‘Do go through,’ the Head of Hospitality said, so Donna led the way.

As the trio entered the dining room, the hubbub stopped and was replaced by a round of applause led, Donna was pleased to see, by Henrietta Goodhart, resplendent in another bizarre but unusually tonally dour hat.

She walked towards them, arms outstretched, kissed Donna, then the Doctor and finally Wilf, each of them on both cheeks, Continental style. Then she planted a quick one on Wilf’s lips and winked. ‘I’m fine tonight,’ she said to his unasked question.

A man in his late fifties walked over, and shook Wilf’s hand. ‘Crossland. Cedric Crossland. Doctor Cedric Crossland. Doctor Cedric Crossland CBE. But you must call me Rick, Mr Mott.’

‘Oh, just Wilf’ll be fine,’ Wilf said, throwing a look

appealing for help or rescue to Donna, the Doctor and Netty.

Donna started forward but Netty held her back. ‘No, no, let him go. It’s his night and he has to take the rough with the smooth, bless his cotton socks. Besides, the chocolate pudding’ll make it all worthwhile.’ They watched as Wilf got caught up in the celebrations. ‘He looks so happy,’ she said.

‘I understand you have a big part to play in that,’ the Doctor said, adding ‘Not that I pretend to understand things like that.’

Netty grinned at him. ‘Course you don’t, Doctor. Being from outer space.’

The Doctor stared at her, then smiled. ‘Actually, I’m from Nottingham—’

‘He’s from Walthamstow,’ Donna said at the same time.

‘Born in Nottingham,’ said the Doctor.

‘But brought up in Walthamstow,’ added Donna, a bit sheepishly.

‘Wilf told me everything, Doctor. About you. About the ATMOS stuff. About where Donna is when she’s with you. No secrets, you see.’

The Doctor blew air out of his cheeks. ‘Well, I’m not sure what Wilf has told you but, I’m… um… well…’

Netty touched his hand. ‘It’s all right. Most days I can barely remember who I am, let alone what planet you and Donna are sending postcards from. Your secret is safe with me.’

‘I think I’ll kill him this time,’ Donna said, looking towards her grandfather who was being poured an

extraordinarily large brandy by a group of old men and women.

Netty shook her head. ‘He’s so proud of you both, please don’t be cross with him. Besides, it gives me a chance to talk to you both about the Chaos Body. You know, while I still can.’

Donna frowned.

‘I’m sorry, Donna,’ Netty said. ‘Does me talking about my condition embarrass you? There’s no need, there’s nothing I have to hide from anyone. Least of all myself.’

‘It’s not that,’ Donna said. ‘It’s just… well, a bit sad.’

‘It is. Very sad, believe me. But I have got used to living with it and I make the most of the lucid days because the ones that aren’t are getting more and more frequent.’

‘How frequent?’

‘Doctor! She’s not going to tell the world about us.’

But he shushed her. ‘How frequent, Henrietta?’

‘If I can get through to Friday remembering what I did on Tuesday, that’s a victory.’

Gianni was at their side, surreptitiously as a good Head of Hospitality should be, with drinks on a silver tray for them and they grabbed the glasses quickly, as if trying to fill in a gap in the conversation.

‘So,’ Netty said. ‘Chaos Bodies.’

‘When did it show up? The first one, I mean?’

‘Ah,’ Netty said, ‘you’ve noticed the others. Only saw them myself this evening and no one here tonight seems to have mentioned it.’

‘That’s cos they weren’t there last night. Or when we

left Chiswick, actually.’

Netty laughed. ‘I know you know more about outer space than this lot here do put together but, scientifically, stars can’t move that quickly. And if they could, the devastation would be phenomenal.’

The Doctor toasted her. ‘Ah, but then they’re not stars.

Not real stars. The chaos bit, though, that’s spot on.’

‘What are they, then?’ asked Donna.

The Doctor shrugged. ‘I have a suspicion. The first one, the original, that looks like a star certainly, and it’s certainly a ball of superheated combustible energy that shares minor properties with a star, but the others, they’re like satellites. But not astral ones.’

‘Man-made?’

‘Well, Someone-made, yes. And somewhere at the back of my head is a little voice trying to tell me where I’ve seen it all before.’

There was a tinkle of someone tapping a glass with a spoon.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, before we eat, I should like to introduce you to our guest of honour,’ Doctor Crossland was saying. ‘In honour of being the first to spot the new star M7432•6, officially known as 7432MOTT, I give you – Wilfred Mott!’

There was thunderous applause and even a ‘hear, hear’, then one of the waiters led the Doctor, Donna and Netty to the table to join the rest of the guests.

The Doctor was nabbed by Wilf and positioned between him and Crossland, while Netty was on Wilf’s other side and Donna next to her.

The Doctor looked expectantly at the empty seat to his right, wondering who was going to sit there. It was, he thought, a bit like being sat on a train and hoping the empty seat beside you isn’t going to be occupied by a madman with a loud personal stereo or a kicking child or, worst of all, some frumpy businessman who would spend the whole journey loudly on his mobile phone. And, every time he hung up and someone else rang, he’d let the annoying ringtone go all the way through before answering.

The Doctor often wondered these days when these trivial little things had begun to annoy him quite so much.

Must have been hitting the big 900 mark.

The seat was yanked back by a woman whose clothing could at best be described as eccentric and at worst insane, a terrible clashing of colours, styles and, well, everything.

The biggest crime against fashion was the blouse she was wearing, which appeared to have Galileo’s Map of the Heavens embroidered on it. By hand. They were the sort of clothes you might put on if you got dressed with both eyes closed after someone had taken your wardrobe and given it a really good shake.

Not that the wearer seemed remotely aware of her…

unique haute couture. More alarmingly, none of the other members seemed to bat an eyelid either – only Wilf and especially Donna reacted, Wilf with incredulity and Donna by stifling a laugh and finding the glass of water before her suddenly the most fascinating thing on Earth.

‘Ariadne Holt,’ she said in a tone that suggested to the Doctor that this wasn’t just an introduction but was in fact

a complete explanation for why she looked as she did.

‘Hullo,’ he said, offering his hand. She held her own hand up as if to suggest he kiss it or, at the very least, bow slightly. He did neither, managing instead to turn it back into the handshake he had started.

She gave him a look that seemed to say, ‘Oh, right, you’re going to be like that are you?’ and pulled her chair closer to the table and very slightly further away from him.

‘So,’ said Ariadne, ‘What’s your field?’

‘Ten Acre,’ he smiled.

Steely glare.

‘In-joke,’ he mumbled.

‘Bad one.’

Steely glare again.

‘I’m the Doctor, by the way.’

‘I know,’ Ariadne Holt said.

‘You do?’

‘Crossland told me. Suggested I sit. Here. Next to you.

For dinner.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right. Well, sorry, I don’t actually know Mr Crossland.’

‘Doctor.’

‘Yes?’

‘What?’

‘What?’

‘He’s Doctor Crossland. Not “Mister”.’

‘I see.’

‘You’re Smith. John Smith. You write books. With pictures. About the constellations, no?’

‘Ah, no. Not me. Sorry. Although when I was little I used to do finger-paintings of the night sky. I used to add bits of… well, pasta you’d call it, to make the planets all 3-D. And glitter. Lots of glitter. I was very… glittery.’