I hope you're happy that this one will finally be a long(ish) one! Whoopee for me.
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Donna Noble had always liked a good night out. For her, there was almost nothing in the world better than hitting the town with her girlfriends and enjoying the bustling, lively atmosphere of a good pub or bar. Ever since she was fifteen years old and not really excelling at school (but neither failing), and she had started going to the pub every Friday with her school friends in the year above, she had realised she was something of a social butterfly. She hated staying at home when she knew that her friends were at a party and this was an interest that had carried well into her adult life. Although, there had been a period a while ago when Donna couldn't remember quite what parties she'd been at … but she liked to think that that was simply because she'd been having such a good time. Although her wild ways had naturally calmed as she had got older, she still felt the need for a good social life in order to enjoy herself and this was the main reason why, in late November (and therefore the start of the Christmas season), she wasn't too pleased to find herself in a strange new town where her social life put her on the same level as a hermit (at least in her books). She'd only had one friend when she'd arrived in Cardiff – a girl she'd known in the sixth form called Heidi, who, on leaving school, had been to university, only to marry and have children in quick succession. She had a son and a daughter, aged three and six, and although Donna had enjoyed catching up with this old friend, the social circuit that she had allowed her access to was mainly comprised of mothers and their darling children, toddler group leaders and school committee members, and this wasn't exactly the scene Donna felt she most fitted in to. Sure, at work there were other people – but the only other secretary on her floor was an eighteen year old who had got the position due to her father's heavy investment in the firm, and the other workers her age were all the high-flying lawyers who felt it below their station to fraternise with her. Fair enough, they had been perfectly friendly; it was probably more Donna's own resentment of their success that prevented her from forging any bonds with them.
Thus, the first few weeks of Donna's life in Cardiff passed quietly and sedately, bar the occasional pop back to London to see her old friends and gorge herself on nostalgia and old times. With the exception of these longed for trips, Saturday nights were spent curled up on the sofa in her pyjamas, eating chocolates and watching Casualty, or on the phone to her granddad. Soon, however, she found that this dull lifestyle, although relaxing, just wasn't for her. She took action. She joined a yoga class.
For Donna, any form of exercise could be equated with torture. Yet, there had been that completely inexplicable time during the summer when she'd suddenly found herself able to run really quite well … it was as though she'd had a lot of practise, running a lot, but she was certain she'd been being just as lazy as usual. Even so, desperate times called for desperate measures and she felt this would be one of the dead-cert ways she could meet other women her age, in whom she could find friends.
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It was with anticipation and a little dread that Donna attended the first session on a Tuesday evening. She parked outside the church hall (such a cosmopolitan location) and walked in. She was a little early and only a few other people were there – a small, balding man in grey draw-string tracksuit bottoms, and two women, both in shades of pink and lilac, with bobbing ponytails, talking animatedly about some matter or other. The hall soon filled up and Donna was thankful that she was not the only person to come alone; neither was she the only person for whom this was their first time. With a deep breath, she let herself go with the flow and follow the lesson, adamant not to make a fool of herself.
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After ninety minutes of stretching and bending, pilates and yoga moves, the class came to an end. "Tea to your left, put your mats in the cupboard at the back of the hall. See you next week!" called the instructor. Donna put away her blue, rubbery mat and headed over to where they were serving hot cups of tea and coffee. Everyone else seemed to have someone to talk to and when Donna had finished putting her three sugars in her mug of tea, she wasn't really sure what to do. It had been so long since she'd been the only new person somewhere and she felt reminiscent of her first days at secondary school. But everyone had been new all those years ago … now she was the only one. She'd clearly become much too comfortable with the easiness of her old life. She tried to approach the shiny haired, slim women in pink she'd seen at the beginning of the class but as she did so, opening her mouth about to say who-knows-what, they turned around, blanking her, and she was left ready to speak to nobody. She turned, preparing to leave, go home and certainly not come back, but her eyes perceived another woman looking just as lonely and morose as her. She was a medium height, medium weight, relatively curvaceous woman of roughly thirty, with chin-length, dark and glossy hair. She had a rosy complexion and though not beautiful, she had the air of being someone you'd like to go and talk to. So, Donna approached her.
Her name was Sandy Field and she was a theatre nurse at the local hospital. It was also her first lesson, and she had been just as nervous as Donna. "Mainly because, well, I'm hardly a size 0!" She guffawed with laughter, and Donna tittered nervously. Fair enough, she thought, slightly irritating, but beggars can't be choosers. Even if Sandy was grating slightly (mainly because of her sing-song Welsh accent), she did seem genuinely friendly and the first nice person, similar to Donna, that she'd met in a while. She resonated her old friends and she had missed them. Thus, it was somewhat happily, although with a little trepidation, that she accepted her offer of invitation to the pub that night with Sandy's other friends.
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The evening passed enjoyably and amicably enough. Sandy's friends were amusing and intelligent and Donna felt as though she was starting to fit in. And not all of them had Welsh accents … but even so she was starting to find the language of the Valleys quite endearing. Sandy actually had a husband, Dave, of three years but no children, although they were looking into adoption. The rest of her friends were in a similar mould – both single men and women like Donna, or people in relationships. Unfortunately none of these similar, apparently like-minded men attracted her much, but she didn't really mind. She'd become used to the fact that she was single and unlikely to find "the one" this late in the game. She left the Fox and Hound Inn just after midnight, bidding farewell to her new friends and hailed a taxi. At this peak time, there were none nearby so she reluctantly walked over to Union Street where she'd heard there was always an abundance of taxis. Upon finally getting one however, she opened up her purse to find she didn't have enough money for the fare back to her poky flat; she would have to brave walking.
She started along the street, busy only with a handful of people – teenage girls, men buying kebabs – and clutched her handbag tight to her chest. She had heard tales of people being stabbed for a tenner in parts of the city and although she had only been mugged once in her life (in her mid-twenties; she had never really got over the loss of that mobile phone), she could be paranoid. She had no idea why … for some reason she often felt shrewder beyond her experiences; as if she'd seen a lot but almost couldn't remember it …
Half way through her journey, Donna was tired and in need of a sit down – after all, she had done an insane amount of exercise that day, what with the yoga class! Thinking that she'd be incapable of making it all the way home without a heart attack, she walked to the bus stop by the park and sat down to wait for the next No. 30 bus to her neighbourhood. Scanning the timetable, she saw it wouldn't arrive for twenty-five minutes. The night was bitterly cold and she could hear the beginning splatters of rain pattering on the roof of the shelter, causing her to hurriedly choose the option of staying and waiting for the bus. There was the occasional passer by, but Donna was the sole waiter under the shelter; and so she waited.
--
Looking up and down the street, the moonlight danced on the pavement in the splashing puddles. Footsteps clacked down the street and Donna craned her neck to see from whom they were coming. A tall man with dark brown hair was striding towards the shelter, finger pressed to his ear, speaking inconspicuously to some person not present through an aural device. He was clad in a World War II style greatcoat and looked like he had somewhere he needed to get to. She could hear the creak of the oncoming bus a couple of streets away, but the figure was advancing with a pace faster than looked possible. Soon he was close enough for her to make out his face; he had a handsome, charming look about him but there was something lurking beneath his eyes that made her feel slightly uneasy; they were too old for his body. Suddenly, this sinister look vanished and his eyes lit up. He strode towards her even faster, calling in an American accent, "Donna Noble! What in hell's name are you doing here?"
Donna's jaw dropped. Who was this man? What did he want with her? And how in blazes did he know her name?
"I'm sorry love - good one, but I haven't a clue who you are."
The bus drew up and she stood, getting out her left over change (not quite sufficient for the luxury of a taxi). The man was still standing there, watching her with a most perplexed expression.
"What? It hasn't been that long – surely just several months?"
"Yeeaah … okay. I'll be off!" Just humour him, and he'll leave you alone. She took her place on the hard, plastic seat of the bus and waited for it to pull away. As it did so, she looked out of the back window. But the man had gone. All that was left in his place was sheer nothingness.