Chapter 14

Vincent, the Doctor, and Rose

The Doctor scanned the basketball sized droid with his sonic screwdriver and looked at the results. 'Hmmm.'

'What are they? Where did they come from?' Rose asked him.

'Modified maintenance droids,' he told her. 'Brilliant work. This first one has a number of flexible arms inside. It could probably handle any task you threw at it. This second one has a food replicator inside it.'

'So, who modified them?'

'Well if it wasn't me, and it wasn't, then it must have been the TARDIS.'

'Wha'? The TARDIS can do stuff like that?' Rose asked. She knew the old girl was clever and could repair herself, but this was a whole knew level of clever.

'Don't sound so surprised. The old girl loves Andrea. She would never leave her wanting for anything.'

'Ah, that's SO sweet,' Rose said. She stroked the support strut of the workshop. 'Thanks girl.'

They could feel a contented "you're welcome" in their heads, and they saw Andrea go past the door in her baby walker.

The Doctor snorted a laugh. 'There goes baby Davros again.'

Andrea came past again and stopped in the doorway, smiling at them. Rose couldn't help laughing. 'Oh that shouldn't be funny . . . but it is.'

'Yeah . . . Now, are we ready to hit the beach in Brazil?'

Rose looked down at her Union Jack T-shirt and leather skirt. 'Yep. I'm still dressed for Brazil.'

They went through to the console room, and together they set the controls to land the TARDIS in Rio de Janeiro. Surprisingly, when they stepped outside, Rose could see Corcovado mountain with the giant statue of Christ The Redeemer on top. She liked to think that it was her input to the console that had got them to their destination.

They spent a few weeks visiting the beaches of Rio, Barra da Tijuca, Copacabana, Ipanema, and Leblon. It turned out that not only had they arrived at the right location, but they had also arrived at the right time. It was carnival time, and they were treated to a spectacular parade. It felt good to have a break after the recent trauma of the Weeping Angels and the near genocide at the hands of the Silurians.

On a rare, rainy day, the Doctor took them to a bookshop in the Leblon neighbourhood. But instead of going into the bookshop, he took them upstairs to a little art gallery that was apparently hidden away.

Rose was checking the tourist website on her super duper smart phone. 'I thought there was that big art museum thing.'

'Museu de Arte Moderna. Yeah, you could go there, but that's where the art lovers go.'

'And what's wrong with that?'

'Nothing. But here, at Arte em Dobro, this is where the artists come.'

Rose could see what he meant. The works were new, vibrant and exciting. She had never bothered with art museums when she had lived on the Powell Estate. It would have been a sure fire invitation to get a beating from some of the low lifes that hung around by the shops.

'Been bitten by the bug huh? Well when we're done in Rio, why don't we nip over to Paris? There's this beautiful converted railway station, the Musée d'Orsay which houses the largest collection of impressionist and post-Impressionist masterpieces on your planet.'

'Yeah. All right. I'd like that.'

A few days later, they were walking through the corridors of the Musée d'Orsay, with Andrea in her pushchair. Rose was wearing a smart, figure hugging short dress, with ankle boots and a smart jacket.

There was an expert in a suit wearing a large, blue bowtie, lecturing a group of visitors. 'So this is one of the last paintings Van Gogh ever painted. Those final months of his life were probably the most astonishing artistic outpouring in history, It was like Shakespeare knocking off Othello, Macbeth and King Lear over the summer hols.'

'We saw him knock a play out overnight once,' Rose said casually, which threw the expert off his stride and made him pause before continuing.

'And especially astonishing because Van Gogh did it with no hope of praise or reward. He is now . . .'

'Thanks for bringin' me,' Rose said as the expert continued.

'You're welcome,' he said. 'And not a Powell Estate hoodie in sight.'

'Hey, I used to wear a hoodie on the estate.'

'Each of these pictures now is worth tens of millions of pounds, yet in his lifetime he was a commercial disaster. Sold only one painting, and that to the sister of a friend. We have here possibly the greatest artist of all time, but when he died you could have sold his entire body of work and got about enough money to buy a sofa . . . and a couple of chairs. If you follow me now . . .'

'Who is it?' a young voice said behind them.

'It's the Doctor,' a different young voice replied.

The Doctor and Rose turned to see two schoolboys looking at the portrait of Doctor Gachet.

'He was the Doctor who took care of Van Gogh when he started to go mad,' the second boy lectured the first.

'I knew that.'

'Look. There it is. The actual one,' Rose said excitedly as she held the picture in her Van Gogh exhibition guide book next to the painting of the Church at Auvers.

'Yes. You can almost feel his hand painting it right in front of you, carving the colours into shapes,' the Doctor said, and then looked a bit closer. 'Wait a minute.'

'What?'

'Well, just look at that.'

'What?'

'Something very not good indeed.'

'What thing very not good?'

'Look there, in the window of the church.'

He pointed at a window in the painting and Rose looked closely. She thought that it looked a bit like a dragon's head. 'Is it a face?'

'Yes. And not a nice face at all. I know evil when I see it and I see it in that window.'

The Doctor went over to the expert, who was at the Still Life with Twelve Sunflowers. 'It has changed hands for something in the region of twenty . . .'

'Excuse me,' the Doctor interrupted. 'If I can just interrupt for one second.' He took out his psychic paper and showed it around. 'Sorry, everyone. Routine inspection, Ministry of Art and Artiness. So, er?'

'Doctor Black,' the expert told him.

'Yes, that's right. Do you know when that picture of the church was painted?'

'Ah, well, ah, well, what an interesting question. Most people imagine . . .'

'I'm going to have to hurry you. When was it?'

'Exactly?'

'As exactly as you can . . . Without a long speech, if poss. I'm in a hurry.'

'Well, in that case, probably somewhere between the first and third of June.'

'What year?'

'1890. Less than a year before . . . before he killed himself.'

'Thank you, sir. Very helpful indeed.' He pointed at Black's tie. 'Nice bow-tie. Bow-ties are cool.'

'Yours is very . . .'

'Oh, thank you,' the Doctor smiled.

Rose rolled her eyes. 'What is this? The annual outin' of the bowtie wearers appreciation society?'

'But bowties are cool,' her husband told her.

'Yeah, you just keep tellin' yerself that, granddad.'

Rose had already told him her opinion on bowties. They were okay with a dinner suit at special occasions, and he'd looked quite sexy when he'd worn his "dinner suit of doom" in his old body. But for everyday wear, she thought they were a bit pretentious, or as she put it, poncey.

'Keep telling them stuff. We need to go,' the Doctor told Black.

'What about the other pictures?' Rose asked as he ushered her to the exit.

'Art can wait. This is life and death. We need to talk to Vincent Van Gogh.'

The TARDIS materialised in a narrow alley, scaring a cat. The door opened and the Doctor stuck his head out. 'Right, so, here's the plan. We find Vincent and he leads us straight to the church and our nasty friend.'

'What could possibly go wrong?' Rose asked sarcastically as she pushed Andrea out in the pushchair.

'Well, quite a lot. I suspect nothing will be easy with Mister Van Gogh. Now, he'll probably be in the local cafe. Sort of orangey light, chairs and tables outside.'

Rose looked in her exhibition guide book, and found "Café Terrace at Night" which she read was painted on the Place du Forum in 1888. 'Like this?'

'That's the one,' he confirmed.

She looked up at the street name, which said they were on the Place du Forum. She looked down the street, and there was the exact same Café Terrace, with chairs and tables outside.

'Or indeed like that,' she said.

The Doctor looked at the painting and the café. 'Yeah, exactly like that.'

They walked up to the café, where two waitresses were clearing tables with the manager. 'Good evening,' the Doctor said. 'Does the name Vincent Van Gogh ring a bell?'

'Don't mention that man to me,' the manager said and stalked back inside.

'Excuse me,' the Doctor apologised to the retreating manager. He turned to the waitresses. 'Do you know Vincent Van Gogh?'

'Unfortunately,' one of them said.

'Unfortunately?' Rose queried.

'He's drunk, he's mad and he never pays his bills.'

'Good painter, though, eh?' the Doctor said.

The waitresses laughed like it was the funniest thing they had heard in ages.

A Dutch accent came from inside the café 'Come on! Come on! One painting for one drink. That's not a bad deal.'

The Doctor sat at a table and smiled as the manager, Maurice led his impecunious customer outside. 'It wouldn't be a bad deal if the painting were any good.'

The Doctor pointed and mouthed "Vincent Van Goch" to Rose, who was standing at a table opposite.

'I can't hang that up on my walls. It'd scare the customers half to death.' Rose was open mouthed with silent delight.

'It's bad enough having you in here in person, let alone looming over the customers day and night in a stupid hat. You pay money or you get out.'

'I'll pay, if you like,' the Doctor offered.

The manager looked at him in disbelief. 'What?'

'Well, if you like, I'll pay for the drink.' Vincent turned around to see who was offering to buy him a drink. 'Or I'll pay for the painting and you can use the money to pay for the drink.'

'Exactly who are you?' Vincent asked.

'Oh, I'm new in town.'

'Well, in that case, you don't know three things. One, I pay for my own drinks, thank you.' That got a laugh from the staff.

'Two, no one ever buys any of my paintings or they would be laughed out of town. So if you want to stay in town, I suggest you keep your cash to yourself. And three, your wife . . . if she is your wife is cute, but you should keep your big nose out of other people's business.'

['Well, that told you,'] Rose thought to her husband with a smirk.

Vincent turned back to Maurice. 'Come on, just one more drink. I'll pay tomorrow.'

'No.'

'Or, on the other hand, slightly more compassionately, yes?'

'Or, on the other hand, to protect my business from madmen, no.'

'Or . . .'

Rose had heard enough. 'Oh look, just shut up, the pair of you.' She wheeled the pushchair towards them. 'I would like a bottle of wine, please, which I will then share with whomever I choose.'

'That could be good,' Vincent said.

'That's good by me,' Maurice agreed.

'Good,' Rose said with a smile as she wheeled Andrea to her father.

Maurice gave Vincent his Self-portrait with Straw Hat back and went inside with Rose. The Doctor leaned forward to talk to his daughter.

'Your mummy's very clever,' he told her and tickled her tummy, who rewarded him with a delightful chuckle. Rose returned with a bottle of wine and three glasses.

'That accent of yours. You from Holland like me?' Vincent asked the Doctor.

'Yes,' he replied.

'No,' said Rose.

['The TARDIS makes me sound Dutch,'] the Doctor thought to Rose. 'She means yes. So, start again. Hello, I'm the Doctor.' He held his hand out across the table.

'I knew it!' Vincent said angrily.

'Sorry?' the Doctor asked in confusion.

'My brother's always sending Doctors, but you won't be able to help.'

'Oh, no, not that kind of Doctor.'

Vincent picked up one of his paintings, and the Doctor's eyes lit up. 'That's incredible, don't you think, Rose?'

'Absolutely. One of my favourites.'

'One of my favourite whats?' Vincent asked suspiciously. 'You've never seen my work before.'

'Ah yes,' Rose said awkwardly. 'One of my favourite paintings that I've ever seen . . . generally.' She quickly shut up and had a sip of wine.

'Then you can't have seen many paintings, then. I know it's terrible. It's the best I can do.' He leaned forward and started to flirt with her. 'Your hair's golden.'

'Yes. And yours is orange.'

'Yes. It was more orange, but now is, of course, less.'

The Doctor rolled his eyes at the man's clumsy chat up line. 'So. Er, Vincent, painted any churches recently? Any churchy plans? Are churches, chapels, religiousy stuff like that, something you'd like to get into? You know, fairly soon?'

'Well, there is one church I'm thinking of painting when the weather is right.'

'That is very good news.'

An elderly woman ran down the Place du Forum, wailing. 'She's been murdered! Help me!'

'That, on the other hand, isn't quite such good news,' the Doctor said. 'Come on, Rose, Vincent!'

Rose grabbed the pushchair and hurried after her husband. Vincent finished his drink in one quick gulp and ran after them.

'She's been ripped to shreds!' they heard a man call from a narrow side street, and added in the direction of the commotion.

'Please, let me look. I'm a Doctor,' the Doctor told the crowd.

'Who is it?' a woman asked.

'Oh no, no, no,' the Doctor said sadly as he looked at the body of a young woman lying on the cobblestone street.

'Is she dead?' a man asked.

A distraught woman pushed people to the side. 'Away, all of you vultures. This is my daughter. Giselle. What monster could have done this? Get away from her!'

'Okay, okay,' the Doctor said, trying to placate her.

'Get that madman out of here!' Giselle's mother yelled at Vincent.

The crowd started throwing stones at Vincent, and the Doctor and Rose got pelted, too. She crouched over the pushchair to protect Andrea from the projectiles.

'OI! There's a baby here,' she called to the crowd.

'You bring this on us. Your madness! You!' Giselle's mother accused Vincent.

'He's to blame!' another woman agreed.

The trio retreated quickly out of the narrow street, and found an alley to escape down.

'Are you all right?' the Doctor asked Vincent.

'Yes, I'm used to it.'

'Has anything like this murder happened here before?'

'Only a week ago. It's a terrible time.'

'As I thought. As I thought. Come on, we'd better get you home.'

'Where are you staying tonight?' Vincent asked.

'Oh, you're very kind,' the Doctor said cheekily, slapping his shoulder. Rose laughed nervously and hurried off after the Doctor.

Vincent led them to the courtyard of a small house. The Doctor looked up at the night sky. 'Dark night. Very starry.'

'It's not much. I live on my own. But you should be okay for one night,' he said as he crossed the courtyard. 'One-night,' he emphasised.

'We're going to stay with him?' Rose asked excitedly.

'Until he paints that church.'

'Watch out. That one's wet,' Vincent warned them as he passed a painting that was hanging by the door.

'What?' Rose asked as she looked at the painting. She recognised it from the Musée d'Orsay. It was called The Bedroom in Arles she recalled. She took Andrea out of the pushchair, kissed her cheek, and carried her inside.

'Sorry about all the clutter,' Vincent apologised as he moved a painting out of the way.

'Some clutter,' the Doctor said in admiration.

'I've come to accept the only person who's going to love my paintings is me.'

'Wow,' Rose said. 'I mean, really. Wow.'

'Yeah, I know it's a mess. I'll have a proper clear out. I must, I really must.'

The Doctor and Rose browsed the pictures around the room as if they were back in the Musée d'Orsay. Rose was pointing at the paintings, drawing Andrea's attention to them.

'Coffee, anyone?' Vincent asked.

'Not for me actually,' the Doctor said, and then noticed him putting the coffee pot on one of his paintings, leaving a ring on it. 'You know, you should be careful with these. They're precious.'

'Precious to me. Not precious to anyone else,' Vincent said sadly.

'They're precious to me,' Rose told him, poking her around the door from another room of art treasures.

'Well, you're very kind. And kindness is most welcome.'

The Doctor changed the subject. 'Right, so, this church, then. Near here, is it?'

'What is it with you and the church?' Vincent asked suspiciously as he took some logs from the indoor pile by the door.

'Oh, just casually interested in it, you know.'

'Far from casual. It seems to me you never talk about anything else.' He looked to Rose. 'He's a strange one.'

['Ooh, he's got your number,'] Rose thought with a giggle.

'Okay, so, let's talk about you, then. What are you interested in?'

'Well, look around. Art. It seems to me there's so much more to the world than the average eye is allowed to see. I believe, if you look hard, there are more wonders in this universe than you could ever have dreamed of.'

'You don't have to tell me.'

The Doctor sat by the fire while Vincent tried to explain. 'It's colour. Colour that holds the key. I can hear the colours. Listen to them.'

['Ah, that explains a lot,'] the Doctor thought to Rose, who was looking at the paintings hanging by the door.

['What's that then?']

['He's got a form of synesthesia. He can hear the sound colours, just like the composers Liszt and Rimsky-Korsakov could see the colours of sound.']

Vincent grabbed the Doctor's lapels to get his attention. 'Every time I step outside, I feel nature is shouting at me. Come on. Come and get me. Come on. Come on! Capture my mystery!'

'Maybe you've had enough coffee now,' the Doctor said kindly. 'How about some nice calming tea? Let's get you a cup of chamomile or something, shall we?' He stood up and looked to the door. 'Rose . . . Where's Rose?'

As if on cue, he heard Andrea cry out and Rose scream outside. 'No, no, no!'

They ran out into the courtyard, and found Rose sitting on the ground, cradling and comforting their distressed daughter.

'Rose? Rose? What happened?'

'I don't know. I didn't see it. I was havin' a look at the paintings out here when somethin' startled Andrea. When I turned to see what it was, it hit me from behind.'

'Your daughter probably saved your life,' Vincent told her.

The Doctor helped her to her feet. 'It's okay. He's gone now and we're here.'

'No! No!' Vincent cried out.

'Take it easy. Take it easy!' the Doctor said.

Vincent was backing away from something only he could see.

'What's happenin'? What's he doin'?' Rose asked.

'I don't know.'

Vincent picked up a wooden pitchfork and pointed it at the Doctor, who cautiously backed away. 'Oh, dear.'

'Run,' Vincent told him. 'Run!'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah. That's not a bad idea. Rose, get back. He's having some kind of fit. I'll try to calm him down.'

Vincent was stabbing at the air. 'Easy, Vincent, easy. Look. Look, look, look. It's me, it's me, it's me. It's the Doctor, look. No-one else is here.'

Rose noticed that her crying daughter appeared to be looking at the same thing. 'Doctor, look! It's like she can see somethin' as well.'

'So, Vincent . . .' the Doctor started to say.

But Vincent interrupted him with a warning cry. 'Look out!'

A barrel was knocked over, and then the Doctor went flying as though something had knocked him off his feet.

'I can't see anything,' Rose told him over the wails of her daughter. 'What is it?'

'That is a good question,' the Doctor said to Rose, and then addressed Vincent. 'Let me help you.' He grabbed a wooden pole.

'You can see him, too?' Vincent asked in surprise. He wasn't mad. It was real!

'Yes . . . ish. Well . . . no. Not really,' he replied and was sent flying again. They may not have been able to see the creature, but they could hear it growl.

'You couldn't see him?' Vincent asked the supine Doctor, wondering if he was mad after all.

'No. No,' the Doctor admitted from the floor. Vincent went charging off again. 'Oi!'

The Doctor swung his pole in wild arcs, while Vincent plunged his pitchfork into the invisible enemy, apparently wounding it and causing it to leave. The Doctor continued to swing his pole in the air.

'He's gone,' Vincent told him.

'Oh, right. Yes. Of course.'

'And you'll be sure to tell me if you see any . . . you know, monsters,' the Doctor said to Vincent as they stood outside the Church at Auvers.

'Yes. While I may be mad, I'm not stupid.'

'No. Quite. And, to be honest, I'm not sure about mad either. It seems to me depression is a very complex . . .'

'Shush. I'm working,' Vincent told him as he continued his painting of the church.

'Well, yes. Paint. Do painting! I remember watching Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel. Wow! What a whinger. I kept saying to him, look, if you're scared of heights, you shouldn't have taken the job then.'

'Shush,' Rose said.

'And Picasso. What a ghastly old goat. I kept telling him, concentrate, Pablo. It's one eye, either side of the face.'

Rose rolled her eyes. 'Quiet!'

She usually loved his runaway gob, but there was a time and a place. She knew she was slightly tetchy because she'd left Andrea in the TARDIS again, and it still felt wrong. And she had felt silly as she'd told Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum that if anything happened to Andrea, she would slam dunk them into the next universe.

The two droids had leaned back to look up at her, which she thought was silly, because they didn't have any eyes, or even any faces. They had then turned to "look" at each other, "looked" back at her, and then had rolled over to the playpen to give Andrea anything her heart desired.

An owl hooted which brought Rose out of her telepathic link with her daughter. She noticed that Vincent had almost finished the painting.

'Is this how time normally passes? Really slowly?' the Doctor asked them. 'In the right order. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's an unpunctual alien attack.'

Rose could sense his uneasiness. 'Are you okay? You seem a bit . . . if I didn't know you better, I'd say nervous.'

'Yes, there's something not right and I can't quite put my finger on it.'

'There. He's at the window,' Vincent announced suddenly.

'Where?' the Doctor asked.

'There, on the right.'

It was just as they had seen it in the painting. 'As I thought. Come on. I'm going in.'

'Well I'm coming too,' Vincent said.

'No! You're Vincent Van Gogh. No.'

'But you're not armed.'

'I am.'

'What with?'

'Overconfidence, this,' he said, indicating the alien detector. 'And a small screwdriver. I'm absolutely sorted. Just have to find the right crosactic setting and stun him with it. Sonic never fails. Anyway, Rose, only one thought, one simple instruction. Don't follow me under any circumstances.'

'I won't,' she said like a dutiful wife, and he set off for the church.

'Will you follow him?' Vincent asked.

'Of course.'

Vincent looked at her admiringly. 'I love you.'

The Doctor reached the church porch and looked at the decoration above the door. It depicted St Michael slaying the dragon. The Doctor put on the alien detecting gizmo and went inside. He could hear the Krafayis moving about, but couldn't see it on the large mirror of the detector. He took out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the area.

'Damn, he's moved,' he said as he glimpsed the Krafayis as it swiped at him and smashed the mirror on the detector. He ran for the door and pulled it open to find Rose standing there. 'Argh! I thought I told you . . . Never mind. We'll talk about it later. Quick, in here.'

He dragged her into a confessional booth. 'Absolutely quiet. Can you breath a little quieter, please?'

'No,' Rose said. 'He's gone past.'

'Shush.'

The beast smashed Rose's side of the confessional and she screamed

'I think he heard us,' the Doctor said and it attacked his side. 'That is impressive hearing he's got. What's less impressive are our chances of survival.'

'Hey! Are you looking for me, sonny? Come on, over here. Because I'm right here waiting for you,' they heard Vincent say outside the confessional booth.

They stepped out of the booth and saw Vincent fending off the Krafayis with a chair. 'Come on. Quickly. Get behind me.'

The Doctor tried his sonic screwdriver on the invisible beast. 'Doing anything?'

Vincent shook his head. 'Uh uh.'

They ran outside the Church. 'Where is he?' the Doctor asked.

'Where do you think he is, you idiot?' Vincent said sharply. 'Use your head.'

The Doctor tried the sonic again. 'Anything?'

'Nothing. In fact, he seemed to rather enjoy it.'

'Ooh.'

'Duck!' Vincent called to the Doctor. 'Left.'

The Doctor ducked to the left and got thrown against a wall.

'Right, sorry,' Vincent apologised. 'Your right, my left.'

The Doctor struggled to his feet. 'This is no good at all. Run like crazy and regroup.'

'Oh, come on, in here,' Rose said and opened the door to the crypt. They tried to close the door, but something was stopping it. Vincent could see the Krafayis foot in the door and stamped on it. The door closed.

'Right. Okay. Here's the plan. Rose, Vincent.'

'What is the plan?' Rose asked.

'I don't know, actually. My only definite plan is that in future I'm definitely just using this screwdriver for screwing in screws.'

'Give me a second. I'll be back,' Vincent said and hurried off.

'I suppose we could try talking to him,' the Doctor told Rose.

'Talking to him?'

'Well, yes. Might be interesting to know his side of the story. Yes, though maybe he's not really in the mood for conversation right at this precise moment.'

The beast hammered on the door. 'Well, no harm trying. Listen. Listen! I know you can understand me, even though I know you won't understand why you can understand me. I also know that no one's talked to you for a pretty long stretch, but please, listen. I also don't belong on this planet. I also am alone. If you trust me, I'm sure we can come to some kind of, you know, understanding. And then, and then, who knows?'

A window broke, and the invisible beast entered the church. 'Over here, mate!' Vincent called to it.

They hid behind a stone monument. Vincent had fetched his easel and was brandishing it with its three pointed feet forwards.

'What's it up to now?' the Doctor asked.

'It's moving round the room. Feeling its way around.'

That struck a chord with the Doctor. 'What?'

'It's like it's trapped. It's moving round the edges of the room.'

'I can't see a thing,' Rose said.

'I am really stupid,' the Doctor announced.

'Oh, get a grip!' Rose told him. 'This is not a moment to re-evaluate your self-esteem.'

'No, I am really stupid, and I'm growing old. Why does it attack but never eat its victims? And why was it abandoned by its pack and left here to die? And why is it feeling its way helplessly around the walls of the room? It can't see. It's blind. Yes, and that explains why it has such perfect hearing!'

'Which unfortunately also explains why it is now turning around and heading straight for us,' Vincent said.

'Vincent. Vincent, what's happening?' the Doctor asked.

'It's charging now. Get back. Get back!'

The Krafayis charged Vincent and skewered itself on the easel. It lifted Vincent into the air, before falling to the floor, mortally wounded.

'He wasn't without mercy at all,' Vincent realised. 'He was without sight. I didn't mean that to happen. I only meant to wound it, I never meant to . . .'

'He's trying to say something,' the Doctor said.

'What is it?'

'I'm having trouble making it out, but I think he's saying, I'm afraid. I'm afraid. There, there. Shush, shush. It's okay, it's okay. You'll be fine. Shush.'

'He was frightened, and he lashed out. Like humans who lash out when they're frightened. Like the villagers who scream at me. Like the children who throw stones at me.'

'Sometimes winning . . . winning is no fun at all,' the Doctor said philosophically.

They arrived back at Vincent's home. 'I only wish I had something of real value to give you,' Vincent told the Doctor, presenting him with the painting Self-portrait in a Straw Hat.

'Oh, no, no, no. I could never accept such an extraordinary gift.'

'Very well. You're not the first to decline the offer,' he told him. Vincent turned to Rose. 'Rose, the blessed, the wonderful, the mother.'

'Be good to yerself . . . and be kind to yerself,' she said as he kissed her cheeks.

'I'll try my best.'

'And maybe give the beard a little trim before you next kiss someone.' She rubbed her cheek and smiled.

'I will, I will. And if you tire of this Doctor of yours, return, and we will have children by the dozen.'

Rose squeaked with shock. 'Eek.'

Vincent shook the Doctor's hand. 'Doctor, my friend. We have fought monsters together and we have won. On my own, I fear I may not do as well.' They hugged and slapped each other's backs.

'Are you thinking what I'm thinking?' the Doctor asked Rose as they walked through the courtyard.

'I was thinkin' I may need some food or somethin' before we leave.'

'Well, no, you're not thinking exactly what I'm thinking.' He turned and shouted up to an open window. 'VINCENT!'

Van Gogh appeared shirtless in the window. 'I've got something I'd like to show you. Maybe just tidy yourself up a bit first.'

In the alleyway, the TARDIS had been covered in advertising posters. 'Now, you know we've had quite a few chats about the possibility there might be more to life than normal people imagine?'

'Yes.'

'Well, brace yourself, Vinny.'

Rose went through the door with Andrea so that she could see his reaction. She loved to watch that, and Vincent didn't disappoint. His eyes took in the large expanse of the console room, and he hurried back outside to look around the outside. 'How come I'm the crazy one, and you two have stayed sane?' he asked as he stepped back inside. The sound of time and space warping out of shape filled the alley, as the light on top of the blue box started to flash, before it faded away.

'Where are we?' Vincent asked as he looked at the remnants of the burning posters on the TARDIS.

'Paris, 2010 AD. And this is the mighty Museé D'Orsay, home to many of the greatest paintings in history,' the Doctor told him.

Vincent looked up at the magnificent architecture. 'Oh, that's wonderful.'

Two lads walked past listening to a radio, and Vincent watched them with fascination. 'Ignore that,' the Doctor said. 'I've got something more important to show you.'

They took him inside, up the stairs, and into the Van Gogh gallery. The Doctor found Black conducting another tour. 'Doctor Black, we met a few days ago. I asked you about the church at Auvers.'

'Oh, yes. Glad to be of help. You were nice about my tie.'

'Yes. And today is another cracker if I may say so. But I just wondered, between you and me, in a hundred words, where do you think Van Gogh rates in the history of art?'

'Well, big question, but to me, Van Gogh is the finest painter of them all,' Black told him. 'Certainly, the most popular great painter of all time. The most beloved. His command of colour, the most magnificent. He transformed the pain of his tormented life into ecstatic beauty.'

Rose noticed that Vincent's eyes were filling with tears.

'Pain is easy to portray, but to use your passion and pain to portray the ecstasy and joy and magnificence of our world. No one had ever done it before. Perhaps no one ever will again. To my mind, that strange, wild man who roamed the fields of Provence was not only the world's greatest artist, but also one of the greatest men who ever lived.'

Vincent was sobbing as the Doctor looked at him. 'Vincent. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Is it too much?' He tried to comfort him with a hug.

'No. They are tears of joy.' He turned to Black. 'Thank you, sir. Thank you.'

Vincent kissed Doctor Black on both cheeks and hugged him. Black was stunned by this behaviour. 'You're welcome. You're welcome.'

'Sorry about the beard,' Vincent apologised as he walked away.

Black took a few steps then stopped as he thought about the man he had just met. He turned back to look at him and shook his head, mouthing "No". It couldn't be.

'This changes everything,' Vincent announced enthusiastically as he stepped out of the TARDIS into an olive grove. 'I'll step out tomorrow with my easel on my back a different man. I still can't believe that one of the haystacks was in the museum. How embarrassing.'

'It's been a great adventure and a great honour,' the Doctor told him, shaking his hand and hugging him.

'You've turned out to be the first Doctor ever actually to make a difference to my life.'

'I'm delighted. I won't ever forget you.'

Vincent turned to Rose. 'And you are sure you won't divorce this man and marry me instead?'

'Sorry Vincent. I promised him forever, and that's one promise I won't break.' She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. 'Come on. Let's go back to the gallery right now,' she said to her husband.

Rose carried Andrea in her arms as she hurried back into the museum. 'Time can be re-written. I know it can. Come on! Oh, the long life of Vincent Van Gogh. There'll be hundreds of new paintings.'

'I'm not sure there will,' the Doctor said as he followed her up the stairs.

'Come on!' she called to him. She was desperate to see how it had turned out.

Doctor Black was lecturing another group of visitors. 'We have here the last work of Vincent Van Gogh, who committed suicide at only thirty seven. He is now acknowledged to be one of the foremost artists of all time. If you follow me now.'

'So you were right,' Rose said sadly. 'No new paintings. It's Charles Dickens all over again . . . and my Dad. We didn't make a difference at all.'

He gently hugged her. 'I wouldn't say that. The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things. Hey. The good things don't always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things or make them unimportant. And we definitely added to his pile of good things. And, if you look carefully, maybe we did indeed make a couple of little changes.'

Rose looked closely at the painting of the Church at Auvers. 'No Krafayis.'

'No Krafayis,' he agreed.

Rose slowly walked over to the Still Life with Twelve Sunflowers painting. What was that on the vase?

"For Rose, Vincent"