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Chapter 10

John stared at the woman in front of him for what seemed like an eternity, but no matter how hard he tried to wrap his head around what she had just told him, it just wouldn't sink in at all. In his mind he tried to rearrange the words, looking for a way in which he could have misunderstood her, but the words remained clear and unambiguous. I think I'm your daughter. John had no idea what to say or what to think.

"My mother was Patricia Foreman," the young woman went on after a while. "I think you might have known her as Patti. 22 years ago."

John inhaled deeply and now he realized that Susan wasn't the only one shaking because when he looked at his fingers they were trembling like mad and his heart was about to jump out of his chest. Now the truth was finally beginning to sink in, but if John had though it would make things better, he had been so, so wrong. He had known a woman named Patti Foreman. A very long time ago. John swallowed hard as he looked at Susan, properly looked at her, maybe for the first time since she had stepped into his office. There was no denying that he was looking at Patti's daughter.

"Uhm," John attempted to say, but found that his voice came out hoarse. He cleared his throat. "What makes you think that I'm your father?"

To his utter horror John couldn't deny that maybe he really could be. But he had no idea why Patti would have kept this a secret from him.

Susan granted him a smile, but nevertheless there was something sad about it. "I never knew my father. My Mum raised me on her own before she met the man that became my stepfather. Mum," she paused. "Mum passed away last year. I found her old diaries in the basement a while ago and she mentioned a name, the only person she was with at the time I was conceived. A doctor named John Smith."

John exhaled sharply and sank a little deeper into his chair. Even though his thoughts were still running haywire, there was one thing that kept coming up, one question he couldn't answer and couldn't stop thinking about. Why hadn't she told him?

"Mum never told me and I never really asked," Susan explained. "My stepdad has always been nothing but kind to me and Mum, but when I found the diary I just. . . I don't know, I got curious. I visited two other Dr John Smiths here in London before you, but if you knew her, then-"

"I did," John replied quietly and the defeat must have been audible in his voice. He hadn't thought that this chapter of his life would come back to haunt him one day. It had been over for so long, done and dusted, packed away in a box with a lot of other memories. "I was with your mother at that point. For a short while. Why did she never tell me about you?"

The young woman gave a soft shrug. "You were married," she stated plainly.

John merely nodded in response. Patti should have told him. He would have been there for her and for his daughter no matter the circumstances. Now here she was, in her 20s, and John thought he might never recover from the shock.

"I should go," Susan said after a moment. "Maybe I could. . . I don't know. . . leave you my phone number? Cause I'm still curious. I'd like to know who you are."

He wasn't entirely sure what to reply. Susan was here, so whatever she had read in Patti's diary, it couldn't have been so bad as to ruin his image entirely. And of course he wanted to talk to her. He wanted to explain, wanted to know, about her, about Patti, but right now John still couldn't think clearly. It was all too much.

"Please," he replied eventually. "I'll call you. I just. . . need a bit."

Again Susan smiled and nodded before she drew a little note out of her pocket and placed it on his desk.

"And I'm sorry," John said. "About your Mum. She was a wonderful woman."

"Yes," she agreed. "Yes, she was."

Once Susan had left the office John knew that he couldn't just call for the next patient. He needed a moment. He needed to breathe. He needed to sort his thoughts. It was at moments like these that he wished he still had River by his side even though she had been dead for over ten years. She would have known what to do, what to say, so John drew out his phone and attempted to call the person closest to him, the only other person who knew the full extend of what had happened back then.

Hello, this is the mailbox of Donna Noble. I am currently lying on a beach and sipping a cocktail, but if you leave a message, I'll call you when I get back home.

"Damn," John cursed as he threw his phone back on his table. He had completely forgotten that Donna had gone on holiday a few days after their night out at the bar, but that didn't change the fact that she wasn't here to listen to him. And he really, really needed to talk to somebody. He couldn't tell Missy and, above all, he couldn't tell Liz. She would never understand. What on earth was he supposed to do?

Clara had lost her mind, she was fairly certain that she had and right now she felt like hitting her head against the wall with such force that she would have to be hospitalized and wouldn't have to go through another meeting with just John Smith. It was a bad idea and yet she had agreed to it only too happily, knowing that she would enjoy his company. But the truth was that she was enjoying it a little too much and to make the situation even worse, it now seemed as if he was going to stand her up. It was almost 6 and his practice closed at 4 on a Monday, something she had quickly learned by googling his name and the address of his office that he had mentioned in passing, but despite the clock ticking further towards 6, John still wasn't here.

Clara had half a mind to close up early, assuming he wouldn't show up, when suddenly her office door opened and John stepped inside. The moment she looked at him Clara knew that something was terribly wrong, that something bad had probably happened because he looked terrible. Well, John didn't look terrible, he still was too handsome for her taste, but his face was the colour of ash and somehow his entire body appeared a little smaller than it usually did.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quietly, his voice weak and reluctant. "I took the wrong bus."

The way he looked at her, his gaze so utterly empty, suddenly started to scare her a little bit and as if by instinct Clara rose from her seat and approached him across the room. "Are you okay?" she asked sincerely. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I, uhm," he stammered. "I'm fine."

Obviously John was anything but fine, so Clara gestured towards the sitting area and she needed to place her hand on his shoulder and guide him to finally make him move. For a brief moment Clara considered the possibility that maybe he had had a fight with his fiancé, but she soon realized that it probably wouldn't be enough to put John in such a state. No, something else was wrong.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Clara pressed and finally John looked back at her. He seemed terrified.

"Actually, uhm," he paused. John was torn about something, Clara could tell. "Can I tell you something personal? I really need to talk to someone."

"Of course," she replied without hesitation and granted him a smile. "Shall I make tea?"

When he nodded Clara left him on the sofa and retreated to the back to prepare them both a cup of tea. Somehow she knew that whatever he was going to tell her didn't fall under her usual service, but given his current state Clara decided to stray from her resolution and treat him not like a customer, but like a friend. Fully aware that it was possibly a bad idea, Clara soon made her way back into her office. Whatever it was, she would listen to him.