"Name?"
"Jackie Tyler." The woman looked tired, downtrodden. Her peroxide hair, moussed inexpertly, made her whole persona seem even more depressing. Or maybe it was just the woeful expression on her face, or the bereft-looking child clutching her hand? Donna felt bad for her – she'd always lived in a warm, cosy house and felt like these sorts of events were problems of Third World Countries and times gone by, not twentieth century London.
Donna gave her as sympathetic look as she could muster without seeming patronising, and carried on filling out the woman's application for temporary housing before the flats were fixed again.
"How many of you are there?"
"It's just me and Rose."
"Is she a Tyler, too?"
"Yep."
Rose Tyler. Donna wrote down the name.
"We'll see what we can do."
On her walk back to the TARDIS, Donna mulled over the day's events. There'd been a couple of minor incidents; Trish, the woman who worked in the booth next door to her had had some issues with a particularly rowdy man and during the lunch break there'd been a trip to the local pub where she had witnessed another brawl (did nothing but violence go on in this decade?).
Even so, there was one thing she couldn't get out of her head.
Rose Tyler. Rose Tyler. Why did it sound so familiar?
The Doctor, her Doctor; the friend he'd lost had been called Rose. But there must be so many people in London who had that name! Donna didn't know anything substantial about her, so why did she feel like that woman and her child were so significant?
She weighed up the evidence.
What had the Doctor told her?
Rose was from London. She had a family, who lived in London. He'd spent Christmas with them. Then, she disappeared without a trace and ended up stuck on a parallel world. Fat lot of good that was.
This Rose. The small, vulnerable child. This one … how old could she be? Eight, maybe nine if Donna was generous. She had a mother, Jackie. She was blonde, looked like she'd be a looker when she was older. She lived on the Powell Estate.
But what good was that? Donna didn't know how old Rose had been when she and the Doctor had travelled together; she didn't know what year he'd picked her up, anything. Even if she had, it wouldn't have helped. Donna was rubbish at maths.
The Powell Estate. That's what he said! The day they first met, her wedding day; they sat on a roof and he pointed over to …
"I spent Christmas over there. The Powell Estate. With this … family. My friend, she had this family. Well, they were … still. Gone now."
Donna might have lacked mathematical capabilities, but she knew there was every chance that this child could be Rose.