Big Bang Generation Read Free Page A

tossed it at him. Being a postcard, flight was not a skill it possessed naturally, and it merely spun a couple of times and fell limply to the floor in front of him.
    ‘Physical postcards. How quaint.’ He picked it up.
Hope the leg is getting better. On our way soon from the depths of outer space and inner time. Just had tea with Charlie at his investiture.
    He looked at the postmark. From 1969. Postage 4d. ‘Those were the days.’ He sighed. ‘So what’s with all the space and time stuff?’
    Keri bared her teeth. ‘Oh, there are times when I could throttle you quite easily. I. Don’t. Know.
You
sent it.’
    ‘Did not.’
    ‘It’s your handwriting.’
    ‘How do you know that’s my handwriting? That looks nothing like my handwriting.’
    Keri reactivated her tablet and swiped to a GalWeb mails server page and tapped her account.
    The Doctor leaned over again to look, started swiping through, muttering as he did so.
    ‘Gas bill. Electric bill. Credit card bill – what do you spend your money on? Council Tax. Water. Polling Card – don’t vote for any of them, least of all her! Would YouLike To Receive Galaxy Five’s Reader’s Digest For A Year? The last bastion of print media and no, Keri, you won’t have won ten thousand credits. A private email. Oh, and another.’
    Keri put down the tablet, scrabbled round and produced two more postcards.
    ‘Two more physical postcards, you are lucky.’
    ‘Read them, yeah.’
    The Doctor flipped them over a few times. ‘Nice photos,’ he said, but the dark eyes of the Pakhar shrank even more than normal and, had she had eyebrows, they too would have narrowed, so the Doctor opted to read, as instructed. He picked the first:
Hey you. Coming to visit soon, just as soon as we can get the right time stream, don’t want to end up in a parallel reality where everyone has a horse’s head. Mind you, everyone here is wearing fluorescent shell suits. 1991 is a bad place to be!
    And then:
Don’t worry, not forgotten you (or your poor leg). Picked up a nice box of celebratory chocolates from the big new just-opened-yesterday Westfield in Shepherds Bush, hope you like dark, milk, white and tomato chocolate.
    PS: Not sure that *is* tomato chocolate. Not sure tomato chocolate is actually a ‘thing’. But you never can tell in these primitive times and places.
    ‘Do you like tomato chocolate?’
    ‘I don’t know what tomato chocolate is and, to be honest, Doctor, I don’t think I want to try it very much.’
    ‘Wise move.’ He looked back at Keri. ‘Why are you showing me these anyway?’
    ‘I want to know why you sent them.’
    ‘And you’re wondering where your chocolate is, yes?’
    ‘No, not particularly. It just seems…’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Odd. Odd is what it seems. Physical postcards. From. You. When you have the TARDIS. And just where is this Scunthorpe place?’
    ‘I’m really not sure I’ve ever actually been to Scunthorpe, you know,’ he said. ‘And whilst that looks a little bit like my handwriting, it isn’t. I don’t cross my “t”s like that and I can’t bear doing little curvy bits under “y”s.’
    ‘So if you didn’t send me those postcards, who did?’
    ‘Your Matriarch?’
    ‘If my Matriarch had sent them, they’d be about suing paving stone layers. And they wouldn’t have come from Earth.’
    ‘True. How about your lovely old grandad? He’s a bit whoop-whoop-whoop…’ The Doctor tapped his temple. ‘He probably thinks he lives in outer space most days anyway.’
    ‘Oil’
    ‘Unless…’
    ‘Yes?’
    The Doctor stared at Keri for a moment. ‘No, no, I’m sure it’s nothing.’
    ‘Doctor?’
    ‘Well, I have this friend…’
    Keri sighed. ‘I can see the quote marks around “friend” from here.’
    ‘No, no, she really is a friend. An old friend. Well, not old like your grandad – no one’s that old – but a friend from a long time ago. And that might be her handwriting. I actually think you’ve met once or