Part 7

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It was with a mixture of excitement and anxiety that Jenny and Donna walked hand in hand towards the hospital playschool after having lunch on the following Monday.

"Don't forget, Jenny, that human children are very literal. They may seem cruel, but they are also kind and very honest," Donna warned her charge as they walked towards St Jude's hospital. "When we get there, they'll expect you to just walk over and start playing with whatever takes your fancy. Alright?"

"I think so," Jenny replied with a nod. "Is there a special way of greeting them?"

Bowing low usually works, Donna wanted to joke but instead she brightly smiled. "Just 'hello' should do, or maybe a 'hello I'm Jenny' if they seem particularly friendly."

They saw a gaggle of women with small children standing outside a door. There were a few curious glances their way, but none of the women attempted to speak to them.

"This looks like it," Donna observed, and gave Jenny's hand an encouraging squeeze. "We'll stand here for a minute and see what happens."

A woman wearing a pink tabard appeared behind the glass. She was nearing retirement, Donna assessed before the woman opened the door and greeted the waiting crowd with, "Good afternoon everyone!"

Waiting for their turn to enter the building, after everyone else had traipsed through, Donna began the introductions. "Hello, this is Jenny Smith, here for a trial two-hour session."

"Welcome to St Jude's playgroup. I'm Mrs Fielding," the woman introduced herself, and looked down at her eagerly waiting pupil. "You must be the daughter of Mr Smith. Joan told me about you."

'What the f*ck does Joan know about her?' Donna desperately want to explode; but she held the criticism in and smiled politely. "Ah yes. Joan," she said with a nod, hoping it conveyed something good.

Feeling Donna give her a slight nudge, Jenny remembered that she was expected to wander off, so she began to explore the room, examining the activities until she spotted one to try out first.

Watching her go, Mrs Fielding haughtily commented to Donna, "Your employer is a very lucky man to have Joan speak up for him. Normally, we request parents fill out application forms at least a term before a placement is required."

"Pardon?" Donna was somewhat taken aback by the woman's words. "Mr Smith is here on an emergency basis, so there was no time for any paperwork, and I am not his employee."

"Then what are you?" Mrs Fielding wondered as she lifted her nose and frowned. "You are not the mother."

Unfortunately, Donna immediately saw red. "I may not be Jenny's biological mother, but I am just as important in her life. That girl has been in my care since the moment she was born and, I'll have you know, I could not love her more if she were mine."

This suitably stunned Mrs Fielding. "Yes. Of course," she hastily agreed, desperate to appease the newcomer. "Will we be seeing you in two hours' time when Jenny is collected?"

"I was going to hang about for a while, to see if Jenny fits in okay," Donna more demanded than requested. "She hasn't had the chance to interact with other children yet, you see, and has never played with another child."

"What, never?!" Mrs Fielding blurted out. "How… why….?"

"We've been travelling a long way from here," Donna airily stated. "In a war zone full of soldiers and not much else, sitting about in underground bunkers. Everything here is new for Jenny."

"What on earth was Mr Smith doing in a war zone?" Mrs Fielding couldn't resist asking.

"Fixing things," Donna replied. "He's good at it. Really good but I'm telling you this confidentially. His work has been very hush hush."

Okay, she realised that Mrs Fielding probably now thought he was a spy, battling the Cold War, but that wasn't her fault. Instead of explaining further, she took on an imperial attitude and sat herself where she could watch Jenny at a safe distance. She also had a good nose around when she could get away with it, to get the lie of the land, as it were.

The room the playgroup used was part of the area set aside for the children of hospital employees. There was another room next door to it that held the crèche facilities, where very young children were looked after. As expected, Jenny sent most of the time playing by herself, but the other children didn't reject her awkward attempts to join in, and she seemed to be enjoying the experience.

At the end of the two hours, it had been arranged that they went round to the geriatric ward to meet her father. Nevertheless, Donna was relieved when Jenny bounded up to her to leave the playgroup. She waited until they were out of earshot before asking, "How did it go?"

"They all seem a bit stupid," Jenny admitted. "Are young humans normally like that?"

"Erm... probably. It's best that you don't tell anyone else that," Donna advised. "It highlights your differences. Did you find out anything about them?"

Jenny tried to recall all the information she had gained. "Most of their heads are quite empty. All they care about is playing with toys."

"What on earth did you ask them?"

"I didn't ask," Jenny replied. "I heard their minds with my fingers."

When had she done that?! She'd been watching and not once had Jenny put her hands near someone's temples. Shocked, Donna cautiously asked, "You can feel their thoughts?"

"Oh yes," Jenny confidently replied. "I touched their hands and found out."

"You can read minds by touch. Then you know…" Oh dear. Donna didn't quite know how to word her query. The urge to release her hold on Jenny's hand was hard to resist, but she was determined to keep in contact.

"That you like Daddy? Yes, I've known for ages," Jenny stated matter-of-factly. "What were those special pictures on the wall? How do they make them?"

Thrown by the change of topic, Donna floundered for a second. "What pictures?"

"There was one of Mrs Fielding looking like this." Then Jenny struck a pose with a plastered-on smile. "But it only showed this bit." She then moved her hands to form a frame around her face.

It was easy to guess what she meant. "Oh! Those are photographs, taken with a camera," Donna quickly explained. "Light goes into a little box containing light-sensitive paper, forming an image you can print off." She then blew out her cheeks. "Blimey, there's loads you haven't seen yet. I keep forgetting how much of this world is new to you. Sorry. How about we ask Martha to get a camera when she next visits the TARDIS or goes shopping? Then we'll try it out for ourselves. But in the meantime..." With a huge, satisfied grin on her face, Donna pulled her phone out of her pocket. "…I've got this. Smile, Jenny."

Keenly interested, Jenny watched Donna lift the device they had spoken to Martha with, back when they had been in the Messaline prison cell. "Your comm' device," she managed to say after a few attempts at the tricky word.

"The very one," Donna proclaimed. "It also takes photos. Want to see what you look like?"

"Yes please!"

After admiring and giggling over a couple of images together, Donna cautioned, "This type of camera phone won't be available for another twenty years, so do not tell anyone about us doing this. Only Martha can know."

"I promise," Jenny readily vowed, then her face fell. "I can't show Daddy," she unhappily stated.

"Not until we leave this place, no. This isn't a bad secret to keep, because we are making sure you and your dad stay safe. Do you understand?"

Jenny nodded yes.

"Good girl," Donna complimented her, and retook her hand. "Let's go find your dad and tease him for a bit."

A happy Jenny skipped along the hospital corridor towards the geriatric department.

"Look who it is," a smiling old woman greeted them as soon as they stepped through the doors. "Have you come to cheer us up again?"

"Hello Clara," Jenny instantly replied, pleasing the woman enormously by remembering her name. "I've come to see my daddy. Where is he?"

"Isn't she precious," Clara cooed. "You'll find him in the television room."

"The…?" Jenny frowned, because she didn't know what that was.

"Come in," Donna chivvied her. "We'll look in the communal rooms first."

"Bye bye, Clara!" Jenny called out as she followed Donna. "See you later!"

They found a room full of fireside chairs set out in a ring. All single seats with high backs and armrests to aide any patient trying to get out of them. Against a wall in front of most of the chairs was an electrical device that Jenny had never seen before. There was a screen on it, a bit like her father's monitor, but it showed someone moving about whilst music played. The colours, music and movement fascinated her; and she stood in silence gawping at the image.

"Jenny, come out of the way, sweetheart. Other people want to watch the television," Donna requested.

Instead of moving away, Jenny sat down on the carpet, and she slowly turned her head to ask, "I want to watch the little people. What are they doing?"

Bending low, Donna supplied, "They're normal -sized people dancing part of a ballet. It looks smaller because the camera is far away. Do you like it?"

Lots of nods followed. "Beautiful," Jenny murmured. "Can I do that?"

"Well, you could," Donna cagily answered. "You'd have to take ballet lessons first. Hopefully, you'd last longer at it than I did."

"I never knew you had ballet lessons, Donna," John remarked by her side.

"Don't sneak up on me like that!" she blustered defensively. "You almost gave me a heart attack. And yes, for your information, I did once attend ballet lessons, so make what you want of it."

"Why did you stop?" he asked instead of the tease she had expected.

"I punched a girl in the mouth and got chucked out."

"You punched a girl," he repeated in surprise. "Didn't fancy biting them instead then?"

Oh, he remembered that snippet, did he? "She insulted my freckles. Said I was a spotted dick."

John nodded as he assessed this information. "Makes sense. She deserved it," he stated. "Jenny certainly seems to like that television programme."

"It's the first time she's seen ballet," Donna felt she had to defend the girl. "She's bound to be interested in all sorts of dancing. Talking about television, didn't a certain someone make a promise?"

"Oops!" he gasped, blushing bright red. "I might have done. Haven't done anything about it yet."

Unable to resist a tease, she leaned in to whisper, "Too busy thinking about your future shopping trips."

"Donna!" he yipped. "It isn't like that, and we ought to take this conversation elsewhere," he added, glaring at her. "Jenny, are you ready to come home?"

"Aw, let her stay a little bit longer, doctor," one lady begged. "It's not often that we get visitors."

"Sorry, Mrs Morris, but it's time for us to go," John pleasantly disappointed her. "We'll bring Jenny in another day."

Obediently, Jenny stood up and took his hand. "Bye bye, Mrs Morris. Bye bye everyone!"

There was a chorus of pensioners replying in the same vein, and the TARDIS trio walked away, hand in hand.

"Martha, I sawed a ballet on a televisun," Jenny enthused as soon as she was asked how her day went. "There was a lady in a big skirt who jumped about."

"Did they?" An amused Martha pressed for more information. "What sort of thing did they do?"

"They did this….! And this….!" Jenny did her best to demonstrate, twirling across the carpet.

"Careful! You'll hurt yourself on the coffee table at the rate you're going," Donna fondly warned. "Those edges hurt."

"Aren't you going to show her how it's done?" John then deliberately wondered.

"I will," Donna agreed when Jenny looked at her expectantly, "but not with you around."

A mischievous smile broke out across his face. "Why? What's stopping you?"

"Mainly you," she admitted, giving his chest a prod with her finger. "I'm not showing myself up for your benefit."

"I wouldn't laugh," he remarked.

Martha giggled. "I bet he would. I'd be reluctant to do any steps in front of him too."

"You wound me, Martha Jones," he protested, placing a hand over his heart. "I'd love to see Donna in her frilly tutu, doing her dance steps."

"In that case, I will IF you will," Donna challenged him.

"Pardon!"

"Get up!" she ordered him. "We will all do this together or not at all."

"I hardly think this is the place…," he started to say in order to get out of the activity, but both Martha and Donna had grabbed hold of his arms to drag him up. Now standing, he petulantly pouted. "This isn't fair. I never even went to ballet lessons."

"Then you can learn with Jenny," Donna countered. She twiddled the knob on the radio until the strains of classical music could be heard. "Nice to know BBC Radio 3 still exists," she noted to herself. "First positions everyone. Feet together, like this. Point those toes, John. And one… Two…."