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What the fuck. Was She wearing a fucking NIGHTIE? A full on Victorian NIGHT GOWN? (Ok no she wasn’t. Not quite. But it was definitely something from the middle ages or some shit). How drunk had she been last night? She didn’t feel hungover though. Maybe still drunk. Well that could be fun at work. She just needed to get more booze in her before the buzz wore off.
Rolling over, Hannah reached for the glass of vodka she kept on her bedside table for just such emergencies, and had taken two large gulps before realising it was plain water. It was such a horrible shock that she was pretty proud of herself for not spitting it all over her sheets.
‘Okay officially what the fuck Dan, what did you do to my bedroom?’
She wasn’t really expecting an answer, but she was expecting even less for it to come in a fusty female voice.
‘Excuse me Barbara Gilbert, did I just hear what I think I heard come from your mouth?'
Whipping her head round, Hannah stared at the middle aged woman glaring at her from under a net full of pin curls. That was definitely not her brother, and even Dan’s standards were higher than to sleep with her (probably). Besides, now she was fully awake there was no denying that, however drunk she might be, she couldn’t fail to see that this was NOT her bedroom.
Her hand went under her pillow for her emergency flick-knife (two-for-one on Amazon - the other one was currently in the cocoa pops box as a warning to Dan about what would happen if he stole anymore of them) but she found only a...book. Instinctively she yanked it out anyway ready to throw it if it came to that, and discovered she was holding a bible. Hannah French was holding a fucking bible for the first time since she got banned from Sunday school at the age of seven. This had to be some sort of sick joke. She dropped it on the covers and folded her arms as she glared up at the psycho-hell-granny standing at the foot of her bed.
‘Okay, putting aside the fact that you’re watching me sleep, which, by the way, is SERIOUSLY fucking creepy - where the hell am I and how the HELL did I get here?’
The stormy frown on the old woman’s face eased into a look of concern. ‘Barbara? Are you feeling unwell? I think you might be delirious.'
‘Why do you keep calling me that? Barbara is an ugly old fogey name. I’m Hannah? Or is this like… some kind of parent trap thing? Do I have, like, a weirdo repressed amish twin I never knew about. Did she swap my life with hers because she wants to be cool? Oh my fucking god that’s so badass. Dan is going to be so jealous that he doesn’t have a crazy twin to kidnap him. This is going to be a wicked story. Okay then fake-mum or whoever the fuck you are, I'm game. Point me to the food and let’s get this freaky show on the road.'
It was probably for the best that the woman had already bustled out the room before Hannah had actually started talking. She’d have to find the food on her own but at least no one was going to be staring at her tits while she got dressed.
Most of the clothes in the closet were intensely old fashioned, like, granny clothes. But she had to wear something. She spent what felt like an age wrestling unsuccessfully with some weird old fashioned underwear she'd found in a drawer that seemed more like beige armour than a bra, but after hearing an ominous ripping noise in her struggle admitted defeat and decided to go commando. The cups were weirdly pointy anyway and there was no harm in Hannah letting her boobs go 'au naturel'. She'd always had great tits. The only outfit that didn't make her want to gag was an old fashioned nurse's uniform, which was at least easy enough to get into. By the time she was ready to venture out into the corridor she felt she'd really earned the bacon she could smell cooking. Whoever her kidnappers were, they had BETTER be planning on feeding her properly.
She was halfway down the stairs when she bumped into a short woman on her way up and reached for her flick-knife, before remembering she didn't have it. She was preparing to shove the woman arse over tit down the steps when she realised who she was looking at.
‘Katie? Katie Maguire it is you! Holy shit, did they get you too?!’
‘Babs? It’s Delia, what are you talking about?’
‘No shit Katie, I know it’s you, that fucking sweat video is going to haunt me forever, and you owe me big time. That’s two golden weeks you’ve ruined for me. Also since when did you turn Welsh?’
Hannah was beginning to get sick of people staring at her with that same look of shocked bewilderment. Actually she was getting pretty pissed off in general. Grabbing the Welsh-apparently-not-Katie girl by the wrist she dragged her back up the stairs and into the first room she found (as luck would have it, a bathroom, which blessedly had a lockable door).
‘Okay time to spill the beans. You've blown my weird religious twin theory so now I want the truth before I lose my shit. What the FUCK is this? Is it some kind of candid camera deal? Did Dan sign me up? That guy is such a fucktard, he’d so do something like that, and TO ANYONE WATCHING I AM SO SUING I DID NOT AGREE TO THIS.'
Katie looked slightly dazed by the volume of her shouting, and increasingly alarmed at being cornered like this.
‘Barbara… I’m sorry I don’t understand a word you just said. You don’t sound yourself. Have you hit your head this morning? You might have a concussion. I think you'd better sit down.'
Tempting as it was to just headbutt Katie as she stepped closer in concern, Hannah restrained herself (that was how she’d broken her nose last time after all). With the sort of patience she normally reserved for first dates with guys that were incredibly hot but also incredibly stupid, she tried again.
‘Alright, let’s start from the beginning. And can we just assume for the sake of argument that I’m not crazy or concussed? It would save a lot of time and also probably stop me punching you.'
‘...Well, alright, but I really think we should see Sister Juli-’
‘Okay shut up, I’m talking. Right. Who exactly do you think I am? And before you speak I am warning you that if you say ANYTHING other than a direct answer to my questions then I'm probably going to have to brush of my high school skills and flush your head down the toilet, okay? Go.'
‘Al...right... You're Barbara Gilbert, midwife employed by Nonnatus House to care for women in Poplar, originally from Liverpool… is any of this sounding familiar?’
‘Midwife? Like, sticking my hands up women’s pussies? That is fucking disgusting. And believe me I have seen some disgusting shit in my time. That does explain why the outfit though. Ok next question. If you're not Katie, who the hell are you?’
‘Delia Busby. Bab’s, it’s going to be alright. I suppose you don’t remember now, but I had a car accident a while ago and I had amnesia too. Yours seems a bit different, but-’
‘Ok shut it, I don’t need the life story. That's your first swirly warning. I don’t have amnesia obviously . I remember everything but the really drunk bits, they just weren’t here. And you sure you’re not Katie?’
‘I’m really not Katie.'
‘I can’t see any cameras.'
Katie-not-Katie was looking seriously confused, and her concern seemed to be changing to outright fear. If she was pretending, she was a much better actress than she had been in high school, when she’d fucked up Lady Macbeth so badly that people had assumed it was meant to be comedy.
‘I think Doctor Turner has a camera but we haven’t got one here… Barbara please let me check for concussion, I’m worried about you.'
‘Ok old fashioned chick. You’re not the freaky friday sidekick I would have chosen, not least because I still kind of want to break your nose over the whole golden week thing, but you’re the best I’ve got. So just listen and trust me because I’m this close to having a fucking freak out and if there are cameras I will kill you for making me look bad on tv. So. I’m not Barbara, and frankly I think that’s the ugliest fucking name ever. My name’s Hannah French, and I have never stuck my fingers in another woman’s vagina even in a fun way… except that one time with my boss at the conference, but that was because we were both very drunk and I didn’t want to get fired, it was a whole big thing. The point is, I am not a fucking midwife. I can barely tell which way up you’re supposed to hold a baby, and I’m pretty sure I’d puke if I had touch that red blobby after birth stuff. I’d guess I’m either drunk or in a coma, or possibly on some sort of reality tv thing, but whichever it is I would really appreciate it if you could help me get the fuck out of this place because I have like two and a half cold pepperoni pizzas in my fridge for breakfast and I’d really like to get home before Dan eats them.'
‘...You’re really not Barbara are you?’
‘Give that girl a medal.'
‘So how did you get here?’
‘Well that’s what I want to know, and who this Barbara person is that everyone’s mistaking me for. I went to bed like normal last night, and then boom, I'm in the dark ages.'
Delia seemed to be making a huge effort to take things in her stride, then gave a little nod.
‘Alright. I can show you a picture of y- of- of… Barbara, and we can try and work this out.'
Kat- Delia was still snatching little glances at her, her expression wondering and a little scared as she led her back down the corridor and into another bedroom.
The photograph was on a dresser, in a plain, old fashioned frame. It was black and white, showing three women in uniform.
‘Holy fucking shit that’s so creepy, she’s like… a nerd of me. Ok I’m not stupid I’ve seen this movie. When are we?’
‘We’re… in London…’
‘That would be the answer to WHERE are we. What I asked is WHEN are we? What year is this?’
‘1962.'
‘Holy shit, there’s not even colour tv in 1962. Urgh.'
She was going to ask more, but before she had the chance they heard footsteps on the landing and low voices coming closer. Delia’s head whipped up and she practically pushed Hannah backwards onto the bed.
‘Oy, I-’
‘Shhh. Don’t say a word. Let me do the talking or you’ll ruin Barbara’s whole career. Just lie down and look ill. Please.'
She almost kept arguing, but Delia was giving her a pleading look and Hannah shrugged and lay down in a dramatic ‘Juliette death scene’ attitude.
Delia was half way through telling her to tone it down when she stopped mid sentence and her voice became gentle and concerned.
‘-have quite a fever Barbara, you’d better lie still.'
Hannah was quietly impressed with how complete the change was, as if this version of Katie was used to sneaking around and covering things up. She gave a little groan for good measure, and then turned her head to see who was standing in the doorway.
Holy.
Motherfucking.
Shit.
‘Is she for real?!’
Delia shot her a look and hissed a sharp ‘shhh’ before stepping deliberately between Hannah and the honest-to-god NUN and saying ‘Sister Julienne, I was just about to come and find you. Barbara isn’t at all well. I think she might be a little delirious.'
‘Thank you Nurse Busby, Nurse Crane just came to find me with the same concern. I hear she’s been saying some rather troubling things?’
Hannah lay still, half listening to the list of imaginary symptoms that Delia was rattling off and half wondering if all this was just a really bad trip from a batch of dodgy acid.
She had been too busy staring at the nun (fucking NUN, seriously, she was going to have to get a photo to prove it to Dan) that she missed most of the conversation, but eventually the two old women pissed off and Hannah sat up.
'Finally, now we can-'
'NOW we can make you look actually sick for when Doctor Turner arrives. They've gone to call him.'
'A doctor?' Jesus. And not just a doctor, an old-timey doctor who'd do god-knows what shit to her....
'He's not going to like.....LEECH me is he? I saw it on this documentary history news thing that Dan made me watch that time he thought he'd write a historical screenplay. It was totally gross.'
Not-Katie was staring at her. '…...What year do you think this is, Ba- Hannah?'
'Ok if you're going to keep looking at me like that we're going to have issues. Basically, I'm from the future I know more than you ever will and you just need to accept that and stop looking at me like I just grew an extra fucking tit. Basically there's like, leggings decade, big phones decade, and anything before that is just boring history lessons... oh shit. Except drugs decade. I can't BELEIVE I'm 10 years too early for woodstock.'
'I really don't understand a word you say... I'm going to get a hot water bottle to put on your face.'
Delia bustled off and Hannah rolled her eyes. And SHE was the confusing one? Why the fuck would she want a hot water bottle for her face?? Olden days treatments were weird as fuck. Not-Katie probably thought it was going to draw out the bad spirits or something.
Hannah made a mental note to be sure to show Not-Katie her iphone and probably freak her out- and them remembered she'd woken up in Barbara's pajamas. Ugly as fuck. Although- some weirdos did pay a shit load of money for historical stuff....maybe she could sell them on ebay when she got home. Or back to her time. Whatever.
She was just turning over the tin-can alarm clock on the bedside table and wondering how much she should auction it for later when the door opened. Delia.
'Ok lets get one thing straight. You are not smothering me with an old fashioned hot water bottle just because I'm not your weirdo friend. I might not have my flick knife but I used to be a rugby player... briefly. I can definitely take you anyway.'
'The water bottle is to make you look feverish, why would you think I was going to... never mind. Let's just be quick before anyone comes back.'
*************************************
When Barbara heard the shout, she sat bolt upright in bed, a lifetime (ok, six years- but she reckoned six years was pretty respectable) of night shifts and nurses training kicking in right through her slightly confused dreams (featuring her old geography teacher, but with the face of Sister Evangelina, scolding her roundly for not colouring her newly delivered baby in neatly enough).
She had swung her legs of out of bed and put out a hand to reach for the clock on her bedside table so she could check the time- when she realised three things.
Firstly, the shout that she had taken for a cry of alarm or pain was actually one of jubilation. She didn't quite understand the words she was hearing but she could tell from the tone that they meant something good.
Secondly, her alarm clock was not there.
Thirdly, she had just knocked a large glass of water over the bedside rug. A bedside rug that did not belong to her.
The clear liquid was soaking into the bright purple shag- she righted the glass (thankfully not broken) and looked around for something to use to soak it up, absently sucking the moisture off her fingers- before recoiling immediately at the awful taste.
Whatever was in that glass was definitely NOT water. Actually, it smelled a bit like alcohol.
Who kept alcohol by their BED?
And.....whose bed was this?
Suddenly embarrassed to be lying in someone else's bed and spilling things over their rug, Barbara jumped up, only to realise... oh God, she was hardly wearing any clothes. Her (unfortunately funny shaped) legs were completely naked, and although she was wearing knickers, they certainly weren't hers. In fact, they were bright red lace that seemed to be riding right up her... well. They definitely weren't hers.
What had happened to her? Where was she?
Suddenly, her blood ran cold. A memory rose- Sister Winifred at the kitchen table, her mug of Bovril cooling and forgotten, as she eagerly recounted the plot of a film she'd 'accidentally wandered into' (in case any Sisters overheard) the night before.
'…..and they slipped something into her drink and she was taken half way around the world to be the wife of some shiekh-'
Was that what had happened? The voice from the next room was undoubtedly male and although she still couldn't make sense of his words, maybe it was a foreign language? Was that the voice of her new HUSBAND?
What about Tom? What about work? Would someone cover her rounds while she was gone- they were terribly stretched even with her! Although she supposed they must make allowances for abductions.
Whatever the situation, her first priority had to be finding some more clothes. If she was going to have to fight her way out, she was certainly not going to do it in someone else's underwear and nothing else. The room she was in already looked like their had been something of a struggle – there were dirty clothes strewn across the carpet, and...oh god, was that a knife on the dresser?
She felt oddly nervous of opening the wardrobe. The whole room was so strange, she half expected to find the room's previous occupant in there, bound and gagged, or... worse. It certainly seemed to have been vacated in a hurry, and memories of reading 'Blue beard' as a child lingered close to the surface of her mind. Thankfully though when at last she edged open the door, she saw only a row of oddly fashioned clothes, hanging a little limply from their hangers.
She started to flick through them- they ALL seemed to have something strange on them. The blouse that seemed like a normal white shirt had no buttons at the neck at all. Most of the skirts ended well above her knees- she'd have thought they were skirts for children if it wasn't for that fact that she knew of no child who wore scarlet leather (come to think of it, she wasn't sure if she'd ever met any adults who did either. Even the women around the dock road dressed more conservatively!). At last she settled on a navy blue dress that wasn't too alarmingly short, and once she'd pulled an (oddly shapeless) jumper over the top her cleavage (something she'd barely been aware of having before this startling new bra) was comfortably concealed.
She had decided against looking for a slip- it wasn't as if it was a top priority when anyone might burst in at any moment- but she did feel slightly bare once she was eventually dressed. At least she was decent to anyone else's eyes.
She was just pulling the skirt straight when the door burst open and she nearly leapt out of her skin. A tallish, paleish man with messy sandy hair and holding a half-eaten slice of...something cheesy and congealed in his hand was leaning against the door jamb, eyeing her.
He didn't look much like a kidnapper but....
'Hey, Sis. Just checking you're still alive. I wondered after you didn't try to murder me for eating your pizza, you usually have a freaky sixth sense for these things... uh...' a glance down at the unpleasant looking slice in his hand 'I did save you a slice, if that helps.'
Barbara just blinked at him for a moment. The words were English, but he wasn't actually making any sense, was he?
'I... I'm sorry?'
'Are you alright Han? I was expecting you to fucking murder me. I brought a nerf gun to drive you off for just that purpose, but you're... weirdly calm... oh shit.'
He threw the food away from him and pulled something that looked vaguely gun like from behind his back, pointing it right at her with one hand while he wiped his tongue against the shirt sleeve of the other.
'FUCK. You booby-trapped me didn't you? Did you put laxatives on the pizza AGAIN? I thought you'd run out after the office Christmas Party punch bowl incident!'
Barbara flinched, her hands coming up automatically as she stared at the weapon-wielding mad-man. Alright so it looked more like a toy than a real gun, but she'd never heard of a 'nerf-gun' and everything around her was so strange, she didn't dare risk it.
'I... I didn't do anything, I swear! I just woke up here, I don't know how I got here or what's happened to me, and I haven't touched your... pizza. Please, please don't hurt me.'
The man lowered the gun slowly, staring at her. Then he said quietly
'If the sperm is a whale, how big is the egg?'
'I... what? I'm sorry, I don't understand.'
She had clearly said something wrong, because at that her captor shouted 'POD PERSON! I KNEW having a code would pay off eventually. DIE ALIEN SCUM!'
And before Barbara could speak, or duck, or even raise her hands to cover her head, he pulled the trigger, firing six shots – three to the head, three to the abdomen.
The bullets stung slightly on impact, then bounced away to roll across the floor. Barbara knew a moment of fear before she realised the gun really was a harmless toy and then let out a sigh.
'Do you think you could explain what's going on? I'm... reasonably sure I'm not an alien.'
'Oh alright. I'm out of bullets anyway. Always figured that after the password part the rest would just kind of fall into place but it was less effective than I expected.'
'What did you think was going to happen?'
'I dunno... maybe you'd melt or burst into flames or something. I mean nerf bullets might hurt aliens, it was worth a try...'
'But I'm not an alien.'
'No, the pod person thing is turning out much less cool than I expected. So if you're not an alien, and you're clearly not my sister or I would be shitting myself from your poisoned pizza by now... who exactly are you?'
'My name's Barbara, I'm a midwife and the last thing I knew I was going to bed in Nonnatus House after a late delivery. Everything seemed normal, until I woke up here. I was rather hoping you'd be able to tell me how I got here.'
'Nuuupe. But I do have an idea. I'm thinking: Doctor Who binge day. This HAS to have happened at some point in the who-niverse, it might give up some clues. What do you think the chances are that you're actually a robot and just haven't realised?'
'I... I'd say pretty slim...'
'Would you be up for having me cut you to check for wires?'
'You want to do what??'
'Alright no need to get uptight it was only an idea. It might mess with your circuitry anyway and put you into killer mode or something, I need a better weapon before we risk that.'
'I'm not a robot!'
'Of course you're not, of course. Holy shit maybe you're a CLONE. This is some proper sci-fi shit, I bet Hannah's loving it.'
Barbara was beginning to get a headache. It was too much, too strange.
'Who... who are you?'
'I am your Yoda. Your Gandalf. Your Doctor.'
'You're a doctor?'
It was the only thing from the list she understood, and Barbara grasped at it like a lifeline. The Doctors of London all knew each other. Maybe this man, however unlikely he seemed as a medical man, perhaps he could get in touch with Doctor Turner.
'Not A Doctor... have you never seen...? Never mind. My name's Dan. Welcome to the fucking trip, grasshopper.'