BRIDGING THE GAP

It wasn't like her, he muttered to himself. Not like Susan at all. The Doctor was fussing around the console more than was usual. If truth were told, he was flustered.

Ever since he had enrolled Susan at Coal Hill School, the Doctor had spent his days taking in the fresh morning air, and had taken to spending a couple of days a week at a local tea shop, while reading the morning newspaper. He didn't like to admit it to his granddaughter, but he had certainly become acclimatised to the English way of life. There was a calmness, a way of doing things, which suited him. Even the young had their place, and their innocent exuberance perhaps reminded him of his own youth all those years ago.

But now, the calm was broken. Because as far as the Doctor could tell judging from the evidence he'd seen thus far, the summer holidays meant six weeks of disruption and chaos.

The evening was still light as he arrived at the TARDIS after having spent the afternoon visiting a handful of antique stalls in the area. But his mind had been distracted by other things, all to do with Susan. Ever since the summer holidays had started she had been very skittish, and had taken to staying out late with other girls from her school. And in the last few days she had turned the ship upside down. Not literally, although it was theoretically possible. But instead of the tidiness he had come to expect from her, Susan's room was starting to resemble a battleground – her bed was unmade, clothes were strewn all over the place, and that noise she referred to as music seemed to be a constant companion.

The Doctor was becoming increasingly worried at her erratic behaviour, but was reluctant to voice his concerns. And while on the surface it was the sensible thing to do, the thought of approaching one of her teachers for advice filled him with dread.

He hoped that, by now, she was at least willing to talk. "Susan?" There was no answer as he entered the ship. Strange – normally she responded straight away. "Susan?" Still nothing. Perhaps she was in the deeper corridors of the ship, out of earshot. He slipped off his cloak and hat and crossed to the console. He called up a schematic blueprint of the ship's interior onto the view-screen. Her bio-print should have indicated exactly where she was. Except that it didn't. Susan was nowhere on board.

It was early morning when Susan arrived back at the junkyard. The streets were deserted, so there was no chance of her being followed. Closing the gate behind her, she hurried to the ship and inserted her key in the lock. He was waiting for her. "And what time do you call this, hmm? I've been out of my mind with worry."

Innocent eyes stared back at him. "You haven't been up all night, have you?"

"Well, of course I have," he exclaimed. "You left the ship yesterday evening without a word of explanation, and I had no idea where you were. Anything could have happened."

"Grandfather, I told you before I left," Susan insisted. "I said I'd been invited to stay with the girls for the night, and you said it was all right."

"I most certainly did not," he stated. "And before you say it, no, I am not becoming forgetful. You said nothing to me about your intentions, Susan, and quite frankly I am more than a little disappointed in your conduct of late."

"Are you calling me a liar, grandfather?"

"Well…" he started to reply, but instead mumbled, "We'll say no more about it."

"Oh, you're just impossible!" Susan stormed past him without another word. A mixture of anger and frustration stung the Doctor as he watched her go. He immediately regretted inferring that she had lied, but he hated to see her like this. While he could happily come up with the solution to a complex temporal problem, in this kind of situation, the Doctor was lost. He had no answers.

He arrived at the tea shop with feelings of relief and sadness. This was somewhere to relax and take stock of the situation. He couldn't think in the ship, not while Susan was around. The Doctor sat down at his usual table, newspaper in his hand. It wasn't until he'd read the same article three times without actually taking it in that he finally gave up. "I honestly don't know what to do."

"Are you all right, Doctor?"

He glanced up and smiled at the proprietor, accepting a welcome mug of tea from her. "Ah, Mrs Hopkins. Yes, I'm quite well. Just a few concerns going around in my head."

She returned his smile with one of sympathy. "Your Susan, is it?"

He nodded. Whatever the reason, he seemed able to talk to Mrs Hopkins about anything of a domestic nature. He waited until she had sat her ample form in the chair opposite him. "I just don't know what to do for the best," he said. "Ever since the school holidays, Susan has become more of a free spirit than she used to be. She's either under my feet, or out somewhere till all hours with her friends. Susan is out of control, and I confess, Mrs Hopkins, to be somewhat at a loss." He spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Kids," Mrs Hopkins laughed. "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em." She thought for a moment. "Didn't you say that Susan had had – what was it – a protected childhood?"

"Quite so," the Doctor replied. "Before we settled here, Susan kept very much to herself, and devoted her time to her studies at the Academy. Perhaps the change of scenery has affected her in some way."

"Maybe more than you think," Mrs Hopkins agreed. "It sounds to me like your granddaughter is breaking out of her shell. From what you've told me about her, Susan hasn't had many friends – not of her own age, anyway."

"True," he conceded. "We have been travelling for some time, and it's fair to say that we've never remained in one place for too long. But I must admit, myself and Susan do seem to have settled into a form of routine since coming here."

"Well, there you are then," said Mrs Hopkins. "That explains everything."

"It does?" The Doctor was unsure.

"Well, I'm not a great one for travelling myself," she went on. "Apart from a week away in the Cotswolds, me and my Bert like our home comforts. And it sounds as though the two of you feel the same. You come in here twice a week, and I've seen you up and down the high street, picking over any antique stuff that takes your fancy. As for Susan, she's just doing what girls of her age do – she just hasn't had the chance before." Mrs Hopkins smiled. "She needs time to grow, Doctor. To know her own mind."

"Even so," the Doctor ventured, "I do worry. One hears so much about girls getting into trouble and all sorts."

"Oh, I know," Mrs Hopkins agreed. "But if you've brought her up right, then your Susan knows the difference between right and wrong. And as much as we worry, we can't watch over them all the time. Just as long as we're there for them when they need us, well, that's all you can do. Susan'll learn about stuff – some good, some not so good. But the important thing, Doctor, is that she's got you to turn to when she needs you. Let her have her fun. Give her the space to be herself."

The Doctor was deep in thought as he strolled back through the narrow streets toward Totters Lane. Mrs Hopkins' words had struck a chord with him – aside from placing her in school, he hadn't really considered Susan's needs outside of his world.

Certainly, Mrs Hopkins was a very wise woman. By all accounts, her own children had grown into responsible adults, but with a sense of fun when they were young. That seemed to be the key – it was putting it all into practice that was the hard part.

He could hear the sound of the music blaring as he entered the junkyard. "That infernal radio," he sighed. As his key slipped in the lock, the Doctor was almost thrown back on his heels by the full volume of electric guitars and drums. "Susan!" he barked. "Will you please turn that down!"

"Sorry, grandfather," she said, reducing the decibel level to something less jarring. "It's just that you need the volume up to get the full experience. This music is like nothing we ever had back home. It really rocks."

"Does it really?" he asked. "Well, I would rather you didn't try to fill the whole ship with that noise, even if it does rock." He paused for a moment, thinking back on Mrs Hopkins' advice. "Why don't you go out, instead of being stuck in here?" he suggested. "Go and see your school friends at that coffee bar you all like to frequent."

Susan blushed. "How did you know about that?"

"Now, don't get all defensive on me, child," he said, placing a protective arm around her. "When we first arrived here, I said you should try to fit in, and not be an outsider. Of course I know about that coffee bar – it's where all the… erm…"

"Hip people go," she prompted.

"Precisely," he chuckled. "So, off you go. Enjoy yourself." She grabbed her coat and gave her grandfather a peck on the cheek before dashing off. "Yes," he said to himself. "Off you go, Susan – be yourself."

The atmosphere at breakfast the next morning was decidedly lighter than it had been for the last few days. Instead of using the food dispenser, the Doctor and Susan were polishing off a pot of tea, toast and plates of real bacon and eggs. "You know," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "we ought to do this more often."

"It does make a change," she agreed. "Grandfather, about my staying out all night…"

"Ah." He laid the napkin down. "I wondered when we'd get to that." There was no accusation in his tone. "Susan, I have absolutely no problem at all with you seeing your friends, even if it results in – oh, what do the Americans call it – a sleepunder."

"Sleepover," she corrected.

He let that pass. "But why couldn't you tell me the truth from the beginning?"

"I…" Susan faltered, then composed herself. "I suppose I just wanted to be like everybody else. The other girls do the same thing, and I just wanted to be like them. Is that so bad?"

"So that's what all this has been about?" The Doctor gazed sadly at his granddaughter. "Susan, just because those other girls don't talk to their parents doesn't mean you have to do the same. Or am I such an old stick-in-the-mud that you can't even confide in your old grandfather?" He thought for a moment. "Yes, I admit I can be too set in my ways, but never forget that you can ask anything of me – within reason, of course. As for this sleepover nonsense…"

"It isn't nonsense!"

"Now now, let me finish," he chided her. "These sleepovers – tell me about them."

"Well, you stay at someone's house all night, swapping gossip and stories. It's fun."

"Listening to all of this pop music, no doubt." He looked at his granddaughter – properly, for perhaps the first time in a long time. "You're becoming quite independent, Susan. I can see that now. Which is no bad thing, just so long as you're happy enough to give your old grandfather a hug once in a while."

He opened his arms to her, and she leapt from her chair and into his embrace. "Oh, grandfather," she sobbed. "I must be such a disappointment to you, especially after the way I've behaved."

"Never think that," he whispered. "You are everything to me, Susan, and what you are is as important as what you will eventually become." He looked into her eyes. "You must always be true to yourself - experience life outside of this ship, even if you make a few mistakes along the way. After all," he added, "isn't that part of the process of growing up?"

A question formed on his lips. "Child, are you happy here – on Earth, I mean?"

"Oh yes, grandfather," she told him, her tears forgotten. "This is the happiest I've ever been. I've made some good friends here, and school is really interesting – of course, I have to be careful not to let on how much more intelligent I am, but sometimes that's half the fun."

"Hmm, yes," he said thoughtfully. "I suppose it is."

Now it was Susan's turn to ask a question. "You weren't thinking of leaving, were you, grandfather? Only I was hoping we could stay a little longer - at least until Christmas. Mr Chesterton thinks there might be snow this year."

"Does he now? Well, I'm sure this Mr Chetterton knows what he's talking about. Christmas, you say?" He saw the earnest look in her eyes, and seemed taken with the idea. "Yes, I don't see why not." He hugged her. "No, I can't see any problems in extending our stay.

"After all," he mused, "what harm can it do…?"