This chapter is rather short, and it's all about relationships. I hope it makes you laugh/smile. :-)
So, remember, Martha's great uncle Floyd passed away earlier in the week?
NINE
"Floyd Brownhill was an upstanding citizen," said a non-descript man, dressed in black, with a white collar, and an insincerely distressed expression on his face. "He was kind, generous, and people admired him."
"Well, that's true," Clive Jones whispered in Martha's ear. "Not that he would bloody know that."
"Shh, Dad," she whispered. "Enough. Just leave it."
She had, half an hour earlier, witnessed a tense encounter between Clive, his mother, who was Floyd's sister, and his cousin Allan, Floyd's son. Clive, who been closer with his uncle Floyd than with his own father, wondered why on Earth a vicar who had never met the deceased was giving the eulogy. His mother had insisted that this was what had been decided by Floyd's kids, and it was not his place to protest.
"The hell it isn't!" Clive shouted. "He always said I was like a son to him, and he was a right sight more present in my life than my own dad, that's for sure! I should at least have had a say in it!"
Allan had said, "No one is disputing your place in his life! But Dad wasn't religious anyway! It's not like we have a family priest who could regale us with stories, and make us all feel spiritually edified. It's just a dog and pony show, Clive – let it go."
"How could you say that? Look, I could say a few words," Clive offered. "I've still got some time to prepare…"
"It's settled, Clive," his mother had snapped. At that point, she noticed that Martha had walked into the sanctuary with a new man, and all of her attention was then focused on the tall man with the spiky hair and the incongruous Converse on his feet (which absolutely delighted her, for some reason).
"Well, listen to him!" Clive spat at Martha, during the soulless eulogy. "It's just platitudes. It's probably the same bullshit he says about every person who comes through here, expecting a proper funeral."
"Hush, you!" Martha's grandmother scolded from in front of them. "I'll take you over my knee. Don't think I won't!"
This caused everyone in the vicinity, save for Clive, to stifle a laugh, and pretend to turn their attention back to the vicar at the front of the room.
"Floyd was born right here in London on 13th August, 1924, to Edith and Vincent Brownhill. He served in the RAF during World War II, and then became a certified plumber in 1945, after the war, when the city was being rebuilt. He met Anna Christine Pelham in 1946 and they married in 1947. They had two sons, Oliver and Allan, and one daughter, Marie. They have six grandchildren: Louis, Jillian, Colin, Ted, Gabby and Michael. Anna preceded him into the House of Our Lord in 2001, after a battle with cancer."
"Oh yeah, this is highly personal and fully respects the man he was on the inside. Great decision, guys," Clive whispered to his cousins, seated in front.
Everyone ignored him.
The vicar went on to deliver a list of facts about Floyd's life, and a few subjective "platitudes" as Clive had called them, that might have applied to anyone in the world. All of it was done with a soft, sympathetic tone of voice, which, Martha supposed, was meant to substitute for actual substance. But she reckoned it didn't matter, because there was nothing that Uncle Floyd loved more than when the family was all together, and that's what was happening now… so, who cared what some random clergyman said?
When the service was over, Floyd's sister, children and grandchildren lined up beside the open casket, so that guests could file by, and pay their respects to the departed and his family.
"I can't go through that receiving line," Clive said.
"Dad, this isn't like you," Tish complained. "Can't you just let this thing go? Floyd's memory was honoured, we're all here, everyone's watching…"
"Listen, if you can't get hold of yourself, then maybe it is best if you just meet us at Marie's for the wake," Francine said, firmly. "You can cool off in the car. I'll ride with Martha."
"Fine," Clive grumbled, and went against the crowd like a salmon, and disappeared through a door at the back of the sanctuary.
"Never seen your dad like that before," the Doctor said quietly to Martha and Tish. "Well, except for when he was possessed by a malevolent alien entity."
Francine turned and faced them all with venom in her eyes. "You lot need to put a bloody lid on that kind of talk! Really!"
Martha chuckled. "Sorry. We'll stop." With that, she elbowed the Doctor in the abdomen and told him, "Stick to your story, John."
That was when the vicar motioned for their row to move down the aisle and, "Greet the dearly departed, one last time."
Upon her turn, Martha held Floyd's stiff hand, and said, "My dad had to leave, but if he were here, he'd say that he loved you. Take care of yourself, Uncle Floyd, wherever it is that you've gone now."
The Doctor said nothing, but inched along with Martha into the receiving line. She introduced him to everyone, he offered his condolences. She gave each person a cordial kiss on the cheek, until she reached the end of the line.
"Colin!" she exclaimed, a bit inappropriately loudly. And she jumped up and hugged the man heartily. "Wow, how long's it been?"
"I dunno," he said, setting her back on her feet. "Maybe since Maisie's birthday at the lake?"
"That long? God, I'm sorry I haven't phoned!"
"It's all right… I could have done, too."
"Oh, sorry! Colin, this is, erm, John." She swallowed then, and realised she felt more guilty about lying to Colin than anyone else, which is why she had tripped over the introduction. She shook it off almost instantly, then, to the Doctor, she said, "This is my cousin Colin – one of my absolute most favorite people! He was my hero when we were kids – the super-cool older cousin. He showed me how to dissect things!"
"But not in a proto-serial-killer way," Colin assured the Doctor. "I also showed her how to build a popsicle-stick bridge, which is totally non-creepy."
The two men shook hands, and exchanged greetings.
"Are you going to Aunt Marie's now, for the wake?" Colin asked.
"We'd planned on it, yeah," Martha told him.
"Okay," Colin said. "You know, I really think you and I should catch up, but there won't be a chance at the wake. I'll have to stand in another flippin' receiving line 'cause Marie has invited a bunch of people who aren't here at the funeral."
"I see. Sounds great," Martha muttered.
"I mean, I want to be there for my granddad, but I'm not sure how standing single-file with my brother and my cousins, shaking hands with people, is helping to usher him into the next life, you know?"
"Well, we could go get a drink afterwards. If you want."
"Sounds good," said Colin. "Let's plan on it – the three of us. Do you know Fiona the Forger, over in Marie's neighbourhood?"
"We can find it," Martha said.
"The wake runs until three. Let's meet there at four. Maybe dinner later – play it by ear?"
"Great," Martha chirped.
Colin reached out for the Doctor's hand again. "Nice to meet you, John. Looking forward to knowing more about you – see you in a bit, then."
A little after three p.m., Martha and the Doctor arrived at her flat to change clothes, and found Donna, pacing in the foyer, shouting into her mobile phone.
"Who d'you think you are, anyway, a damn goddess? He's a grown man, for God's sake!"
The Doctor and Martha looked at each other, and shrugged. Donna loosely acknowledged them, but went on arguing.
"It's the same blooming thing you do to me, d'you know that? You nag, and you nag, and you nag until I cannot stand one more minute of the sound of your voice, and give in. And you think you've won, but d'you know what? No-one actually gives in, mum, it's just that we lie to you to shut you up!" A pause. "Oh, yes, we do. Me and granddad both. You think he really eats that carob and bran rubbish you feed him? No! He throws it in his garden as compost and eats meat pies from the corner market instead, while he's up on the hill!"
The other two, rather than standing about eavesdropping, moved around her and tiptoed upstairs. The Doctor changed into a brown suit with a light blue dress shirt, and navy-blue tee shirt, with the rare no-tie choice. Martha pulled on jeans and a pink tee-shirt, and a pair of sandals.
They didn't say much as they changed, and said absolutely nothing as they made their way down the stairs back toward Donna. They arrived just in time to hear her scream something vulgar at her mother, cut off the call, and throw the phone into the next room.
"Yikes, Donna," Martha winced. "Sorry about all that."
"No, no, I'm the one who's sorry," Donna whispered. "Erm, Martha, I may need to stay here a few more days. I can't go home after that."
"No problem."
"She's absolutely stifling my grandfather – totally ruining his twilight years, I say! And she's his legal guardian, which he needs on account of his hip and his inner-ear injury, so I can't even have him come stay with me, once I get my own place, or she says she'll take me to court. It's like he's a child!"
"You stay as long as you need to, or want to," Martha said. "Your grandfather too, if you can manage it."
"I wish," Donna sighed, sitting despondently on the back of the sofa.
"We're going out for a drink," Martha told her. "Why don't you come? You look like you could use one."
"No thanks," Donna answered, softly, with a weary look in her eye. "You two go."
"Please come," the Doctor said. "We're meeting Martha's cousin, and they haven't seen each other in years. They need to catch up, and I'm going to need someone to talk to. Or at least someone to share incredulous glances with."
Donna put her head back, and massaged her neck with her right hand. She studied the ceiling, thinking about it, then said, "Okay, fine. I'm just pissed-off enough… I could use a drink. What the hell? Let me just freshen up, and I'll be ready."
Just before four, they walked into Fiona the Forger's pub, found a table, and the Doctor went to the bar for four lagers, in anticipation of Colin's arrival.
The three of them made small talk, and briefly discussed the time capsule issue before Martha looked up, and waved at someone who seemed to have just walked through the door.
Donna's eyes were drawn to a man in a black t-shirt and jeans, waving back, with a huge smile.
"Jesus, Martha," she whined, though she hadn't meant to say anything at all.
"What?" Martha asked.
"Well… why didn't you tell me your cousin is Wesley Snipes?"
"Oh, well, he's… wait, what?"
"Yowza…" Donna mused, as the man came closer.
"Really?" Martha asked.
"Erm, yeah!" answered Donna, in a high pitch, though without moving her lips.
"Hi, you lot," Colin said, approaching. He gave Martha a kiss on the cheek, then pulled out the table's only empty chair, and sitting down beside Donna.
"Donna, this is my second cousin (or something like that), Colin Brownhill. Colin, this is our dear friend Donna Noble," Martha said, gesturing from one to the other.
"Well," Colin said, protracting the syllable and smiling widely. "Very nice to meet you, Donna Noble."
"Likewise, I'm sure," Donna responded, batting her eyelashes a bit - but not too much.
Martha and the Doctor exchanged a look. To Martha, at least, it had appeared that Donna was fairly well-skilled in the art of flirting.
"Tell me, how do you know my cousin?" Colin wondered.
"Well, actually I knew the Doctor first," Donna responded.
"She means John," Martha interjected.
"Erm, my fiancé – well, let me rephrase that:my ex-fiancé – was having some issues, and the Doctor helped him out," Donna explained, good-naturedly.
"In my hospital administrator capacity," said the Doctor, remembering his and Martha's cover story, and how it had been disseminated at the wake.
Colin couldn't have cared less what the Doctor had to say, just now. He continued to smile, rested his elbow on the table, his cheek on his fist, and asked, "I see. And what do you do, Donna Noble?"
"Do? Oh, you mean, for a living?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Well, this and that," Donna answered, shrugging. "Mostly secretarial. Had trouble finding my niche."
"I bet you're a brilliant secretary."
"Well… yes," Donna admitted. "I am, rather. Ninety words per minute, trained in four spreadsheet programmes, and I can do a mean RP for answering phones."
Colin laughed. "There's call for that, is there? Pardon the pun."
"You'd be surprised," Donna answered, in an exaggerated RP, which made everyone smile. Changing her voice back to normal, she asked, "How about you, Colin Brownhill?"
"I'm an architect," he said. "I work for Westerhagen-Luft."
"Oh, I know that firm!" Donna exclaimed. "I took dictation one afternoon for one of the junior partners, in a meeting with some bigwigs from Stuttgart, when his secretary had flu!"
"That would be, who? Mr. Lustig?"
"Big bloke? German accent? Hardly any neck? Kind of smells like black licorice?"
"Yep, that would be the Ouzo," Colin said, smiling, shaking his head. "Man drinks the stuff like it's water. I find it disgusting, personally, but to each his own, I suppose."
"Speaking of drinking," Donna said, and she moved an untouched tumbler of lager in front of Colin. "Bottom's up. Didn't know what your poison was, so, we let the Doctor choose."
"This is great, thanks," Colin said to the Time Lord, taking a hearty sip. "I'm definitely a beer-lover."
And so it went for the next hour or so – Colin and Donna completely taken with one another, and the Doctor and Martha listening in wonder, occasionally exchanging a "wow" glance.
At some point, Colin said, "Oh, my God, Martha, I'm so sorry. We came out for a drink tonight so we could catch up, and here I am taking up your lovely friend's time with my incessant questions…"
"It's okay," Martha said, waving away the comment. "No one minds."
"Least of all me," Donna lilted.
"We said we might get a bite to eat, play it by ear," Colin suggested. "What do you lot say? My treat."
"I promise I won't dominate the conversation," Donna added, winking.
Don't worry, I didn't just introduce a Deux Ex Machina for Donna's emotional issues!
Also... a review would make my day! Thank you for reading!