Clara glared at the Doctor’s hands. ‘Is one of those supposed to be me?’

The Doctor raised his left hand. ‘That one.’

‘So the other one’s you?’

‘Yes.’

‘The chin’s too small,’ said Clara, skipping down the steps at the back of the room and starting to strip out of her wet clothes.

The Doctor glanced from one hand to the other, then dropped them down to his sides. ‘You still didn’t have to spoil everything,’ he muttered, quickly turning his back when he realised that Clara was changing. ‘Can’t you do that in the TARDIS wardrobe?’

‘No, I can’t,’ said Clara. ‘It was your idea to keep a spare set of clothes in the console room for emergencies, remember? Besides, if I go wandering off to the wardrobe, I might ruin something else for you on the way.’

‘There’s no need to be sarcastic,’ said the Doctor, pulling a sulky face. He threw back the flight lever and, with a far less laboured wheeze than before, the central column began to rise and fall. ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, you know – although I once met a Sontaran stand-up comedian who could challenge it for the record.’

‘I still don’t get what I did wrong,’ said Clara. ‘All I did was press a few buttons.’

‘Exactly!’

‘But I didn’t know they’d drained an entire sea for the dig, did I?’

The Doctor swept his wet hair back from his eyes, then sniffed at his fingers. ‘Gosh,’ he smiled. ‘I smell faintly fruity!’ His stern expression fell back into place. ‘Why do you think the area of Venofax we were digging in is called Ocean Peninsula?’

‘I dunno,’ Clara shrugged. ‘I figured it was named after whoever first found it. Dave Ocean, maybe?’

‘Dave Ocean?’ said the Doctor, arching an eyebrow.

‘Well, how should I know? You didn’t tell me I was sitting next to the controls for the floodgates!’

‘I didn’t think I’d have to,’ said the Doctor, flitting from one side of the console to another and spinning a dial. ‘I didn’t think you’d start pressing buttons, willy nilly.’

‘I was looking for a water dispenser.’

‘Well, you certainly found one of those.’

‘All right,’ Clara sighed. ‘So I pressed the wrong buttons – but what’s with all the bubbles, and the whole sea stinking of avocado?’

‘That’s the point!’ the Doctor cried, changing sides once more to adjust a dial. ‘No one knows! The Venofaxons are extinct. That’s why Professor Holroyde and her team spent several months and a lot of money draining the sea so they could excavate beneath it and find out what was going on. And then you came along …’

Now in dry clothes, Clara climbed back up to the console level and dropped into the seat beside the steps, arms folded. For a moment neither of them spoke. The only sound was the rasping hum of the engines and the occasional flick of a switch as the Doctor fiddled with the settings. Satisfied everything was running smoothly, he grabbed his spare jacket from the opposite seat and disappeared up to the walkway above.

‘That’s why I wanted to get involved in the first place,’ he called back into the control room. ‘Think about it. An entire world covered in a bubble-bath sea. It’s fascinating! All we had to do was find a planet populated by thirty-foot rubber ducks and get them together.’

Despite her mood, Clara laughed. ‘Don’t forget the giant sponge!’ she said. ‘I reckon we’ll need one the size of a blue whale.’

The Doctor reappeared, dry as a bone, and smiled at Clara – but his expression quickly fell. ‘What’s the matter now?’ he asked. ‘I thought we were getting back to normal.’

‘We are,’ said Clara. ‘Well, as normal as this place gets.’

‘Then why are you crying?’

‘What?’ Clara touched her cheeks with her fingers. They were wet with tears. ‘I don’t know. Why am I crying?’

Suddenly, there was an explosion of sparks from the console. The Doctor jumped up and wafted away the resulting plume of smoke.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Clara, racing to his side.

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ said the Doctor. ‘Wait – yes I have.’ He wiped his hand across the surface of the console. It came away wet. ‘I think … I think the TARDIS is crying as well.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ scoffed Clara. ‘It’s just bubble-bath water. It must have splashed up there when you rewound the chain.’

The Doctor licked his fingertips. ‘No,’ he said. ‘That was avocado. This is salty – like tears.’ He thought for a second, then spun on Clara. ‘Did you say something cruel to the TARDIS while I was getting changed?’

‘No! Of course not.’

‘Did you call her fat?’

‘What?’

‘Because she’s not fat. She’s just bigger on the inside.’

‘You’re crazy. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Well, she can’t be crying for no reason.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Clara. ‘I’m crying as well – but you’re not asking her if she called me chubby.’

Another shower of sparks sent them both ducking beneath the console for cover. When the Doctor re-emerged, he found the readout in front of him skipping backwards and forwards at an alarming rate. ‘No, no, no, NO!’ He sprang to his feet and began to work feverishly at the controls.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Clara, peeking over the edge of the console.

‘The TARDIS’s tears are shorting out the helmic regulator.’

‘They’re not tears! It’s probably just condensation or something.’

‘Whatever it is, it’s pulling us off course.’ The Doctor used his sleeve to dry the console, but it made little difference. ‘Aha!’ he cried, noticing the scarf around Clara’s neck. He snatched it to finish the job.

‘Hey!’ she cried.

‘That’s for the soggy bow tie.’

Then the floor jolted with a familiar boom, and the console fell silent.

‘We’ve landed,’ said the Doctor.

‘Where?’ asked Clara. ‘When?’

‘I’m not sure …’ The Doctor scurried round to the monitor screen. The display hissed back at him, a grey mass of static. Then, faintly at first, a face began to form out of random particles in the centre of the screen. A face he hadn’t seen for a very long time.

‘Astrid!’

‘Astrid?’ repeated Clara, hurrying over. ‘What’s an Astrid when it’s at home?’

The Doctor quickly flicked off the display, pausing for a split second to gather his thoughts. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, turning away from the monitor. ‘The time circuits have gone wobbly, that’s all. They won’t be able to give us an accurate reading until I can repair them. Until then – there’s only one way to find out where and when we are …’

He bounded down the stairs and flung open the door. ‘Marvellous! It’s a hospital,’ he cried. ‘Just the place for a Doctor.’

Clara stepped out of the TARDIS and closed the door behind her. She smiled to a young woman hurrying past clutching a bouquet of flowers. ‘They’re pretty,’ she said. ‘I bet they’re going to really brighten up someone’s day.’

The woman glared back as if she’d been insulted, then scuttled away, eyes fixed to the ground.

‘Nice to meet you, too,’ Clara called after her. ‘Doctor …’

But the Doctor was already striding away down the corridor, and Clara was forced to dodge past a sniffling nurse in order to catch up with him. ‘Look,’ she said, pointing to a commemorative plaque on the wall behind the nurse’s station. ‘ “Welcome to Parkland Memorial Hospital”. I’ve heard of this place somewhere before.’

‘Really?’ said the Doctor. ‘Where?’

‘I can’t remember,’ said Clara as a sullen porter approached them, pushing an equally glum patient in a wheelchair. ‘Although I doubt it was because it had won a “cheeriest hospital of the year” award.’

The Doctor held up his hand to stop the porter and bent to greet the occupant of the wheelchair. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m the Doctor. How are you today?’

‘I’ve felt better,’ grumbled the old man. ‘We all have.’

‘Yes, well I expect that’s why you’re in a hospital. Can I ask which city we’re in?’