Warning: there is a slight swear word in this chapter. Okay, maybe two.

Part 9

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That rashness turned out to be a desperate announcement that he was available.

Sighing, John put down his pen and read through his proposed lonely-hearts ad: "Local single father 37 good sense of humour with young daughter would love like to meet woman 25-37 for friendship, possibly romance."

Was it alright to say all that? A young daughter is a more attractive dating prospect than a teenager, isn't it? He had to admit that he wouldn't be fond of taking on someone else's teenage offspring. All that angst and stroppiness would be a huge turnoff.

As he sat on a chair at the dining table, contemplating this, the woman he had to remind himself was his child's nanny, rather than his potential seductress, entered the kitchen and peered intensely at him.

With a decisive fold of the laundry items she was carrying, she pithily wondered, "Doing someone else's homework?"

"No," he quickly denied, moving the paper away from her keen gaze. There was always something about the woman that made him feel guilty when he was trying to be sneaky. "It's just a thought. Sketching out an idea. You know what it's like, Donna."

"Not sure that I do," she confessed and then, to his horror, sat down opposite him. "Do you need some help writing it out?"

"I… er…uhm…" His mouth tried out a few different vocal forms before settling on a word in the hope that his cheeks wouldn't spontaneously combust in the meantime. Coping with embarrassment had never been his forte. "Thank you but no," he near squeaked. "Just private thoughts."

However, her expression stayed in disbelief. "Private, as in 'I must find someone to shag pretty soon' sort of private, I take it."

His vocal cords failed to work for a few seconds. "How did…?"

"I can read upside-down writing, you prawn," she dismissed his shock with a wave of her hand. "A miracle all on its own considering the state of your doctors handwriting. Anyway. Along with looking after your daughter, typing, and being capable of doing the washing, I also have other skills."

"Other skills?" he heard himself ask.

"Please note that I am not offering skills of the bedroom variety before we continue this topic of conversation," she pointed out. "It's bad enough countering that sort of behaviour in a regular office, let alone when we are here, stuck together in a flat in the civilised version of Robinson Crusoe."

"Robinson Crusoe," he repeated in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Never mind, sweetheart," she forced herself to brightly say, giving his hand on the table top a condescending pat. "I'll save that for another day." She then stood up, still grasping her pile of clean washing. "I'll leave you with your 'private thoughts' while I go chase up that daughter of yours. She should have finished her pretend dancing lesson by now."

The thought of his daughter having such a vivid imagination brought a smile to his face. "Can't you hear her?" he questioned. The faint strains of music whilst floorboards being inexpertly pummelled by dancing feet were quite clear to him.

"Nah!" she gleefully supplied. "Isn't it wonderful. But I'll tell her she's improving nevertheless."

"Isn't that more than a little bit deceitful?" he accused.

"Of course, it isn't," she maintained. "Jenny is intelligent and highly capable, so I know she's improving. Just got to give it some time, that's all."

He sat watching her walk away from him, all sashay of hips and swirl of her long ginger hair. If he didn't know any better, he'd have assumed it was put on, just for him. "Well," he muttered to himself, and had to concede that she was nothing like the mental image he had previously had of what a nanny should be.

Whatever she truly was, it was delightful, and he also suspected it was also ever so slightly dangerous for him. Especially where those private thoughts were involved. And the cheeky smile she wore minutes later when she returned to the kitchen compounded things.

"Apparently Madam is too busy to eat yet, but I'm allowed to make her a snack later when she's finished," Donna announced with amusement as she opened the fridge to begin her task. "Who does she take after?"

"Definitely not me. Sometimes I wonder if she's mine at all," he joked. Growing more serious, he pondered, "How long have you known Jenny?"

A weird question, but she answered it. "Since the moment she was born."

"And how long have you looked after her?"

"Soon after that, when you sort of handed her over to me," she supplied. "Why? What's worrying you?"

"It's just…" He hesitated before voicing his concern, "Do you think it's necessary for a child to have a mother in their life?"

Oh. Was this to do with what he had probably overheard Jenny say about her wish? Donna moved closer to him to offer comfort with her presence. "Jenny has never gone without, you know that. That child is aware she is loved, very much, and she has thrived with you as her dad."

"But doesn't every child need a mother?"

"Normally yes, to be born," she allowed, "but having an adult who adores them is plenty; and two is a bonus. A loving family unit is the important factor here. Look at what Jenny has. She has got the three of us in her life."

"Three?"

"You, Martha and me."

He nodded before grimacing. "What happens when Martha gets married to her fiancé, whatshisface?"

"Tom," she corrected.

"Tom," he repeated in near disgust. "Funny how we never see nor hear from him. I worry that he's abandoned her."

"He's around, somewhere. I'd know if he wasn't. Anyway, I'll still be here," she readily vowed. When his grimace didn't disappear, she demanded, "Or aren't I good enough anymore? Apparently, I'm only worth something if Martha is around. Is that what you're really telling me?"

"Of course not," he hurriedly assured her. "The thing is, I worry that I'll end up on my own without you. Hence all this…" He waved a hand in demonstration towards his drafted personal ad.

"Idiot," she fondly chided. "I have no intention of going anywhere else. I promise. You're stuck with me now."

Yet he wouldn't allow himself to be comforted by that thought. "You left me once," he accused in a soft voice.

The manipulative sod, she thought. "My dad was dying," she retorted, "and I soon came back. Now, I was there by your side when Jenny was born so enough of this nonsense. We're friends and I intend to keep it that way."

"Yes, but..." He anxiously bit his lip. "What would happen if I met someone? You know, someone I felt serious about and perhaps want to marry. Not straight away, but it'd be on my mind."

Oh dear. She hadn't considered that happening. Had Joan grown on him that much? Obviously not if he was considering putting a lonely-hearts ad in the local paper. Phew! That ruled out that problem for the time being, but it did leave the things open for him to fall in love with someone else entirely.

"Then I would do my very best to support you in any way I can," she forced herself to say as a tiny part of her began to slowly die at the thought.

At least she was offering support despite the friendship intention, he reasoned. "Thanks Donna."

"You're welcome." She then grabbed the kettle in order to fill it with water. "Time for some tea, I think."

Ah. That hadn't gone as well as John had hoped, he reflected later, once tea had been drunk and biscuits consumed. Why had he expected Donna to offer herself as a romantic candidate? It wasn't her style to throw herself at a man, unless she was full of the type of courage being drunk brings. He'd seen her in action at his wedding, he reminded himself. Had even been the recipient of her gushy attention until she'd realised it was him. Oh well. Never mind.

The main problem was that things between them were so usually good it was often difficult to distinguish between friendship and fancying. Those smiles of hers were far too flirtatious for their own good. Or rather, his own good, because they caused emotions to crash through his system. Unwanted emotions like lust and desire, as well as all the nice ones, like fondness and love…

That last one was probably Jenny's fault because she had practically bounced up to him, all flushed cheeks and bright eyes after her dancing exercise. It had taken no effort to let her clamber onto his lap for a quick cuddle before sitting beside him to eat her snack.

"Daddy," she began to question him after taking three bites, "can we have a televisun?"

"It's 'television'," he corrected, "and I might have a little surprise for you tonight."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Donna warned, placing a fresh mug of tea down in front of him, whilst Jenny tried to jump up and down at the same time as sitting nicely to eat. "And where did you get the money?"

"It isn't a brand-new set," he quickly assured her. "Derek Brown, the oncologist, is getting rid of his portable black and white television now that him and his wife have decorated their spare bedroom, and he said I could have it for £20."

"That's not bad. If it still works."

"It should do," he replied, grinning at Jenny's happy face. "Martha will be bringing it home with her."

"Don't you mean you will be meeting her, in order to carry it home?" Donna insisted. "Those things can be heavy, and Martha will be tired after her long shift."

"Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "Or we could all go and meet her."

"Yes please!" Jenny enthused.

"You, young madam, will be having a bath and getting ready for bed when Martha finishes work," Donna reminded her, "so you can see her when she gets home."

"Awww." Jenny very prettily pouted. "Not fair! I want to come too."

"Ah. But that does mean you'll be able to have a cuddle in front of the telly before going to bed, if we get it set up fairly quickly," John offered in consolation. "I hope I remember how to do that. The tuning, I mean and not the cuddling part."

"You just twiddle the tuning dial, from what I remember," Donna recalled, "unless it is one of those tellies that tuned it all automatically."

"Then we'll have fun finding out together," he replied, as mental images of them all cuddled up in front of a blinking screen filled his head; with lots of opportunities of falling asleep together.

Yes, he really couldn't wait. Especially when Donna fondly smiled at his enthusiasm like that.

"Sometimes I wonder who's the bigger kid around here," she joked, peering over the rim of her mug.

"Oi!" he protested in kind, making Jenny giggle with delight.

Martha had been quite surprised to see John turn up to meet her after work, and they'd easily carried the small television home between them.

"Did Donna make you do this?" she asked him as they walked along.

"Don't you start as well," he grumbled. "It's bad enough that she makes me feel so guilty. Not that I wouldn't have helped you anyway.

"You must admit that it's funny," Martha insisted. "One minute you're all: do this, do that! And the next, you're all: yes, Donna. 'Work you' is very different to 'home you'."

"Anyone would think I'm henpecked, with the way you talk," he huffed. "It's just, things tend to work out better if I listen to Donna. She's got it all worked out and I just bumble along."

"So you're saying you relinquish all responsibility to her, and are going with the flow?"

"That's it exactly," he maintained. But he then caused Martha to burst out laughing when he admitted, "She's got one hell of a slap when I start acting like a prat, so I avoid that too."

Thanks to the help of pre-programmed buttons on the television set, it didn't take them long to get it working. The most difficult task had been where to place the aerial. Weirdly enough, gently prodding the circular piece of wire that was attached to the top of the television could result in an excellent picture, or a wall of fuzz.

"Just leave it there!" Martha had ordered in frustration after John had adjusted it for the umpteenth time. "It doesn't need to be moved again."

"Are you sure?" he queried, still not convinced.

But the angry grimace on her face made him quickly drop that line of enquiry. It would do, for now.

Luckily, he was saved from being throttled by the appearance of Jenny wearing her pyjamas. Her hair was damp at the ends and her skin was glowing a healthy pink from her bath.

"Ooooooh!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in glee as soon as she saw the television. "You got it. Thank you, Martha!"

"I helped too," he felt the need to point out.

"Give over," Donna chided him. "I bet Martha did the donkey work." She stood and examined the picture on the black and white fourteen-inch screen. "What are we watching? I suppose I've missed 'Countdown'."

"I don't recognise it," Martha admitted.

The Australian accents were soon a dead giveaway. "It's 'Neighbours'," Donna proclaimed. "Look, there's Charlene. Scott was gorgeous. Don't you remember?"

"Kylie Minogue does nothing for me," John stated. "I don't understand why teenagers love her so much."

"You don't?" Donna peered at him in wonder; conveniently forgetting that he wasn't supposed to know who she was yet. "All those spotty, hormonal teenage boys discovering their sexuality by watching her as Charlene must be a complete mystery to an old man like you."

"Oi! Less of the old, thank you," he grumbled. "And I can appreciate a pretty girl."

"So I hear," she retorted, "but can you cope when a real woman is involved?"

No, Martha never thought of a particular former love interest of the Doctor's at all. It was Donna's smirk that caused her to burst into laughter. And that remained her story.

All John could do was frown in disgust and try to shush them because the six o'clock news was about to start. As an excuse, it almost worked.