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Chapter 3

Clara woke up much earlier than she had expected after not being able to sleep for hours and she felt tired, if not exhausted. Nevertheless she knew she would never be able to go back to sleep in this strange room in a strange house where she felt anything but welcome.

The night before, after dinner, Malcolm Tucker had led her to the guest bedroom, which was nothing if not scarcely furnished. A single bed, a small desk and a wardrobe. Clara didn't need a lot of imagination to tell that no one ever slept in there. After all, who would visit this insufferable man?

Determined to make a good impression on him despite his rudeness Clara got dressed and brushed her teeth before applying a thin layer of make up. Maybe, if she was lucky, he would take her with him today and no matter what happened – Clara would be prepared. She walked downstairs, noting once more how tidy everything was except for the hamper with his shirts that blocked the kitchen counter. Sighing, she decided to simply do it. It was beneath her and she knew it, but she needed to pass the time until he woke up somehow. She would iron his shirts this once and never again. Clara had half a mind to just pack her things up and leave as she searched for the iron, but she reminded herself of how important this internship was for her career. Three months. It was only three months.

When she was ironing the second shirt Clara started to hear water running upstairs and when she started the third Malcolm Tucker came stomping downstairs.

"Good morning," she greeted him in a friendly manner, hoping his mood was better than yesterday.

He looked up for a moment, mumbled a good morning in reply before he went to retrieve the newspaper from his doorstep. Clara waited patiently for him to come back and pay attention to her, but instead Malcolm headed straight towards his briefcase and stuffed the newspaper inside.

She cleared her throat. "Are we going to have breakfast or head straight to the office?" Clara asked him hopefully.

Finally he looked up, if only briefly. "I never have breakfast. I usually buy something on the way."

"Oh," she uttered, "Well, that's fine, I guess."

When Malcolm looked up again his eyes fixed on her for a moment longer before he started to chuckle. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to give you the impression we'd be going to the office together. You are staying right here. Help yourself to some breakfast if you like."

"I want to come with you," Clara replied determinedly, setting down the iron with a louder bang than she had anticipated, "I'm your intern. You said so yesterday."

"No, what I said yesterday was that you will have to prove yourself to me," he explained.

"How am I supposed to do that if you don't let come with you?" she asked him, her tone angry. This internship got worse with every passing second and she was beginning to actually hate Malcolm Tucker.

He pointed at the iron. "Well, you started on the shirts. That's a good start."

"I am not your maid!" Clara yelled but he didn't appear to be listening to her any longer. Instead he continued to sort the contents of his briefcase.

Clara was fuming with rage at his behaviour but just as she was about to call him an arsehole her gaze dropped to a stack of post-it notes and a pen lying on the table. Before she could think better of it Clara used the moment that Malcolm was distracted, took the pen in her and and scribbled "twat!" on one of the post-its.

"Alright, I'll be off," Malcolm Tucker announced and turned away from her to head towards the door, "I'm sure you'll find something to occupy yourself with."

"Oh, hang on," Clara called him back, "There's something on your back."

"Why? What is it?" he asked her in confusion.

Clara walked up to him and pretended to brush something off his jacket before sticking the note where everyone could see it. He would kill her if he found out, but Clara didn't care about that right now. She just wanted a way to get back at him. Any way.

"Lint," she explained, clearing her throat, "All gone now."

Malcolm straightened his shoulders and for the first time he smiled at her in a sincere manner. "Thank you. You might make a good intern yet, sweetheart."

Before Clara could tell him off for calling her sweetheart Malcolm Tucker had turned around and stepped out of the house and she almost regretted not being there when the first person saw the post-it on his back.

Malcolm stormed into the DoSAC office and threw the newspaper right into Ollie's face. That blithering idiot almost fell backwards with his chair in his surprise before he could catch his balance again and looked at him, startled.

"Why didn't you fucking stop her?" Malcolm bellowed at the young man.

"I-I'm. . . uh. . ."

"It is important that children are properly educated and disciplined," he quoted Nicola Murray, "Disciplined! I'm surprised the headline doesn't read 'Nicola Murray endorses corporal punishment'!"

"Have you ever been able to stop Nicola Murray from doing something mid-interview?" Ollie asked him back, that stupid Ollie-grin on his face.

"Don't be smart with me or you'll find out whether your balls fit into the printer's paper tray," he hissed threateningly, "Where is she?"

Ollie nodded towards her office and when Malcolm turned around he could see her trying to hide behind the frosted glass. Then all of a sudden Ollie burst into laughter behind him. Strange. That was about the third time this had happened today. Even the Prime Minister had found some weird reason to laugh in his presence.

"What?" Malcolm barked.

"Oh, nothing," he chuckled and quickly hid his mouth behind his hand, "Just thought of something funny."

Malcolm scoffed at Ollie's immature behaviour and made his way straight into the Nicola's office without even knocking.

"You're going to fix this," he said determinedly, pointing at Nicola, "And you better have a good explanation ready for when the first calls come in and, trust me, that fucking phone is gonna start ringing any time now."

"Hello Malcolm," Nicola said, her voice dripping with annoyance. That woman was as fit for politics as a blind man for flying a plane. She didn't have the right to be annoyed.

"What were you thinking?!"

"I wasn't thinking!" she tried to defend herself but that was the worst defence Nicola could have possibly come up with.

Malcolm groaned and buried his face in his hands while turning his back towards her and then it happened again. Nicola Murray started to laugh. Malcolm shot around instantly.

"Okay, what is it?" he bellowed, "Don't say nothing because I know that you laughed for a reason!"

Nicola suppressed a chuckle. "You, erm, you've got something-," she broke off but made a gesture indicating that there was something on his back. Malcolm reached behind himself and soon felt a piece of paper with his fingers. He ripped it off to have a look.

"Twat!" he read out loud. How original. Who would be brave enough to-

Clara. Clara Oswald.

Now even Malcolm had to laugh. She was brave, he had to admit that much. Clara Oswald had played the cheapest, most childish trick on him and she had probably entertained dozens of people by writing a simple note. Malcolm vowed that she would pay for that, and he would would find a better way to do that than a pitiful post-it note.