DAY 138
Rewritten July 2024
1001: If I Didn't Care
Jenny
"Anchovies? In cookies? Are you insane?" said Sally Sparrow, dropping her half-eaten cookie back down onto the plate Jenny had offered her. She scrunched up her face in disgust and struggled to get down the bit she'd already bitten off. "Why am I even asking? Of course you are; you're not even from this planet…"
"I thought it would be an interesting experiment," said Jenny. "Sweet and salty – like salted caramel, or mixed popcorn. Anchovies and cookie dough."
"And you like them?" said Sally. Jenny shrugged.
"I don't dislike them, although I don't think the anchovies are the source of saltiness that would work best. Texturally it's a nightmare, and no good for baking."
"Make salty icing, then," said Sally. "Or put something else on top. Kimchi."
"Hm… That's an interesting idea," said Jenny. "Kimchi on a cookie. I wonder if I could put black pudding into a cookie; Clara might like it."
"Revolting," Sally shook her head. "I only came here for the casserole dish."
"Are you sure you need it back? I might use it for something else yet," said Jenny.
"I'm under very specific instructions from Esther to go and get the casserole dish back today," said Sally.
"What does she need it for?"
"For baking a casserole, I imagine." Jenny glared at her, but finally stopped procrastinating and fetched the casserole dish from one of the cupboards. "Why can't Clara buy you a casserole dish, anyway?" Sally went on. "I know Adam Mitchell doesn't charge her any rent to live here."
"Casseroles are very low on the list of things that Clara and I talk about. Did you want those condoms, by the way?"
"Excuse me?"
"For your fancy man. They don't expire for ages, Clara checked," said Jenny.
"I thought that was a joke. No, I don't… I can buy my own condoms. Or make sure he buys them. Not that I've even arranged to see him again," said Sally, picking up the casserole dish and cradling it in her arms. "Or at all, since we usually just run into each other by accident."
"Well, if you want a lift down to London, let me know," said Jenny. "Happy to oblige."
"Why is that?"
"Pardon?"
"Why give me a lift?"
"…It's just a nice thing to do," said Jenny. "A lot like lending a casserole dish."
"But you don't like me."
"Oh, you're fine," said Jenny. "I wish Clara fancied you a bit less, but that's not your fault." There was a knock at the front door. "Can you get that for me? It's probably Dylan, and I'm trying to put off meeting him for as long as possible."
"That's wise," said Sally. "He's a wanker." She left Jenny alone in the kitchen, putting her anchovy cookies onto a plate, one by one, with her good hand, ready to wrap in clingfilm and put into the fridge. But both her hearts stopped when she heard a voice from the doorstep.
"Sally Sparrow, isn't it? We haven't been properly introduced – well, not since we first met, three hundred years ago now – and I was preoccupied at the time; lizards, and whatnot. Is Jenny in, by any chance?"
The Eleventh Doctor.
Jenny couldn't move. She stood there, waiting. Sally Sparrow came back through.
"It's, er, it's your father, I believe," said Sally. "Did you want me to show him in?"
"No need!" the Doctor called before Jenny could say anything. "I can show myself in; there's only one door, after all." Only when she saw that Sally Sparrow was looking at her hand did Jenny realise that she'd crushed one of her cookies into crumbs.
"Well, I've got the dish back; I'd better go home," said Sally, sensing the atmosphere change as the Doctor entered the cottage. She smiled, barely, and excused herself, shutting the front door behind her and leaving Jenny and the Doctor alone. It was the late afternoon; Clara was at work.
"Vampire house, eh?" he said. "I thought it would be gloomier."
"It is when Clara's in," said Jenny. "She's at work."
"Is there a school here?"
"Bookshop." He nodded, thinking, looking around at Clara's knickknacks. "What are you doing here?"
"Didn't you want me to come? You said if we never saw each other again, it's my fault. And I don't want that. What kind of biscuits are these?" He craned his neck to look at them.
"Try one," she said. He didn't need asking twice, picking one up and eating it in one bite.
"Anchovies," he said. "Delicious. You'll have to give me the recipe."
"I don't share my recipes, even the experimental ones," she said coolly. But at least she'd found someone to pawn her cookie batch off onto.
"How's your hand? Martha was saying she wants to check it over," he said.
"Painful."
"I can heal it for you, if you like?" he offered.
"Excuse me?"
"Regeneration energy."
"You can just invoke it?"
"From time to time," he said. "If I have a good enough reason."
"I… No. I'm going to let it heal."
"Martha said it might never heal properly."
"Then, I'll live with it. Besides, at the rate I'm going, I'll probably regenerate again in another fortnight's time," she said. "What did you come here for?"
"To talk, to…" He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I wanted to apologise. For everything."
"Be more specific."
"I should have noticed that you're unhappy. And I'm sorry that I'm not very good at this fatherhood malarkey; I'm out of practice. And I wasn't terribly good at it even when I was younger, if you must know," he said. "But I brought you something. A peace offering."
"Oh?"
From the inside of his tweed jacket, he drew out a large mirror, far too big to fit in there ordinarily – he had transdimensional pockets to thank for that.
"A mirror?" She raised her eyebrows.
"Used it to help van Gogh out of a sticky situation a few centuries ago," he said. "It's Time Lord technology, very old. Designed to reflect the unreflectable." He put it down on the kitchen table.
"It'll work on vampires, you mean?"
"Should do, if I've got my calculations right – had to make a few tweaks," he said. A mirror for Clara. "I won't be able to make another one if anything happens to it, though."
"I'm not in the habit of breaking things."
"I more meant her. How is she, anyway?"
"Better than me," said Jenny.
He cleared his throat. "I've been looking into you."
"I'm sure you found nothing good," she said quietly.
"You've left a very big footprint," he said. "Truly an indictment on me that I never saw it before. Everyone wants you, don't they? The FBI, the Homeworld Alliance, the Shadow Proclamation, even the Stasi."
"I'm only guilty of about half the crimes I'm accused of," she said.
"You didn't head up an organised crime syndicate in Louisiana for fifteen years?"
"Erm, no, that one's true," Jenny admitted.
"And what about your war record? Engineering with the RAF?" he asked.
"What about it? Fixing up Spitfires was a lot of fun."
"Plymouth?"
"Yes."
"Were you there on the sixteenth of October 1941, by any chance?"
"I believe so. Why?"
"No reason." He picked up another anchovy cookie. "Somebody sent a message to the TARDIS this morning looking for you, while we were docked over Venus helping Oswin's brother move colonies. It said it was for the immediate attention of Captain Raxis – the Lady of Eridanus. Captain Jenny Raxis." He bit into the cookie.
"What was the message?" she asked.
"So, it is for you? Why 'Lady'?"
"It's a joke, it – Stede Bonnet, you know. The Gentleman Pirate. Notoriously polite, tried not to kill anybody – very ineffective. It's meant to be an insult," said Jenny.
"Oh, Bonnet. Decent fellow, kept bad company," said the Doctor. "Excellent taste in jewellery, though."
"But what was the message?" Jenny asked again.
"An SOS. 'Captain Raxis – come urgently.' Came from a very dangerous area of the Myoki Galaxy with a dormant black hole-"
"The Fowl Pocket," said Jenny.
"Yes."
"What year?"
"4221."
"Hm. Not good. I'd… I'd better look into it," she decided. It wouldn't go well, but if her old crew was in danger – which, in the Fowl Pocket, they definitely were – she had to help. She undid her apron and left it draped over one of the kitchen chairs.
"Did you want some company?" asked the Doctor.
"Are you asking?"
"Yes, I am." Jenny didn't say anything, she stewed. Could she trust him? "I want a chance to make things up to you, Jenny. Will you give me that?" It was a lot to ask. Not only to spend time with him, but to let him into her life lack that. But Thirteen had known everything about her, even down to the gumbo. Something had to give.
"Alright. You get one chance, Doctor. One."
He smiled. "That's all I need."
DAY 138
Rewritten July 2024
1007: Intensive Care
Jenny
She disembarked the TARDIS on a frosty evening in Hollowmire, the Doctor lingering behind her in the doorway.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay on the TARDIS?" he asked. "You're very welcome."
"Martha gave me very specific instructions to keep recuperating in the village," she said, looking down at the bulky, metal-lined splint she'd now been given for a thumb. The stitches were out, but Martha had still cleaned the healing wounds and wrapped her in bandages before the splint was applied. She was to change the bandages each day and send a picture of her thumb to Martha as she did.
"You can recuperate on the ship," he said. "I'll make sure of it."
"…No. Clara probably needs me, anyway; she's been drinking," said Jenny.
"Right you are," he nodded. "I'll drop by again in a few days, then?"
"You… Wait here a moment," she said, getting an idea. She suspected the TARDIS would have vanished by the time she got back outside, having unlocked the front door and retrieved her plate of fish-flavoured cookies from the kitchen table. But it hadn't. The Doctor was there, waiting for her. "Here. You're the only person who'll eat them."
"Oh, thank you," he said, surprised.
"You can come and bring the plate back when you're done," said Jenny.
"Won't Clara mind the crockery going missing?"
"No, she doesn't notice anything that happens in the kitchen," said Jenny.
"I'll be sure to savour them," he smiled. "And, erm – before I go…"
"What?"
"You called me 'dad' today," he said.
"Did I?"
"Yes."
"I didn't notice. And I didn't know you were bothered about what I call you."
"I suppose I wasn't. But I am now, and it's nice," he said.
"…Noted."
"And I should tell you the reason – the real reason – I left you behind. Left your body, on Messaline," he said, stunning her.
"I didn't think you had a real reason."
"I failed my whole race, Jenny. They all died, all of them, the Time Lords. And then, hundreds of years later, there you were. And I looked at you, and I saw them – all the best things about them, without any of the baggage, the pomp, of Gallifrey. But you died, and it was like losing them all over again because you were all of them. You were my whole species, and I lost you." He paused, then went on, Jenny aware that she had tears building. "I didn't leave you because you weren't enough of a Time Lord, I left you because you were too much of one, and I couldn't handle it. It was wrong of me, very wrong, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything, Jenny."
He wasn't expecting her to hug him, but she nearly knocked him off his feet, the cookies almost going on the grass. With one arm, he hugged her back. It was long – long – overdue.
"Thank you for telling me," she said, and he squeezed her.
"I'll be off, then," he said when she released him. "But I'll keep in touch. Won't be far."
"Sure," said Jenny. She wanted to tell him that she'd liked spending time with him, but when she saw the look on his face and the way he was smiling, she knew she didn't need to.
"Cheerio, Jenny. Don't be a stranger." He gave a meek wave, which she returned, and stepped back into the TARDIS. She waited out on the icy moors until it had vworped away completely and the wind died back down.
With the noise of the ship gone, though, Jenny was surprised to hear singing carrying through the air towards her. She was even more surprised to see that it was Clara, stumbling up the hill from the village, swinging her arms around. Jenny waited for her, and Clara cheered as she approached.
"Jenny!" She stumbled over. "Jenny, Jenny, who can I turn to? You give me something I can hold onto…"
"I don't think I know this song," said Jenny. Clara ignored this and went on.
"Jenny, I got your number… I need to make you mine… Jenny, don't change your number… Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-ni-e-ine…" She tripped over, collapsing into Jenny's arms. "You rescued me."
"Aren't I heroic? Come on, let's go inside," said Jenny, helping her to her feet. She was very wobbly. "You've had fun, then?"
"I have to tell you something," said Clara when Jenny had gotten her into the cottage and locked the front door. She leant on the wall, in danger of falling over again.
"What's that?"
"I'm… I'm drunk," she said, then she giggled.
"No, really? I couldn't tell," said Jenny.
"That's because I'm a good actor," said Clara.
"Mm, you're phenomenal. Why don't you take your boots off while I get you a glass of water?"
"Water? Boo! There's wine in the fridge!"
"Oh, I think you've had enough wine," said Jenny. "I think you should have some water and go to bed; the sun will be up soon."
"I don't care about the sun! The sun doesn't control me!"
"It does, actually, just – here, sit down."
She was so inept that Jenny had to guide her onto the sofa and then remove her boots for her, taking them into the hall and hanging up her coat while she lolled around and ranted about how she was madly in love with Sally Sparrow.
"I'm sure Sally Sparrow's thrilled about that," said Jenny.
"She was just talking about this boy, though. Who cares about boys?"
"Sally Sparrow might, since she brought them up. Do you want to go to bed?"
"No! No, no, no!" Jenny had been heading into the kitchen to get a glass of water when Clara grabbed her arm and pulled her down. She landed in Clara's lap. "Have sex with me." She trailed a finger down Jenny's cheek.
"I'll be more than happy to have sex with you in eight to twelve hours' time," said Jenny.
Clara frowned. "How long is that?"
"About eight to twelve hours."
"What do you mean?"
"Tomorrow. After you've gotten some sleep."
"But I don't want to sleep! I never want to sleep again!"
"Then I suppose we're never having sex again," said Jenny, easily dodging Clara's half-hearted attempt to kiss her and getting back to her feet. Clara flopped down onto the sofa. "If you want to sleep there, sleep there. The bed's all made, though."
"What's the point of the bed if we're not having sex?"
"Sleeping, Clara." She finally poured the water and opened the door into the cellar, delivering it to Clara's bedside table before undertaking the monumentally complex task of getting her into bed. "Come on, don't make me carry you."
"But I want you to carry me," said Clara. Jenny sighed and sat down on the sofa, Clara lifting her legs and then putting them back down over Jenny's thighs, which she didn't mind all that much. "Jenny."
"Yes?"
"You're the sexiest person I've ever met."
"Thank you," said Jenny.
"I mean it, I mean it," said Clara. "I got you a present. I got you…" She pulled out of a pocket on her dress a beer mat from the Mermaid.
"Oh, this is for me?" said Jenny. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble."
"It's because I love you."
"I'll treasure it forever," said Jenny, putting it down on the coffee table. "I'll put all my mugs of tea on it from now on."
"I really do, I really…" She yawned.
"Come on," Jenny smiled at her. "We'll go downstairs and go to bed."
"Mmhm," Clara nodded, captured by sleepiness mere moments after declaring she never wanted to go to bed again.
Jenny helped her to her feet, and they staggered down the stairs together, Clara throwing herself down onto the bed. She was out like a light after that, without letting Jenny help her get dressed into more comfortable clothes. Well, Jenny would be there when she woke up, and she had a lot to think about during the small hours.
Iveanne, the Comet, the Doctor. All of it went around in her head. While Clara slept, Jenny showered – still wrapping her hand in a plastic bag to keep it dry – and made up a flask of strong coffee, sensing that Clara would need it as soon as she awoke.
It didn't take long for this to happen. Apparently, even a vampire still found themselves in the unfortunate position of waking up in the middle of the night, just after the hangover began to sink its claws in, with a pounding head and a desperate need to use the toilet. By nine in the morning, five hours after she'd gone to sleep, Clara was awake, groaning, with Jenny by her side.
"Hello, there," said Jenny, moving hair out of Clara's face. She'd been drooling.
"Am I dead?" asked Clara.
"Only as dead as you usually are." Clara buried her face in the pillow. "Did you have a good night?"
"I think I drank a lot more than Sally."
"I'm not surprised. But if it helped you to blow off some steam, maybe it's good."
"You think I have steam to blow off?"
"You've been through a lot recently. I hope you had some fun, even if you're not having fun right now," said Jenny. Clara breathed deeply and then sniffed the air, her black eyes snapping open.
"I can smell coffee. Is there coffee?"
"Of course there's coffee, what do you take me for? Sit up and I'll get some for you."
Clara tried to do this but then curled up again, head in her hands, and started mumbling something about how her bra was cutting into her. Jenny poured the coffee and then, finally, helped her undress, shedding her going-out clothes and her lacey underwear and swapping it all for clean, comfy pyjamas.
"Who were you wearing the lingerie for? Sally Sparrow?" asked Jenny.
"For myself. If I want to feel sexy, that's my prerogative."
"You could have the frumpiest underwear in the world on and I'd still think you were sexy," said Jenny. Clara smiled a little and sipped her coffee, sinking back down in the bed. Jenny had also re-plumped the pillows for her.
"Shit!" said Clara, startling Jenny. "I forgot, you – you were with the Doctor today, weren't you?" Jenny had texted Clara while she'd been at work that afternoon. "How was it? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, mostly," said Jenny.
"Mostly?"
With heavy hearts, Jenny told her what had happened, how she and the Doctor had colluded to kill Iveanne, how the crew was dead, and how the ship had been overrun with plague.
"I didn't want to kill her," said Jenny. "But these things keep happening to me."
"What was the alternative? Let her win and die again? Like with Ashildr?" said Clara.
"I feel like there must always be another way," said Jenny. "The Doctor turned off the forcefield, though. That was his solution. I only finished the job he started. But why do you think he did it?"
"He was protecting you, Jen."
"He never killed Cobb, though."
"Who?"
"The man who shot me, the day I was born. The Doctor took the gun but didn't kill him. He let him live."
"You'd already died," said Clara. "What would killing him have accomplished? It would've been revenge. But today, he might have saved your life with his actions. So, it's different. And from what you've said, she sounded hell-bent on killing you. Isn't it self-defence?" Jenny didn't say anything. She took a deep breath and leant on Clara's shoulder, letting herself relax a little. Clara touched her arm.
"Do you have to go to work today?" Jenny asked.
"Technically, yes, but I might pull a sickie and bunk off."
"You don't have to do that for me."
"I'm not, I'm doing it for myself; I feel like my head's been put through a blender. Are things better with him, though? Do you think you made progress?"
"I don't know. He seems… He seems like he's interested in my life, for once, but what if it doesn't last?"
"Well, then, I'll give him a piece of my mind," said Clara.
"Please don't tell him off. He's married to you; he'll probably enjoy it."
"I don't think he'll lose interest. Just remember, one day, it'll be him in the kitchen making all those pickles for you," said Clara. "That's his future. You just have to let him get there."
"You're too wise to be only twenty-nine," said Jenny.
"Who knows how old I really am, with the TARDIS? I could be ancient."
"What's 'ancient'?"
"Thirty-two, thirty-three?" said Clara. Jenny laughed a little. "How's your thumb? It smells better; it was really getting funky under the cast."
"After just five days?" said Jenny.
"I've got a very good sense of smell."
"It's healing quickly," said Jenny. "Martha took the cast off and bandaged it up, and the Doctor got me this brace, courtesy of the TARDIS. It's about as rigid of the cast, but easier to get in and clean it. She sent me detailed instructions, said I should get you to help me, and said I'm to stay in the village and keep rehabilitating. But I'm sure she was joking about you helping me; you don't have to do it."
"I want to do it. I can't cook for you, so at least let me look after you in other ways," said Clara.
Jenny looked at her and sighed. "I suppose if you insist."
"I do." Clara nuzzled her. "By the way, I didn't say anything embarrassing when I was drunk, did I?"
"Say? No. But you did sing. What's the song, 'Jenny, I got your number, I want to make you mine'?" asked Jenny, not singing it.
"It's called 'Jenny', unsurprisingly. You really don't know that song?" said Clara. Jenny shrugged. "You're bizarre. It was massive in the eighties."
"I've never lived in the eighties."
"You're really missing out, then," said Clara. "Maybe we should go some time."
"Just to the eighties generally? Nowhere specific?"
"We could go to Paris, have a coffee late at night and just enjoy it," said Clara.
"I thought you've sworn off time travel?"
"For the moment. But it's different if it's with you. And if it doesn't start to consume my whole life again."
"Mm… Are you sure? That it would be different?"
"How do you mean?"
"Don't you think I'm like him?"
"Oh. Well… Yes, you are. You're both stubborn and bad at talking about your feelings. But you're also both clever, and kind."
"You think I'm stubborn?"
"Jenny, you're the most stubborn person I've ever met," said Clara. "It's really a feat. It's not bad to be like him, though. Everybody wants to be different from their parents, and then you grow up and you realise… It's just not something you can fight against." Jenny stayed quiet, enjoying the total silence of the cottage's cellar. She couldn't even hear the wind from down there. "I'd better text Dylan and let him know I'm not coming in." Clara picked her phone up from the bedside table, where Jenny had left it. "Sally got back alright, she says."
"Good."
"Oh, we were talking to erm, Alec, the pub landlord of the Mermaid last night; he was telling us about the Followers," said Clara while she sent her text, eyes on her phone.
"The what?"
"The people who run the village. I told you it's odd around here. They're some sort of religious order, the Followers of… Oc'thubha, I think they said."
"Er… Excuse me? Religious order?"
"Yeah. Really into baking, Alec says, and roller disco," she said. "Hence the big roller rink in town." She put the phone away.
"Were they trying to recruit you?"
"No. Sally just asked him if he knew why a village so small has a roller rink, and we got talking while he manned the bar. The food's great in there, by the way; we'll have to go some time. Better than ordering takeaways, and cheaper."
"Okay…"
"But now, I think I might go back to sleep." She leant over and kissed Jenny's cheek before putting her mug back down. "Thank you for the coffee. And thanks for looking after me."
"It's my pleasure," said Jenny, then she yawned. "I might have a nap, too, to be honest."
"Are you sure? You slept two nights ago," said Clara.
"I'm just sleepy."
"Come down here, then; you can be the little spoon."
"Like I'm never not," said Jenny, obliging. Clara wrapped Jenny in her cold arms and held her tightly. Her low body temperature was even more of a boon that evening, though, because Jenny was suddenly feeling very hot and sweaty, and she hoped Clara would have helped her overcome that by the time she woke up.
DAY 139
Rewritten July 2024
1012: Love & Friendship
Ravenwood
Dylan had complained about her taking the day off sick, fully aware that she and Sally Sparrow had made themselves very notorious at the Mermaid last night, but she placated him by offering to buy something from the shop's rare book collection when she was back in. In any case, she wasn't feeling her hangover at all anymore, completely absorbed in taking care of Jenny.
Never, in her entire life, had she had a sick, significant other to deal with. But she decided to do what anybody would do: make some soup. Or, in reality, convince Esther to come over and make soup, because Clara didn't want to deal with another broken microwave when she inevitably forgot that she wasn't supposed to put metal in it again. Esther heated up three whole cans of chicken soup for her and poured them into one of Jenny's big thermoses.
"Thanks for this," said Clara.
"It's no trouble," said Esther. "Anything for Jenny. And I need to get out of the house, besides. Sal's not taking her hangover as well as you. It's very annoying."
"She was annoying last night, too, going on about this bloke again."
"I know, I know," Esther sighed, sitting down in the empty armchair. Clara was on the sofa with Jenny curled up next to her, head in her lap, wrapped in a blanket. She was half-asleep; Clara was stroking her hair idly. "If I've told her once to just text the guy, I've told her a thousand times."
"Oh, no, they have been texting," said Clara. "It's whether she wants to go meet with him that's the issue now." Esther rolled her eyes and then turned her attention back to the television, where Clara was watching one of many re-runs of Murder, She Wrote. "What's he like?"
"Elliott? Fine," said Esther. "They're all over each other whenever they meet in person, so, I don't see what the big hold-up is."
"Just moving on, I suppose," said Clara. "I've never been engaged, but I imagine calling off a wedding at the eleventh hour really takes it out of you."
"It all seems like more trouble than it's worth."
"What? Love?" said Clara.
"Exactly."
"You'll find someone one day – a soulmate."
"You know I'm asexual."
"Yes, and you'll find a nice, platonic soulmate," said Clara. "There's someone out there for everyone. And, you know, maybe you've already met them. Maybe they're at home right now, all alone, smoking weed and watching this exact same episode of Murder, She Wrote."
Esther scoffed. "She's not my soulmate, that's ridiculous."
"Stranger things have happened."
"Name one stranger thing that's happened."
"Other than the electric zombie in my house?" said Clara.
"I… I'm not a zombie, that's rude."
"Is it? You know I'm a vampire – I'm undead, too."
"I think vampires are more popular than zombies."
"I'm not sure, I think zombies are having a moment," said Clara. "Then again, all those fictional zombies eat people. Not like me. Do you want anything else to drink, by the way?"
"No, it's okay; I wouldn't want to disturb her," said Esther, nodding at Jenny. Jenny was still barely lucid and curled up. Every now and then, she mumbled a word in a different language – German, Clara thought.
"You're welcome to make toast, or something, if you're hungry," Clara added. "I'm not allowed to use the toaster, but she won't mind you doing it."
"I'll think about it," said Esther. "I've been dying to know, though; what's it really like, being a vampire? Is it a drag, is it liberating, or something else?"
"Oh. Both, I think," said Clara, taken aback. "I don't enjoy that humans smell the way they do. It makes it hard not to… Do you know the Greek myth of Tantalus? Where he's in front of a banquet but he can never eat or drink, as punishment? That's how it feels. Maybe Tantalus was a vampire, and it's one big metaphor.
"But, on the other hand, I imagine I'd be worrying a lot about my age if I was with Jenny and still human. Now, it doesn't even factor in. It's like destiny. And I really can't believe my luck some days – most days, even – that she's mine." She wondered if Jenny could hear her at all. If she could, she didn't react.
"You two are good together," said Esther. "Even with all the weirdness, it's nice."
"Thank you. I always used to wonder whether I'd end up with a woman, and then I met Danny, and it looked like I probably wouldn't. But then…" She sighed. "Jenny's wonderful, though."
"What really happened to her hand?" asked Esther. "She's never told us."
"Oh. Someone did it to her," said Clara. "She was being interrogated, in Chernobyl. I wasn't there." Esther stared at her. "I know. But at least she's here now and I'm looking after her – even if I can't cook. How are you, anyway? How are you adjusting to life in England?"
"Other than the fact that all you people talk about is money while pretending you're talking about something else?" said Esther. "And then you all get mad when somebody does bring up money?"
"Yes, other than that."
"It's fine."
"Even with all the rain?"
"It rains a lot in D.C., too. It's just warmer. And it's better here now everybody in the village knows me and stops asking if I'm 'really' American every time I try to talk to someone," she said. "Although, Darren – do you know Darren?"
"The butcher? Jenny knows him."
"He asked me if I knew anybody in the mafia when I was in there buying Sal some sausage links."
"Strange."
Jenny groaned loudly and then curled up under her blanket.
"I'm dying," she mumbled.
"You're not dying, it's just a cold, Jen," said Clara. Jenny grimaced.
"I don't like being called 'Jen'," she said hoarsely.
"I've been calling you that for basically the whole time we've known each other."
"No. Only Clara calls me that."
"I am Clara." Jenny didn't respond, closing her eyes tightly. "Do you want some soup?" Rather than answer, Jenny pulled the blanket all the way over her head.
"I don't get it, do Time Lords not get sick usually?" said Esther.
"I'm not a Time Lord," Jenny mumbled.
"That's news to me," said Clara. Again, Jenny didn't reply. "I don't think there are very many illnesses they can contract, no. So, when they do get one, they behave like this."
"I'm dying," Jenny said again, muffled by the blanket.
"It's like living with Emily Brontë," said Clara dryly.
"I don't know who that is."
"I know you don't, it's okay."
"Are you sure it's alright for me to hang around here? I don't wanna intrude," said Esther.
"You can't very well leave before Angela Lansbury solves this murder," said Clara, nodding at the TV. "Anyway, your choice is sick Jenny or hungover Sally. Or you can go to the bookshop and volunteer to help Dylan – I'm sure he'd love to tell you all about this woman he's found."
"What woman?" said Esther.
"All I know is she's older and she owns an antiques shop in Harrogate," said Clara. "I was going to ask Sally about it last night, but I forgot – I got too distracted by her face. And her smell."
"Her smell?"
"Pistachios."
"I can't say I've ever noticed what she smells like. She usually just smells like pot."
"No, no, it's a perfume, and I can't work out which one. Here's an idea; go into her room, find the bottle, and send me a picture of it."
"Why?"
"So that I can get Jenny to wear it for me."
"I'm not going to do that. It's very creepy."
"It's not very creepy, it-"
"At the risk of overstepping," Esther cut her off, "you need to get over this crush. She doesn't enjoy constantly having to reject you." Clara grimaced. "I'm serious."
"I know, I know. It's a nice perfume, that's all."
"Then just ask her what her perfume is and she'll tell you. I'd tell you what mine is – at least, I would've done until you said you were going to buy it to use in sex," said Esther.
"I can't smell yours; you smell of burning – like charcoal," said Clara. "It masks everything else. I think it's the electricity."
"Thanks… Did you say I can make toast? Is that okay?"
"It's fine," said Clara.
"Do you have any jelly?"
"Excuse me?"
"For the toast."
Clara stared at her, confused, and then realised. "Oh, jam. Sorry. Erm… Honestly, I don't know where anything is in there. Jenny's really taken over this place. There might be some marmalade, she made me marmalade on toast a few days ago. Or Marmite. But you won't like that, will you?"
Esther sighed. "Actually, Sal showed me how you're supposed to spread it, and now…"
"You're becoming naturalised?" said Clara. "Has she persuaded you to start drinking tea yet?"
"That's a bridge I'll never cross," said Esther, getting up and heading into the kitchen. She opened all the cupboards and eventually found the Marmite, getting it out ready. "What have you been reading lately, anyway? Anything good?"
"I'm re-reading Sense and Sensibility, and this non-fiction book about the history of domesticated pigeons," said Clara. "I slept with her, you know."
"With who? With a pigeon? On which planet?"
"What? No, with Jane Austen."
"Why would I want to know that?"
"I just like telling people."
"I don't care."
"Sally said the exact same thing when I mentioned it last night…"
"Maybe your sexual exploits aren't as interesting as you think."
"No, they definitely are," said Clara, indifferent. "You haven't even heard the one about the chef."
"What's the one about the chef?"
"Well, there was this chef."
"And you had sex with him?"
"Yes."
"Riveting."
"There was a lot of oil involved."
"I don't want to know."
"Truffle oil, expensive," said Clara. "I got a yeast infection, actually." Esther said nothing. "You know, Marmite is mostly made out of yeast," she said as soon as Esther took the lid off the jar. She quickly sealed it again.
"I guess I'm having marmalade on toast instead, then."
"Great. Will you do me a slice, too, please?"
Esther sighed. "Sure."
"But you'd better hurry; I think she's about to crack the case."
"Whatshisname did it, with the wife," said Esther.
"What!?"
"I've seen this one."
"And you spoiled it?"
"Well," said Esther, coming back through with two plates of toast, "that's what you get for ruining Marmite for me." Glaring at her, Clara bit into her toast, and they waited for the next episode to begin.
DAY 140
Rewritten July 2024
1018: Opinion Overload
Jenny
"No, no, no," Sally Sparrow shook her head. "Absolutely not. 'Kex' is not a word."
"It's a word!" said Clara.
"It's not!"
"It is!"
"Then, why have I never heard it before?"
"I don't know – maybe private schools aren't all they're cracked up to be?" said Clara. Sally glared at her. "Where did you put the bloody Scrabble dictionary, then?"
"I've still got the dictionary," said Esther, picking it up – like they didn't know she had it. They waited patiently for her to thumb through the pages and then read out, to Clara's triumph, the definition of the word 'kex'. "'A dry, hollow stalk.' It's a word."
"I told you so!" said Clara.
"I don't think you should be allowed to play words if we don't know what they mean beforehand," said Sally.
"That's insane," said Clara.
"It is a little unfair, Sal," said Esther.
Clara started ranting. "You're just sore because you're losing after about a million pounds was spent on your education-"
"School fees aren't anywhere near that much," said Sally.
"-and me and Esther went to normal schools and we're winning. Anyway, Jenny's heard it before, she agrees with me."
"I don't want to be involved," said Jenny for the umpteenth time, wrapped in a blanket and resting her head on Clara's shoulder. She was sitting at the table with them but trying to ignore their fraught game of Scrabble with every ounce of willpower she had left.
"I'm playing it. 'K-E-X'," Clara read out the letters as she placed them down, reaching a triple word tile that put her way out in front. Sally was furious, but only for a few seconds; when her phone buzzed on the table next to her, she forgot about the game completely. "Don't start asking him to give you Welsh words to play."
"Don't be absurd," said Sally. "It's much too early to start bringing competitive board games into the mix."
"Board game dates can be cute," said Clara. "Or, you know. Any date."
"I'm still thinking about it," said Sally. But whatever he'd said in his message made her blush and laugh to herself a little.
"Your vibrator must be almost completely out of batteries by now, with all this thinking about it you've been doing," said Clara.
"But the great thing about batteries is that you can just replace them," said Sally. "Patience is a virtue. People say. Besides, Jenny's in no state to take me to London and back at the moment."
"Excuses," said Clara.
"She's right," said Jenny, sniffing back some snot. "I can't be bothered."
"How many times? You're supposed to blow your nose, not keep sniffing," said Clara.
"Don't make her blow her nose in front of us again, please," said Esther. "It was traumatic enough the first time."
"I said sorry," said Jenny, shutting her eyes. "I didn't know it would be so explosive." Clara squeezed her arm and, when Sally put her phone away, the three of them kept playing Scrabble. As a game, it was beyond Jenny, who didn't really know how to spell anything when she was given letters in isolation thanks to her brain auto-translating everything.
After playing the far less controversial word, 'bags', Clara remembered something and started talking to Sally again.
"So, what do you know about this new girlfriend of Dylan's?"
"Probably not as much as you," said Sally. "I think she's called Catherine, though. And he knows her through his parents – you know they own an antique shop in London, well, they put him in contact with her because she had a rare book for sale. She's in her fifties."
"I didn't know any of that," said Clara. "Only that she's older and has a shop in Harrogate."
"It'll probably be good for him," said Sally. "God knows, he's never had much luck with women his own age."
"Why are you friends with him?" said Clara. "You've never said anything nice about him, but you moved all the way to Yorkshire to hang around with him."
"Yes, he did get it into his head that that was a romantic gesture," said Sally, playing her next word, 'tide'. "He's just a bit of a prick, that's all. I can't talk to him for more than ten minutes at a time. Although, his parents do think we're destined to be together."
"Why do they think that?" asked Esther.
"They don't, really. They just want it to be true because they want the social capital."
"Of being with you?"
"Of marrying the Countess of Hove and, maybe, having a son who would be the next Earl of Hove."
"If you and Esther got married," Clara began, ignoring it when Esther rolled her eyes, "would she also be a countess?"
"I, erm… I don't know, actually," said Sally. "I think you would be 'Lady Drummond', though, I'm not sure."
"You're kidding," said Esther. "Lady?"
"Yes, but Lady Drummond, like I said. Not Lady Hove, which is what I am," said Sally. "Unless, of course, you took my name."
"Lady Sparrow-Drummond, then," said Clara. "Dylan would be jealous."
"It might surprise you to hear that I don't want to enter a loveless marriage just to make Dylan – some guy I've still never met – jealous," said Esther.
"Loveless?" said Sally. "You're saying you don't love me? Not even as a friend?"
"I, er…"
"Consider the marriage called off, then."
"Can we talk about something else?"
"Yes, Dylan and his MILF," said Clara. "If you know her name, maybe we can find her Facebook."
"I don't have Facebook," said Sally.
"Christ. I don't know why I talk to you, sometimes; it's like trying to have a conversation with a Victorian ghost." Esther snorted.
"Says the vampire!" said Sally.
"I've only deleted my Facebook because I'm supposed to be dead," said Clara.
"You are dead," said Jenny. "And this is boring. Nobody uses Facebook in the future. They don't even have smartphones."
"You've got a smartphone," said Clara. "And it's ringing right now, by the way."
"It – what?" Jenny glanced around and saw her phone on the sofa nearby, buzzing. She groaned and was about to stand up to answer it when Esther went and got it for her. "Thank you," she said when she took it. "Or, maybe I shouldn't thank you, because it's just Oswin again."
"She's rung you about ten times today and you haven't picked up," said Clara.
"Because I don't know why she expects updates along with Martha."
"Okay, but you haven't updated Martha, either; you've had me do that."
"And you were thrilled to finally get her phone number."
"Do you fancy her?" asked Sally.
"Do I fancy Martha?" said Clara. "Martha Jones?" Sally nodded. "Don't be ridiculous; of course I do. Have you seen her? She's gorgeous. I don't know what the Doctor was thinking by ignoring her." Suddenly, talking to Oswin became preferable to Jenny, so she finally answered.
"Hello, Oswin," she said dryly, slumping against Clara again.
"Oh, finally you answer the bloody phone! I've been ringing all day!"
"I know, I've been ignoring you," said Jenny. "What do you want? I'm in the middle of refereeing a game of Scrabble."
"If you are, you're the worst referee in the world, considering you let the 'kex' thing slide," said Sally.
"If you mention kex one more time," Clara began.
"You'll what? What will you possibly do?"
"I'll… I'll tell Dylan you fancy him." Sally thought about this, then glared at her.
"Fine. No more kex."
"What the hell is a 'kex'?"
"What's a kex, again?" Jenny asked.
"A dry, hollow stalk," said Esther.
"Was that Esther? Esther's there? You didn't tell me Esther was there," said Oswin loudly in Jenny's ear, making her flinch.
"Yes, Esther's here."
"Tell her I've been dreaming about her."
"No."
"I've got this one where she and Mitchell sleep together and I watch, it's very erotic."
"I'm not telling her that."
"Why not?"
"Because she definitely doesn't want to know."
"I don't want to know!" said Esther so that Oswin could hear.
"What do you want, Os? What's this about?" said Jenny.
"I just want to see how you're doing. I'm trying to monitor everybody while they deal with their flu."
"Martha knows how I'm doing."
"But maybe I want to check in on you myself."
"Why?"
"Maybe I've finally worked up the courage to tell you that I'm in love with you," said Oswin.
"I know this already, and I love you, too, but I don't want to speak to you at the moment."
"Unbelievable. This is because of Clara, isn't it? You know, I've been having this dream about you and her sleeping together while I watch. It's very erotic." Jenny frowned.
"Is this recurrent fantasy about cuckoldry or voyeurism?"
"Voyeurism."
"Okay, well, I don't want to hear about it, and I'm fine. I'm doing a lot better."
"You see, Esther?" said Sally. "They're friends who aren't afraid to admit that they love each other." Esther scowled and then announced that she was going to go and get another glass of juice.
"You're fine, then," said Oswin. "Message received."
"Mmhm."
"But you're not saying goodbye, nor are you abruptly hanging up."
"I… I will talk to you, actually," Jenny decided, standing up and bringing her blanket with her. She touched Clara's shoulder. "I'll be outside."
"Alright, but I reserve the right to call you back in if there are any more word debates," said Clara. Jenny left them to their game, taking the phone outside onto the wintry moors after she slid on a pair of Clara's slippers.
"What's going on?" asked Oswin.
"Have you talked to my father? Eleven, I mean."
"I suppose. I do end up in his company more often than I'd like."
"How is he?"
"You want to know how he is? The Doctor?"
"Yes."
"About the same as you, I imagine. Whining, being babysat by Clara, and so on. She's been stopping him from trying to visit you, actually, until he gets better."
"He wants to come and visit me?"
"Yes, but there's some concern that Other Clara might try to kill him."
"I don't think she'd do that," said Jenny, peering into the cottage through the front windows. Clara could hear every word she and Oswin were saying, and she met Jenny's eyes and smiled. "No, she wouldn't; he's safe."
"What's going on with you and him? The last I heard, you were being passive-aggressive, then you had an affair with his wife and disappeared," said Oswin.
"Thirteen made me all of those pickles," said Jenny. "I talked to Clara about it. She said, one day, he's going to be the person making me pickles, making me all that food to eat that'll save when she's gone. I don't know how it happens, but he has to get there somehow."
"You're forgiving him, then?"
"You don't even know everything I'm trying to forgive him for."
"I never forgave my mother. It wasn't a mistake."
"It's not the same. I think he's trying, Oswin. If he's asking after me, then…"
Oswin sighed on the other end of the line. "It's your life, your decision."
"But your advice, as my friend, is to cut him off and never forgive him, no matter what he does?" said Jenny, getting annoyed.
"Well, no, it sounds bad when you put it like that." Maybe Jenny shouldn't ask her about this; she was having her own father issues at the moment, after all. "What does Clara say?"
"She thinks it's inevitable that we'll reconcile properly."
"If that's what she thinks, you should listen to her, not me. I assume you've actually let her get to know you properly, which I don't. I don't know why you took him to Messaline and screamed at him or what it was about," said Oswin.
"Things that happened a long time ago," said Jenny.
"Eurgh."
"What?"
"You and him. You're exactly the same. He talks a lot and never says a thing, whereas you don't say anything at all," said Oswin.
"Will you put him on?" asked Jenny, taking the chance.
"Why can't you call Other Clara? Why do I have to be a go-between?"
"You don't, I just asked because you're on the phone right now." Oswin didn't respond right away; Jenny listened to her stew.
"Fine," she agreed. "But only because he's across the hall."
"Thank you."
Oswin kept grumbling, but Jenny heard movement as she wandered through the TARDIS to go wrangle the Doctor. There was a brief argument with Clara about him 'saving his strength', but then he was there.
"Hello? Jenny?"
"Yes, it's… it's me." She couldn't think of anything else to say.
"I've been trying to come and visit, but Clara won't let me – she's taking this 'nursing me through illness' thing very seriously. What about you? Are you faring well with it all?"
"I'm fine."
"And your hand?"
"Stiff. But Esther's been around a lot to help with things."
"Oh, Esther! How is she?"
"Also fine. Doesn't eat meat anymore."
"Yes, well, I'm hardly surprised given what I heard about that meat grinder – it's enough to put you off pork pies for life," said the Doctor.
"She and Sally Sparrow are in the house playing Scrabble," said Jenny.
"Are you winning?"
"No, I'm not playing. I can't spell."
"Can't you?"
She cleared her throat and looked at the ground. "Er, no. I've never needed to, my brain does it all automatically. But I can't manage letters jumbled up like that."
"I didn't know there were things you're not good at," he said. She almost smiled.
"Nobody's perfect. I, uh… I can't do accents, either. For a similar reason."
"Interesting. I wonder if that's a quirk of the progenation machines or if it's something innate you got from me – maybe you were imbued with some unique talents from the translation matrix," said the Doctor.
"It's the machines. It's easier to wage war when all the soldiers speak the same language."
"I've finished those cookies, by the way," he went on. "I'll bring the plate back sometime soon – when Clara's not around, let me know, and I'll drop by."
"What do you mean, when she's 'not around'?"
"I wouldn't want to make things awkward."
"For who? For you, or for me?" Silence. "Alright, I appreciate that it's an unprecedented, deeply unusual situation we're all in, but she's my girlfriend. I've fallen in love with her completely independently of anything going on with you. It's serious and it isn't going to change, so, get over it." There was a pause.
"Right you are." He'd actually listened to her? "I'll bring the plate back as soon as I can, in that case. No need for any logistics."
Jenny breathed out. "Thank you."
"I think I'm going to have to go, though. Oswin's glaring at me."
"Sure. Wouldn't want to make her any angrier."
"Do you want me to give the phone back to her? To say goodbye?"
"Not really. I'll see you in the next few days, then?"
"Yes! Absolutely. As soon as Clara lets me out of her sight, I'll be over."
"Alright." He tried to say goodbye, but Oswin must have snatched the phone; an argument began, and then the line cut out. Jenny rolled her eyes and then switched her phone off completely. She dropped it down on the coffee table when she came back into the cottage.
"Did you get my slippers muddy?" said Clara when she took up her place at the table again.
"Don't think so. Is it over? Did you win?"
"Yes, I did," said Clara, kissing her cheek. "And thank you."
"What for?"
"For what you said to him. Telling him to get over it." Jenny smiled at her.
"Okay, I hate to be that person," said Sally, "but can we please order the Chinese we were promised earlier?"
"I second that," said Esther.
Clara got her phone out and dove into the food apps, finding the Chinese they always used – still a twenty-minute drive away from the village – and beginning the order. Jenny told her to order for her and then Clara gave the phone to Esther to do it herself.
"How much foo young did you put on here?" said Esther, frowning at the screen.
"I like eggs," said Clara. "Jenny's still not cooking, I'm stocking up."
"It's just an omelette; you can't even make an omelette?"
"It's complicated!" said Clara. "I don't know when you're meant to put the beans in."
"Put the-?" Esther stared at her, then at Sally. "What is that? A British thing? A bean omelette?"
"They've all got beans in them," said Clara.
"Yeah, no, they definitely don't," said Sally.
"You put beans in my omelettes, don't you?" Clara turned to Jenny.
"I've never put beans anywhere near an omelette I've made you," said Jenny. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm sure it would be fine with baked beans, though."
"No, not baked beans, the beans in the omelette." Silence. "Never mind…" Esther finished the order and gave the phone to Sally, who got what she wanted in a few taps, and then returned it to Clara.
"Oh, can I borrow your car tomorrow, by the way?" Sally asked Esther. "I have to go into Manchester."
"Sure."
"You're driving into Manchester?" asked Clara.
"No, I'm driving to Halifax to park and then getting the train," said Sally. "Job interview, at this modelling agency."
"Modelling agency? You're going to be a model?"
"Ha, ha," said Sally. "No. It's for a six-month contract to be their in-house photographer. They liked my portfolio and called me in."
"Good luck," said Jenny, while Clara was still preoccupied with her daydreams of Sally Sparrow posing for photographs. Finally, she snapped out of it.
"Well, the takeaway will be a while yet," said Clara. "What do we want to do in the meantime?"
"You said about a hundred times that you were going to make us watch Calamity Jane," said Esther.
"Yes!" Clara clapped. "I did say that. I have it on DVD. Jenny's never seen it, can you believe that?"
"Yes, I'd say that's quite believable," said Sally.
Little did they know that Jenny still wasn't going to see it, because as soon as they all moved to the sofa and chairs – with Esther dragging a kitchen chair through – she curled up and went to sleep on Clara's shoulder. She didn't open her eyes until the film was halfway done and the food arrived and made a point not to follow the rest of the plot or ask for a recap.
In Jenny's mind, the best way to experience cinema was by not experiencing it at all and eating chow mein instead, so that was what she did.