in the moment of you having to deliver a pregnant woman to Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. If her name is Mary or something, I’ll just have to give up because there’ll be no point in living.”
The Doctor’s silence spoke volumes.
“Brilliant,” shook her head in delighted bemusement. “Couldn’t make it up. Well. Someone did…”
“Look dear,” Cioné said. “I’ll set my best girls on it. Tell Mary I say merry Christmas!”
Cioné could hear the discussion in the background of the phone conversation.
“Mary says merry Christmas to you as well,” the Doctor came back on the line. “Look – there’s another astral underpass coming, can we speak later?”
“Yes!” Cioné said. “Of course. Er – well. I hope you get here soon. With your, er… pregnant woman,” Cioné said, still unable to quite get her head around the fact that her husband had a pregnant woman randomly teleport into his TARDIS.
The phone was hung up, and Cioné looked to Lizzie, Iris, and Kym.
“Fine…,” Iris grumbled.
Half an hour later, the shuttlebus rolled up in front of them. Lizzie, Iris, and Kym waited outside Continent 3 Arcade 77’s food court, in front of the largest Kronkburger King that Iris had ever seen. The logo in itself was perhaps larger than a small solar-cruiser, the great business’ symbol looming high above them all, a foreboding shadow over their festive time. Which, it must be said, was not feeling hugely festive. They were queuing with very civilised queue beside a rickety old sign, all looking out ahead of them.
They looked out at the immense concrete plaza ahead of them, a Christmas tree nearly as high as the Kronkburger King logo – though it seemed to sway slightly in the wind, and various of the awaiting shuttlebus passengers had exchanged words about how it seemed like it could topple at any moment. There was a fountain as well, though it was frozen (not really – the shopping district’s authorities had done so for effect), and the whole place seemed a wintery wonderland, with polystyrene snowdrifts, plastic icicles, MDF winter chalets, a meet-Santa zone for the children (30 credits a ticket – utterly extortionate) – and the shops weren’t far to be seen, for other than the miscellany of mobile food venders (1,725 credits to pitch for a shift), the gates of Continent 3 Arcade 76’s gates stood high above them.
After Iris let out a groan of impatience (much to the dismay of an elderly gentleman from Poseida stood behind her), the shuttlebus turned up. Iris apologised to the man – clearly her mother’s protestations at her uncouthness were beginning to settle in. A little bit.
“O.M.G, ladies, this is so hype-tastic,” Kym exclaimed, readying herself to board.
“Yeah…,” Iris rolled her eyes. “An ex-Imperial palace, what’s not to like…”
“I wonder if they have a Prince Harry. He’s superdoofulus cuteus,” Kym smiled dreamily, as if she couldn’t get any more problematic.
‘Rolled’ was perhaps the incorrect term – instead, it sort of… hovered. A metal box, suspended above the ground by some spacey technology, chugging in front of the cluster of Christmas shoppers, desperate to get to their destinations. Already the queue began to shift, as if one of them behind were hoping to stealthily launch their way in front of someone else.
“It’s where this President Herod guy lives, though, right?” Lizzie said. Her eyes were attuned to spot crowd density in any public situation – and there was no way she would be riding that craft in front of her if it was a wasted journey. For almost instantly, Lizzie had managed to identify that it was, as Cioné had said, heaving. Instead of a shuttlebus, it was more like a tin can, with the people crammed in like sardines.
“Yup,” Iris said. “Mum’s got a guidebook. She likes to draw in them.”
“Huh. That’s weeeird,” Kym said.
“Just because she has dreams and not a brain tuned to the vapidity of X-Factor…”
Lizzie looked at Iris, as if to say, don’t be so patronising. Iris replied with a grumpy look, but then set her sights on the bus. As if some kind of Christmas spirit were smiling down on them, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym were at the front of the queue – and Lizzie was holding out for them being able to find a place where standing wasn’t so awkward, or if they were truly blessed, seats.
The doors slid open.
Iris was on, Lizzie and Kym following close behind. Iris paid for the tickets, and then before anyone could barely blink, Iris had seized three seats, two next to each other and one behind, besides a grumpy looking woman from Officiora. Iris didn’t even point them out, for she knew that Lizzie’s eyes, honed like those of an eagle to try and avoid social contact, had already spotted them.
Soon, the three of them sit down.
It was as if the people piling on were not going to stop, however – and quickly, the aisle space beside them was filled, the area at the front of the bus beside the driver was crammed – by the racket coming from above, the entirety of the top-deck was full to bursting – and Lizzie even spotted people clawing for space on the stairs.
Like an accident waiting to happen, the shuttlebus shifted off.
“Yay gurls!” Kym exclaimed, sat next to Lizzie. Iris watched on from above. Kym’s voice was a little bit too loud, and already she was attracting attention from some of the many people surrounding them. “Road-trip!”
“It’s a bus ride?” Iris observed. “You live in London, how is this unusual?”
“Well, I got banned.”
Iris smiled like she wasn’t even surprised. “How?”
“Various reasons,” Kym said, shaking it off with unusual caginess. “Well! She declared. I’m thinking, when we get home, we should have a proper Christmas bash. I’ll ring Mario from the beauty parlour, he can get Red Jaquez from down north-end way to bring his music gear over, we’ll decorate my place up – it’ll be, absolutely, TOTES, amaaazeballs.”
Lizzie grimaced, and turned to the window, as the bus turned around a street-corner. She caught sight of a rag-tag bunch of carol-singers singing for all it was worth, garnering quite an audience from some of the many Christmas shoppers (though whether that was down to the mulled wine being distributed, it could not be said).
“What’s that face for, Lizzemmanuel?”
Oops.
“What face?!” immediately Iris leapt in to her defence. Not that she really needed defending – the case against Lizzie was pretty clear. There had certainly been a face – but Christmas and Parties, what did Kym expect? At Iris’ immediate protestation, an individual stood in the aisle coughed, as if to scold them for being public menaces.
“No, Christmas party,” Lizzie laughed it off. “Sounds – yeah, sounds brilliant.”
“I know you hate it Liz, but there’s need to be such a… such a Grinch!” Kym’s voice permeated the bus. By then, they seemed to have gained the attention of a group of teenagers from Somodax Blue leaning in to catch as much of the gossip as they could. Lizzie sshhed her, and Iris sniggered.
“Oh, brilliant,” Lizzie muttered. “Thanks a lot…”
“Just because you don’t like Christmas, Liz, don’t mean you’ve got to be all against Gomez-Claus,” Kym hissed, trying to be as quiet as possible. She wasn’t very good, and she caused the man cramped up beside her in the aisle to move away from her – which was quite a feat, considering there was such little space.
“Wh – what?” Lizzie was entirely confused. “I’ve literally never said anything against Christmas or your party? If you want to have it, then cool, definitely, go for it…”
Kym sighed. “I just wanted my friend there…”
“Look,” Lizzie spoke quietly, but she found herself snapping. “I’m sure it’ll be amazing, but it’s really not my scene, and I don’t care for anything like that, okay. So, please, don’t ask me about it.”
She felt a bit guilty after saying it. And then she told herself, no. Why should she feel guilty? Kym shouldn’t be… pressuring her into things that she didn’t want to do.
As this was all unfolding, Iris was leaning over them drinking up the drama like an eager viewer, eyes wide at the latest shocking soap-opera twist.
Kym sat back in her seat, deliberately turning away from Lizzie, crossing her arms sassily, pouting, deliberately trying to make a show of her opposition to her former friend being such a… such a bitch.
“T.b.h,” Kym eventually said. “This is probs about the time that I wouldn’t let Iris leech off my WiFi hotspot.”
Iris felt the need to leap in that this most recent accusation. “What?!”
“It’s not about that, at all!” Lizzie hissed, astounded.
“Although that was a hella snakey thing to do,” Iris muttered. Lizzie glared at her. Iris mouthed an apology.
Lizzie turned away from them both, and buried herself as close to the cold glass as she could manage, as if trying to escape the cramped confines of the bus. That was what it all was. Inescapable. And all Lizzie wanted was to escape – run from all these people trapping her. Christmas – it was everywhere, and it constricted her. Christmas. Everywhere. Inescapable. Why was it that any other time of year, it didn’t matter how you were, and then at Christmas it was like the festivity police were out to get you if you let a moments’ misery cross your mind?
“All I said, bitch,” Kym didn’t take kindly to Iris’ response, and her curses attracted the tuttings of a middle-aged couple sat a few rows in front of them, who looked like they were members of the imperial evangelical church. “Was that you needed to get the WiFi sorted!”
“It was only for two days,” Iris said slowly. “We’d moved in, and we needed it for two days.”
“That’s two days when I could be in Charing Cross and need a quick underground selfie.”
Lizzie thought it was good when people were nice at Christmas. When people kept an eye out for each other. Though as she listened to Iris and Kym bicker, she thought the expectations were just a little bit too much…
“Who takes underground selfies?”
“Pfft, you’re just jealous cause I once got a hella lit shot of the entire carriage.”
“I’m not!” Iris protested. I literally couldn’t give a flying whatever, even if you’ve developed the ability to breath in a vacuum and do the Macarena in space.”
She hesitated.
“Actually, if you can do that, I’d quite like to know. But my point stands.”
“This isn’t about the stupid hotspot!” Lizzie said a bit too loudly. The glares in the bus turned to her, and Lizzie quickly muttered a ‘sorry’ before reducing her voice to a whisper. “Look. It’s fine. Forget about it. Kym, I’ll come to your party. Whatever. Let’s just put it behind us.”
“You’ll come????” Kym yelped, her voice turning to a high-pitched squeal.
Lizzie hesitated. “I’ll think about it.”
Lizzie had no obligation to go. No need to satisfy Kym’s burning festive cheer. But she was, at least, very grateful for Kym inviting her.
“YAAAAAAAAAAAS.”
That time, the whole bus, including the upper deck, must have heard.
“I haven’t even said yes…”
Thankfully for the rest of the passengers, the shuttlebus had arrived at the President’s building, and they all parted in the middle, with a speed and efficiency that was almost a little bit too quick and a little bit too efficient. Kym and Iris strode off, and Lizzie followed close behind, muttering ‘sorry’ as she went – not least for merely brushing past people as she went, but in general for the racket.
***
Lizzie, Iris, and Kym looked up at the building ahead of them. It was tall, and crafted exquisitely of great white marble, an immense symbol from former days of Bethlehem being governed directly by the Empire. Now, it was only a planet on good terms with them – but the remnants of the Empire’s administration were still evident on the world, wherever one chose to turn.
And as Lizzie, Iris, and Kym stood in the great courtyard, one of those symbols was evident. Surrounded by glass and metal, the imperial palace – now the site of the President’s official residence – was the only non-skyscraper building in the area. And because of that, it stood out. The building was constructed towards the back of a great cobblestone plane, behind a great bronze statue of some ancient emperor, a variety of well-kept shrubbery, and a several fountains that, at this time of year, had been made to freeze over, so as to make the place look wintery.
The three of them made their way to the double doors at the front.
“Right,” Iris declared. “Our mission is as follows. Mum said that if we can get in and let down the shields, she can probably fly her TARDIS in. it’s only short distance, so the artron clouds shouldn’t get in the way. Then, Mum comes in, we open the flight corridor for Dad. Then we all go into town, celebrate Christmas, watch The Snowman, whatever.”
Lizzie nodded. Kym stood squealing, trying to contain her excitement.
“Honestly,” Kym said, almost dancing up to the building. “They should just call me Jane Bond, like seriously.”
Iris would reserve judgement.
The three of them made their way through the doors. They’d planned the next bit out in advance.
The hall that they stepped into was huge, and clearly a modern addition to the building. A glass reception desk stood at the front, and in the rest of the glass, sleek establishment, there were some vending machines, some circular tables, and a small café. Beside the reception desk were doors leading to the rest of the building, with metal scanners and security guards policing the entrances. However – Lizzie, Iris, and Kym were more interested in the door in the corner.
It was labelled fire escape.
And helpfully, as they had noticed on the schematics of the building, it connected with the fire escapes stretching higher up the building.
Lizzie and Iris nodded to Kym. Kym reached into her handbag… and she pulled out her weapon of choice.
Lizzie and Iris were by the fire escape – and Kym dropped the perfume.
Its glass container shattered instantly into a million pieces, and the pungent liquid spilled all over the entire floor. Its odour engulfed the entire atrium, and some of the visitors in the coffee shop were taken aback by the strong scent. But… most importantly, the shattering glass attracted the attention of the security guards, and instantly they dashed away from the metal scanners, the entrance, and their other positions around the room, dashing to the centre of the hall in a busy throng of chaos.
“Ooops, oops oops, silly me, ah!” Kym proclaimed, absolutely shocked at having dropped her perfume like that. “What a klutz! That’s what they all call me, darlings!” Kym waved her arms around, being deliberately theatrical. Then, she began to back away from the scene. “Kym the klutz! Klutzy the crab! Slutzy klutzy. Wait. No, that’s what I called Carly the bitch in my year at school.”
By the time Kym finished her monologue, she too was by the fire escape – which was now open. Carefully, she shut the door behind her, as the guards started to realise that there was no weapon, and that it was some crazy lady having just dropped a bottle of perfume. Oh well. They shouldn’t underestimate her…
Kym looked up. Lizzie and Iris were on the stairwell – and they gave each other the thumbs-up.
“What sort of spaceship is this?” Mary was peering around one of the entranceways leading to the corridors, that delved deep into the belly of the TARDIS. She was captivated by the whole thing – and it was like no other spaceship she’d seen before. Almost like a child on Christmas day, she traipsed around the place examining every nook and cranny, eyes wide with wonder and excitement – and yet, not daring to delve further beyond the confines of the room. “A big one by the looks of it…,” she answered herself, as she wandered down to the bar and found a neglected glass of mulled wine. She gave it a sniff, decided it was disgusting, and then side-lined it.
Mary seemed to do that a lot – to be captivated by everything, and to feel everything – to look out the observatory, and to see the stars, and be entirely caught up in their beauty. Well – if Christmas was a time for looking at the universe and seeing the beauty within it, Mary fitted perfectly.
“Imagine the biggest ship you possibly can,” the Doctor said. He was stood looking at one of the monitors, scrutinising it. There was something not quite right… but he couldn’t put his finger on what. Without looking to Mary (who, by the sounds of it, had ventured onto the balcony looking down onto the console room). “And then forget about it. Because this place is infinitely bigger.”
There was a pause, and in the silence, Mary’s shock seemed to be permeable. When the Doctor glanced over, just to make sure she was alright, he saw her, looking down at him – he felt quite small against how much she stood over him. She looked astounded, mouth wide – and then suddenly, she started to laugh.
And when she started to laugh, she couldn’t stop. And she kept laughing, until she was creasing over the balcony railing, and the Doctor became quite concerned that Mary was going to tumble over.
“Oh my god! That’s crazy. I shouldn’t believe you… but I do?” Mary had seen the imperial flagship during the imperial wedding – and to think of anything even double that size, let alone infinitely bigger… was chilling. Though, through the weirdness and strangeness that life seemed to be, Mary wasn’t that dazed by such an astonishing creation. Instead, she was simply overjoyed that it was possible.
“Welcome to the TARDIS, Mary,” the Doctor looked over at her, and smiled.
“TARDIS? What’s it mean?”
“Depends what mood I’m in,” the Doctor flicked some of the TARDIS switches to alter the scanner settings. Something definitely wasn’t right.
“I meant the word. TARDIS,” Mary played with it. The Doctor looked over at her, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling at Mary’s intelligence. She’d seen straight through him.
“Time and Relative Dimension in Space.”
“Huh. Nice. Guessing then that this is another dimension?” In her youth, Mary was the first cohort in the newest Physics GCSE – and much to her dismay, they’d included a unit on dimensional mechanics. Worst half-term of her life.
“Yes,” the Doctor confirmed.
“Where’s it from? And can I get one?”
The Doctor hesitated. He decided there wasn’t much harm in telling Mary. Not like she could… crash his ship, or something. “It’s Time Lord science.”
That answered both her questions, and a grimace spread across her face. “Eww.”
“Yes…,” the Doctor said, just as full of contempt as Mary. He had a terrible feeling that it wouldn’t be long before everyone in the universe knew about TARDISes. The Time War seemed to loom like a shadow over the universe – and the Doctor had felt it, at the border control outside the Astra-GH-Pink asteroid belt, that people were savouring this celebration. That… everyone had a feeling that there wouldn’t be a day far off, when Christmas as everyone knew it would be a distant memory.
“So… you’re a Time Lord?”
The Doctor looked down to the floor. “Yes. But… I’m not part of that war. Never will be.”
“Okay,” Mary shrugged. The Doctor tried to make it seem as if he wasn’t as taken aback as he was – but he couldn’t hide the fact that he was shocked. “How’d you cope? Knowing that your part of the same species as Rassilon?”
“I could ask you the same, knowing that you’re the same species as Evangeline Cullengate.”
“True. We’re such speciesists,” Mary chuckled to herself and slumping down on the old armchair that Cioné and Lizzie had hauled up from the library. It sat under the lights of a Christmas tree, which was haphazardly decorated beside a set of bookshelves, and Mary sat beneath it, fiddling with a rogue piece of tinsel. “Oh well. Wouldn’t be Christmas with casual speciesism over the dinner table.”
“That and Monopoly…”
“Oh my god, Monopoly,” Mary spat the name of the dreaded board game with immense hatred.
“My entire family hate it and yet we still play it, every single year.” It had only just struck the Doctor that it was the oddest practise – but it felt like there was some unspeakable Christmassy law that everyone should play Monopoly, every year.
“My parents divorced over Monopoly,” Mary laughed. When she caught sight of the Doctor’s shock, she felt the need to explain. “Straw that broke the camel’s back”
“Ah.”
“Even so, I’m never not amused when I tell people that. And to be fair, my mum got seven bloody hotels, I mean if that’s not enough to divorce someone, I don’t know what is.”
Mary shut herself up, finding her laughs were perhaps over-spilling on a subject matter where one might deem such hilarity to be weird.
“Sorry,” she said. “Shutting up now…”
“No – don’t stop on my account,” the Doctor said. In truth, he found it quite wonderful how joyful Mary seemed to be.
“I said to my dad after he stormed off because mum was teasing him for buying her a bacon toaster for Christmas. Look. There’s nothing wrong with being bitter at Christmas – it’s not your fault. It’s mum’s. She needs to change her view, and realise that the way to help isn’t to be annoying about a bacon toaster. It’s about being kind, generous, letting him play Cluedo later. Anyway,” Mary noticed the Doctor’s silence. “Sorry. Shutting up now.”
In fact, the Doctor found Mary’s philosophising over Monopoly and a bacon toaster to be quite remarkable. “Thank you, Mary.”
“What for?”
“Being helpful,” the Doctor spun the monitor around.
“Really? Okay, er, thanks?”
“Truly. You’re a wise woman.”
“Well, what can I sa –,” unfortunately, Mary’s attempts at a sarcastic narcissism were interrupted when there was a sudden flash of light in the corner of the TARDIS.
It was at this moment Mary understood what it was like when she had randomly teleported inside the Doctor’s TARDIS. She stood by the Doctor, looking over at the doors, aghast at what she was witnessing.
There were two men, stood at the doors. They were big and burly, both in sturdy boots, thick, khaki trousers, winter fleeces, with reflective jackets bulging over the tops of the thick woollen layer beneath them. They wore gloves and woolly hats, and proceeded to dust themselves off – both of them had become covered in some sort of soot, and as they brushed they gave the clean white floor a light sprinkling of the black dust. They stood there, heaving in deep breaths, trying to gather themselves.
Somehow, they had teleported into the TARDIS – and both of them seemed quite out of breath, grabbing onto the railings by the doors, loosening their fleeces, taking off their woolly hats and gloves.
“Oh, buggering bugger bugger,” one of them muttered, grabbing onto the hat-stand for support. His hair – or the little patches at the side of his head, for he was bald – was singed. Both of their leather jackets were grubby and grimy, and as they strode further into the TARDIS, they left great dirty footprints.
“I knew something wasn’t right!” the Doctor said, spinning the monitor around the TARDIS and examining it closely. Briefly he glanced over at the two men and the dirt they were leaving on his floor. “And this is why I don’t have workmen…”
“Sorry boss!” the other one called to the Doctor. “We’ll be out of your hair soon as.”
Mary started laughing, again. “Who are you?!” she said, before trying to calm herself. Again. She wanted to hold off labour until she was in an actual place, and not in space.
The first sweary one pondered over and held up a card. “I’m Mark, ISA representative for this area. That’s Paul, also ISA representative for this area.”
“… right?” the Doctor asked, still at a loss. Mary was still trying to stifle a laugh.
Paul was busy looking out the doors at the gridlock of traffic outside. “Yeah, mate, I can see the craft we were aiming at. Big Trev’s aim was entirely kaput again.”
“Bloody Big Trev…,” Mark muttered, leaning against the console, still quite out of breath.
The Doctor had tried to decipher who the ISA were by looking at his equipment – but he wasn’t any closer, so he made the decision to ask them. “So – sorry, what are the ISA?”
Paul looked over at him, and called over as he shut the doors. “You serious, mate?”
“Very,” the Doctor said.
“Intergalactic Shepherd Agency,” Mark said, holding his card out again. When the Doctor looked closer, he could see the words embossed in gold, and a little icon of a sheep.
“… right?” the Doctor said, still not sure what that meant.
“What the hell is that?” Mary said, strangely captivated in the strange device Paul had just taken out of a big suitcase. When the Doctor looked over to see what she was so interested in, he dashed over to Paul.
“What is that?!” he asked. Paul readied the device – it was like a super-soaker – except much larger, the size of a rocket launcher, perhaps. There was a screen protruding from the side, a strange whirring disc at the front, and an instrument, a bit like a colander, fastened onto the top.
“Well, while we’re here…,” Paul marched over to the console. Mark stepped back, and Paul aimed the whirring disc towards the console. A grin spread across Paul’s face – he seemed to be taking immense delight in whatever it was he was doing.
“While you’re here what?!” the Doctor ran over to the console. Before he could do anything, a blue light shone from the disc, and a quiet humming noise, quiet enough to talk over, came from the colander.
“Right,” Mark decided to explain. “The atmosphere of Bethlehem is full of these stupid blighters, space-sheep.”
“Creative name…,” Mary mused.
“They travel in the residue astral energy, and they get into the computer systems of ships – and then they blow the ship up.”
The Doctor stepped back, shocked.
“We don’t deal with those sheep,” Mark explained. “And you all die. Simple as that.”
“Simple as that,” Paul agreed, concentrating on pointing the device at the console.
“Oh,” the Doctor said, regretting his adverseness to the two space shepherds, Mark and Paul. “Sorry.”
“No worries mate,” Mark said, slapping the Doctor on the back, and blokey gesture that admittedly, took the Doctor entirely by surprise. “Just doing our job. We were called out to a ship just over there, but Big Trev’s got his aim wrong again. No harm in giving your place a quick once-over.”
Paul took the device away from the console, a pleased look on his face. “No sheep to report here. You’re good to go.”
“Do you do this all the time?” Mary asked, as Paul placed the rocket launcher device back into its suitcase, and readied himself. They had quite a few ships to be investigating before they were obliged to take a rest break. And then… the shift would continue, just as it always did.
“Ain’t many of us,” Mark admitted. “Barring half hour rest breaks, we’ll be working through to the new year.”
“Through Christmas?” Mary looked up at him solemnly. She was terribly sad that the two men weren’t going to spend Christmas with the people they loved. She couldn’t bear that sort of thing to happen to anybody – especially people like the two in front of her, who did what they did. She respected them greatly.
“Through Christmas,” Mark confirmed, as he walked over towards Paul by the door. “Not too bad – apart from the fact the big wigs cut off our phone signals so we concentrate on what we’re doing. Means we can’t contact our families.”
The Doctor looked over at the two men, a painful look etched upon his face. He wanted to do something… though he wasn’t quite sure what. Two people who were willing to spend their Christmases looking out for people was something that had restored his faith in the universe – a faith that had, perhaps, been dwindling. With great respect and admiration, he looked at the two men, braving themselves for the teleport scoop, and hoping that this time, Big Trev would get it right.
“Wait!” the Doctor ran over to the two men. “Phones.”
He gestured for the two men to hurry up, and eventually, they both presented the Doctor with their mobile telephones. The Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver and pulsed it over the devices – and quickly, the screens of both displayed the image of a lock being opened. Paul gasped audibly, and Mark looked up at the Doctor, a concerned look on his face, as the Doctor handed the phones back over.
“Sir – if we’re found having bypassed the system, it’s instant dismissal.” Mark had heard it happen – friends of his, who had only wanted to contact their families on Christmas day, had found a way to bypass the signal block, and who had found themselves sacked before the day was out.
“Believe me,” the Doctor smiled. “They won’t notice this. They can scan it, do whatever they like to it. Isomorphically and psychically tuned to you. You want to phone… you just have to dial the number, and wish.”
The two men looked up at the Doctor, spellbound. “Thank you, sir,” Mark said, gratitude evident in his voice.
“Honestly!” Paul laughed. “Don’t know how to thank you. It means so much.”
“No need,” the Doctor said, stepping back, his heart content that he might have just made Christmas a little bit better for somebody. “Merry Christmas, gentlemen.”
The two men doffed their woolly hats (if such a thing weren’t possible, in the Christmas spirit, they managed it) – and before long, Big Trev had activated the teleport scoop. The two men vanished, and it was like they’d never been there.
“Are you magic?” Mary asked him. She seemed a little bit in awe.
The Doctor shook his head. “No,” he said. “Just… did what I could.”
“Yeah. I think that’s pretty magic.”
The hallway in front of Lizzie, Iris, and Kym was immense. They walked on a wide stone bridge, suspended above an almighty chasm. Great marble arches curved above their heads, and the ceiling had chandeliers dangling sturdily from above. Along the walkway, spaced at equal intervals, were pedestals, upon which were placed a variety of different artworks – sculptures, ceramics, china, vases, models – all sorts. The walls curving to the great ceiling above their heads were adorned with paintings, displaying all sorts of ancient, long forgotten scenes.
They crept as silently and stealthily as they could – but with one of them being as uncoordinated as Lizzie, one being Cioné’s daughter, and the other being Kym Gomez – it wasn’t an easy task. However, they had one thing to achieve. Somehow find a control room where they could let down the shields, and let Cioné in.
Couldn’t be too hard, could it?
Pfft. Who was Lizzie kidding? It was going to be a nightmare?
It was not made any easier by the question that Kym eventually chose to ask.
“Soooo, how’s Leo?”
Lizzie stopped beside an ornate sculpture that looked like a purple spider’s web suspended in a golden frame.
“Is now really the time?” Lizzie replied. The sculpture was right beside her elbow, and Lizzie was worried that even the slightest breath would upset it and knock it into the abyss below.
Kym shrugged.
“I think it’s the perfect time,” Iris said bluntly. Finally. She agreed with Kym on something, at least. The three of them began walking, keeping an eye out for any opposition they might face on their perilous journey through the halls of President Herod.
“We’re – hang on,” Lizzie had to take a moment, entirely astounded, brushing past some ceramic bust with terrifying closeness. “We’re breaking into the president’s office, and you both want to talk about the state of my relationship?”
“… pretty much,” Iris shrugged. Lizzie glared at her, and Iris returned a charming smile that couldn’t help but stop Lizzie from glaring at her
They continued their way down the corridor, silently skulking along as quietly as possible. Eventually, Lizzie hesitated. No. They didn’t need to know anything about Leo. She could sort it herself. And then Lizzie changed her mind. There was absolutely no way she could sort it herself, she needed help, and although they would probably provide more hindrance than anything else, at least Kym and Iris might have been able to help… a bit.
“Well,” Lizzie began, as if it were a very complex issue that she was trying to explain. To be fair, for herself – it was. “We’ve sort of hit a bit of a… lull.”
Iris looked over at Lizzie. “A… lull?”
Lizzie decided that was definitely the right word. “Yes. A lull.”
“Look girl,” Kym said, instantly breaking into her normal self and forgetting the fact that they were trespassing in a high security environment with some very valuable antique art items. Her voice rose to its normal volume, her movement became its usual, outrageous state, as she pranced theatrically in front of Lizzie and Iris and began to walk backwards. Already Lizzie was quite concerned that it would not end well. “Tell Aunt Kym all, kay? I’m the expert to end all experts’ expertise, you get me?”
“Erm, well, er, yeah, I get you –”
“Yay!” Kym span on her heels, stumbling over and nearly knocking over an exquisite vase that, according to the plaque, was blown in the china-fields of South Eresix-5. But with great dexterity, she managed to spin on her heels, grabbing the vase and placing it gently back on its pedestal.
Lizzie and Iris watched her, agog at Kym’s surprise act of agility.
“See? I’m not all just heels and clumsiness.”
Kym strode away, her Gucci handbag swinging behind her.
Lizzie closed her eyes, just knowing what was about to happen.
The bag connected with the vase, and the vase was swept off its pedestal, tumbling off the edge of the bridge and falling, far, far below them. There was a period of silence, as Kym looked up at Lizzie and Iris, and Lizzie gritted her teeth, and Iris looked hacked off. The vase still hadn’t hit the ground, and still they looked at each other, just waiting in bitter suspense for the inevitable sound to come.
Smash.
They’d barely been able to hear the inevitable noise of the vase breaking, due to the depth of the chasm the bridge was suspended over. But eventually, like the certainty of the length of shadows as the clock hits a specific interval – the vase smashed.
Lizzie, Iris, and Kym watched each other.
“Eh,” Iris shrugged. “Probably something made for some royal. I won’t lose sleep over it.”
Lizzie looked over at Iris as if she was clearly missing the obvious. “I don’t care that it’s broken,” she whispered. “But I probably will lose sleep if we get locked up after someone realises that we’re breaking into the highest security building on the planet?”
Iris hesitated.
“Oops,” she said.
“Yeah…”
“Shit,” Kym muttered.
“Yeah,” Lizzie said.
“Well” Kym began. “At least – actually, ignore me, there’s nothing I can say to make this better.”
Lizzie took a moment. Regaining herself, she took a deep breath. She straightened her coat on her shoulders. She was getting flustered, and stressed. She told herself – what was there to worry about? They were, as she said, only breaking into the most secure building on this planet. What could possibly go wrong?
Literally everything, Elizabeth, why are you even asking yourself that question, you stupid girl.
She shut the thought from her mind.
“Right,” Lizzie said, ignoring everything that her head was telling her. Focus on shutting down the shields. Let Cioné in. Open the flight corridor. “Let’s go.”
Kym gave the empty pedestal a melancholy look, and then skipped away, dancing off in front of Lizzie and Iris.
“Careful,” Lizzie whispered. “There might be… tripwires, or something…”
“Tripwires?” Iris looked at her incredulously.
“Tripwires…,” Lizzie confirmed.
“Soz,” Kym declared. “I just ain’t used to all this sneaking around, y’know? Actually, that’s a complete lie, I sneak around like, all the time. Usually it’s just into clubs and stuff that I’ve been kicked out of.”
“Well…,” Iris thought. “You manage that alright, why can’t you sneak into this place without literally smashing it up?”
Kym looked over at one of the paintings. “I don’t usually manage it,” she muttered quietly.
Iris wasn’t even surprised, as Kym turned back to them.
“So,” Kym quickly changed the subject. “Leo. Tell all, Lizmas,” Kym jumped in between Lizzie and Iris and threw her arms around both of them, making Lizzie seize up in an awkward tenseness, and simply giving Iris another reason to be irritated by her presence.
“I don’t know…,” Lizzie muttered not exactly sure what to say, and still a little bit uncertain as to why she was going to divulge all of this information in the situation she was currently in. “Like, we know each other well, we talk, and stuff. But that’s like… it.”
“Shag–”
“Oh my god, Kym, no,” Iris said, stepping out of Kym’s arms and in front of Lizzie and Kym. “Straight sex, line in the sand –”
“Also there’s like, no way I’m going round talking about… things like… yeah –”
“Alright!” Kym protested, raising her arms defensively. “Fine.”
They continued walking in silence.
“But are yo –”
“Kym,” Lizzie said, cutting her off. “Please. Stop. Look. Things have… yeah, er – got beyond a… a certain stage – but it’s like – what now?”
Lizzie was, in fact, quite glad to have some advice on this – even if it was Kym. It had been bothering her for a while – her and Leo. What was the point? Surely there were meant to be good things from a relationship? Otherwise everyone would just be single. Lizzie and Leo had almost… plateaued in their relationship – and Lizzie was beginning to lose focus in why she’d ever decided to be in a relationship anyway. It was much easier being on her own – she could do what she wanted, when she wanted, without constantly stressing over the politics of love. There was something quite appealing about breezing through life as a free spirit, without chaining herself to another person.
Lizzie was quite sure that a train of thought like her current one was probably not a good sign.
“Basically,” Lizzie said. “It is awkward. And not real. And fake. And it feels stupid.”
“You’re pussyfooters,” Iris said, trying very hard not to giggle at her unfortunate use of terminology. “Nope, sorry, can’t,” and then she sniggered.
Lizzie ignored her. “See. Awkward people. It’s rubbish.”
It was very true. Both Lizzie and Leo were too… awkward to do anything else. They just… didn’t talk about anything other than superficialities. They had certainly come to some kind of turning-point, and yet, they were too weird and silent to talk about it. Too reserved, and closed, and Lizzie was fed up of it. And yet… she didn’t know what to do. However – she knew that something had to be done. Because while her and Leo had originally made her feel beyond happy, it was veering into tedious – and Lizzie couldn’t bear the thought of her eventually getting bored of him.
So now was the time. Make sure she didn’t get bored of him. But how?
“You’re at the bridge,” Kym declared. Her silence had been long – unusually long, for Kym Gomez. “Short-term relationship to long-term. And you need to decide. Do you wanna stick around with him? If the answer is no, then his ass, Lizzious. If the answer is yes – then, gurl, you’ve got to stop being so hella awks. As Flower Power here –”
“Please don’t call me that,” Iris interrupted.
“– says,” Kym continued, ignoring her. “Gotta stop pussyfooting. Whatever pussyfooting means. Is it when a man –”
“No,” Iris said. “It’s really, definitely not.”
The girls were right. Lizzie was, as Iris had put it, a pussyfooter. And she’d known this – and to solve the current dilemma in her life, Lizzie knew that she needed to stop being a pussyfooter. In fact – Lizzie had known all along how to make things better with Leo. She didn’t even need to talk to Iris and Kym about it. But she had done – perhaps out of fear, or perhaps because her brain wasn’t quite ready to accept the truth that she’d already discovered herself.
“You should be quiet more often,” Iris observed, watching Kym as she strode down the stone bridge in her almighty pink heels, her fur coat, her leather jacket, and her sunglasses balanced on top of her head. “Because that was actually useful.”
“I’m not all a bitch,” Kym grinned, sounding as cheery and as happy as ever.
Lizzie looked at the two of them, and silently thanked them. She was quite confident now what she had to do with Leo.
“But, er,” Kym said, looking sheepishly at the ground. “Sorry for being a bitch earlier. When we were on that shuttlebus.”
“It’s fine,” Lizzie said, hoping to be able to brush it under the carpet. It was over, and Lizzie didn’t want to argue about it. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I just thought, right Lizworth, you are gonna have a totes AMAZEBALLS mass of Christ, whether you like it or not. But that’s a stupid way of thinking about it, and I won’t do it again.”
“Honestly,” Lizzie smiled, stopping and turning to Kym. “Don’t worry about it. Just a… difficult topic of conversation, that’s all.”
“Got it,” Kym said, understandingly. As Lizzie looked at her, she knew that Kym understood. While Kym often needed it spelling out to her, as she blundered through life with little consideration of others, blinded by an almost impenetrable wave of self-centred behaviour – when Kym saw she’d upset someone, and stopped and thought about it – Lizzie noticed that Kym had a very big heart as well. “Won’t bring it up again.”
The three of them pressed on. Ahead of them there was a big oak door, almost like a drawbridge – and to the side, a suspicious metal door, the sort that always, behind it, contains either electrics, a boiler room, or an enormous supply of paper towels.
“Also,” Kym continued. “I think I was superdoopus carried away by the fact that you do this, all the time?!” Kym gestured around her. “You’re like, Liz-I 5, or summit.”
“We’re really not…,” Iris muttered.
“Yeah, well… you still like, actually leave Earth. I mean, I didn’t even realise there were like, other planets, until I was like, 19. And now I’m on one! Like, argh, it’s hella cray cray.”
Hella cray cray, Lizzie thought to herself. Yes… that was certainly an apt description.
“I can’t actually believe I’m going to say this,” Iris began, with great hesitation. “But Kym, you’d be every entertaining to take around the universe.”
Kym thought about it. “Nah. I’d only do it every so often. Parties to go to. Soulcycle to do. Nails to paint. Ta darling, tho. Means a lot, innit”
Iris smiled at Kym – and maybe, Kym wasn’t such a pain in the backside as Iris had always intended.
They were at the metal door, a small walkway leading towards it. Iris reached into her pocket, and pulled out the device.
“What the hell is that,” Kym’s jaw dropped.
It was a knitting needle, and Iris pointed it at the door. With a quick press of the top, a blue light emerged from the end – and the lock of the door clicked open. Why? For it wasn’t just a knitting needle.
It was a sonic knitting needle.
“Took it from Mum,” Iris said, opening the metal door. Lizzie was left uncertain whether Cioné actually knew, or whether Iris had just… cheekily run off with it. Lizzie was sure that either outcome was possible.
The room beyond the metal door was cramped, but with a control desk – the sort that Kym immediately proclaimed was like something straight out of a nightclub – and a small swivel chair behind it. Iris immediately sat down, and prepared to do… something or other to the keyboard. She hadn’t decided what.
But before she did, Iris turned around to Kym. “You need to go.”
Kym gasped. “Why?! We ain’t on hotspot again, hoe?”
“Whatever happened to not being a bitch? No, you need to go tell my mum that we’re in here. We can’t disable the shields until you’re outside, because if all three of us are captured, then Mum’s never gonna know? Capiche?”
Kym sighed. “Fiiine. Stay outta trouble, ladies. Adios, amigos!”
It was, with remarkable ease, that Kym decided to leave. Lizzie kept an eye out as Kym strode off down the corridor, to the door at the far end, leading to the stairs, which in turn led to reception. A few minutes passed, as Iris looked around at the computer desk, waiting for the signal.
“Do you think she’s going to get out?” Lizzie enquired.
“They won’t doubt at all that she accidentally wandered in.”
Lizzie’s phone pinged.
Kym – 14:21
I’M OUT, BEYOTCHES. Told the security guard I accidentally wandered in looking for the toilets. GOOD LUCK GIRLIES. XX
“She’s out,” Lizzie said. Iris’ usual joke about coming out didn’t come, as she was too busy focusing her attention on the desk in front of her.
“I think…,” Iris muttered, her eyes trailing over the controls. “I think this is the one.”
She flicked a random switch.
Immediately, the entire building burst into the sound of blaring alarms. Sirens lit the place up red, flashing repeatedly. Lizzie glanced to the end of the corridor, and she could see the guards dashing down.
But thankfully, as desired, the controls showed the message they’d been hoping for.
Building shields down.
Iris used the sonic knitting needle.
Controls locked.
And with that, everything was in place. The shields were down – the security guards couldn’t do anything about it. If all went well… Kym wouldn’t get lost, and Cioné would eventually find their way to them.
“Hello ladies,” said the security guard. “You’re both under arrest. Get out of there.”
Iris gave the security guard the most innocent, sweetest smile that she could manage. “I’ve been out for years, mate. Just because you’re struggling to come to terms with your sexuality doesn’t mean you need to take it out on me.”
The security guard did not like that at all.
Very quickly, Lizzie and Iris were wheeled out of the control room, and whisked off deep into the belly of Herod’s palace.
“So… you’re a Doctor, and you can make people’s phones magic?” Mary sat lounging in the Lizzie’s armchair, steadily making her way through a large box of Celebrations that the Doctor had said she could eat. Mary didn’t even leave the Bounty untouched, such was her all-accepting nature. “How’d you get so good with computers?”
“I did a correspondence course,” the Doctor shrugged, having pulled a wooden stool up to the TARDIS. He sat leaning over the controls and entwining a rubber-band ball together. He was terribly bored, and as his daughter, best friend, and Kym hadn’t managed that flight corridor yet, both the Doctor and Mary were left, the threat of labour looming ever closer, with the well of conversation having dried up.
“What sort of correspondence courses do they do on Gallifrey?” Mary enquired, gobbling up a Galaxy Caramel. “Haha. Courses in starting illegal wars?” She found her own joke distinctly amusing, and chuckled along quietly.
“It was either one in technology or Gallifreyan politics,” the Doctor admitted. And he toppled enough plutocrats to know enough about them, let alone expose himself to an onslaught in biased educational material about the government.
“This man we had living down our road when we were kids, he was an idiot, and he used to run a correspondence course on traditional Earth English game animals.”
“Was there… much demand for it?”
“You’d be surprised. People trying to reclaim some history or something that never existed. The glory days of killing innocent creatures, and all that.”
A demand that always seemed worse at Christmas, as people obsessed over old-fashioned traditions and ideas that, while perhaps the foundation of the festivities, were no longer the sole pillars of what people celebrated every year.
“My brother once killed a pigeon and brought it in, and my mum did her nut when she found out,” Mary reminisced. “Said, you do that again, and Santa won’t come. It was hilarious. I was 15, though, and he was like, 7 –”
Mary looked over to the Doctor, realising that he hadn’t been listening. Instead, he was looking at the doors of the TARDIS, with similar shock to the way in which he’d looked at her, and in a similar way to the way in which he’d looked at the space shepherds. Mary came to a conclusion about why the Doctor was so captivated without even needing to look – but before she drew her eyes over the location that the Doctor stared, she could hear them without even needing to look.
“Casper,” came a well-spoken, Queen’s English, feminine voice. “Oh for – Casper, I told you that they weren’t going to let us straight through with the purple-grade badge! I said so, and now look! They’ve done a complete botched job of it all. For goodness’ sake. What has the universe come to, can’t even get lazy individuals to work a teleporter properly…”
Mary looked over, and she saw the three women stood by the TARDIS door. They looked exactly how they sounded – middle-class and pearls, and looking at them, Mary was quite certain that the curlers came out every morning.
The woman who had been complaining about Casper came striding over. She was tall and thin, and strode confidently, heels clacking against the floor. She looked the epitome of sleek, and crow-like features eyed the Doctor up. “Good afternoon, young man. What ship is this?”
“Sorry,” the Doctor enquired. “Who are you?”
“I don’t see what that business is of yours, you petulant individual,” replied the thin woman, shooting him a look of death. The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
“Well, you’re on his ship?” Mary stepped in. “Technically, you’re trespassing.”
That seemed to unnerve the thin woman slightly, and when Mary looked over to her pals, they too seemed a little concerned. The Doctor mouthed Mary a ‘thank you’.
The shorter, rounder lady stumbled over. Her hair was curled, and her face read – and the Doctor suspected that perhaps she’d been at the gin. She crossed the floor, and shook the Doctor’s hand. “Afternoon, afternoon. This is Balthazar,” she pointed to the thin woman. “I’m Caspar. Over there, that’s Melchior.”
The Doctor nodded a greeting to Balthazar, and waved over at Melchior. Melchior gave him a look that transcended the meaning of the word ‘judgemental’.
“And might I ask,” the Doctor said. “What are you doing in my TARDIS?”
“A TARDIS, hmm?” Balthazar seemed interested. The Doctor could read straight through her features, and knew that, in fact, Balthazar had no idea what she was talking about.”
“They’re opening a new Conservative club on Bethlehem,” prowled Melchior. Her voice was silky, but falsely attractive, as her words dripped with poison.
“We were asked to open it,” Balthazar proclaimed proudly. “But…”
It was like Balthazar couldn’t even bring herself to say the words.
“We’re late,” Caspar chipped in – before going off on a rant, her words taking on a form of nostalgia honed to optimum sharpness and deadliness. “Honestly. It’s despicable. Back in my day, we used to be dedicated. We were never lazy, we gave it our all, all day. We used to work, we used to graft. Never expected it all on a plate, that’s for sure!”
The Doctor gritted his teeth, and then bit his tongue. He looked over at Mary, who was seething. The three women were circling around the TARDIS, like lions circling around prey – and yet, the Doctor knew that while they moved, the three women circled on nothing but brash overconfidence and rose-tinted glasses – and that it was those qualities that made them dangerous. Their teeth weren’t sharp – but their motives, and their influence… was clearly dangerous.
“What can I do for you?” the Doctor asked, determined to move the three women on as much as possible. He was also slightly concerned that people kept wandering into his TARDIS. Perhaps the shields needed repairing.
“We need up-to-date mapping software,” Balthazar declared. Mary giggled, and even when Balthazar shot her an evil look, Mary kept giggling. The three women looked furious, disgusted at the audaciousness of the youth. Just because their equipment was outdated, and they had got themselves a little bit lost, should not make them the object of ridicule.
“Ours is entirely out-of-date and shan’t do at all,” Melchior said. “Sort us out, or we can’t move along.”
“What’s the magic word?” the Doctor said, in a way akin to that he used to use with Iris, many years ago. Mary, meanwhile, unwrapped a Mars bar, quite gobsmacked that three old women were, in a way, holding the Doctor hostage. While they were without weapons, the behaviour of the three women, and the threat of having to endure it for longer, was threat enough.
The three women looked horrified. The Doctor suspected that they probably hadn’t heard the word ‘no’ in at least a good… 50 years or so. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so patronising. Perhaps now, the three of them would somehow… sabotage his TARDIS, or initiate some sort of –
No. He was being ridiculous. He would stand his ground.
Unfortunately, the three women ignored him, as Caspar gravitated towards Mary.
“Can’t be giving birth in space, you know,” Caspar looked up to the Doctor, a grave look on her red face. “You know what they say. It’s the artificial air,” she mouthed the last two words, as if they would somehow bring doom upon them all.
“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Mary ignored her, sitting back in the chair and moving onto the Twix.
“And certainly not true for my TARDIS…” the Doctor said.
“No need to be so insolent,” Melchior interjected. “If my grandchildren spoke to me like that, I’d give them a damn good scolding!”
“Well, we’re not in Enid Blyton,” Mary looked up at the three women, who had gathered around her chair, seemingly fascinated by the baby bump. “And you can’t give me a good slap either, or confiscate my ginger beer.”
Again. The three women seemed horrified.
“This is why women need a husband…,” Melchior muttered, having spotted Mary’s lack of a ring. Sex before marriage – good lord! Whoever came up with such a notion was just inviting a generation of loose morals and bad parenting!
It was at that moment that Mary retorted with a line aimed right at the jugular, an artery that in these three women, clearly pumped venom instead of blood. She readied herself, and tried to stop herself from smiling.
“I don’t even know who the father is. Anonymous sperm donor.”
For a few seconds, Mary was concerned she’d given the women a heart attack. They were entirely paralysed in front of her, disgust pouring from their features. It was like they hadn’t heard anything so disgraceful in their entire lives – like Mary was the epitome of everything they despised. The women’s beady sets of eyes had widened, and their vitriolic mouths lay open.
“The young people of today,” Caspar whispered, her voice hoarsened by the revelation.
“Despicable behaviour,” Melchior said, her eyes narrowing once more at Mary.
For once, Balthazar was speechless.
Mary revelled in it all.
“I’m sorry,” the Doctor interrupted. “I don’t carry mapping software.”
Balthazar span on her heels and strode confidently over to him, wagging a finger like one would at a naughty child. The Doctor stood up straight, flattened his collar, made sure his shirt was tucked in. He was ready for the lecture this time.
“Now, now,” Balthazar said, as if the Doctor’s previous sentence had been utter nonsense. “We all know that that’s not true.”
“Would do you want for it?” Suddenly, Melchior appeared from nowhere like a vulture – and Caspar wasn’t far behind, the three women having lost interest in Mary. “We can give you gold.”
“Or Frankincense,” Caspar piped up.
“Or Myrrh,” Balthazar hissed.
The Doctor gave the three women a smug look. They’d looked at him with similar holier-than-thou glares – now it was his turn. “Do you think I’m that easily bribed?”
Yes… the Doctor would not be willing to indulge the ‘wise’ women in what they wanted. He knew their tricks, and as they approached him, forcing him to back away to the console, he felt it all the clearer. Belittling him. Trying to make him feel as if he were smaller than them, as if they were better than him. But the Doctor was determined not to let these such women play their usual tricks. To often did people of this sort get their own way, and then exploit people to get their own way even more.
But not anymore.
“You prey on people,” the Doctor retorted, pushing back against them. “Try and make them let go of their principles, because they need money.”
Caspar laughed at him. “If one drops their principles, then that’s they’re problem. To shallow for values. Welcome to the modern world.”
“Oh, no, no,” the Doctor retorted. “I think you’ll find, it’s your fault. For putting them in that position in the first place.”
The three women did not look fazed. The Doctor shook his head. He should have realised that their minds would not be so easy to change.
“Oi!” came Mary’s voice from the chair. A few seconds passed, before slowly, Balthazar, Caspar, and Melchior turned to face Mary. She had nearly finished the Celebrations, and was eating one of the Maltesers. Underrated gems, Maltesers. “Why don’t you three go away back to your own ship and bother someone else? Sorry for telling them this, Doctor, but look – he’s not going to give you the mapping system because you’re awful people? Honestly, sexism, homophobia, literally, everything. Why can’t you just be nice? Be accepting? And be understanding? Because while you’re going off to have a lovely time schmoozing with wine and nibbles and fancy Christmas crackers with little mental utensils in them like cheese graters or whatever, some people are going to wake up on Christmas morning with nothing. So get your heads out of your arses, and start focusing on what matters. Be generous, and be loving, and stop being such twats.”
The TARDIS fell silent. The Doctor looked concernedly over at Mary, worried that she was about to give birth following that outburst. He would have calmed her down, but he’d been far too captivated – and far too inspired. Mary was, perhaps, someone one could aspire to be like at Christmastime – who held acceptance, goodwill, and love close to her heart.
And while the Doctor’s protestations had done little to stir the three old women, Mary seemed to have had, at least, a certain effect. The three women looked awkwardly around – but they didn’t say anything. All three looked a mix of dejected, remorseful – and perhaps a little bit sheepish.
Mary moved onto the final chocolate in the box. Milky Way. Hmm. Delicious. She smiled. Then she looked up at the three women, and caught Melchior giving her the nastiest, most malevolent of looks. Mary shrugged it off and looked miserably down at the bottom of the Celebrations box.
The Doctor walked over to the three women, and placed a memory stick in Balthazar’s hand. She looked up at him, entirely confused.
“Mapping systems,” was all he said. Balthazar’s face turned into a picture of horror, as finally, she realised that for once in her life, she’d been beaten. But before any of them could truly enjoy it, the three women vanished in a flash of blue light.
The Doctor and Mary were alone again.
“Got the teleport ready when you were shouting at them,” the Doctor explained.
“I swear, they’re proper ‘Christmas drinks and nibbles followed by midnight mass’.”
The Doctor flicked a few of the switches on the TARDIS console. The TARDIS was moving, albeit only a few feet. But, it was a few feet more than before.
“And you said I was the magic one?” the Doctor laughed.
Mary smiled. “Sorry. You must’ve been pretty worried that I was about to give birth.”
The Doctor looked over at Mary, and as he looked at her, he understood Christmas.
***
The cell was small – and Lizzie and Iris watched through the bars, at the corridor outside. It shouldn’t have been long before Cioné turned up – and thankfully, it wasn’t. Her TARDIS materialised in that outer area, taking the form of the statue – like those upstairs in the central corridor.
“Oh. Afternoon,” Cioné looked up at the statue as she stepped out of her TARDIS, and winked at it. The statue did not wink back.
“Mum, finally,” Iris scowled, walking up to the door. As she grabbed onto it and leaned back, she found that the door swung back with her.
Lizzie looked stunned. Cioné was beyond surprised.
“Blimey,” Cioné murmured. “The security here is terrible.”
“Oh well,” Iris shrugged, not particularly caring as she sidled out of the prison, and, with Lizzie and her mother, began to make their way down the corridor.
“You found us, then?” Iris said, as they walked quickly away from the prison. Thankfully, Lizzie could remember the way. Along the corridor, take a left, up the stairs, a right, another corridor, and then a left, and then some more stairs – and then they would be at the main corridor – the great stone bridge, suspended over the great chasm – a chasm that also contained the remnants of a very valuable vase.
As they proceeded along the corridor from the garish festive wonderland jail, Lizzie looked left and right, looking for any guards in the immediate area. They moved at a half-walk, half-run, and Cioné clutched her chest, quite out of breath from their escape.
“Can we slow down a bit?” Cioné said, huffing and puffing, desperately trying to take in as much air as possible.
“Well, we’ve sort of just escaped from the President’s private jail?” Iris hissed. “So, not really.”
“I think I’ve had one too many mince pies and glasses of sherry…,” Cioné muttered, as they approached the end of the corridor. “How far is it?”
“I dunno. Liz?”
“Er… two flights of stairs.”
“Goodness gracious,” Cioné muttered, as they turned onto the first set. She clawed onto the bannister, knowing it was going to be vital in getting up. “I’m so unfit.”
“I’m usually alright. The stairs always get me,” Lizzie muttered, leading the way to ensure the coast was clear. Having said that, in stark contrast to how she had been a year ago, Lizzie had become quite fit. The Doctor – best exercise regime in the universe.
They dashed up the stairs (or stumbled, in Lizzie and Cioné’s case), and then turned onto the next corridor.
“I should’ve flown us up…,” Cioné murmured, as they began to journey down the next corridor.
“Stop complaining Mum, for god’s sake…”
“Where is Kym?” Lizzie asked. Kym had quite the technique of being conspicuous in her absence.
“I left her holding the hand-break down,” Cioné said. “It’s faulty, and it needs a hand on it, constantly.”
“Oh, that was a really wise thing to do, mummy,” Iris said. Knowing Kym, she was probably going to do the equivalent of letting go when on a hill. Iris could steadily feel their chances of slipping away further.
“Ah, you joke, but listen. I’ve put coordinates in for the control room up here. When the flight corridor is open, we text her, tell her to let go, and she’ll materialise upstairs.”
“So…,” Iris didn’t entirely understand. “Why does she have to hold it if she’s going to materialise upstairs?”
“Because if it’s off for too long it’ll bypass the coordinates, and we’ll probably never going to see her again.”
Iris raised an eyebrow. “Would that really be such a bad thing?”
Lizzie, Iris, and Cioné continued on – along the corridor, taking a left, ascending the stairs, and then being on the main corridor – but before they walked along it to the metal door which contained the small control chamber, Cioné stopped them. There was a security guard, at the far end of the offshoot bridge – however, he had prowled down the corridor to chat to another individual who was meant to be keeping them out of the control chamber.
Cioné stopped them, and put a finger on her lips. They had to be quiet – to sneak past both security guards, and get into that control chamber. She gestured to their destination, and to the guards – and the mission plan was communicated with only a few brief movements.
It wasn’t a far distance, and Cioné thought it would be coverable with ease.
So off they snuck.
It was as if coordination skills that Lizzie had been lacking, and agility skills that Cioné had never quite mastered, suddenly slotted into place – for the three of them crept down the red carpet, and no eyes fell upon them, apart from those of the ornate statues and sculptures peering at them from their pedestals. They swerved around the corner to the offshoot bridge, and the door was ahead of them. Only a few feet to go – and they continued, slinking along towards the control chamber which lay wide open, like a present left without protection, a beacon to a child on Christmas day.
“OI!” came a yell from behind them.
The three of them didn’t even look – they ran, as fast as they possibly could, into the little control chamber, bundling themselves in, creating quite a noise as their bodies clattered against all walls of the little room. Iris grabbed for the door, and she could see them – the security guards running for them, batons and handcuffs at the ready – but Iris’ fingers, quite thankfully, slammed onto the metal handle, and she lurched herself backwards, sending her entire person into the computer desk, knocking her mother over in the process, but most importantly, shutting the door to the guards.
Only seconds later did someone try and open it – a person grabbing onto the other side, pulling the handle up and down, up and down, giving it the almightiest pull – and Iris had to try with all her strength to keep it shut.
However – Iris reached into her pocket, pulled out the sonic knitting needle, and pointed it to the lock. With a quick buzz, the door clicked – and Iris fell back onto the swivel chair, heaving for breath.
Silence fell, and Lizzie, Iris, and Cioné stood, regaining themselves, trying to breathe for what felt like the first time in ages.
And then Iris laughed. Bursting into a fit of giggles, she sat back in her chair, and she couldn’t stop herself. The laughter spilled out of her, as she was engrossed in the absurdity of the situation. Cioné started as well, and when she caught Iris’ eye, they collapsed further into hysterical fits. Lizzie caught it too, and soon all three of them, trapped in the tiny broom cupboard-like control chamber, were howling with laughter.
“You three!” cried a guard from the outside. The three women went silent. “Come out with your hands up!”
Another silent pause – and then they started laughing again, creasing and falling back against the walls of the tiny chamber.
“Stop laughing!” the guard proclaimed, which only made them laugh more. “You have broken into the secure control room of President Herod – this is a serious crime, and punishable by life imprisonment!”
“It’s a bloody broom cupboard!” Cioné shouted out, causing the three of them to laugh even more.
Iris fell back, knocking into one of the buttons, making the whole control panel glow red for a few seconds. None of them were quite certain what it had done, but it tickled them further, and they still couldn’t contain themselves.
“Right!” called the guard. “We’re going to kick this door down.”
The three of them looked at each other. Perhaps it was time to do some work.
Cioné ushered Iris out of the way and sat down in the chair. She looked at the controls for a few seconds – and then realised she had absolutely no idea what she was doing.
“Try searching for it…,” Lizzie suggested.
There was a little key in the corner with a picture of a magnifying glass. It was worth a shot – so she opened it, and slowly began to type, one key at a time.
F. L. I.
Cioné could feel Iris tense behind her.
H.
“Oops,” Cioné muttered, backspacing – but accidentally deleting too many letters. By now, the aura of irritation that Iris was exuding had reached enormous proportions, and the grip that Iris had on the back of the swivel chair was tightening. Cioné glanced at her daughters’ knuckles. They were turning red.
I. G. H. T.
Cioné spent a good few seconds looking for the space bar.
“Can you just let me do it?” Iris said, the words spilling out of her uncontrollably. She was seething – it was almost physically impossible trying to watch someone middle aged or older use a computer.
“No,” Cioné said defiantly, determined that she was going to do it.
C. O. R. R.
Suddenly, an immense ringing sound exploded from behind them – and when Iris turned, there was a great dent in the door. A few seconds later, and another dent emerged in the door, alongside an immense, ear-piercing rattle of metal. Iris counted the seconds before the battering ram collided again.
BANG.
“Mum!” Iris hissed, the dents in the door looking ever larger by the second, and the look on Lizzie’s face looking grimmer each time. “They’re breaking down the door, just hurry up!”
“Oh, it’s fine, just use my sonic knitting needle, they’ll never get in – oh wait,” Cioné looked at her daughter sarcastically. “We already have.”
BANG.
Iris looked down at the ground sheepishly. Lizzie looked at both of them, despair etched in her features, wishing for them to stop bickering.
“Yes,” Cioné continued, too smugly for Iris’ liking. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you took it…”
“Get on with it, mum!”
Another thing that parents did – decide to bring up the things you did wrong at exactly the wrong moment.
I. D. O. R.
Enter.
The sigh of relief from Iris was enormous, and the look of relief on Lizzie’s face was great. Unfortunately, the crash of the battering ram did not keep them appeased for long.
Only one result appeared on the screen, and not wanting to irritate her daughter anymore, she selected it. It read GPS Windows, and already Cioné was quite intrigued as to what it meant. However… that would have to come later. For now, she had to focus on opening the flight corridor.
She clicked it.
Global Protection System Windows. Select ‘open’ to create a flight corridor to the planet’s surface. Thank you for using GPS Windows.
Cioné, as instructed, selected open.
Please enter your coordinates.
Cioné opened her texts to find the coordinates her husband had sent her. And then, as slowly as before, she began to type them in. Unwavering and uncaring of her slowness, the battering ram proceeded to charge into the door again. As she looked at the long numbers on the phone, Cioné decided that computers were a waste of time and she couldn’t be bothered.
“Oh for… right, yes. Darling, you can do it.”
Iris took the chair, and within seconds, the coordinates were entered – and Iris clicked finish.
The door flew in.
A conglomerate of guards stood outside, armed, with beady eyes staring straight at them. They pointed their ray guns at the three of them in the chamber, and slowly, the blasters whirred into life.
Lizzie waved at them awkwardly. Iris scowled at them.
“Afternoon,” Cioné smiled. “Lovely place you’ve got here. Bit tight. And the controls are sticky. 2 points.”
Unfortunately, the guards were not impressed, and Cioné wondered whether she should have left her thoughts on Trip Advisor, as one of them grabbed her. Another one grabbed Lizzie, and another went for Iris, who was hauled from her chair.
“Oi! Get off me,” Iris struggled against her captor, as she was dragged out of the small chamber. “Why’re you being such a twat? It’s not my fault your security is rubbish.”
The guards marched Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris across the off-shoot bridge, to the bridge passing across the chasm. It suddenly felt rather more regal than it had done before – and the sight that they were paraded in front of was quite majestic.
Previously, the main corridor had looked like quite a lavish art gallery, with the wide bridge stretching from one end to the other, containing the eccentric array of antiques and artworks that it did, under the shadows of the chandeliers hanging from the ceilings.
But now, it was no longer simple statues and paintings watching them. Instead, the bridge had become lined with guards, stood perfectly to attention, with their guns strapped perfectly over their chests. Then, standing in a line in the centre of the overpass, was a line of guards dressed in black robes. They were hooded, with two, red, beady lights watching from underneath.
And in front of them, was a man.
He managed to look large, which was quite something considering the enormity of the hall around them – its infinite chasm beneath their feet, the immense chasm beneath their feet, the beautiful, massive chandeliers, the giant, larger-than-life paintings – all of it suddenly seemed quite small in comparison to the man who stood in front of the guards. He too wore black robes, but with a white sash across his shoulder. He had shoulder-length, wavy, jet-black hair, and boots reaching to his knees. He was young, too, and yet, despite the smoothness and youthfulness of his appearance, there was something about his piercing eyes that looked somewhat… older.
“Blimey,” Iris said, as the Cioné, Lizzie, and herself were lined up directly opposite him. “Look like you’re straight off Welcome to the Black Parade.”
The man did not seem impressed.
“Apologies for my daughter’s insolence,” Cioné stepped forward, offering the man a friendly smile. “I did try.”
Iris raised her arms in protestation, and Cioné offered her a gloriously sarcastic smile.
“Now,” Cioné continued. “I presume, from all this ridiculous pomp and ceremony, that you’re President Herod?”
The man, presumably President Herod, did not respond.
“Well?” Cioné prompted. “Haven’t got all day, dear.”
The President Herod-presumptive seemed to be looking at Lizzie and Iris, his eyes drifting over them, as if they were straight from a dream. He looked as if he were trying to place them. But his eyes recognised them – and Cioné recognised that recognition. Perhaps he was trying to place them in time – his time. For whatever it was, Herod watched them with wide, wistful eyes, as if two of the women in front of him were some sort of… distant memory, or forgotten dream, brought to life before his eyes.
“These guards,”
“Your names,” said the Herod-presumptive.
“Gerard Way,” Iris shouted. “Oh, wait no, that’s you, sorry.”
Cioné turned around and gave her daughter a scolding, parental glare. Iris shrugged a ‘whatever’ shrug, and Cioné returned to Herod-presumptive.
“Name for a name, darling,” Cioné said. “Go on.”
“I am President Herod,” said Herod-presumptive – though not as if he were adhering to Cioné’s request – more like he was planning on making that declaration anyway,
“Right. Well, I’m Cioné, this is lovely Lizzie…”
Lizzie offered them a wave.
“And that’s Iris,” Cioné continued. “My daughter, who is sometimes lovely, when she’s not stealing my knitting needles.”
“Your needles… being the possession you’ve used to lock our computer systems?” Herod said. His voice was quiet – almost a whisper. And yet, it was hugely effective.
“Just the ones!” Cioné said, drawing one of them from her pocket and holding it up to her face. She looked at the end. “Quite wonderful bits of kit, if I do say so myself.”
Herod gestured, and one of his guards began to make his way over to Cioné to confiscate her needles. Lizzie gritted her teeth, knowing what was about to happen.
“Like so,” Cioné pointed the knitting needle at the guard, and suddenly a plume of sparks erupted from his gun. The guard lurched back, and the other guards recoiled in shock. Herod did not stir. He continued to watch them shrewdly.
“What do you want?” Herod growled, looking at them from beneath his wavy locks of hair. Lizzie had noticed something about him… a strange hardness to his being, but combined with a lack of malevolence. She could not decipher his motives at all.
“We’ve got what we want,” Cioné admitted. “But… I’ve got about two minutes, unless Kym’s let the hand-break off...”
“Which is probably the case,” Iris muttered.
“And…,” Cioné continued. “I’ve got to admit, I’m confused. Because, Mr President,” she began to pace around. “There’s something entirely wrong about this whole situation. Look at you.”
Lizzie looked around at them – at the guards, at the paintings, at Herod. There didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary.
“You’re heating the surface of this planet – enormously,” Cioné explained. “Call me an old hippie, because I am a bit, I knitted this sweater myself and before I arrived I was drinking green tea – but I accessed the records on your environmental policies. You’ve got atmospheric editors working on full-blast, almost trying to boil the atmosphere. And when I enquired why? Withheld.”
The word seemed to hang in the room – and again, all Herod’s guards looked uncomfortable. But Herod himself remained unfazed.
“You are keeping the public in the dark,” Cioné continued. “As you try and heat the world. And do you want to know what it is that stops all of this funny situation from fitting together?”
Herod watched her blankly.
“It’s because you’re nice.”
That was it. That’s what Lizzie had been missing.
“Seriously,” Cioné said. “Your guards are funny, you’ve got a mulled wine dispenser in your jail, you don’t even have any nasty dogs. If you were an arse, I would get it. Heat the world, use it to fuel the geothermal generators you’ve got working, and even if you drown entire cities, who cares? You’ve got enough energy to fuel your factories for years to come. But that’s the thing. You’re not an arse. And I can’t get it.”
Herod looked at her in silence – and there was a glimmer of something on his face. But he had learned to hide how he felt – and quickly he removed the flicker of emotion, so his features remained indecipherable again.
“Why criticise me for that?” he asked.
“I’m… I’m not?”
Herod paused again.
“You will not understand the operation,” he said. “Let them go. Wipe their memories.”
“Wait, hold on a second –” Iris began to protest. Lizzie started to back away, and suddenly, Cioné didn’t seem so confident. And the guards were now walking in, and beginning to enclose them. Closer and closer they were getting, like tides, creeping ever inwards and preparing to drown them.
So, Lizzie set to work. She tried to piece it all together – to understand the whole situation. President Herod, the environment, his weird palace thing – even the traffic outside the planet, which in itself had struck Lizzie as odd. She arranged the puzzle pieces in her head, sorting through them, trying through trial and error to piece them together – but no matter how hard she tried, they just wouldn’t stick. The pieces were so random and unconnected, and she could not fathom what was going on – and Lizzie saw the guards, mere feet away now, ready to wipe their memories – and Lizzie, in those few moments, realised she couldn’t think of much worse.
But then the statue fell down from the sky.
It was the most peculiar incident, and all the guards turned away from the three ladies to watch as it swung over the chasm, knocking over pretty much all of the pedestals, and sending all of those ancient, priceless antiques crashing down through the darkness below. Yes – there was a flying statue, whizzing through the enormous hall, causing carnage as it brushed over all the possessions. The guards squinted to look at it, and fell onto their knees out of fear of being hit. Herod watched it with his usual, shrewd stare.
Meanwhile, Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris were grinning, as the statue span through the sky. They knew exactly what it was – not least because it was accompanied by a sound so frequent in their lives. Almost like the slow sound of warm, content breathing – a sound of hope, and of joy. And at this point in time – the sound of Christmas.
Clearly, after Kym had taken the hand-break off, she’d put it back on again – and the statue tumbled down to the stone bridge, landing with a thwack behind Herod’s hooded guards.
An awkward silence fell, as Herod’s guards tried to make sense of what happened. They looked at the statue, of some figure – rather muscular and, er, not wearing huge amounts. Then they looked to Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris. Then they looked at Herod, as if awaiting more direction. Herod didn’t seem sure where to look.
At that moment, Kym stepped out of the pedestal.
“YO LADIES!” she screamed, her voice reverberating in the hall. “Oh. Hey everyone! Soz, didn’t realise you were having a party.”
Immediately, all the guns in the room pointed at Kym, and they were all instantly loaded. Kym looked up at the statue. “Oh,” she caught sight of its stony nudity. “Heeelloooo.”
Cioné thought about apologising for the chameleon circuit, but didn’t. Lizzie didn’t know where to look. Iris sniggered. It was also apparent that the guards were suddenly struck by the statue, and also were uncertain as to where to lay their eyes.
At that moment, Kym hopped across the bridge, and Lizzie smiled awkwardly at her. However, Kym seemed to take quite a lot of interest in Herod’s hooded guards, and she pranced up to them, running the fabric of their hoods through her fingers. “Awww, this is cute. I saw something like it in Primark, didn’t go for it though.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Herod looked at Kym, and then to Cioné, Lizzie, and Iris.
“Okay, so,” Iris explained. “Basically, we’ve broken into your place, then broken my mum in, now we’ve opened a flight corridor –”
“You’ve done what?” Herod sounded horrified, but Iris continued, as Kym came over to join them. She picked up Cioné’s sonic knitting needle from the floor, and found herself quite fascinated – before accidentally using it. When it made its noise, she quickly pretended it hadn’t happened and then slipped it into her pocket.
“… So my dad and a pregnant woman can get down to the planet?” Iris finished. “Okay?”
Before Herod could say anything, he looked over to one of his paintings. Clearly, Herod was talented at paying attention to detail – for as soon as he saw the canvas of that great artwork begin to ruffle, even just the slightest bit, his ears pricked.
And before he knew it, there was a great gust of wind blowing through the corridor, causing cloaks in the room to flap and billow, and sending Herod’s hair wild – and causing smile to spread across the faces of the ladies at the centre of the room. Once again, the guards looked around in confusion – and it was turning out to be quite an odd day at the office for them. Most of them had barely been able to truly get their heads around the flying statue – so the strange materialising blue police box was another matter entirely.
Yes – that sound echoed in the curved ceilings of the hall, as that oh-so familiar shape faded into life. In the ensuing kerfuffle, as the guards watched the shape realise itself, Cioné, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym dashed over to the Cioné’s TARDIS.
Clearly, the Doctor was much better at parking, as no goods were damaged upon his landing.
Only seconds later, his head peered around the frame of the blue wooden doors – and milliseconds after that, the sounds of guns being locked onto him was audible.
The Doctor merely sighed, as if it were something he were used to. He meandered out of the TARDIS, and another head popped up in the doorframe. When the rest of her became clear, and Lizzie saw how pregnant the woman was, she became certain that this was Mary.
“Sorry dear,” the Doctor said. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any change for parking?”
“I gave you some earlier!” Cioné exclaimed. At the sound of her voice, the guns switched back to her.
“It’s those machines,” the Doctor admitted, as the guns switched back to him. “They reject half the coins!”
“Got to give it a good kick, darling.” The guns again.
“I’ll bear that in mind…,” the Doctor stopped, once more realising he was staring down the barrels of a lot of weapons. “Terribly sorry for interrupting. You must be Herod. Can I suggest that you build another ring-road? Or, an underpass, or…,” the Doctor saw one of the guards wavering their finger over the trigger, and then saw Herod’s steely glare. “Or... no. Actually, on second thoughts, days of traffic, doesn’t seem that bad…”
What none of them had noticed, apart from Lizzie, was the way in which Herod looked at Mary. There was something about it in his eyes – a look of sadness, perhaps. Of longing, maybe. Yes… that was it. Herod had entirely lost focus of the situation continuing around him, his eyes becoming fixed on Mary, like she was enough to make the whole world stop for him, or had reignited a sadness enough to take him out of existence. Because… Herod looked sad. Very, very sad.
Lizzie didn’t know why.
Mary looked at Herod blankly. She offered him a smile, just as Mary offered everyone a smile – but it was the same smile that one offered someone they met on the street.
That seemed to hurt Herod more than anything else – and at the sight of it, he had to look away, down to the ground, desperate to escape it. Nobody seemed to see it… but Lizzie did. Herod’s eyes and the way he looked down was a sight so familiar to Lizzie – simply because she recognised it from herself. And it was a feeling that Lizzie wouldn’t wish upon anyone – when one felt that pang of pain, so harsh and sharp it seemed to gut one from the stomach, making their very essence hurt.
Lizzie watched him sadly.
“You will realise the consequence of your actions,” Herod said, his voice clear. But Lizzie knew it was disguised.
“I’m sure we will,” the Doctor returned Herod a gaze just as icy. “We’ll be back. We usually are.”
The Doctor gestured for Mary to step back into the TARDIS – she did so. Meanwhile, Iris and Kym stepped into the pedestal, into Cioné’s TARDIS. Lizzie hung back, watching Herod. He was trying to hold it together, and make it look as if he was in control. Admittedly, he was doing a very good job. Perhaps if he wasn’t doing such a good job… things would start to make sense. Because Lizzie still couldn’t get it.
“Dear,” the Doctor called over. “You don’t mind if we meet outside? I’ve texted you the coordinates.”
“Not at all,” Cioné said. “We’ll follow you. Go slow if we lose you at the lights.”
“Will do.”
Cioné shut the doors behind her.
“I protect people,” the Doctor said. “I make them feel safe, and happy, and content. And, President Herod – it’s Christmas. A day where one shouldn’t have to feel scared or alone – and so if there’s one day where I’m going to try and be a doctor… then it’s today.”
Herod looked up at the Doctor, his face emotionless.
“Then you will want to return,” Herod said.
Little did the Doctor know that his previous speech was one he needn’t have made.
The TARDIS disappeared.
Lizzie liked this new place a lot.
They were on a street, consisting of grey brick terraced houses – the row stretched on for ages, and when Lizzie tried to look past their current location, there seemed to be streets of them, going back for miles and miles. Some of the houses were bigger, more like small sets of apartments – the sort that was familiar to Lizzie from her days living on the estate at Dunsworth. The sky was a similar, murky, foggy grey to the houses, choked with pollution and smog. Though… that evening, orange light burned through it, peeping through cracks in the clouds.
There were two suns was setting over the houses – over the glass horizon. The shopping district was distant to this part of the world, in almost every way – but one could still see it, looming in the distance. As the great suns came down, they shone their rays of light through the crystal spires of the shopping district, like light being pulsed through a prism.
But there were no pretty patterns on the ground – no refraction. Just the hard, grey concrete beneath their feet, and a sky that was faintly beautiful. They all stood underneath it, in front of the two TARDISes – the Doctor, Cioné, Lizzie, Iris, Kym, and Mary.
“If you’re here on a good night,” Mary said, gazing up at the whole world above their heads. “The light shines through the glass, and it is like a prism. They send rainbows, all over the city.”
It was beautiful, when it happened. Though… for the world to align in such a way was truly rare, for it seemed that the shopping district had been designed to ensure that such an event happened infrequently. But Mary had seen it. Only once. She’d sat out there, with her brother and sister. They’d watched the sun go down, and they had sat in a sea of rainbows.
Lizzie would have loved nothing more than to see that.
“This is it, though,” Mary gestured around her, smiling nostalgically. “The real Bethlehem. The non-shopping bit.”
“Where you grew up?” Cioné asked, gazing around at the street. It was quaint, but she could picture there being a lovely, close-knit group of people. She could see some of them, sat in their windows, reading books, or watching the TV. Of course, at Christmas, their lives seemed framed through the lights hung over the windows, and the candelabras and little festive ornaments on the sills. There was a feeling of great contentment on that street.
“Where I grew up,” Mary confirmed. She could remember it all – long days playing outside as a kid, mucking about on the streets and in general having the best of times. She missed her childhood, occasionally. Days of innocence and happiness, where it almost felt as if there were nothing that could hurt her.
Mary held her baby tight.
Not only where she grew up… where she was spending Christmas. With her family.
They were right by her house – her mother’s house. The crimson front door was so familiar to her, with its gold numbering of ‘15’ hanging by loose screws, the ‘5’ occasionally flopping upside down. Every time she’d passed it as a kid, Mary had always corrected it – always been looking out for it, in some strange way.
“Well. Thanks, Doctor,” Mary turned to him. She didn’t really know how to find the words to thank him. She had, after all, randomly teleported into his spaceship, and he’d been nice enough to actually drive her straight to her front door. “You’ve been… wonderful. Really, truly.”
Mary began to drift off to her front door.
“You lot,” she addressed Cioné, Lizzie, Iris, and Kym. “Stay safe, yeah? Have amazing Christmases. Be happy. Be kind.”
They all nodded.
And that was that. It was time for Mary to go. But she hesitated – and she looked at the sunset, and the way it shone through the glass towers. She felt so small – and it was in those sorts of moments, where Mary understood the immensity of the world. That although everyone was just a victim to their own, enormous consciences, there she was, with people around her, with an entire community sprawl and streets stretching out for miles and miles and miles around her, under a vast expanse of sky, lying alone in the infinity of space.
Mary looked down at her feet, to see a sole rainbow. It was alone, and in that, it had a strange melancholy to it. But somehow, the sun had shone, at exactly the right moment – and even the appearance of one rainbow made Mary smile. For even the smallest things could manage that. As Mary had always told herself – the little things had to be treasured. Kept close – for one never knew when they were going to go away.
And that was what she’d always tried to do. Value the small things that shone with glimmers of happiness and hope and joy, the things that always came to the fore at Christmas.
But while she smiled at the lone rainbow, there was a sad look on Mary’s face… like she knew something was coming to an end, and she never wanted it to stop.
Mary. Herself, so full of life. Laughing at everything, smiling at everything, accepting of everyone, and giving to anyone she could, even if it was only in the smallest way. Those things made her happy. They made her feel alive.
Mary loved being alive.
And she never wanted to not be happy – but that was why Mary always found that the happiest moments were always tinged with sadness. For in those moments, there was always the knowledge that the happiness could not last forever. That only felt harder at Christmas. Sadness was always harder at Christmas.
But for now, she would hang onto this time. For the happiness, the hope, and the joy. And when that time would eventually fade, Mary would be content in the knowledge that she had lived.
Mary gave her new friends one last look – a family, they were. Mary could see how close they were.
Then, Mary turned to her front door, and she stepped up to it, like one would when hugging an old friend. The ‘5’ was wonky, and so she corrected it. She felt she needed to try and ensure everything was in order – that even if things could not be perfect, and never would be perfect – that there would be someone there, looking out for them. Ready to make sure that things would, at least, feel loved.
Mary opened the door. Immediately she was greeted by the sound of her mother, and then her sister and her sister’s husband. It made her smile, as Mary walked into her home.
The door shut behind her.
Act 2
There was a strange, solemn feeling in the air.
And Iris was suddenly struck by something.
She got herself into position, as if she were looking out the window of the flat above. She tried to visualise it… link it to some memory from before.
That’s when it struck her.
Upstairs… that was the flat that she’d been at earlier, with Lizzie, and Kym.
“Mary is Jae’s mother,” she said aloud. Lizzie looked at her, entirely confused.
And then she too realised. “There was a photo of her in the flat.”
Kym gasped theatrically. Even she had realised.
“Who’s Jae?” Cioné asked.
“Before we came to you at the shopping centre… we had some trouble, getting the TARDIS to land properly. Artron fumes, all that stuff. We knew we’d gone wrong, but we could see the shopping district – and thought it was just a space thing.”
“But it was a temporal matter too?” the Doctor asked.
“We are thick,” Iris said. “Of course it was the wrong time. It was night, when we were at the flat. Day when we were shopping.”
“Hold on a sec,” Kym said. “We were in like, the actual future? The one with the kid and the Radio Times and the bad phone signal?”
“Yeah,” Iris confirmed.
“Sorry,” the Doctor said. “Why is this significant?”
“Because he was alone. On Christmas Eve, Jae was alone
They arrived only seconds after the Lizzie, Iris, and Kym had originally left. This time, only the Doctor and Lizzie went to visit Jae. This was not a matter that would take anyone more than them. There was a little boy, alone in the middle of the night. Who better to send? Cioné, Kym, and Iris were back at the shopping district, regaining themselves after the escapade in Herod’s lair.
Lizzie and the Doctor, however, were certainly not regaling any epic adventures. They stepped out into the flat, to see Jae sat there, in the window. He was just as Lizzie had left him – watching the star.
Lizzie stepped out of the TARDIS, on her own. She walked over to him – and eventually, he heard her, and turned.
“Hi, Jae,” she smiled.
“Santa?” he asked incredulously, smiling at her too.
“No flies on this one,” the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, walking over to him. “Jae? Jae, isn’t it?”
“Hello?” he looked up, intrigued as to this new individual. Another rubbish house-breaker, perhaps. But… there was something different about this one. The Doctor, as Lizzie referred to him. Something about the Doctor that, like Lizzie, made Jae feel safe. As if… even when he was staring at the darkness outside his window, he could still feel content.
The Doctor went and sat in the armchair beside the windowsill that Jae sat in.
“I’ve come to tell you, Jae… that you can sleep now. Everything will be alright.”
Jae looked up at the Doctor, as if he’d truly lost his marbles. It wasn’t helped by the fact that the Doctor also looked as if he’d lost his marbles. They both knew it – Lizzie as well. That there were some things that just couldn’t be alright.
That’s when Lizzie saw it. The order of service balanced on the mantlepiece.
In Loving Memory.
24th June 5144 – 25th December 5175
Then a photo of Mary.
And suddenly… it all seemed to fall into place. She pocketed the order of service, and then walked over to Jae. Of course he didn’t like Christmas – no child to ever lose a parent, let alone lose a parent on Christmas Day itself, would ever be able to experience that festival without unbearable pain. As Lizzie looked up at Jae, she could see it, etched on his features. That pain lining itself deep inside his young face – that sense of longing for the one person he wanted most, and the one person he couldn’t ever have. Oh… Lizzie wanted nothing more than for Jae to feel safe, and content, and to never experience the Christmases that she had.
But she knew how impossible that was.
The Doctor sat in the armchair – he’d propped up Jae’s head on some cushions. “Sit back, Jae. Sit and watch the stars. I know Lizzie told you – watch the stars, watch the lights – they can bring people home. Even if they’re not with us anymore, they can still be… with us.”
Jae did as he was told – he watched the stars. Lizzie could see it in his face – as although a child, Jae was not stupid. He knew that… looking at some star would never make him feel any better. But looking at that star did, at least, give him some sort of hope – it was nothing much. In fact – it was barely anything at all. But, at least it was somewhat a distraction… and it almost seemed to turn the sky into some sort of comfort blanket to swallow him up.
And before long, Jae was asleep. Sleeping soundly, comforted by the soothing words of the Doctor and Lizzie. Oh – what contentment they had brought him. And that was almost the saddest thing about it – that they could help Jae sleep soundly, and never make him live soundly. The scars that Jae would have to bear would be unfathomable, and painful beyond words. Lizzie wanted nothing more than to help Jae – but she knew that to a certain extent… he would always be hurt.
“How’d you manage that?” Lizzie asked, as the Doctor walked over to her.
“Psychic link. Dad skills, Doctor skills… call it what you like. Also… my voice. It helps,” the Doctor took a blanket, and gently covered up Jae.
“Mary died. Last Christmas day,” Lizzie passed the Doctor the order of service. “And… there’s something else.”
“Yes?” asked the Doctor, as he scanned over the paper.
Lizzie braced herself. Her idea was ridiculous. Quite insane. And she thought it would probably be laughed down by everyone – but she had to share it – because if she was right, it would change things entirely. Even so… it didn’t help that the whole thing was conjecture, stemming from some part of herself she’d made an effort to bury.
But she had to do it.
She… had to.
So she just said it.
“I think Mary is Herod’s mother. And that… Jae is Herod.”
Nothing.
The words hung in the air, and she just wanted the Doctor to say something. He didn’t but eventually he turned to her. His eyes were wide, shock etched upon his face. He had no idea what to say, how to make something out of whatever it was Lizzie had just come up with.
“What… what makes you say that?”
Lizzie had a feeling that the Doctor would ask. She didn’t want to tell him… she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. But she knew how to disguise it.
“I saw the way he looked at Mary. I… recognised it…”
Lizzie didn’t tell him where from.
But the Doctor could see it on her face that Lizzie was not going insane – the honesty with which she spoke to him was evident. And he understood, that Lizzie was not merely making things up. As if she ever would. He understood, that if Lizzie was saying this – daring to voice something that said a lot about her – for the Doctor had deciphered what this meant – then it would be serious. He saw the look on Lizzie’s face – the way she looked guiltily to the ground, for things she shouldn’t ever have felt guilty for. He wished she would stop doing that.
Especially things like this.
“We need to go to him,” the Doctor said. To find Herod. To find what he’s doing – and how he’s coping…”
A few seconds later, the TARDIS vanished. As Jae slept, the darkness hung over him, creeping through the window, almost as if it were seeping into Jae’s life. Well… it would have a hard time doing any more damage. The darkness had already sunk, deep inside Jae.
And at the same time, so had the light. What the darkness and the night outside didn’t know, was that there was a future for Jae.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so cold.
They stepped out into the chamber.
It was big, and dark, and the Doctor suspected that wherever they were, they were high up. He did a brief jump to test his theory – and sure enough, there was another room beneath them. Lizzie walked out of the TARDIS, into the centre of what she slowly realised was a circular chamber. Like the central corridor below, there was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling – except this one was ignited, the little candles flickering providing wisps of light, and in the blackness, that only seemed to make the slightest difference.
But it was, at least, a difference.
Ominously mounted to one of the walls was a wide monitor, displaying an array of readings and statistics. The Doctor pondered over to it, over a woven patterned rug, looking like that of a mosaic. In a way, all woven rugs were mosaics – unfitting bits and pieces bound tightly together. In a way, it seemed out of place in the chamber, which seemed cold, and somewhat clinical. The monitor only affirmed that aura the Doctor had gathered from the room. There was other equipment around it, scattered across a wooden desk – the monitor seemed to be running from an old laptop, and various hard-drives and processers were scattered across the table.
The Doctor looked at the equipment, scanning over the screen and turning through the bits and pieces of technology scattered across the table. It seemed to be where the atmospheric editor was working from – heating the planet’s atmosphere up, as much as it possibly could. For such a powerful device, the set-up seemed crude, as if it had desperately been thrown together.
“You came…”
The Doctor looked around the room, trying to find the source of the voice. It was only after Lizzie gestured in the right direction that the Doctor saw the chair, sat alone beside a crackling fire. It was an old armchair, beside a wood basket piled high, and beside it a small side table, upon which stood a lamp. The cosy place was obscured in the corner of the room, like it was deliberately trying to hide from the other furnishings. No – it was as if it was trying to cut itself off from the other furnishings.
“I always do,” the Doctor said, watching as the chair turned. President Herod sat in it, dressed in black. The firelight danced in his eyes, and Lizzie thought he seemed like a man of principle, of burning passion to achieve what he wanted.
It was also at that moment the Doctor realised the chamber wasn’t cold at all.
When he looked up at the wall above the fireplace, he saw photos.
So many of them, a collage of mishmash memories all stuck together upon the wall. It was as if someone had opened Herod’s mind, found his days-gone-by, and thrown them at the chimneybreast. For there were so many of them, of Herod as a child, of him sat beside the fire, reading from a great collection of short stories, on a park swing, off on his first day of school. It was notable that none of them featured Herod alone – for why would he want to remember that? All of them were salvaged because of the others in them, his grandmother, his aunt, his uncle, his friends –
His mum.
From the wall, the Doctor could see Mary – and it didn’t seem right seeing her in such old photos. Not long ago, she’d been there, right in front of him, so very, very alive. But upon the wall, she was but a memory – a fading photograph, being one of the few remaining things she left behind in the world. Those photos on the wall… along with the values she held close, and the people she’d impacted. And most importantly, the individual sat in the chair, looking up at them from his wavy locks of hair.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Jae,” the Doctor said, his words loud in the room. They echoed against the curved surface of the top, ghosts of what he’d said creeping down and becoming audible again. “To lose your mother on Christmas Day… I can’t imagine.”
Herod hesitated, as if he were going to tell them not to call him by that name. But he did not. Instead… he was trying to find the words to reply to the Doctor’s, which had merely been words he was sick to the back teeth of hearing.
“Terminal cancer,” he explained. “I was seven years old.”
Lizzie could hear it in his voice – the way it had changed him. Rooted inside his head.
“What did you do to the controls?” Herod cut straight to the point. Though only because the Doctor’s condolence had brought to the fore a reminder of something truly important to Herod.
The Doctor watched Herod – and then decided to cut straight to business himself. “Simple buzz of sonic technology, they can be unlocked with ease. If you have a sonic device.”
“Which I don’t…,” Herod stood up from his chair, and slowly began to make his way towards the Doctor. He was dressed all in black, including a cape hanging from his shoulders and draping on the floor. The clasp seemed like that of a locket, which presumably contained a photo of someone or other. As Herod walked, he seemed to hold the chain close to him, like he never wanted to let it go.
“Then, Herod, if you would like me to unlock the controls for you,” the Doctor said. “I will oblige – but only if you explain to me what you’re doing here.”
“You have no idea what the consequences of your actions have done,” Herod neared the Doctor, getting closer and closer. Lizzie backed out the way, as Herod didn’t show signs of stopping – whilst it had been the fire lighting up Herod’s eyes, even now, several feet away from it, Lizzie didn’t notice much difference.
“You see, I don’t get it,” the Doctor dashed over to the monitor and the miscellany of computer equipment. “Because this is interesting. You’re heating the atmosphere as high as you possibly can – and I can’t understand why. Because… these sorts of editors were invented during the 45th century intergalactic energy war for rich kings to heat their worlds up to power geothermal generators, to sell off energy for extortionate prices. And so, Mr President, I ask you – what are you doing here?”
“It’s Christmas,” Herod shrugged. “What else would I be doing?”
The Doctor stopped, seemingly trying to process what Herod had said. Lizzie could see the cogs in his brain, turning, as he tried to make sense of it all. “What do you mean by that?”
“Doctor –,” Lizzie said, trying to interrupt. She had realised – not entirely, not every detail – but the puzzle was beginning to make sense in her head. And she understood it.
He didn’t listen and continued. “Because if you’re exploiting people, Herod, I will make sure that I stop you.”
“Doctor!” Lizzie strode over to him – though he still wouldn’t listen. All this time, Lizzie had known there was a reason that she found Herod strange – and it because she could relate to President Herod.
“I’ve been doing it many years, and I won’t stop now. So tell me – why? What’s going on here? And why shouldn’t I stop you?”
Then Herod spoke – and his words changed everything.
“Because this planet has about half an hour to live, so, Doctor, if you’ve ever done any of the stuff you say you have, you’ll listen to me.”
Silence fell on the chamber. Herod looked to the ground, like he was desperately trying to hide himself. The Doctor looked down sheepishly. Lizzie stood in the middle of them both, fiddling with her hands, not sure where to look. That was the reason why – the planet was on the countdown to destruction – and yet, even then, it explained nothing. The Doctor seemed to be waiting, Lizzie too, for more answers. Herod was hesitant, though. Answers… he’d always tried to keep them hidden away. But the two people in front of him, they had discovered him – and not only that, but ‘Lizzie’ – Santa Claus, had been there when he was a child. Almost… a defining force in his life.
Perhaps now it was time, to come to terms with what was happening on Bethlehem. It had been alright, until then – Herod had been able to keep the world ticking over. Yes, there was the inevitable ticking over him – an inevitable that he had always kept to himself – but it had always been, at that point, far enough away for him to ignore. But now… the inevitable was closer, and to confront it publicly was to have to face it. Not only that, but to do so would mean to face other reasons as well – motives. And Herod wasn’t sure he was ready for that, not just yet.
But he had no choice. It had happened. And so, President Herod prepared to tell his story.
Herod clicked his fingers, and a holographic image appeared in the centre of the room. It was of the planet around them – and the space around that. As Herod zoomed the image out, something else came into focus. Something huge, and something much bigger.
The Doctor recognised it instantly.
“Bethlehem,” Herod said, trying to keep his voice in check, trying to disguise his emotions. For once, he wasn’t doing such a good job. “… Bethlehem sits under the shadow of a cold-star.”
The words sent a chill down the spine of the Doctor – mainly because the words had also sent chills down the spines, literally too, of many, many civilisations. It could not be denied that no natural life ever took hold in the light of a cold-star – the temperatures were just too inappropriate. But problems began when cold-stars grew. The Doctor had seen it in a few scenarios – a sun burning hot begins to burn cold – and with that, begins to expand at an enormous rate. And he’d witnessed it – the reigning chaos of a burning cold-star. The Doctor had seen whole planets, whole peoples, scrambling for evacuation.
Always enough time – never enough people willing to help.
And usually, a few people would get away – hundreds of thousands, in fact, would often escape. But in comparison to populations of billions, hundreds of thousands was little. Then, the rest of the people would have to sit by, cosy up in their homes, and wait. Wait, sometimes for days and days, as the icy winds of space slowly creeped closer and closer towards them, and eventually, froze everyone remaining on the surface of the planet below to death – everyone, of all ages. It was merciless, and it took no prisoners.
If someone remained on a planet haunted by a cold-star, then that person would, before long, be dead.
“I’m sorry,” was all the Doctor could say. Another defining factor of that bloodcurdling natural phenomenon was the way in which it could never be stopped. It was impervious to alternation and impassive to anything. No matter what one would do, it would eventually gobble up the whole world.
“It’s not your fault,” Herod shrugged.
“I’m guessing that the atmospheric editor is an attempt at increasing the planet’s temperature?” the Doctor looked at the monitor, and the futility of the desperate measures sent a pang through both his hearts.
Herod nodded grimly. “I know it won’t have an effect – but it’s all we can do to try and hold off the effects.”
Herod paused, thinking for a few seconds. About what, Lizzie couldn’t be sure – but then she saw him looking up at the photographs on his wall. Herod continued his tale.
“I’m from the future of this planet, if you didn’t guess,” Herod explained. That was how he was governing at the same time that his mother, pregnant with himself, had just arrived back on Bethlehem to give birth to him. “When I saw the effects of the cold-star, further down the line, I sourced a vortex manipulator to come back in time and try and slow down the damage.”
Lizzie realised… that was why Herod changed his name. He couldn’t govern as himself – people would notice, perhaps. Maybe there was a past he’d wanted to isolate as well.
“The cold-star will destroy other worlds before this one,” Herod continued, wandering over to part of the wall, upon which was mounted a panel. “So I tried to attract as many people here, through various means. Shops. Facilities. New housing. Anything to bring people from the surrounding worlds. Because they don’t know – they don’t know about the cold-star. I coordinated with the governments of other worlds, and it was agreed. But they come anyway, and they stay. It works nicely. The rich people come for the goods and services. The poor people come for the work. None them know – hence the traffic. We take in as many as we can, to keep them all safe, just for a bit longer – but there’s so many, it’s bottlenecked.”
The Doctor looked astounded. A strange mix of confusion, horror, and general shock. “You commercialised a planet to save people? That’s…”
“Bad?” Herod finished the Doctor’s sentence. “I know. But the only other choice I had was to tell them. I was protecting them.”
“That wasn’t your choice to make. You can’t keep them in the dark because you don’t want to ruin Christmas.”
Herod smiled smugly. That was what people did – always assumed he was trying to give people hope, or ignite flames of joy in their hearts. Ridiculous notion.
“I don’t care if I ruin Christmas,” Herod spat. “I did it because if I told people the truth, there would be outcry. When people flock to your world because they’re running from hell, the people already there can’t stand it. When you disguise it as wealthy people coming to feed millions into the economy, or workers coming to dutifully pay their taxes, it’s much more palatable for the masses.”
The Doctor shook his head, as if willing for it to be different. But it was an impossible situation – and the Doctor had no idea what to do.
“Perhaps I did get it wrong,” Herod continued. “But above all, this is a condemnation on the hearts of people, who, not only at Christmas, but all year round, won’t be considerate of those who have nothing. Because for some… Christmas is the worst time of the year.”
Herod pressed a few switches on the wall panel.
This is a message on behalf of President Herod’s administration.
Window controls.
And within seconds… one wall of the great dark chamber began to slide.
Up and up it went, slowly – it was like a curtain at some sort of sadistic theatre, slowly rising to reveal the fun and games of the planet below. The gears behind the door scraped and rattled, and it was almost like a eye reluctant to open and see the truth. But eventually, it did so – revealing Bethlehem below them.
They were far above the city, and they could see the tops of the shopping centres, and tall glass apartments, and immense steel skyscrapers – and in the distance, the real world, the grey, smog-stained stone constructions. But at that moment, none of it mattered, for it was all one planet waiting to be decimated by the force of nature itself, united under one, navy night sky. And it was a sky congested with clouds, with no stars to be seen. To the Doctor, Lizzie, and Herod, it seemed like a planet without hope, that had a destiny set in stone.
“I’ve contacted neighbouring systems,” Herod solemnly put his hand up to the glass. “None are sending help.”
And all of it so full of people. Billions on the world below them, continuing with their daily existences with so many cares and so many anxieties – but ploughing on through them, just trying to hold it together. And yet, all were blinded by a government to the hell unfolding outside. As Lizzie watched them, it hurt – that so many people were content at Christmas – and that all were oblivious that their whole lives were going to be destroyed. There it was… the system blinding people to the fact that Christmas was always framed with hurt – and because of it, the people became lost in their happiness, and forgot that for others… Christmas was never so easy.
“You came back in time to slow the cold-star damage,” the Doctor looked down at the people below. They were milling about on the streets, filing from shop to café to shop to restaurant to bus station to wherever – off back home, perhaps. And yet, however small they were, and however unknowable the contents of their lives were, the Doctor felt their pain – all of it. “But the damage isn’t slowing?”
“No,” Herod admitted. “It’s got worse.”
“Time is in flux.,” the Doctor explained. “Sometimes, you go back, the stream becomes muddied.”
The Jenga tower of time, Lizzie muttered. Oh… what a year it had been.
“And opening that flight corridor wasn’t helpful,” Herod said, irritation notable in his voice. “We have a set number of gaps in the atmosphere for vehicles to cross through, enough to try and strike a balance between slowing down the process, and letting in as many vehicles as possible. You’ve ended up creating another route for the cold to get through. And I should think that now… we only have fifteen minutes to spare.”
The Doctor was at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry…”
That was all he could manage – and he didn’t think there would ever be enough words to describe how he felt about condemning a whole planet earlier than it should have to die. Because… the Doctor didn’t know what to do. Or, at least, there wasn’t anything he could do. The cold-star was nature itself. Unstoppable – and there was nothing that anyone as small as him could do anything about.
And he knew that he’d just end up flying away. As he always did, he’d hop into his TARDIS with his lovely family, and they’d go somewhere. Who knew? Who cared? They’d have an incredible Christmas, just themselves, and it would be like none of this was happening. There was no point in feeling guilty about it… but the Doctor, at that moment, realised how important it was to simply understand.
He chuckled quietly under his breath.
“Though in fairness,” the Doctor continued. “We did have to get your mother down here so she could give birth.”
Herod laughed. Not much – but just a little bit. It had reminded him of his mother, that joke. She’d have found it hilarious – and perhaps she’d have been angry, that they’d risked the whole planet just so she could give birth.
“Mum told me the story,” Herod looked up at the sky. He had fond memories of looking in the window and gazing up at the sky – and it had become almost a comfort blanket. For the briefest of seconds, he wondered why – but then he realised, it couldn’t have been anything else. Santa Claus. “She told me about the teleport, and the shepherds, and the wise men.”
Herod paused, and turned to the Doctor, stood in the light of the night.
“She told me about the Doctor, and how amazing he was.”
The Doctor walked away from the window, as he could not bear to look at all the people below anymore. Wasn’t that telling? How privileged a life he led – that he could simply fly away in that old TARDIS of his. And yet… it was haunting him. All the time, something or other. If it wasn’t something like the Bethlehem cold-star, it was something else, or the Time War.
With each passing day, the Doctor found the Time War always haunting him.
And most importantly, the Doctor turned away because he couldn’t bear having to hear Herod talk like that. Because the Doctor certainly didn’t feel amazing.
“Is that why you’re doing this?” Lizzie asked, entirely out of the blue. Perhaps it was something that Herod had said, that just struck a chord with her.
Herod nodded. He was only a child when she died – but he knew his mother, so very well – and he understood exactly what she would have wanted. And so Herod was trying desperately to live up to that. To be kind, and to be generous. In knowing that, Herod had become content in the knowledge that he might die to keep this planet safe for as long as possible. But if it meant protecting them? Then he would do it without question.
“In a universe like this,” Herod thought. “Trying to be like Mum is all I can do.”
As Lizzie looked at Herod, she saw the sadness in his eyes, and the years on his face. It was a quality Lizzie had noticed as soon as she’d seen Herod for the first time – that for someone who could be no more than a young adult, he looked much older than he was. The youth of his face was, at the same time, scarred with age, and pain – a few lines etched deep, and eyes that had seen suffering. And while Herod hadn’t got it entirely right – and in some cases, he had got it wrong – he had to function on the impossible day. And in a way, Lizzie admired him.
And as the Doctor walked away from the window, unable to look at Lizzie, at Herod, and at the people, he realised that Herod’s story had resonated with him. Now all that he wanted was to live up to Mary as well. Live up to her joy. Her goodwill. Her generosity. Her acceptance. Her hope.
It was at that moment that the Doctor had the most amazing idea.
“Herod,” the Doctor span on his heels, and dashed back to the window. As he did so, he quickly sent a text message, and then turned his attention to Herod. He took President’s hand, and shook it. An enormous grin spread across the Doctor’s face, and excitement and delight danced in his eyes “Merry Christmas,” he said, shaking.
The Doctor turned to Lizzie.
“Elizabeth,” he said, hugging her, and then stepping back, and holding her. Lizzie could see it, that look on his face, that ‘I’ve got an amazing idea’ look, that manifested all across his features.
“Well done,” she congratulated him, genuinely impressed. She was quite used to the Doctor managing to pull out an amazing plan at the last second – but thinking of a way around an entire natural phenomenon was quite something, even for him.
“Thank you,” the Doctor said, evidently looking delighted.
“Doctor…,” Herod hadn’t quite grasped what was going on, and the grin and the excitable aura were rather confusing and, if Herod did say so himself, offensive.
It was at that moment, a strange gust of wind blew through the room – and seconds later (parked effectively, without the hand-break on), there was another fireplace, right beside the Doctor’s TARDIS.
“Yo yo yo!” cried Kym, prancing out of the fireplace, and dancing over to the gang at the end of the room. “Oh, hey there, Mr H,” Kym said, sliding up to Herod right beside the window. “I love an emo. Call me.”
Iris emerged close behind, reindeer antlers perched on her head, cradling a bowl of Christmas pudding in one hand. “Wow. Nice place.”
And, finally, Cioné appeared as well, looking terribly flustered. “I’ve just got the turkey on, are you alright?” she asked. Normally the Doctor did the cooking – and so being asked to start cooking a turkey was stressful enough – let alone start cooking a turkey and then being summoned by one’s husband.
“Everything is wonderful!” the Doctor exclaimed, spinning into the centre of the room and taking out his sonic screwdriver. Herod still looked entirely lost. “Long story, I’ll explain later, we’ve got… how long?”
Lizzie glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes before the planet is frozen by a giant cold-star,” the Doctor said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “Ten minutes to save the entire thing.”
“Bloody hell,” Iris grimaced. As a physicist, she knew her stuff about cold-stars. There was a whole unit on them.
“Oh good lord,” Cioné said, suddenly feeling quite faint.
“What’s a cold-star?” Kym asked.
“Sorry Miss Gomez,” the Doctor said. “I’ll explain later – because, President Herod,” he turned to Herod. “I’ve got a plan for how to save Bethlehem.”
It would be wrong to say that Herod’s face lit up – but something changed in his features. It was the light, passion, and hope that had resided in his eyes, at that moment it flickered across his entire face. It disappeared soon after, as he suddenly realised how impossible it was. “Are you – are you serious, can you actually do it?”
“We can,” the Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at his TARDIS, and quickly gave it a pulse of energy. Straight away he did the same thing to Cioné’s – starting the preparations for his plan.
“Darling,” Cioné strode over to him, entirely bemused. “We’re going to save this planet from a cold-star expanding? Have you been on the sherry again?”
The Doctor gestured for everyone to gather around him – Lizzie, Cioné, Iris, Kym, and Herod. And then he said it – his quite ridiculous plan.
“We’re going to drag this world, and all the others around it, to a new star.”
A silence fell. It was – in a way – a stunned silence.
“I beg your pardon,” Cioné said.
“Totes been on the Shezza Cole,” Kym laughed, even though she actually had no idea what the Doctor was saying. Kym always said – maths and science. Her worst subjects, by far.
“You’re not going to use a spatiotemporal net to drag it off to another orbit, are you?” Iris looked up at her father incredulously. “Have you actually gone insane?”
“Probably. A long time ago,” the Doctor grinned.
“Hold on,” Cioné thought it through to herself. “It’s not entirely impossible.”
“See!” the Doctor exclaimed, delighted at his wife’s approval.
“Just mostly impossible,” Cioné finished.
The Doctor shrugged grimly. Close enough.
“But we might just manage it?” Cioné asked, almost like it were a question – as if she were seeking approval from herself for her own thoughts. “If we park ourselves at equidistant intervals? I’ve got a good tow cable if need be.”
“Hold on,” Herod said, trying to stop them all from getting too carried away. “Are you saying…?”
He looked at all of them – all these people he’d only just met. And all these people that it was like he’d known throughout all his life. All of them looked a little bit nervous (apart from Lizzie and Kym, who only looked nervous because, of their own self-admission, they didn’t exactly understand the plan) – and all of them looked a tiny bit hopeful.
Maybe they could do it.
The Doctor turned to Herod. “We’re going to save your world.”
Herod looked out of the window, and out at the sky, and was beyond grateful – for everything.
“Right – I’m going to dig out that cable,” Cioné strolled off to her TARDIS. “I’ll see you up there, darling?”
The Doctor tried to hold in his delight at such an insane plan. Cioné couldn’t help but find it a little bit irresistible. Iris and Kym followed her back into her TARDIS, leaving only the Doctor, Lizzie, and Herod behind.
“Thank you,” Herod said to the Doctor. “Thank you, so much.”
The Doctor smiled, as if to say it was no trouble. As if no thanks were needed. The Doctor stepped into his TARDIS, Lizzie following close behind.
Time to drag a whole planet to a new sun.
How hard could it be?
“People of Bethlehem….”
President Herod’s voice crackled from the television. They were sat there, upon the settee. Two kids watched from the door, having been told to go off to bed – and yet, in great trepidation of why the President was speaking to everyone, they held back – hanging by the door, waiting to see what was about to unfold. Their grandmother sat in one of the armchairs, their grandfather stood by the wall. An aunt watched too, leaning around the kitchen door.
“I am speaking to you today to deliver some grave news.”
All of them were focused on the TV. It had been sent out as a national news alert – President Herod would +
625address the whole planet. Such an event was unheard of – and yet, here it was. On Christmas Eve, when families gathered together, hiding from the dark in the fear that it might, one day, swallow them up. And little did those families know, that that was what the news was about.
The dark, swallowing them up.
There was something all wrong about it – the Christmas trees, the warm orange glows of lamps and fireplaces and candelabras – the soft light of the fairy-lights, twinkling on trees and mantlepieces and windows and streets – food stacked in the larder, ready for the next day’s dinner – a TV box ready to record the sheer enormity of Christmas television. All of it, idyllic. And all of it… about to be crushed.
And the people had no idea.
All of them had gathered about their televisions – nobody was going to miss it. This family was no exception – though the children had been sent away. Why else would a president address his people but to announce something terrifying? And so the parents did the parental thing – sent the children to bed. And yet… when the children hovered, they didn’t send them away. It was like all of them knew, subconsciously, that although they did it, sending the children away was wrong. Whatever was about to be announced, it would surely would affect the youth more than anybody else – and so why should they have their eyes covered and their ears blocked?
“It has been confirmed that a cold-star is expanding across our planet.”
There was something most peculiar happen, then. It was as if their older relations had suddenly received the most devastating news. They collapsed – some into tears, some watching the screen with stony silence, contemplating the killer blow announced by the television. The children watched on, entirely lost, and confused, as to what could cause it – what could cause a room full of adults to break down and cry?
“It is suspected that, without intervention … this world will have 15 minutes left.”
Something changed in the world outside – like everyone was connected to the atmosphere – and everybody knew what was about to happen. The whole world felt it – like a sense of immense sorrow, and of pain. Everybody was watching the TV – and so everybody knew about it. And maybe, it was because of the children. With Herod’s last chilling words, now they understood – understood that their lives were about to come to an end. And they waited, paralysed by the door with fear.
A child having to grasp the end of their life was one of the worst things in the universe.
“Schemes to rehome citizens of other worlds displaced by the cold-star have been secretly in progress for the last 10 years.”
And of course. The governments had known for years. The governments and the rich and those with power, drip-feeding everyone else with fake knowledge, while they got on with the work. Blind to the truth.
“I am so very, very sorry that we kept this information from you all. While it is of little comfort to you now, we would suggest that you stay in your homes.
Everyone felt it. The solemn mood, that had descended across the whole planet. A whole world of people, grappling with what was about to happen – most of them numb to the whole thing, the shock of it all, entirely out of the blue, stunning them into silence. Those were, perhaps the lucky ones. Others endured their whole lives, flashing before their eyes, themselves as they had to comfort the family member who had just collapsed into their lap, bitterly terrified of what was about to happen.
Terror. Misery. Fear. All of it – uniting a whole world.
And sadness. Sad that it was all going to end.
“However – thankfully, I can announce that we would advice against that.”
And that’s when the adults looked up.
“We are receiving assistance – our planet will shift in its orbit to prevent the cold-stars effects from destroying our world, and worlds around it.”
The atmosphere outside changed, then, from permeable misery, to something else. Was it joy? Yes… joy, or something like that. Maybe it was hope. And instead, that was the mood suddenly uniting the people. Or, at least, blind confusion at the sudden emotional rollercoaster, at the heart-stopping scare they’d all just been exposed to. For some, the tears of sadness turned straight to tears of delight, and they collapsed on the ground, simply so grateful for the fact that they would continue to get to feel it beneath their feet. Some of them simply breathed a sigh of relief, some of them, inside, felt the greatest spark of euphoria leap up inside them.
How often was it that one would be told they had been given another chance?
“And I can confirm that you will all be safe. There is no need to worry. It is being taken care of.”
And that was it. A feeling of safety. That was what everyone felt like. As if, at Christmas, there was somebody looking out for them. The world could be dark, and cold… but that was okay. There was no shame in suffering. And there were people out there too, who would always stand by. People who would always go to impossible lengths to save them.
“I thank you for your cooperation in this darkest time. However, the news of hope waiting around the corner has, I hope, lifted your spirits. The government would advise you all make your way outside to an open space, as the movement of the world will likely cause some tremors.
“I wish you all the merriest of Christmases. Thank you.”
And within that family, already the kids had dashed to the front door. Their parents and grandparents and aunt weren’t far behind – and soon, the door swung open, and the whole family tumbled out onto the street.
And they were not alone.
Whole families, striding out to greet the night, which had just been ignited in hope and joy. In the values that were to be treasured at Christmas – the values that, somewhere out there, a group of people who just wanted to help were trying to live up to. It was cold, but the people were grateful for it – simply for having some sense of feeling. And all the people, all across the planet, they welcomed each other. They accepted one another, even those they had once disagreed with.
And why?
Because of them understood. That they were alive.
They were taken care of.
They were safe.
And only minutes later, the planet started to shake – people started to fall, slipping over – and they just laughed, entirely uncaring of how stupid they looked. They were alive – what a brilliant day to be stupid. Who knew when one couldn’t be stupid? It was most strange – like standing on a boat, perhaps, when it sets sail out to see, perhaps being guided home by some distant lighthouse. That’s what it felt like to all the people on the world – clinging to the skin of the world as it was hauled beneath them.
Not everyone laughed and cheered. There were people on Bethlehem who couldn’t care less whether the world was going to end – for what would be the point in living without a loved one? Or living alone? Or living a certain way, with something or without something? But some of them, they looked out of the windows of wherever they were, and they saw the black smog shrouding the sky clear, as the planet seemed to zoom into the view of space.
And the stars were visible.
For once, people could see nothing but stars in the sky. Christmas lights, all twinkling, all shining.
It was okay for them not to be okay, as the clock struck Twelve, and Christmas Day dawned. But some of them looked to the sky, and for the briefest of seconds… they felt protected.
They were back in Herod’s time.
It was like before. When they’d been around outside – dropping Mary off, to return home to her family for Christmas. And in most respects, the world around them looked exactly as it had done when they had brought her home. The slate-grey buildings still lined the street, a jungle of houses and apartments, all piled up haphazardly, like a child had constructed them from building blocks. Just as before, there were so many of them – so many people, all living in this funny little community.
The Doctor’s TARDIS was parked, just outside the apartment building of Herod’s family – the same one they’d dropped Mary off at. Cioné had taken Kym home, and was then off with Iris to attempt cooking some of the Christmas dinner, until the Doctor could arrive to salvage the ruins that they would inevitably create. Meanwhile, the Doctor, Lizzie, and Herod stood there, looking sadly up at that building. Especially Herod.
“Normal life?” the Doctor asked.
Herod nodded. He didn’t want to do anything big. Anything special. To do less, in his eyes, was special enough. As long as he did what he’d always tried to do…
“Thank you, Doctor,” Herod said. “I understand why Mum said what she said.”
The Doctor shook his head. No… definitely not the case.
“She never said you were magic,” Herod clarified. “Or that you were a legend, or a hero, or anything like that. She said you were kind. And… I think that’s just as good.”
The Doctor smiled, for those words meant a lot to him.
“Would you mind if I spoke with Lizzie on my own?”
“No – no, not at all.”
The Doctor vanished into the TARDIS, leaving Lizzie and Herod, standing on the street alone.
Some things changed… sometimes time would take its toll on a place, or a person. Lizzie looked at Herod, and Herod glanced briefly at Lizzie. They could see it in each other, that mutual understanding. They’d noticed it in each other for a while.
But at the same time, some things stayed exactly the same. It sometimes felt, to Lizzie, that while people faded in and out of life, and while the existence of the universe changed as well – that the things surrounding a person never seemed to alter that much. And sometimes, Lizzie would blink, and feel as if she was in exactly the same place as she’d been so many years ago as a child – a place that she always wanted to escape from. It always happened like that, though, at specific times of year.
Lizzie knew at the same time, however, that things never stayed exactly the same. As she looked around at the ashen-grey world surrounding them, there was something more alive about it – as if the glass spires of the shopping district didn’t drink the life out of everything around them. And the sky, although dark, didn’t seem so constricted by the clouds. The beautiful navy of the space above their heads was clear, and stars glimmered gently against it, as if they had been lightly embossed onto a thin fabric draped over the globe.
“How long has it been?” Lizzie asked. “Since you last saw them?”
Herod shook his head. He had no idea. He hadn’t ever kept track. It was harder when one kept track of things like that – it made him feel as if he still wanted them. And if he still wanted them, then that made not being able to see them all the harder. He’d blocked it from his mind.
And then, without hesitation, he said… “15 years.”
He stopped himself then, captivated in a confusion sparked by his own brain. He’d always tried to block it out, to ensure that he never kept count – but he realised, then, that he knew the exact number of years. Subconsciously, perhaps, he’d never been able to stop. But, he suspected, that was just normal – for even when he didn’t realise it, some things had rooted themselves deep inside his head, and had become so part of his being that he had stopped even realising they existed.
Lizzie smiled, looking at Herod. So different to the little boy that she’d met so long ago. “They’ll have a shock.”
“I’m... not looking forward to it. I just… disappeared.”
Lizzie nodded. She understood. Would they let him back in? Embrace him, as if he’d never been away? Would they be too astounded to even grasp what was going on, or maybe think he was a ghost? Well… there was only one way of finding out.
“And I’m not looking forward to it? My aunt and uncle, they were younger, and they have kids of their own now. And… they celebrate it. They… do a lot for Christmas.”
And Herod was afraid that they would think him to be bitter. For he didn’t like Christmas – he spent the time mourning his mother, often alone. It was not a thing he could simply side-line for goodwill, festivities, and annoying, overly-long Christmas specials. It was not a scar that would ever heal – it was a part of him, a knot that had somehow… twisted him. And somehow, Herod thought that although the knot would loosen, it would never become undone.
Lizzie could understand that – she knew what it meant to be called that. The bitter one. The Grinch. When, in fact, it was nothing of the sort – it was just finding Christmas hard.
“Your aunt and uncle?” Lizzie suggested, even though she knew that her suggestions wouldn’t make it any easier. “They’ll still be grieving too?”
Herod looked to the front door with unease. The letters were lopsided, still waiting for Mary to come and rearrange them – something that would never come. “I can’t help but feel they’ve moved on better than me? That they’ve healed more than I have?”
“I think…” Lizzie hesitated, looking up at the sky – trying to look away from Herod. “I think people suffer from these things in different ways, and there’s no way to judge it. But, I think they’ll understand. And maybe if you explain it, they’ll understand why you had to go.”
Herod nodded. Maybe they would. He could remember it so vividly, and he knew that they would as well… the way in which her cancer took away from her everything she held dear – stopped her from laughing, stopped her from feeling happy. He hadn’t seen his mother cry until the final days of her life – and he could say, quite certainly, that there was nothing worse than seeing a parent cry. And at the same time, as Mary had slipped out of this world, she had always been optimistic. As time narrowed further to her last, Mary would always say that she had a good feeling about the next day. That it was going to be a good day.
And maybe Herod could tell them, that he had been living up to those qualities that had been taken away from his mother. Her joy, her laughter. And that at the same time, he was riding on his mother’s hope. Doing what he did because he thought that if he tried, he might be able to make it a good day for people.
“She’d have been so proud of you,” Lizzie said, turning her gaze to Herod, pinching her fingers at the same time.
Herod looked at her, and she could see him blinking tears from his eyes. There is was. The emotion he’d been trying so hard to bury.
“I’ve always tried to live up to her,” Herod said, turning his eyes to the stars above. He could see it – the big star, the star he’d spent Christmases looking at, hoping that his mum was out there, somewhere, doing the same.
“And you have done,” Lizzie reassured him, leaning back against the TARDIS and fiddling with one of the toggles on her coat. Then, she fixed her eyes on Herod. “And… I know you won’t stop.”
He wouldn’t stop. Even when it got tough. Even at times like Christmas – which she knew was hard for him. But if Herod had shown anything, it was that it was okay to suffer at Christmas.
Lizzie realised, then, that Herod’s family would accept him. They would see her – Mary, shining through him and everything he did. And not only that, but they would see what Herod had developed on his own – his strength and his principles and his willpower, and his determination and grit to plough on through, even when it broke his heart. And if that family were good – which, considering its two members that she had so far run into, was quite likely – then Lizzie knew that they would understand.
“They’ll get it,” Lizzie reassured Herod. “They’ll understand that you’re not bitter. That you find it hard.”
Herod nodded, regaining himself. “I hope so.”
At that moment, Herod began to start walking slowly towards the front door of his house. This was it – a moment that, although he hadn’t realised it, he’d been dreaming of for such a long time. And with each step, the moment of truth came closer – the moment he’d been filled with so much anticipation and fear of. He just hoped, perhaps, that they would understand, just as Lizzie had.
And as he walked past Lizzie, his eyes connected with hers’ again, and there was that understanding – that link between the two of them, formed once more.
“You need to listen to your own advice,” he said.
Lizzie looked up at him, unsure as to what he meant. “Hmm?”
“You’re still fighting something, and… although you’ve accepted it, it’s Christmas. And now you feel like it’s not okay.”
Herod moved in front of a streetlamp, giving him an almost ghostly aura as he spoke to Lizzie. The words of advice scared her, a little bit – her own words, thrown straight back at her. She suddenly felt the night grow colder, and she pulled her coat tighter, as if protecting herself against… something.
“You’ll be with someone?” Herod asked. He was concerned for Lizzie. Lizzie could see he was. “At Christmas?”
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled. “Definitely.”
Herod walked up to the doorstep. This was it. Goodbye. He hadn’t ever felt as if he wanted to help a stranger more than he felt the need to help Lizzie. He wasn’t even sure why.
“Understand, Lizzie, that it’s okay to be sad at Christmas. It always is. And always remember that there are people who love you as well.”
Herod put his hand on the door handle. He nearly reached up, and straightened the numbers on the door – but he didn’t. They were waiting for Mary, and it couldn’t be alright if he did it.
“Goodnight, Herod,” Lizzie said, her voice almost a whisper in the night.
Herod opened the door. He still had a key. But before he went, he looked at Lizzie once more.
“Goodbye, Lizzie. I think… we’ll be alright.”
And then Herod stepped inside. Mary’s legacy had been lived – and it would still be lived. But that night, as Jae, or Herod, or whatever name one wanted to know him as – as he stepped into that house, to be with his family, Bethlehem slept soundly. They rested, dreaming, and hoping. All had in their hearts the qualities that Mary had bestowed onto Herod, and that Herod, in keeping the planet safe, had bestowed onto all of them – the value of Christmas. Love, and hope.
Herod didn’t look so uneasy now. He looked confident in who he was – in knowing that even if the world was dark, and the night was cold, he was allowed to be afraid of the dark, and he was allowed to be chilled by the cold.
And he was allowed to be loved as well.
Lizzie gave Bethlehem one last look.
Then she stepped into the TARDIS.
“So…,” the Doctor said,
The doors opened. Lizzie’s street. Exactly as it always was, apart from the big blue box underneath the streetlamp. Obviously. Lizzie walked out from underneath it, and the Doctor came too – just hovering beside the doors.
“Christmas with Maggie?” the Doctor enquired. Just looking out for Lizzie. Always looking out for Lizzie – making sure that she wouldn’t be alone.
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled, trying to hide herself together. Trying to… keep her emotions buried. She was good at it, to be fair. Maggie had always said it was one of Lizzie’s greatest talents. Lizzie wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing.
“Tell her I say hello…,” the Doctor smiled. Lizzie laughed – Maggie always gave the Doctor quite a hard time whenever she saw him. Lizzie wondered whether things would be any different at Christmas – probably not. But Lizzie could see it – Maggie liked the Doctor – and Maggie would always vet anyone close to Lizzie, to ensure that they wouldn’t hurt her. And although she would never say it… Lizzie could see it, whenever the Doctor was on the scene, that Maggie thought he was a decent guy.
“I will.”
“And… you’ll look after yourself? Because…,” the Doctor said, not sure what words to use. “I – I worry about you, Lizzie. All the time.”
Lizzie shook her head, as if to ridicule what the Doctor was saying. “Honestly. Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. Always will be.”
The Doctor looked at her incredulously. That was exactly the reason he always worried. Especially at Christmas. Season of goodwill and cheer, and… happiness. Of course Lizzie was going to say she was fine. He did not believe her for a second, however.
“Straight to Maggie’s, yes? I don’t want you alone on Christmas Day…”
“‘Course,” Lizzie smiled. She hesitated – and so did the Doctor. It felt strange, almost… too quick. That was what life was like with the Doctor, though. One minute, you’d do… such mad, amazing things. And the next, it was over – like they’d just been on some sort of errand.
Lizzie realised what she needed to say. It was Christmas. Why not tell him the truth?
“It means a lot,” she said, smiling at him, a look of sheer gratitude upon his face. “That… you take me to all these places. Include me in your family. So… thank you. So much.”
The Doctor gave her that look. He always gave her that look. That look, as if to say ‘you’re part of my family, and you always will be’.
“No, Elizabeth,” the Doctor shook his head. “Thank you. And… I hope that you have the most wonderful of Christmases.”
Lizzie had to look away, then, unable to watch him as he said those words. She bit her tongue, and looked out of the light of the streetlamp.
“Goodnight, Doctor,” she turned back to the Doctor, like she was willing him to go. She could see that that was the way he’d interpreted it. She saw the brief look of disappointment flicker across his face.
The Doctor paused, not wanting to say it.
“Goodnight, Lizzie.”
He stepped back inside the TARDIS, as the doors shut behind him.
Lizzie looked away, at the street ahead of her. She heard the noise – the slow wheezing sound, and she could picture it – see it fading away, disappearing off to wherever the Doctor was destined next. Often, Lizzie was on board, excitement and intrigue leaping in her heart, as she wondered what beautiful corner of the universe they would see next. And they would fly, so fast through space, facing the universe with determination and hope – and they would greet the universe with open arms.
But not this time. Lizzie felt her feet firmly on the Earth – and she did not move. She looked away from the box, unable to bear the sight of it – so instead, Lizzie’s eyes drifted over the street, and she bit her tongue, trying hard not to cry, Nobody would see – but Lizzie still didn’t want to cry.
She saw the houses and sets of apartments lining the road. There were Christmas trees in their windows, the glow of Christmas lights hanging on the ledges, as if each property was even endeavouring to get into the Christmas spirit. Lizzie could see candelabras, Christmas cards, little ornamental ceramic snowmen, probably from the primary school’s Christmas bazaar. Lizzie saw wreathes on doors, ‘Santa stop here’ signs, and even a pair of welly boots tied upside down on top of a chimney.
It just hurt more, and so Lizzie looked at the ground. Her eyes traced the concrete, in all its bleak greyness. No snow. There never seemed to be any snow at Christmas. The dreaded sound of the TARDIS finally died down, and Lizzie could breathe again.
Stood alone, by the side of the road, Lizzie took in the air. It was freezing out, and she pulled her coat around her – but it was so chilly, that it didn’t make too much of a difference. Therefore, Lizzie resigned herself, to drift slowly off to her flat. It might be warmer in there, and at least she wouldn’t have to look at all the festivity constricting the world around her. So, she turned, and hesitantly walked to the door behind her.
But she stopped, when she heard the bells ring.
Some nearby church – the bells rung in melodic fashion – and then she heard them strike.
One. Two. Three.
That church. People gathered inside, worshipping some deity, warmed by the spirit of each other and the community they enjoyed. Content in their faith, in a way, Lizzie was happy for them. If that was how they got their kicks, so long as they didn’t harm anyone, she couldn’t care less. They probably had more focus on Christmas day than her.
Four. Five. Six.
Having said that, the religious elitists who got stroppy about Christmas now acting against their faith were truly irritating. While she was no die-hard Christmas fanatic anyway, and most certainly not religious, even Lizzie could see that the yuletide season transcended far beyond its Christian watermark.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
Lizzie just thought Christmas should be celebrated however one chose to celebrate it. Not to be forced down one’s throat, as Lizzie was too used to experiencing.
Ten. Eleven.
Twelve.
Midnight.
Christmas Day.
Nothing changed. Much. Except… now it felt like a confirmation. Christmas was here. Joy to the world, etc.
Lizzie breathed again, and this time it was shaky, and nervous. An insomniac, alone at home during the small hours of Christmas day. Perhaps she would go insane.
So, contrary to every and any degree of sensibility, Lizzie turned from her doorstep, and began to walk down the road. She had no idea where she was going, but she didn’t really care. She just walked down the road, past the houses with their decorations, past the sleeping people waiting for a day of giving and togetherness, past the children sleeping contently, Santa Claus watching over, protecting from the dark outside. Lizzie made an effort to ignore it all.
Maggie – 00:04
Ho ho ho! Hope you’re okay love. Phone me at some point xx
Lizzie stopped beneath a street lamp, and tapped out a reply.
Me – 00:05
Am good. Will phone at some point x
That was good enough. Lizzie eyed the underground station at the far end of the road, and decided to make her way over to it. Hop on a train, go… somewhere.
Though as she walked over, her phone began to ring. As expected, it was Maggie – and Lizzie answered it, after a brief spell of hesitation.
Maggie’s voice was crackly, and almost a little bit muffled, in that way that mobile phone voices so frequently are. But it did not matter – as soon as Lizzie heard it, she felt a little bit better.
“Merry Christmas, love!” Maggie’s voice came down the phone. It was just a voice – and yet, it was like Maggie was with her. Lizzie saw a bench, and she sat down on it, holding her phone tight to her ear, as if there were a risk that it might slip away. Regardless of how stupid it was – it was a chance Lizzie wasn’t willing to take,
Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. “Merry Christmas.”
“You alright?” Maggie asked – and then stopped. “Where even are you? Are you on Mars or something?”
“No,” Lizzie said, chuckling. “I’m on Earth.”
With a bit more trepidation and uncertainty, Maggie asked… “You sure you’re alright, love? You sound… shaky,” Maggie wasn’t actually sure what shaky meant.
The words, however simple, were like a knife to Lizzie’s heart. But she didn’t waver. Wouldn’t cry.
“Yeah,” Lizzie shrugged it off nonchalantly, doing a pretty good job at sounding alright. “Shivering. Just out and about.”
Technically she wasn’t lying.
“Well, get inside!” Maggie instructed, and Lizzie heard Maggie quickly drawing her Dunsworthian curtains. “Looks bloody freezing out…”
Lizzie could tell that Maggie still wasn’t 100% certain of Lizzie’s excuse. “It is. Really cold. I’ll go in soon.”
A brief spell of silence passed – one unusual in their conversations.
“Chaos at the home earlier,” Maggie said, trying to stir up some conversation. “Absolute madness.”
“Really?” Lizzie asked. “The kids alright?”
Maggie made a noise to indicate her uncertainty. The answer was probably no. To be a child in care at Christmas was a truly terrible thing, and Lizzie would be quite happy if those memories just… left her brain, and never returned. “Some kids acting up, some not doing anything, some just being normal. Such a sad place to be at Christmas. Not nice at all. Pat and Sarah really have to work the impossible.”
“They always did try,” Lizzie acknowledged. Even if they couldn’t make much of a difference, at least they were there, and tried to understand what it was like. “Chaotic here as well. In a different way, of course.”
“Yeah. ‘Course. But nice chaos?” Maggie asked. “Because… I’m so glad that you’re going to be spending Christmas with the Doctor and his family. I wouldn’t have agreed to work if I knew you weren’t.”
Lizzie hesitated, as if she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Eventually, she spoke.
“Yeah. Nice chaos.”
Only three words. Four syllables. Meant it was very hard to make the words tremble, and Lizzie could just about struggle through them without tripping over them. She still had to force them out, though, much to the pain in her gut. Lizzie pushed her forefinger nail into her thumb, the sensation of pain a welcomed distraction – and even that was barely enough.
Somehow, Lizzie found herself continuing. “The Doctor is watching some documentary on the telly about classical composers and Christmas carols. Cioné is knitting, and Iris is sat deliberately trying to wind her up. Kym’s here as well, pouring herself another mulled wine…,” Lizzie stopped, realising that she’d started to sound… almost wistful, and as if she could talk about it and somehow be transported to that place. “Yeah. It’s good.”
“Blimey,” Maggie exclaimed. “All at this time of night?”
“They’re Time Lords,” Lizzie quickly said. “They sleep weirdly. And one of them is Kym, who basically… never sleeps.”
Maggie laughed. She’d met Kym once. Quite an unforgettable presence.
Lizzie was content with her life, and for a few seconds, she put the phone to her shoulder and looked away, to blink the freezing tears from her eyes.
“So yeah! All good here,” Lizzie said. She sounded content. Genuinely, properly content. In a strange way, for someone who tried to be honest and kind… Lizzie thought herself to be quite a good liar.
Maggie breathed a sigh of relief. Thank god Lizzie was going to be alright. It was what she’d been most afraid of, when she’d agreed to work on Christmas day. But… so long as Lizzie wasn’t going to be alone. Maggie laughed, just so happy that she finally had her mind put to rest. “You really need to get out of the cold, love!” Maggie exclaimed, a chuckle creeping into her voice.
“Y – yeah,” Lizzie laughed as well.
“You know, Lizzie,” Maggie began. Lizzie listened as she spoke the words, and she held tightly to them. “I’m so happy for you. Happy that you could finally find a family. I’ve… I’ve watched you grow up, and honestly – that means so much.”
Lizzie nodded, even though Maggie wouldn’t know. At least if she nodded, it might make Lizzie feel as if she was being honest. It might just make her feel that there were people waiting for her.
“That doesn’t make you any less important,” Lizzie said. And this time, she was being honest.
“Me? Ha! Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not! Honestly. You deserve the best Christmas, Maggie.”
Maggie paused. “Thank you, love. So much.”
“Right,” Lizzie said. “I really need to go inside. It’s so cold…”
“Yes,” Maggie declared. “Yes, you do. Get back in that flat, make sure Kym isn’t drinking the wine – enjoy it. Embrace it!”
“I will,” Lizzie said.
“Ta-ra, love.”
“Bye.”
The phone bleeped, and Maggie was gone. Lizzie held the phone by her ear, just for a bit longer – as if, in some blind bit of Christmas hope, Maggie might still be there. Might still have something to say to her on Christmas morning.
But it was silent. And in that silence, and the night, and the cold, Lizzie Darwin felt very, very small.
Slowly, she took her phone from her ear, and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. Maggie’s voice already seemed distant – Maggie seemed further away than she’d done before. And Lizzie stood, and walked across the sullen tarmac to the other side of the road.
Yes. Lizzie had… twisted things, a little bit. Told the Doctor she was spending Christmas with Maggie. Told Maggie she was spending Christmas with the Doctor.
Lizzie traipsed over to the underground station, and made her way down the steps. Soon, she was engulfed by the ground, and she scanned her oyster card over the car-reader. The barrier, notorious for its inability to read cards and tickets, let her through with little fuss – and Lizzie felt that even it was embracing Christmas with open arms.
Passing through the barrier, she stepped onto the escalator, and began a descent to the belly of the Earth. Reduced services, but the night tube was still chugging through, a thankful reminder beneath the surface of society that life still went on.
It didn’t totally feel that way, however. There were adverts, electronic and paper, stuck to the wall, eying Lizzie up as she made her steady crawl downwards, as if the very businesses they promoted were eying her with nothing but contempt. Good, she thought.
But that was it – it was like Lizzie could not escape it, not even beneath the surface of the Earth. Because it was there, wherever she went. Christmas! Christmas, Christmas, bloody Christmas, all the time from 1st of bloody November through to mid-January when the post-Christmas sales eventually dried up. And it was painful, and torturous to endure.
Lizzie waited for five minutes on the platform. Five, long, dragging, tedious minutes. Normally she was patient, but sometimes, Lizzie just felt the passing of time, and felt it to be so quick, and to feel a desperate need to chase after it so it couldn’t get her first. And yet… it was impossible to beat it. Time was a thing so immense and so invincible, that what hope did anyone have in beating it? What hope did anyone have of understanding it?
And that was all Lizzie wanted. For people to understand that she did not hate Christmas. And if she ever had to hear the phrase ‘don’t be such a Grinch’ ever again, Lizzie was quite certain she would finally lose her marbles for good. She was not bitter, or cruel, or nasty. She did not hate what Christmas stood for. In fact, she thought it was very admirable, and she respected it greatly. She just found it hard. Nothing more than that. Just hard.
Eventually, the train wormed its way through the tunnel and to the platform. Its doors opened, and Lizzie stepped on board. A couple sat at the far end of the carriage, one of them chatting about she was flying out to see her cousins in Japan and grandparents in the Himalayas, and how her grandparents were keeping an alpaca stronghold and making cheese out of the milk, or something. Lizzie ignored them, and sat close to the doors, so she could make as quick an escape as possible when the time eventually came.
And because she found it tricky, all she wanted was for people to understand that for some, a festival of love and unity was not always so easy.
Lizzie was content in the family she had around her. Why, she was not willing to cut off her nose to spite her face, although her brain did do some blatantly illogical things.
No… it was the simple fact that Lizzie was not in the mood for expectation. It was not a simple matter of simply having people around. The point still stood. Christmas was a time of year tinged with sadness, and to live Christmas as a child in care was nothing short of one of the hardest things she had endured. And whenever the festivities rolled around again, as they did every year, Lizzie felt those memories stir from their slumber, a reverse hibernation, leading monsters out to the front of her mind again.
A world of joy was painful, when all Christmas did was awaken memories of the absolute antithesis.
Hence her isolation.
She loved them all dearly. Maggie. The Doctor. Iris. Cioné. But they would be happy, and Lizzie would not. And she did not want to dampen their days – especially Iris, who held Christmas so close to her heart. She also did not want to feel as if she had to feel like them.
All she wanted was to be alone.
And yet… being alone was nearly just as hard.
There it was. Christmas. The one time of year when she could never win. And it wasn’t even her fault, like Christmas had been destined to be rubbish ever since she was a kid.
It always came back, every year. Those memories of the past, always resurrected by seeing all those families, so close to each other. Lizzie had a family now – one who she loved dearly – and she was grateful to them – for being there for her. Lizzie always thought, it was one of the worst things – the people that had nobody to go to at Christmas – it was one thing her shutting herself off by choice, but quite another for those who had nobody – and quite another for those who were scarred, and were so often ignored.
And togetherness at Christmas only brought back the memories of the times she hadn’t been with anyone.
Lizzie had spent Christmas alone before. In her little flat in Dunsworth, or back in Durham. She was used to it, and… numb to it, perhaps. Maybe it had reached the point where she just… didn’t care.
Lizzie didn’t think about her mum much. She didn’t think about either of her parents much. Perhaps, though, it was because the presence of both of them was always felt simply in everything Lizzie did. They had shaped her past – set forth the events that led to her ending up in care. And through that, they had breathed life to the events and demons that had slept inside her head. Besides – she had enough things to face without having to face her parents as well, with her parents an issue that she had laid to rest a while ago. Hence why her father’s little dream appearance had come along at perhaps the worst time – for it simply awoke things she’d been done with, a long time ago.
It was, instead, what her parents had done to her that messed her up.
But at Christmas, it sometimes crossed her mind. Her parents… what would life be like, if things were different? What would Christmas be like? Her parents would be rich, and she’d have gone to some private school, and married some rich, stuffy old Tory, someone she’d been matched to at one of her mum’s crazy social dos.
Maybe that was the plot of Bridget Jones.
Lizzie loved those films. Socially inept weirdo stumbling through life with no Christmas.
And yet… Bridget Jones had a heart. Always tried to do what was right. That was what Lizzie tried to be, at Christmas – even if it was not ‘the most wonderful time of year’ for her, she could at least try and be somewhat like Maggie. Do something… good for people.
She’d often been inspired by someone, not much older than her, who’d built The Fox Force – a charity to help children and young people affected by major attacks and disasters – who, every Christmas, embarked on an enormous charity drive. She’d raised it from nothing, fought tooth and nail to get it to where it was – and still fought hard to prevent the big companies – Google, Apple, Anástasis, Facebook, from endorsing their efforts, and using them to piggyback their way to appearing like good, moral corporations.
So… she tried to be kind. So hard, just in the hope it might make things easier for someone like her.
The train continued its way through London, and the darkness of the tunnels blended into one black constancy – a monotony of travel. That was, perhaps, an apt way for Lizzie to think about her Christmases. Things that just… happened, every year, at a regular interval. Not anything she hated. Not anything she loved… just something she didn’t care about.
That was it. Ambivalence. Not having a feeling of wanting to enjoy anything.
Half an hour later, it stopped. As Lizzie filed out onto the platform, and made her way up to the surface, there were people – a lot more, going about whatever it is they did. The numbers increased exponentially as Lizzie traipsed up to the ground – and soon, as Lizzie wandered up to the steps, and stood back in the night, looking out over the people ahead of her – it could easily just be the daytime.
People, late at night – and as Lizzie walked out and around the corner, and stood on Oxford Street, it was like the world didn’t sleep. That was the one thing about London that Lizzie didn’t like – once upon a time, in Dunsworth, she could be awake from any time after midnight, and it would be like time itself had stopped – like the world had ground to a halt – and Lizzie was the only one with the permission to walk over it. And she could do it – living, pulling herself together – all outside the confines of existence.
But in London, that time window was drawn so short, to an hour or two at most – and even then, it barely existed. Time kept ticking, with restaurants and bars and places still open – and when they closed, it wouldn’t be long before supermarkets that opened so ridiculously early started taking in cash. And all that time, there would be someone about, somewhere. Company, that Lizzie didn’t want – when she just wanted to be alone. Because that was her time. While Lizzie craved company and understanding, she needed that way out too. Oh, to be an introvert was such a paradox.
As Lizzie walked down Oxford Street, through the throngs of people all wrapped up in winter woollies and kept burning by the heat in their hearts, she could see it. The life passing her by – packs of individuals, laughing and chatting and smiling, kept alive through the night by the sheer act of enjoying themselves. The darkness didn’t matter, when the world was lit up.
And actually – Lizzie didn’t feel not alone. Instead… she felt more alone.
For the briefest of seconds – she was scared. There wasn’t much worse than to be in a place full of people and still feel alone – for it made her feel isolated – an outsider. It was even worse, when with a group that one loved – to feel isolated from the individuals who held such stature was truly one of the hardest things. But it was tough too, when walked through a crowded street, or a place where life seemed to be captured in some sort of microcosm, and to feel like she wasn’t part of it. To feel like… Lizzie was drifting by, a ghost unable to live it.
That’s all Lizzie felt like sometimes.
A ghost.
Lizzie looked up, as she walked down Oxford Street. She stood alone in the middle, the crowds washing over her, trapping her in the middle. But that was okay – and she stopped, and looked up.
She saw the Christmas lights.
Orbs, shining brightly, spherical, almost like moons – celestial objects, shining in blue and gold, suspended above and through that, almost distant but drawn so close – like a dream that was somehow being lived. The shops were covered, blanketed in a tight-knit cover, draped over the buildings as if to protect them from the cold that could come and freeze the world at any moment. They hung over the street, joining at the centre, like two arms had reached out to each other to guide each other through the dark. And all shone, as if they could light up the world, and guide people home.
And Lizzie remembered then why she liked London – for it was a place that she felt at home – and as Lizzie looked up at those lights, it was as if she’d just been returned there – brought back to that place she felt alive. It worked for her, to blend into obscurity, and to drift along on the periphery as if she didn’t quite exist – in a way, it brought her to life, simply watching the world tick by. For at the same time, everyone else becoming background noise meant she saw those that she loved in even greater focus.
When she had, that one, fateful time, dared to go clubbing with Lizzie and Iris, she had hated it – the sheer volume of people in the room constricted the life from her, crushing her – and she hated it. But at the same time, she had seen Iris and Kym, and Ulysses too – and it was like everyone else had been invisible to the people who mattered.
It was then that she had found Leo.
Lizzie stood there, letting the world walk past her – and she looked up at the sky, and to the lights. Not only did they bring the world to life around her, but they brought her to life too.
She watched them, holding them close. Hoping that one day, even when things hurt – even when Christmas hurt – that she could hold onto those lights, and they would guide her through – home.
And then Lizzie’s eyes fell down. There was a man, nestled between the units of two of the shops. He looked as if he was in his 50s, though perhaps stress had taken its toll, as he seemed weathered simply by the act of living. His face was rough, his features sharp, his facial hair a straggly mess, a jungle upon his head. He looked to the floor, burying his eyes in the ground beneath him – and occasionally, he would glance up. He looked sad, sat alone in his patchwork threadbare quilt, with damp, sodden and flimsy trainers on his feet, and an old blazer, once white, but faded a murky grey by the elements. His trousers were plaid, his shirt a faded yellow, and a spotty tie lay loose on an open neck.
He wrapped his garments and accessories tightly around him, though Lizzie could see him shivering from where she stood. It was freezing, and Lizzie could not even fathom what it would be like to be outside on such a night. Not only a night of such bitter conditions, but on Christmas morning. While the world would sleep cosily in their beds, warmth burning in their hearts in the excitement for Christmas Day – the man would waver in and out of consciousness, upon his bed of cardboard, only to wait for another day, the same as any other – just a little bit more painful. And that was what it was like – the world, and the man. An outcast to everyone else.
Lizzie hated it, that there were people sleeping on the streets. Not because of the people, of course – but because nobody ever did anything about them. ‘Them’. Even a subconscious division that Lizzie didn’t think about. Because… they weren’t a ‘them’. They were an ‘us’, and Lizzie despised the way in which others, just like her, were treated like dirt. It made her angry, and sad, and everything in between, that there were men and women who had to live like the man she saw below her – and it always felt like no matter how many times she cast her vote a specific way, or signed petitions, or did whatever… nothing ever seemed to happen.
This time, while it might not have made that much difference, Lizzie decided to do something.
She walked across the street, to the McDonalds beside which the man was sitting, and she entered.
McDonalds, open at night. Probably just another push for commercialisation, but Lizzie was too enamoured by its convenience to care. It was a tall building, airy, with white lights shining down from above, like a divine slap to the face after emerging from the darkness outside. There were not many gathered around the tables, barring a rowdy group of teenagers, two middle-aged women sat gossiping, a few young people who looked like students… Lizzie walked past them all.
“Next please!” the guy at the counter called, even though there was nobody else that could want serving. Lizzie walked up to the counter.
“Oh, er, hi,” she muttered.
“What can I get you?”
For all Lizzie loved fast food (which she did – considerably), the environment was one of immense stress. She had braved McDonalds during the lunchtime rush before, and she would never do so again – and while, at quarter to one in the morning, it was not so busy – it still stressed her.
“Er…,” she hesitated, her eyes scanning over the banner thing at the top. What to get? She had no idea – burgers? Nuggets? Fries? “Can I have a, er… yeah, two lots of twelve nuggets, er… two large fries…”
Yes. Lizzie was going to need the fries.
“… a Big Mac, a strawberry milkshake, a latte, er… an apple pie? Yeah,” Lizzie looked up at the menu again, as if to confirm. “Yeah, that’s all, thanks,” Lizzie confirmed. “It’s, er, erm, not all for me,” she quietly added the disclaimer.
“Eat in?”
“Yeah,” she said, sticking her card into the machine and paying. Then, the man behind the counter turned and began preparing the food. He fumbled around, taking longer than it usually took at McDonalds. Then again. Lizzie hadn’t ever ordered so much before.
A few minutes later, and the man presented her with everything on two trays.
She noticed that he had given her an extra fries. Lizzie looked up at them, and then looked at the man.
“Have them. And have a happy Christmas.”
Unfortunately, Lizzie didn’t actually hear him – whether it was simply her mind drifting off somewhere else at one o’clock in the morning, or whether it was her usual ineptness and the way she tended to gravitate towards awkward situations like a moth gravitated to a flame – Lizzie wasn’t sure.
However, because she did not hear him, she stood, presenting the fries at arm’s length, returning them.
“I said take them!” he said, a bit more insistently.
Lizzie realised her faux pas. Well. That would require her to recognise everything she did in public – but at least she realised her idiocy. When she looked up at the man behind the counter, she saw his face. Not a look of anger, or irritation. Merely a look of pity.
“Oh, er, sorry…” she murmured, not really concentrating. The guy smiled his pitiful smile as Lizzie tried to balance both trays on her arms. “Actually, er…,” Lizzie realised that it would not end well, taking both trays at once. “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll do two journeys.”
She invited the man in – ‘invited’. Made it sound as it were some kind of posh dinner party. Posh, neither of them were. Dinner party – yeah. As Lizzie looked down at the paper bags, she thought to herself – this was better than any dinner party.
The man came in, and he sat down in front of Lizzie. There was a sort of awkward tension between them, and neither of them spoke much. The man pulled his chair in, though he seemed to pull his jacket even tighter – he’d been outside for so long, than the warm building almost didn’t feel any different. Lizzie hesitated, and then reached over to the food.
“Sorry, I, er, didn’t know what you liked, so I just sort of… got loads. Er...,” she rifled through the paper bags and began fishing stuff out.
“I’m not exactly… choosy,” the man smiled.
“Er… there’s some nuggets, a big mac, oh, I brought you a latte but like –”
“Seriously,” he stopped her. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
Lizzie smiled, as if to say ‘no problem’. It wasn’t a problem. Nothing of the sort. Even as Lizzie looked down, she felt useless, like what she was doing meant nothing.
Another awkward silence passed between the two of them.
“You got family to be with?” the man asked. Perhaps it struck him as odd that she was out and about at such a time in the small hours of Christmas Day.
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled. “Just… not with them. That’s all.”
The man seemed taken aback. “Why not?”
Complex question, Lizzie thought. She didn’t even know herself. Her whole life was one entire paradox apparently, and this was no exception. Why wasn’t she with her family?
Why?
1. She didn’t want to rain on what would be, for them, a wonderful parade. Lizzie was quite sure of that.
2. She wasn’t with them because she was afraid. So many Christmases alone, it had almost made her scared to spend them with someone else.
3. She couldn’t face Christmas. To spend Christmas with a family was to do just that – spend Christmas. And as she’d deduced – for her, that was easier said than done. Couldn’t be dealing with everyone else being happy, when she just… didn’t want to be.
And yet, all three reasons were almost voided by the fact she didn’t want to be alone.
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Lizzie said, shrugging it off.
The man looked as if he were weighing the factors up. Christmas day. People you love. Perhaps he just saw Lizzie and saw her internal dilemma, that burning confusion. “Matters quite a lot.”
Lizzie didn’t agree. The three reasons she had discussed with herself were quite clear. In fact, Lizzie had made quite a good case for her argument. If she wasn’t so lacking in confidence and so unable to argue anything she didn’t believe in, Lizzie would make quite a good lawyer. But, she had certainly convinced herself that, for the reasons mentioned, there was no need for her to be with anyone on Christmas Day.
“Why, then? Why doesn’t it matter?” as if he were reading her expression. He sat back, taking a sip from his latte.
“I dunno. I just…”
Her voice trailed off, and she didn’t finish. Lizzie looked at her chicken nuggets, thought eating one, and decided she just… couldn’t.
Her mind did that. Convinced itself of various different mental lists that were, in fact, utter shit. She always needed someone to tell her that, though – that her brain was being useless.
So. What was it?
That was it.
She just hated being sad on Christmas day. She couldn’t bear those beautiful people to see her sad on Christmas day.
Lizzie looked at the man – and their eyes met. A mutual flicker of recognition across each other’s faces – as if they understood something about each other.
“You should go to your family,” he said bluntly, tucking into a chicken nugget.
“Why?” Lizzie was entirely confused.
“Because you’re sad.”
The words caught Lizzie short, just for a few seconds. She hadn’t been expecting them. Was it that obvious? Perhaps with anyone privy to the constant implosion that was her mind, then yes. But to anyone else… Lizzie had become accustomed to disguising herself. That was, after all, why she was so frequently known as the Grinch, or… whatever else one cared to insult her with. And, in fact, while Lizzie would not credit herself for much, she would certainly credit herself for that.
Though maybe, the man just understood her. He could, perhaps… see through her.
“I’m fine,” Lizzie said, like she was trying to bury what the man had said by drinking her strawberry milkshake.
“You… look sad.”
That was Lizzie’s natural aura. Sad. A bit grumpy. She could hide anything behind that.
“I’m honestly not,” she smiled at him, in the way she smiled at the Doctor when she told him not to worry about her.
“Christmas makes it harder.”
Lizzie didn’t answer back this time. What did one say to that? The words hit so true, that she couldn’t even bring herself to lie about them.
“Out there,” the man gestured outside the window to his usual spot. “I don’t look at the ground because I worry what others think of me. It’s just too painful.”
Lizzie nodded.
Some things… people just didn’t understand.
Lizzie was about to say something, then stopped. It had been a convenient way to change the subject, but, in fact, Lizzie realised it was tactless. She thought to herself, then spoke again. “Everyone is so bothered about there being a white Christmas. But I guess that for you, it’s awful?”
“It’s not great.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t have anything to apologise for. Don’t know why people get so worked up about snow anyway.”
Mention the shitness of the salvation army
“Yeah?”
“I like the lights,” the man said. “Look out there now.”
The lights on Oxford Street. Beautiful.
“Yeah,” Lizzie agreed. “They’re beautiful.”
“Aren’t they? Guiding people home…”
May all your troubles soon be gone, those Christmas lights, keep shining on. Some song lyric, one that had just become faintly lodged in her head. She liked it. Maybe, one day, her troubles would be gone, and those lights would guide her there. The man had used a funny choice of words.
“Can’t do you any much harm to go home,” the man said. “Warmth. People to love. Maybe not happiness, but at least…”
“I’m… not worried about the harm it’d do me.”
She was lying. She totally was.
There was a pause.
“Why’d you say that? About Christmas lights… guiding people home?”
“They guided me home.”
“Yeah?”
“Not literally. Few years ago, I realised something. It was Christmas night, and I saw the lights. That was all.”
She did not know what it was he realised.
“Haven’t slept in a bed for longer than a night since.”
Lizzie wondered what he could have realised, that could have brought him out to the streets. She didn’t need to know. It was okay for her not to know.
“It’s alright, though,” he said, looking up at her. And now, he was the one who looked sad. “To be sad at Christmas.”
“I know… doesn’t make it any easier.”
“No. No, ‘course not.”
“But promise me you won’t stay out?”
“I can’t promise that…”
“Because even if you are sad… there might just be a light, somewhere, that’ll make you realise that not all hope is lost, and not all love is gone. Christmas, hmm? The hardest time, for so many – and that’s fine. But we can get through it, hmm?”
Lizzie smiled.
“Yeah. Yeah, we can.”
They didn’t even know each other’s names. But that was okay. Like… ships passing in the night.
Lizzie eventually made it up to the top of the last stair – and she stood, outside her flat. She watched the door, just for a few seconds. Home. Perhaps she would be alone at Christmas… but Lizzie felt okay about it. Because no longer was she trapped in feeling guilty about being sad at Christmas. While she was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a wallower – Lizzie would be happy in living her life as she always did. And maybe she’d put on a few Christmas specials. She liked Christmas specials.
She smiled, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was quite tired. It was late, and as sleeping was entirely out of the question, she decided that she’d go inside, make herself a nice cup of tea, and slump down in the armchair. Lizzie would read her book for a while – maybe she’d lose consciousness at the bidding of slumber, but it didn’t matter if not. She slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door.
However, Lizzie was quite taken aback – for the lights were on. Now… Lizzie could distinctly remember turning the lights off before she’d left for Bethlehem, simply because she remembered Iris leaving them on, and she remembered herself complaining about it, declaring it a waste of electricity.
But they were on. Quietly, Lizzie entered the flat. She snuck in, embracing her newfound post-Herod’s lair agility skills, and she slunk down the hallway, passed Iris’ general piles of clutter building up at various intervals on the floor. There didn’t seem to be anybody about… but Lizzie continued, out into the main body of the flat. It seemed entirely empty, just as the rest of the flat had done. So, she walked further out into the flat, senses honed, ready to run away from any intruders.
But there was nobody to b –
“Hello,” came a voice a few metres to the right of her.
Lizzie jumped, almost leaping backwards to catch a good look of the voice she recognised pretty instantly. “Jesus ch – oh,” she spluttered, as the familiarity finally registered with her brain.
The Doctor. He was stood there in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. However, at the sight of her shock, he quickly placed the mug on one of the kitchen surfaces and dashed over to Lizzie as quickly as he could. “Sorry, sorry, sorry – it’s me.”
“Yes,” Lizzie protested, trying desperately to catch her breath, and having to sit down in one of the armchairs to fully regain herself. “I can see that! I thought somebody had broken in…”
“Sorry – do you want my tea to recuperate?”
Lizzie sounded the situation out further. “Have you drunk from it?”
“A bit.”
“Eww. No thanks.”
The Doctor shrugged. “None taken.”
Rather irritatingly, the Doctor had a face that was very difficult not to smile at. He had wandered over to the balcony, and was looking out at the night sky. Christmas morning – and the stars shone brightly over London. His face shone in the moonlight and the starlight, and the Doctor thought that it all looked quite beautiful.
“You’ve got a lovely view here,” the Doctor smiled, his voice distant, almost as if it were being carried off into space by the stars outside the window.
“Yeah,” Lizzie smiled, standing up to join him. It was cold, by the window, and she pulled her coat close around her – but although it was cold, Lizzie didn’t feel as if she wanted to get away from it. Perhaps, inside, she felt okay enough not to care. The Doctor and Lizzie looked out the window – the small hours was always the weirdest time to be awake… because nobody else was. The world had a strange quality to it – of utter peace and contentment. It only felt stronger, on a morning like Christmas.
“Wait,” Lizzie said, suddenly realising something. “You bought this place and you never even checked it out?”
The Doctor looked sheepishly to the ground. “I was very tied up. Cioné came, though. She approved.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Lizzie shook her head, a smile dancing across her face. “I thought you liked architecture…”
“I do,” the Doctor admitted. “Just… not this sort of architecture.”
“You’re so middle-class,” Lizzie chuckled. Had anybody told her a year ago that her best friend would be a middle-class Edwardian gentleman, she’d have laughed in their face.
“I’m not!” the Doctor protested.
“Such a champagne socialist…”
The Doctor jokingly scowled at her. “I… do my bit.”
“Look,” Lizzie continued. “Nothing wrong with having money and being a socialist. So long as you practise what you preach.”
The Doctor smiled, holding onto the windowsill and gently rocking backwards on the balls of his feet. It was like he was trying to hold onto the moment – holding it closely to himself. That was, perhaps, something that everyone should do at Christmas. Hold onto things, as one never knows when they might end. And so the Doctor treasured it – himself, and Lizzie.
“It’s been… the weirdest year,” Lizzie admitted. It felt as if it had gone on forever, and as if so many weird things had happened. Well. So many weird things had happened. When she looked back on the person she had been at the start of the year… they were so different. Almost two different people. And yet, at the same time… almost exactly the same. Lizzie had learned to live – and at the same time, she was still tired of living. She had come to terms with her depression – and there were still days when she wanted nothing more than for life to just… stop.
And that was the hardest thing. To know what a crazy year it had been, and to know that there were just going to be more of them. That life was just going to keep coming at her, thick and fast, and that it would keep wearing her down. And it scared Lizzie to think what might happen if she ever broke again, like she when the universe had ended and she’d faced a childhood version of herself. Again – another weird thing that had happened in the space of a year.
But what defined it, more than anything? Perhaps it was that now, finally, Lizzie had learned to be sad. Accepted how she felt – all the time, and at Christmastime.
Not much of an achievement.
But it still made the impossible make sense, just a bit.
As she looked to the Doctor, she remembered. He’d packed a lifetime into her one year – literally, the start of his daughter’s lifetime. So many years for him, all wrapped around one for her – and he could see it in his eyes, the age weighing on them. It always confused her, and made her brain hurt, the way their times had aligned. And at the same time, it didn’t matter.
They were still together, at that moment, looking out the window.
“How did you know?” Lizzie asked. She knew he would understand what she meant. Lizzie had built something with him – and the Doctor would understand.
“It’s Christmas. I just… know these things.”
Lizzie sighed, and smiled, for she hadn’t expected an actual answer.
Though, in a way, that was enough of an answer.
“Why did you lie to us?” the Doctor asked her. The words were a slap around the face, for she hadn’t actually thought about it. She’d just… done it, as if it were the subconscious thing that she always did.
Lizzie thought about it – and then realised. That’s why she’d done it. Because it was the subconscious thing she always did. Lizzie was simply being herself. Same old Lizzie Darwin. Again. Barely changed. Still a coward. The girl who couldn’t bear to face Christmas – and so just decided to run from it.
“Didn’t want to… rain on your parade, or whatever,” Lizzie shrugged it off, as if it meant nothing.
“You’re not a coward, Lizzie. We understand, though. I do.” The Doctor. Reading between the lines of what she said – she felt it’s what he spent half of his time doing.
Lizzie nodded. The Doctor knew she understood.
“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth Darwin.”
“Merry Christmas, Doctor.”
They stood, and watched the stars for a few minutes.
And then suddenly, the Doctor snapped his fingers. Lizzie looked up at him, entirely bemused – and that’s when the TARDISes started to arrive. Slowly they faded into existence, just as they always did – and Lizzie felt that flare of hope rise up inside her, just as it always did.
Cioné’s TARDIS appeared like a bookshelf, and she emerged carrying several paper bags. And from the iconic blue police box, Iris and Kym also came out carrying several paper bags.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” Cioné walked over, and gave Lizzie a peck on the cheek. “Sorry – don’t get too close, I’ll get you terribly greasy, if you’ll pardon the innuendo.”
“Eww,” Iris grimaced, dumping her set of paper bags on the kitchen table. “Mum, that’s gross.”
“SISTAAAA,” shouted Kym, pointing at Lizzie, waiting for Lizzie to point back. Tentatively, Lizzie did as she desired, before Kym swooped in and hugged Lizzie.
“Oh, bloody hell,” came a voice from the corner of the room.
Kym gasped audibly. “O. M. G,” Kym spun on her heels (a description that was, in multiple ways, quite apt), and turned to confront the individual who had just prowled down the hallway and into the living room. “ULY, MA G,” Kym yelled at the cat, bouncing over to him and scooping him up into her arms.
Lizzie had never seen such an accurate grumpy-cat impersonation, as Ulysses resigned himself to being engulfed by Kym’s arms. Iris giggled, and Lizzie smiled too.
She glanced over, to see Cioné fumbling through the cupboards, clattering crockery as she hunted for plates – which weren’t anywhere to be seen. “Do you lot ever wash anything up?” she muttered.
“Nah,” Iris slumped down on the sofa, putting her feet up on the coffee table.
“Yes,” Lizzie said. “Well. I do. Ulysses dries.”
At that moment, Ulysses deftly leapt down from Kym’s arms, causing Kym to squeal slightly. “I do…,” he murmured in his silky, dulcet tones.
“You wash things up?” Iris looked up at Lizzie, entirely confused. “I just assumed we had a lot of plates…”
Cioné gasped. “Oh my goodness, Lizzie, I am so sorry. I cannot believe my sprog’s behaviour.”
“Can we get a dishwasher?” Iris enquired.
By this point, the Doctor had already sat down in one of the armchairs, and was reading The Guardian over the rim of his glasses. “If you behave.”
“Dad, I’m 108, not 42.”
“Really?” the Doctor murmured, not looking up from the crossword. “Going by your inability to wash things up, I wouldn’t have realised…”
Iris looked up, laughing in shock at her father’s brutality.
“O.M.G,” Kym proclaimed, revelling in the Doctor’s cutting remark. “Savage.”
“Right everyone, grub’s up,” Cioné began taking the polystyrene tubs out of their paper bags. “Sorry – we’ve just got fish and chips, as I burned the turkey hauling a planet into a new orbit. Ulysses, I got you a battered sausage as well.”
“Uly loves a battered sausage,” Iris chuckled, swooping off the chair and descending for one of the polystyrene tubs and a plastic knife and fork, before returning to her undisputed place on the sofa.
“I can’t think of much better,” Ulysses prowled, as Lizzie came over to her armchair with a container of fish and chips for herself, and Ulysses’ fish and chips (with battered sausage), placing it down on the ground in front of him.
The Doctor stood up to get his food, but before he could return, Kym had descended into his chair, leaving the Doctor looking around in dismay.
“Sorry old man!” Kym smiled breezily.
“That’s the point,” the Doctor said, hauling over a kitchen chair. “I am old, I need the seat.”
“Kym, if you don’t give it to him you’ll be my best friend forever,” Iris turned around and called behind her.
“Look Doc-brain,” Kym explained. “You ain’t broken into a president’s office in heels.”
“Not for many years, no,” the Doctor smiled.
Cioné gasped. “You dark horse…”
“Oh my god, Dad.”
The Doctor smiled smugly, opening his food and readying his plastic cutlery. Best Christmas dinner ever, he smiled to himself.
Lizzie thought the same, in fact.
Cioné now descended over to Iris, having the bravery to slump down beside her daughter on the sofa. “Budge up.”
“No!” Iris protested. It was almost a statute that the entire sofa belonged to Iris, and if anybody else sat on it, they were probably going to die. However, Cioné did not care for the law, and shifted her daughter along anyway. She laughed at her mother’s uncaringness, and Cioné couldn’t help but chuckle too.
And this was them. Her crazy family. This lot, and Maggie too.
“Well, everyone,” the Doctor stood up. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
“To my sanity, hopefully…,” Iris murmured.
“To a merry Christmas,” the Doctor declared. “And a very happy new year.”
“To a merry Christmas,” they all said. “And a very happy new year.”
And for the briefest of seconds, Lizzie was content.
They had all left her to it. Kym had gone off to some party down the road. Iris was out somewhere with Jada. The Doctor and Cioné had gone off to watch Love Actually.
And Lizzie thought that was that. It had been the most incredible time – and for someone who didn’t always find Christmas the easiest of times, Lizzie certainly felt, just this once, that it had been alright. The dilemma she’d spent so long wrestling with… she’d settled it, in her own way. And now, she could be content. So, Lizzie had taken her book, and curled up in the armchair. It could not be denied that regardless how depressed she had felt at Christmas before, that there was always something strangely peaceful about the season.
For once, Lizzie now felt at peace.
She knew it, for the fact she was alone – and she was content.
It was at that moment, however, that there was a knock on the door. If it was the Salvation Army, Lizzie would be fuming, and tell them to go away. Well. Maybe not so abruptly. She would politely tell them to leave her alone. It was, then, with great confusion, that Lizzie took herself over to the door, absolutely in the dark as to who she might be about to greet.
With nervousness, and slight trepidation, Lizzie put her hand on the door handle – and gently, she opened it.
There he was. Leo.
“Hello. I’m collecting for the Salvation Army, can I come in and tell you about the important work we do?”
Lizzie looked at him, a sarcastically miserable look on her face. He smiled, charming and a little bit cheeky, and for a few seconds she was just a little bit tempted to shut the door in his face. It was perhaps a good thing that Leo was so rubbish at keeping a straight face, and also that Lizzie was too rubbish at pretending to be angry. She held open the door, shaking her head and smiling.
“Come in.”
The only time she would ever open the door to someone from the ‘Salvation Army’. He followed her in, traipsing down the corridor after her, negotiating his way around Iris general piles of clutter. There was something about the way that Leo walked, as if he were trekking into a place where he didn’t belong – like the way that Lizzie walked, whenever she left the TARDIS onto some strange new world. Slight nervousness and trepidation.
She didn’t want Leo to feel like that, as he made his way inside, still wearing his coat.
“Just, er…,” Lizzie pointed to the coat-hooks.
“Oh, er, yeah,” he took off his coat, and after a few failed attempts, hung it up. “Thanks,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets as he walked into the living room – and then deciding not to put his hands in his pockets – and then re-deciding to put his hands in his pockets.
“Tea? Coffee?” Lizzie asked.
“Oh, er… not just yet.”
“So…,” Lizzie said, making her way over to the sofa and sitting on it. Leo did the same, though it was more of a perch, as if he felt entirely like he had to be on his best behaviour. He was only a few feet away – and yet… Lizzie felt distant. Stuck from the real him, trapped behind some walls of awkward social gesture and ritual “What can I do for you?”
Like she was in a shop. Forced, unnatural smile. Sometimes Lizzie was spellbound that she ever managed to find a job serving people in a café. Clearly the Dunsworthian employee pool had been sparse.
Bloody hell, Lizzie, she told herself. Come on.
“I just wanted to bring you this,” Leo presented her with a gift. She took it, and awkwardly smiled. She hated receiving gifts – she sort of… never knew how to react. Of course, ‘gratefully’ was the obvious answer. But it felt like a matter of course – something that Leo was doing simply because he was doing it. And that was the whole thing about them.
That was why it never worked.
Because they did what couples did. What all fresh-faced naïve, uncertain early-day people in relationships did. All the standard stuff, the awkwardness, the pussyfooting, as Iris had put. They walked upon the walls of the conduct of a relationship – when between the two of them, one might ask, what was there? Of course, there was something between the two of them – but what was being made of it, what sort of connection being created?
They didn’t do what they did. They didn’t understand each other.
“Oh, er… thanks. You want me to open it now, or…”
“Whenever you want.”
“Yeah, er, okay. I’ll – I’ll open it later.”
No. No, you stupid girl, Lizzie said to herself. He wants you to open it now. Moron. However, no matter what protestations emerged from her brain, she put the present to the side, and turned back to Leo.
“Anyway, yeah. Wanted to bring you that. And, er… well, Iris texted me –”
Immediately, Lizzie was a little bit on edge. They had been talking about her behind her back. Again. Not a big problem. Loads of people did that. Probably. All the time. Even so – a confirmation of it only made it a little bit harder to listen to. Clearly, he either noticed a look a look on her face, or realised his very poor choice of words.
“No,” he tried to backtrack, or correct himself, or whatever. It didn’t work. “I mean – I was on my own. I… heard that you were on your own. And thought, well. Yeah.”
“Oh. Well, er, thanks.”
Lizzie was struck by that. The fact that Leo was on his own at Christmas.
“Not spending Christmas with family?” she asked, entirely intrigued.
Leo shook his head grimly. “Told them I was in Austria skiing because they’re manipulative shits.”
Lizzie was quite taken aback by his answer – it hadn’t been the sort of thing she’d been expecting from someone who was usually not exactly… confrontational. For a few seconds she wasn’t exactly sure what to say.
“You got rid of your manipulative shit parents by manipulating them?” Lizzie looked at him incredulously. “Nice.”
“Eh. No worse than anything they’ve ever done to me.”
“Hmm…,” Lizzie mused. Just don’t let it set a precedent.”
“You did it!”
“True,” Lizzie admitted.
And that’s when she realised. It wasn’t just… small things. Little things that they were talking about, discussing. Leo had known about it. The way she’d lied to everyone. And that’s when it dawned on her – the feeling of having almost no control over any of it – everyone talking about her, discussing her, judging her and the things she did. Why would she want to be in a relationship with someone who did that?
“Wait,” she looked up at him, a look of something that was… almost the feeling of having been betrayed, etched upon her face. “Iris told you that?”
“No, well –”
“Don’t lie to me, Leo.”
“Well, yeah.”
There was something about him, then. He wasn’t all sweet, and awkward, and funny. There was something sneaky about him, in that moment. Devious. Not much – but in a way, it reminded her of herself. Not that Lizzie would call herself devious… but Lizzie could lie, if she wanted to. She was good at it. And there it was – another parallel, between the two of them. One that was, perhaps, a bit darker…
“And do you talk about me often?”
NoLizziewhywouldyousaythatyoustupidgirl.
It wasn’t meant to sound confrontational. It bloody well did sound confrontational, though – but it had just slipped out.
“No, no – of course not. I was just – can we not argue? It’s Christmas.”
“Sorry,” Lizzie said, quickly shrugging it off. In a way… Lizzie quite liked it when they argued. It made things between the two of them a little bit interesting – when, the rest of the time, they weren’t.
“It’s just… Liz,” Leo said. “Sometimes I feel like… you’re so reserved –”
Oh, here we go again. Blame me for having trust issues. “Wow, Leo,” she said, standing up and walking over to the kitchen, trying to increase the distance between him and her as much as possible. “That’s not a low blow at all.”
“I just think you need to be more open.” Leo’s response was almost like he was advising her on some essay she’d written. Some teacher having marked it, giving her feedback to act upon.
“What? Like the guy who’s been talking about me with my sister behind my back?”
… Shit.
Lizzie realised she was getting quite confrontational. She liked it. She liked it a lot. Was this what it was like to argue? To properly argue? In fact… in the funniest of ways, she was quite getting into it. It was cathartic.
“I was looking out for you!” Leo grumbled. That typical masculine response. It was quite fitting that as he proclaimed his dutiful gallantry he stropped angry, like any male did, to the other side of the room.
“You were being weird!” Lizzie retorted back. She didn’t even know what she was arguing about – but she was getting into it, whatever it was. Cathartic – why? Maybe because this had been building up inside for so long – feelings towards Leo that she just needed to… get rid of, in some way.
“Me? Being weird? Liz, I’m not the one who is quiet and socially awkward to the point of difficult –”
Says the person who is socially inept as hell, Lizzie thought, as Leo continued.
“ – who spends more time watching Coronation Street than she does actually living her life.”
“Well at least I don’t have a nervous disposition that I don’t try and hide from by making jokes about everything and trying to be a charming idiot. Seriously, Leo, ‘it’s always funny’, there are some things you just shouldn’t make jokes about.”
“Well what can I do? You’re not exactly a laugh a minute, you’re mopey as hell.”
“Mopey as hell!?” Lizzie realised she was full-on shouting now, but she didn’t care. “Just because I have the emotional maturity to deal with more than two emotions, then yes, Leo, that’s me. Mopey as hell. Also, quite frankly, don’t judge what I am or what I’ve been through by the standards of your own, self-centred little brain. It’s not all about you! Just because I’m upset doesn’t mean I’m annoyed at you, I probably fell over my shoelaces or something. Seriously, don’t flatter yourself.”
“I just want people to be happy!”
“By what? By thinking the sun shines out of your arse, or by embracing that whole, ‘oh, look at me, I’m so sweet and awkward and funny and cute and charming’, act?”
“Clearly I have a stable personality. I’m not the one who won’t commit to a relationship,” Leo said.
“Then, for Christs’ sake, just move in or something, I don’t care.”
Huh.
Lizzie had meant to correct him on the fact that it wasn’t her who couldn’t commit, but what she’d said instead had just sort of come out. She didn’t even know what she was saying now – Lizzie was just saying it – speaking how she felt. In fact, in a way… it was the first time she’d ever done it.
And Lizzie felt more alive than ever before.
“You want me to move in?”
“Yes. I do. But you’re just being really, really, ann –”
Leo was laughing.
And suddenly, it fell into place. All of it – to say that the tension entirely evaporated would be too idealistic… but it was at that moment that the walls fell down. To think that once, she’d dreamed him up. But this person… he wasn’t a dream. He was an entirely different, real, alive, thing.
And as Leo looked up, he saw Lizzie. She was a girl who, perhaps confused her. Scared her, a little bit.
And then Lizzie started laughing as well.
“I’ve never seen that side to you,” said Leo, laughing. Secretly, he was quite amazed
“I’ve never seen that side to me.”
They both kept laughing.
“I’m – I’m sorry,” Lizzie said, murmuring through broken breaths.
“Me too,” when Leo caught sight of her again, they couldn’t stop. They just kept laughing, and laughing, and laughing.
Perhaps that’s what they’d needed… to just shout at each other.
“Can I actually move in?” Leo said, looking a bit too excited.
“Er… sure?” Lizzie was quite shocked – they’d gone from a lull to Leo suddenly moving in. “I think?”
Should she ask Iris? She should probably ask Iris. And Ulysses. And Ky – no. No, Kym had no reason to know – Kym didn’t actually live with them, although occasionally, it did feel as if she did.
“Brilliant!” Leo exclaimed. “Wow. Okay. Wow.”
“Alright, calm down. You’d have thought Christmas had come early…,” and as Lizzie said it, she realised it was a very poor choice of words, considering it was actually Christmas.
Leo sniggered, and then stood up, as if waiting for something.
“So? Show me around! It’ll be like an episode of… whatever it is.”
“Cribs?” Lizzie suggested, still sat down and looking up at him like he’d lost his marbles.
“Yeah,” Leo said. “Probably. I dunno, I’ve… not seen it.”
“It’s… good,” Lizzie said, realising that if she told Leo she watched it he’d probably think she did nothing but watch TV. Which to be fair, was a bit true.
“Please? Just a quick tour?”
Lizzie yielded, and stood up. “Fine. It’s not that exciting…”
Lizzie shifted around to the back of the sofa.
“This is the sofa,” she explained. “You can’t sit on it when Iris is here.”
Leo looked quite unnerved.
“Don’t ask, you just… can’t.”
“Right…”
Lizzie guided him around to their hallway, where the other rooms extended from.
“Bedrooms,” Lizzie skipped over all that as quickly as possible. “Coat-rack. Shoe-rack. Bookshelves. Iris’ clutter. Bathroom. Er… yeah. That’s it really.”
“Well. It’s a lovely place, Liz.”
“Yeah. It’s nice enough. Oh,” Lizzie pointed at the light in the bathroom. “It’s temperamental. We need to get a new bulb. So don’t go around, like… randomly pulling the switch thing hard or… or anything.”
Lizzie walked into the centre of the flat, and stopped, leaning back on the sofa.
“Yeah. That’s it.”
Leo sort of… hovered. Lizzie had noticed he had quite a way of doing that… wanting to say something, but never quite saying it. Again – another thing that she found herself doing a lot.
“Ten minutes ago… you were shouting your head off at me? What changed? Am I dreaming? I mean, wow, if you were in by dream, I don’t know, I’d be… yeah,” he started laughing.
It was a question that had been bugging him. Some… niggling insecurity. He had a lot of those… and he needed them put to bed.
Lizzie shrugged, pretending not to know the answer. In reality, she did. When she’d been having a go at him… she’d seen him for who he was. Maybe that was why she got so caught up in it… but now, Lizzie felt she understood Leo in a way she hadn’t before. That she grasped his insecurities, his quirks, and his intricacies. He understood her, what she had been through. He found a lot in life to laugh about, perhaps because otherwise, the world was just too dark. She had seen a sort of… cowardice brewing in him, and the occasional flash of egocentricity as well.
“I don’t want to do this, Lizzie, if it’s going to put too much strain on you.”
But she also saw the way that he had a heart. Leo tried to get things right, even if he couldn’t always manage it.
“I dunno,” Lizzie lied. That was a habit she needed to get out of. “I mean – you’re not dreaming. I think. Probably.”
She paused, and then walked over to the kitchen.
“Tea? Coffee?”
“Tea would be lovely.”
Lizzie pottered over to the cupboard, and took out the teabags. “I think,” she said hesitantly. “Iris said it earlier. I think… we’re not pussyfooting anymore.”
“Pfft,” Leo sniggered, also seemingly tickled by the word. Everyone was, apparently. Lizzie also found it faintly amusing – though Leo’s amusement made her laugh more.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Lizzie smiled and turned away at the same time, as she fumbled around for the teapot. “What I mean, is…, “ she tried to find the words. She wasn’t sure they would make any sense. “I think…”
Oh… it just wasn’t going her way.
“I understand you,” she admitted. “That’s it. You’re not just a scary image of something…”
“… scary person?” he chuckled.
“… that I go out for dinner with occasionally, and sometimes go to the cinema with. You’re an actual real… person. I think before, I loved the idea of a relationship.”
The dream of it.
“… whereas now,” Lizzie continued. “I think…”
Those were the words.
“I think now, I love you.”
They stopped, in the middle of the kitchen. Lizzie even put the teapot down on the counter, just so she could wait for what he had to say. There we go – that was clearly the start of something. Not many people Lizzie would delay tea production for.
Leo was about to say it – or at least, say what she thought he was going to say. So she stopped him.
“Don’t say it – I don’t want it to be something you just… reply to. I had to say it then, because I had to accept it. I don’t ever want those words to become something we just… say for the sake of it.”
Leo nodded. He understood. He always seemed to understand.
She reached up, gently put a hand on his face. For a few seconds, she just stared at him. Then, she kissed him.
“Merry Christmas, Liz,” he said to her.
“Merry Christmas, Leo.”
Then Lizzie walked back over to the kettle, which she removed from its stand and put under the sink, where she began to fill it with water.
“Where’d you keep the biscuits?” Leo asked.
“Er… top cupboard, there on the left.”
“Thanks...,” he murmured, as he slunk past her as she moved around him to start boiling the water. Leo opened the cupboard, where he saw the biscuits, loitering at the back. He fumbled for them, but accidentally knocked over two packets of pasta in the process and a stray pot noodle (Iris had taken quite a liking to them). “Oops,” he muttered, trying to sort out the cupboard. Lizzie thought it was quite nice being the more coordinated of the two of them.
“Just balance them back up again. Actually – what’s the use-by date on that pot noodle?”
Leo glanced at it, the gasped. “Two-years ago.”
They hadn’t even been living in that flat for two months, let alone two years.
“Bin it,” Lizzie grimaced. “Like… right now.”
Leo did as he was told, and then went back to fishing out the biscuits. Meanwhile, the little switch on the kettle popped, and Lizzie took it off, before pouring the boiling water into the mugs. And as she did so, everything around her began to blend into something strange, and menial, and… constant. The monotony of every-day life, the sort of constancy she’d wanted to escape from with Leo.
Except… this time. It wasn’t bad.
This time, it was good. Because this wasn’t them… lulling, or pussyfooting, or anything of the sort.
Now, Lizzie was content. Because she loved him – and because of that, the simple act of doing the simple things of living, felt so much more… real. So much more alive.
And finally, Lizzie felt happy at Christmas. It was okay for her to feel sad at Christmas – but this year, she felt she had been accepted. That she had been loved.
And not only by Leo Akram – although, of course, he made her so very happy.
But Lizzie felt like she had been loved by everyone. In this crazy year of her life, she had met the Doctor, who had shown her what it meant to feel alive. She had met Cioné, and her quirkiness. And Iris, too – her sister – although not biologically, but what did blood ties mean? All of it, along with Maggie’s guidance, and Kym’s audaciousness, and Ulysses’ wit.
Leo making her happy.
And that was it. Lizzie felt loved. And while the year had its ups and downs, at least Lizzie could, quite certainly, say that.
As Lizzie poured the tea, she glanced out of her window.
She saw the Christmas lights, lighting up the world.
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