#then like a global pandemic & an election year & the world feeling like it could implode any moment last year...

[cynicalclassicist]

TURN BACK

Written by Chris Newton

This isn’t mine but was done by another of the Lockdown writers who very kindly sent it to me.

There it was again: that fluttering, rattling, scuttling noise. It sounded like grasping pincers, snapping mandibles and probing antennae. It felt like something was on her back. For some reason, it was an oddly familiar sensation. 

Donna Temple-Noble knew that things had not been right for a while. 

Things were fine in her life. After a decade of marriage, both she and Shaun were still very happy and very much in love. They had been determined that their big lottery win wouldn’t change them and, for the most part, it hadn’t. They lived in a ten bedroom mansion Highgate with two acres of land, owned a holiday villa in Spain, and had been able to afford to send Joshua and Ella to an incredibly expensive private school – but otherwise, they still went to watch West Ham every Saturday (albeit in their own executive box), still kept in touch with all their old friends (even Nerys), and eschewed fancy restaurants and glitzy parties in favour of Friday nights in on the sofa watching Love Island and eating Pringles. 

But something was wrong with the world. Her high school boyfriend, Mathew Richards, had always been going on about global warming back in the 90s, but as far as Donna had been concerned somebody was always banging on about the end of the world, whether it was the Millennium Bug, or Mayan calendars or Hadron Colliders… But what did that have to do with her life? She could hardly see which type of milk she put in her tea affected the wider world. 

But things began to get so bad that even Donna noticed. On her eighty-inch TV, she saw bush fires in Australia, David Attenborough showing the ice caps melting and an ocean filled with plastic. And then the Sontaran virus came – the lockdowns, the curfews, and the restrictions. But not even a global pandemic could prevent the USA from imploding in a civil war. The Zygon president had attempted to form a dictatorship when he lost the election and all hell had broken loose. 

Donna knew they were lucky, they were far away from the fighting and they could afford regular deliveries of fresh food, and had a huge garden with their own private swimming pool to occupy them in quarantine. The first lockdown had almost been like a holiday for the Temple-Nobles; the kids cannon balling into the water, Donna and Shaun sunning themselves on loungers, barbeques, cocktails. Their autumn lockdown consisted of bonfires and marshmallows, thick jumpers and flasks of hot chocolate as they told ghost stories on Halloween and twirled sparklers on Bonfire Night. It was almost perfect.

Almost… But not. Because for all the comfort their money could buy them, there was one problem wealth could not solve. 

Donna’s Grandfather, Wilf, was now ninety-one. A few years ago, after a fall, had moved into a care home. Donna made sure he received the best care possible, and paid for him to go to a lovely facility just near Hampstead Heath, that way they were practically neighbours. Before the virus, she had visited him every day without fail. His memory had been growing steadily worse; sometimes he called her Sylvia, and occasionally Louise, for some reason, but he never forgot that she was his granddaughter, and more than not greeted her by saying ‘Wahey, here she is! The Little General!’ which had been his nickname for her when she was little. 

But since lockdown, she had been unable to visit him. She knew it was for the best, for the safety of her grandfather and for the other residents in the home, but it didn’t change the fact that it felt as though a huge part of her had been ripped away. His dementia had worsened, the staff had told her over the phone, and he had been repeatedly talking about a spaceman in a flying blue box. 

She had managed to arrange a videocall with her grandfather, a favour from one of the nurses at the home. She sat waiting for him to answer, full of fear and trepidation. Always wondering which visit would be the one where he failed to recognise her entirely. 

“Wahey, here she is! The Little General!” Wilf’s face filled the screen of her phone. 

“Hiya Gramps!” Donna’s eyes welled with tears of joy at the sight of her grandfather. 

“Blimey, how’d you get inside this little tablet thingy?” he chuckled.  “Must be bigger on the inside,” he muttered with a strange, faraway look in his rheumy eyes, as though he were trying to remember something. 

“You don’t half come out with some rubbish!” she laughed. “We had a bonfire in the garden on the 5th. You know, jacket potatoes in tin foil, passing round a thermos of tea. Reminded me of the old days, up the hill at your allotment, remember?”

“Mmmm,” he smiled distantly, before his face crumpled in confusion. “’Ere, where’s the Doctor?”

“You’ve already seen the doctor, Gramps. Remember? He put you on those new pills.”

“No, not him. The skinny one. Isn’t he with you? He usually is.”

“Why would he be with me you daft old thing? I’m fit and healthy, thank you very much. Touch wood,” she tapped her head. “Don’t need a doctor.”

“I think you do,” Wilf mumbled. “I think we all do. He’d sort out this bleedin’ virus.”

“They’ll have a vaccine before you know it, Gramps. You’ll be round ours for Christmas dinner, just you wait and see.”

“That’ll be nice,” he grinned. “How’s Lance, then? He alright?”

“Shaun, granddad, I’m married to Shaun. Lance… had to go away.”

“Oh. Well, it’s probably for the best. I never did like him much.” 

Donna couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“The kids want these flippin’ animatronic Baby Yoda dolls for Christmas,” she changed the subject. “Honestly, it’s Star Wars this, Star Trek that… and that other one. You know, the time travel one? No idea where they get it from, I was never into any of that sci-fi rubbish.” 

“Donna…” Wilf cried, a sudden urgency in his voice.

“Yes, Gramps?” she swallowed nervously, it had been a long time since he had called her by her name. “What is it?”

“There’s something on your back.”

The words chilled her, although she had no idea what they meant. She felt her right hand darting involuntarily over her shoulder expecting to feel… what, exactly? Something creeping, crawling, insectoid… she shivered. 

“There’s nothing there. Honestly, what are you on about?”

“He was only trying to help, but it’s gone wrong again. It wasn’t a fixed point, you see? It was one of those… Temporal wotsits.”

Donna took a deep breath.

“I think you’re getting mixed up again, Gramps.”

“Hmm?” he looked at her, his eyes full of warmth, kindness and confusion. “So how’s Lance, then? He alright?”

“Yes, Gramps. Lance is fine.”

“Oh, that’s good. I always liked him. Oh, I’ve got to go. The nurse wants her tablet back. When are you coming to see me?”

“As soon as I can, Gramps. I promise. As soon as I can.”

“Well, I’ll look forward to it. Ta-da sweetheart.”

“Bye,” she stifled a tear as the screen became blurry, before Wilf’s face was replaced by a blonde-haired woman.

“Donna Noble!” the stranger grinned irrepressibly 

“Oh, hi,” Donna swiftly composed herself. “Are you the nurse? Thanks so much for letting me speak to him…”

“Yeah. Well, I’m a Doctor, actually. Although a lot of people assume I’m a nurse these days. Bit annoying, really. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a nurse, mind! If it’s good enough for Rory Pond, it’s good enough for me.”

The blonde woman was still grinning.

“Oh my god,” Donna’s mouth fell open. “I know you!”

“No! No – that’s not possible!” The Doctor’s face paled.

“I knew I recognised you.”

“Listen to me – you cannot know who I am…”

“You’re Leanne Battersby. From Corrie!”

“What?”

“Ha! Just wait ’til I tell Nerys, she’ll be well jealous.” Donna snorted.

The Doctor harrumphed. 

“Leane Batt… Actually, you know what? If it stops your neural receptors from combusting then fine. Fine! Yeah. Leanne Battersby at your service. If you think I’m just an actress from Coronation Street then it’s safe for us to talk. Well, I say safe… safe-ish. By which I mean not very dangerous. Okay, maybe it’s a little bit dangerous. Put it this way: your mind won’t burn, but you might end up forgetting your old mate Susie Mair.”

“Susie Who?”

“Exactly. Anyway, we don’t have long… I need to get back in Wilf’s wardrobe before the Sontarans triangulate my signal. I’m telling you, this has been a long eight months. But your grandfather’s right: there is something on your back. Again. Or maybe for the first time – it all gets a bit wibbley with alternate dimensions. But there’s something on your back, and I’m really sorry, but it hitched a ride on a lottery ticket.”

“What on Earth are you on about?”

“Not on Earth, actually, Shan Shen,” the Doctor said, and then winced. “Oops! Shouldn’t have said that. Might have deleted another scene. Remember that time you were one the phone to Veena in the kitchen and you heard that strange wheezing, groaning sound coming from outside?”

“No?”

“Probably for the best.”

“What’s going on? And why are you in my Granddad’s wardrobe? Do I need to call social services, ’cause don’t think I won’t, blondie!”

“I need you to trust me. What was the name of that TV show where the kid in the blindfold had to be guided through the dungeon by their mates?”

“Knightmare?” 

“Yes! That’s the one. I need you to be my Dungoneer. I don’t have a Helmet of Justice so you’ll just have to close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes??” 

“I know I’m asking a lot, Donna, but Wilf trusts me, and that’s all I can tell you. But be honest – you know something’s wrong, don’t you? You can feel something digging into your shoulders, can’t you?”

Donna nodded. There was no denying it, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt she could trust this woman, even though the reason seemed distant and out of reach. Donna closed her eyes. 

The strange woman on the phone guided her out of the house, past a row of trees and to the telephone box at the end of the road. Funny, Donna thought, she didn’t remember there being a telephone box there. She hadn’t seen a proper one for years. 

Following the Doctor’s instructions, Donna pulled the handle and the door creaked open as she stepped inside. Instinctively, she reached out for the mounted payphone, but her fingers met only empty air. Perhaps it wasn’t an operating phone box anymore? It probably housed a defibrillator instead. She was tempted to have a peek and find out.

“Don’t even think about opening your eyes,” the Doctor snapped, somehow reading her thoughts, “if you open your eyes, your brain will hyperpodulate.”

“Hyer-what-you-what? I want you to know I’m taking a lot on faith here, Battersby! And if this is a wind-up, then so help me god...” 

Donna’s threat was drowned out the VROOP-VROOPING of ancient engines that at once sounded utterly alien and distantly familiar to her, like hearing a half-remembered nursery rhyme from childhood. 

She heard the telephone box door creak open again, and a rush of cold air from outside. Strange, it didn’t feel like the smoky air of the November street she had come from. It felt crisper, fresher. She could hear the merry peal of church bells. There isn’t a church that close to my house, she thought, puzzled.

“You can come out now. Walk forwards but keep your eyes closed for a moment.”

Donna did as she was told. She felt grass beneath her feet as the VROOP-VROOPING resumed and then faded, drowned out by the sound of the bells. 

“You can open you eyes now,” the woman on the phone was now stood in front of her, but that was the least surprising thing to Donna. 

“But, how…” Donna looked down at herself. “I’m in my wedding dress. I don’t understand?” The two of them were stood by an old lychgate. Donna looked ahead – there was the church where she had married Shaun. Discarded confetti swirled about her ankles. There were guests milling about ahead – there was her grandfather’s friend Minnie Hooper. Minnie the Menace he used to call her! Although Donna was sure she’d heard that Minnie had died recently. Nevertheless, there she was, full of joy and life. And there was Nerys in her hideous peach dress! 

“What year is this?” asked Donna.

“2010,” said the Doctor.

“This is my wedding day. How is this even possible?”

“The time differential’s trying to reconcile there being two of you here at the same time. Hence the dress. It’s tricky with parallel universes. Anyway, ‘how’ isn’t important right now. What’s important is that somebody just gave you a lottery ticket as a wedding present.”

“I know, cheapskate.” 

“You’re about to win a triple rollover.” 

“Yeah, well…” 

“The thing is, Donna – the man gave you that ticket – he meant well, but he was meddling with things that shouldn’t have been meddled with. He was young – still in his Time Lord Victorious phase.”

“I don’t understand a single word you’re saying.”

“You know that theory that a butterfly fluttering its wings can cause a hurricane on the other side of the world? Well, time’s like that. Small, trivial things can cause ripples which alter the course of history. The truth is: you didn’t win that money. At least, not originally. You took one look at that ticket and ripped it up. Remember? The first dance at your wedding reception was Can’t Buy Me Love.”

“No… that’s not right,” said Donna. It couldn’t be. She knew that hadn’t happened. Their first dance had been 2 Become 1 by Spice Girls. So why could she remember dancing to The Beatles with Shaun?

“Nobody won the lottery that week – and the next week it was a quadruple rollover! A boy called Michael Finch won it. He was only sixteen. Imagine that! First time he’d ever played. Great kid. A friend of mine met his dad once. Long story. Anyway, I’m sorry Donna, but Michael didn’t spend it on cars and holiday homes and private pools. He invested in the future: green initiatives, healthcare, education… When the Sontarans released their virus, Earth was ready for it. Plus, the United States didn’t have a Zygon for a president. Well, they did actually, but she’s one of the nice ones. But shh, don’t tell anyone.”

“You know what,” said Donna. “I don’t think you really are Leanne Battersby, are you?”

“No.”

“But I do know you, don’t I?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s… bad? My head hurts…” Donna cupped her forehead in her palm.

“Yes. It’s very bad,” said the Doctor. “But it’s okay. Because if you tear up that lottery ticket and let Michael Finch win it instead, then you’ll change the future and we’ll never have met. Well, not like this anyway.” 

“This is crazy. How is any of this possible?”

“My fault, I’m afraid. A long time ago, you had an encounter with a Time Beetle – and this is the gross part, sorry – Time Beetles can lay eggs beneath the hosts’ skin. They lie dormant, sometimes indefinitely, until the host encounters a significant temporal junction – in your case a lottery win that could change the course of human history. You were never supposed to have this life, Donna. You were supposed to tear up the ticket.”

More non-memories were flooding Donna’s mind – the years of living on the breadline in Chiswick, living with the regret of their lost fortune. A bank holiday weekend in Blackpool with the kids, having her fortune told by the strange little woman in the kiosk on the pier… Voicing her regret aloud and wishing she could go back to the day of her wedding and keep that winning ticket. 

That couldn’t be right… They never took the kids to Blackpool. Their holidays had been in Cyprus and Malaga, they’d splashed out on luxury round-the-world cruises. But she remembered it so vividly: the rattle of the trams, the glare of the illuminations, the taste of the chips, the seagulls crying overhead. 

“But we’ll have nothing. I can’t go back to the way we used to live: hand to mouth, never knowing where next month’s rent is coming from. What about Ella and Josh? They’ll be born with nothing.”

“Donna Temple-Noble, listen to me,” the Doctor gazed at her sternly. “You’ll have everything. You’ll have each other.” 

Donna looked back over to the church – there was Wilf! – still spry at eighty and fighting off Minnie’s advances as ever. And there was Shaun – so handsome in his wedding suit! She couldn’t believe how young he looked. 

The Doctor was right. Donna thought of how happy they had been during lockdown, not because they were comfortable, but because they had each other. The tweet-a-longs, the virtual gigs, the walks in the woods, the disastrous attempts at baking, standing on their doorstep and clapping for U.N.I.T…. She hadn’t put two and two together until she’d been speaking to her grandfather: but it had been the first time in her married life – the first time as a mother – that she had somehow recaptured that magic of sitting in her grandfather’s allotment with a flask of tea and gazing at the stars. 

At the time Donna had felt as though she were longing for adventure, as though the stars held some inexplicable magic, but now she knew that the magic had been right there in the allotment all along. She no longer yearned for adventure, but longed instead to return to those simple days. She never could, of course. Wilf’s star was fading, but her own was rising. She thought back to the old world of financial hardship: rented flats, being plunged into darkness when the electricity meter ran out, payday loans and minimum wage temp jobs. There would be struggles but there would also be magic. There would be stories by candlelight, cartoons and warm milk before bed in the precious few years before Joshua and Ella became moody teenagers. There would be games in the park. There would be home cooked meals, and there would be telly and Pringles on the sofa on Friday nights. 

There would be family. 

Donna turned to speak to the blonde woman, but the stranger was gone, so she hitched up her wedding dress and hurried over to her husband. 

“Who were you talking to?” he asked.

“A friend,” Donna smiled.

“What’s her name?”

“I can’t remember,” she said. It was strange, the name was on the tip of her tongue, but it had gone. She decided it didn’t matter.

“Give us that lottery ticket, will you?” Donna asked. (She had entrusted it into Shaun’s safe keeping. There were still no pockets in wedding dresses.)

“Why, you got a good feeling about it?” he asked, taking it from his pocket and handing it to his bride.

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I have,” said Donna Temple-Noble as she tore up the ticket, and a great weight lifted from her shoulders.

#doctor who lockdown #doctor who #fanfic