Doctor Who fic: Five Adventures Martha Jones Never Had With the Ninth Doctor (2/5)
“I can’t believe people actually dressed like this.”
“Why is it so hard to believe? You have television series and movies set during this era and the clothes are exactly the same.”
“I thought they just exaggerated everything. Y’know, creative licence.”
“Just wait. Thirty years from your time the clothes you’re wearing will be considered outlandish.”
Martha allowed her gaze to linger on a young man probably no older than her brother Leo as he walked past her and the Doctor. The young man’s hair was teased out into a large afro maybe the same size as a beach ball; the pattern of his shirt was made up of bright yellows and green and the fabric had a sheen to it. Staring at this young man, Martha found it hard to believe the Doctor’s sentiment.
“Give me Elizabethan gowns with huge skirts and tight bodices any day. At least those look posh.”
“No wrong with the 1970s,” said the Doctor, sounding a bit defensive.
It seemed so comical to Martha, the Doctor defending an Earth era, but it also reminded her how well travelled he was. “Well, you can show me around after we’re done and you can dazzle me with your knowledge of London in the 70s.” She gave him a smile as encouragement. Seemed only fair; they were here at her request.
If it was a fair compromise, the Doctor didn’t bother to say so. “How do you know this is the right place?” he asked her instead. The warm summer day had brought out a mass of people and they crowded every inch of the park. Martha had ditched her jacket but the Doctor still wore his.
“Mum used to tell us the story when we were younger. Tish and I were always on her about it.” A memory of sitting around the kitchen table as her mother re-told the story came back to Martha unbidden. It had been years since such a scene. She shook her head at the memory, as if she could drive it back to the corner of her mind from where it had originated. When she looked back up she realized they had reached the spot.
“Here.” Martha headed over to an empty park bench and sat down. “We should be able to see the whole thing.”
The Doctor hesitated. “If they see us-”
“How many times are you going to say that? History won’t be ruined. Trust me. They won’t even notice us.” The Doctor’s dubious expression held out for another moment or so before he finally sat down beside her. He had taken her this far.
The bench gave them a clear view of the Serpentine Lake and the people walking along the water’s edge. Handfuls of people up and down the bank were feeding the various birds that used the lake. Martha focused her attention on a mother and daughter with dark skin. The daughter wore a floral print summer dress, which she was trying very hard to keep clean while she held out her hand full of bread crumbs to a curious goose. The girl took a step forward and edged her hand closer to the bird.
The moment she took the step forward it happened. A boy with the same dark skin and roughly the same age came running, trying his best to catch a rugby ball that had been punted by a powerful kick. His attention on the ball, he never saw the girl.
He bumped into her back just as he caught the ball. The girl quickly lost her footing and tumbled into the lake. The loud splash covered up the mother’s yelp of surprise. Martha watched it all with a slight smile.
“June 17, 1978. Hyde Park. The first time my mum met my dad.”
The boy began to laugh but he soon stopped when the mother fished her daughter from the lake. The girl’s dress was soaked and stained with mud. Pulling away from her mother, the would be Francine Jones started yelling at a young Clive Jones. Her voice carried to Martha. The way her mother yelled hadn’t changed in thirty years.
“Glad that’s not me,” said the Doctor.
“Why is it so hard to believe? You have television series and movies set during this era and the clothes are exactly the same.”
“I thought they just exaggerated everything. Y’know, creative licence.”
“Just wait. Thirty years from your time the clothes you’re wearing will be considered outlandish.”
Martha allowed her gaze to linger on a young man probably no older than her brother Leo as he walked past her and the Doctor. The young man’s hair was teased out into a large afro maybe the same size as a beach ball; the pattern of his shirt was made up of bright yellows and green and the fabric had a sheen to it. Staring at this young man, Martha found it hard to believe the Doctor’s sentiment.
“Give me Elizabethan gowns with huge skirts and tight bodices any day. At least those look posh.”
“No wrong with the 1970s,” said the Doctor, sounding a bit defensive.
It seemed so comical to Martha, the Doctor defending an Earth era, but it also reminded her how well travelled he was. “Well, you can show me around after we’re done and you can dazzle me with your knowledge of London in the 70s.” She gave him a smile as encouragement. Seemed only fair; they were here at her request.
If it was a fair compromise, the Doctor didn’t bother to say so. “How do you know this is the right place?” he asked her instead. The warm summer day had brought out a mass of people and they crowded every inch of the park. Martha had ditched her jacket but the Doctor still wore his.
“Mum used to tell us the story when we were younger. Tish and I were always on her about it.” A memory of sitting around the kitchen table as her mother re-told the story came back to Martha unbidden. It had been years since such a scene. She shook her head at the memory, as if she could drive it back to the corner of her mind from where it had originated. When she looked back up she realized they had reached the spot.
“Here.” Martha headed over to an empty park bench and sat down. “We should be able to see the whole thing.”
The Doctor hesitated. “If they see us-”
“How many times are you going to say that? History won’t be ruined. Trust me. They won’t even notice us.” The Doctor’s dubious expression held out for another moment or so before he finally sat down beside her. He had taken her this far.
The bench gave them a clear view of the Serpentine Lake and the people walking along the water’s edge. Handfuls of people up and down the bank were feeding the various birds that used the lake. Martha focused her attention on a mother and daughter with dark skin. The daughter wore a floral print summer dress, which she was trying very hard to keep clean while she held out her hand full of bread crumbs to a curious goose. The girl took a step forward and edged her hand closer to the bird.
The moment she took the step forward it happened. A boy with the same dark skin and roughly the same age came running, trying his best to catch a rugby ball that had been punted by a powerful kick. His attention on the ball, he never saw the girl.
He bumped into her back just as he caught the ball. The girl quickly lost her footing and tumbled into the lake. The loud splash covered up the mother’s yelp of surprise. Martha watched it all with a slight smile.
“June 17, 1978. Hyde Park. The first time my mum met my dad.”
The boy began to laugh but he soon stopped when the mother fished her daughter from the lake. The girl’s dress was soaked and stained with mud. Pulling away from her mother, the would be Francine Jones started yelling at a young Clive Jones. Her voice carried to Martha. The way her mother yelled hadn’t changed in thirty years.
“Glad that’s not me,” said the Doctor.