This story is also set between the BBC novels Endgame and Father Time
November 1963
They were sat together in a cafe, talking and laughing. A casual observer would immediately realise they were old friends. It might even have been surmised that they came from the same city, but that was a long way from the truth. One of them was from billions of light years away, though at this time he didn't even know that.
The older of the two was plucking lazily at a guitar. His younger friend looked on approvingly.
"You're very good at that, Doctor," said the younger man. "Are you sure I can't persuade you to join us?"
The Doctor shook his head, chestnut curls flying around his shoulders. "Music is a young man's game, at least it is these days," he said. "But thanks for the offer, John."
John smiled slightly. "Our loss," he replied, his Liverpool accent showing through. "Maybe you could write a few tunes for us, now and again? Paul and I do our best, but we're always open to fresh ideas."
The Doctor grinned, continuing to pluck at the guitar strings. "I might take you up on that offer." He finished with a flourish and looked at the empty cup in front of him. "Would you like another cup of tea?"
"No thanks," John replied. "I'm supposed to be meeting the lads later. We've got a gig tonight."
The Doctor smiled. "Good luck. Not that you'll need it."
"Cheers, Doctor," John said, getting up from the table.
As the Doctor reached over to hand John back his guitar, he noticed the grimy calendar hanging behind the counter of the cafe. He froze.
"What is it? What's wrong?" John asked, sensing the tension in his friend.
"November 22nd, 1963," the Doctor murmured. "November. 22nd. 1963."
"Yeah, what about it?" John wanted to know.
The Doctor looked up at him, his usually cool blue eyes burning with intensity. "I have to be somewhere today," he said quietly.
"Where?" John asked. "I've got the car parked in the next street, maybe I can give you a lift."
The Doctor's face lit up suddenly. He clasped John's shoulders. "Could you? I'd be awfully grateful."
"Sure," John replied. "Least I can do. Come on."
They paid for their teas and John led the way, turning left outside the cafe and left again into the side street. He unlocked the boot of a small car, placed his guitar carefully in the back, and then closed it again. He then unlocked the passenger door for the Doctor and went round to the driver's side, letting himself into the car.
The engine turned over second time with a throaty roar. John grinned at the Doctor.
"Right, where too?"
The Doctor looked baffled for a moment. "I have absolutely no idea," he replied.
"No idea?" John echoed. "You've got an appointment and you don't know where?"
The Doctor frowned. "I can't remember," he admitted. "It's like everything else, a sudden flash of something, then it's gone again before I can grasp it."
John knew of the Doctor's amnesia. He could play any instrument, but couldn't remember learning any of them. He could pull a tune out of the air, but not know where it came from or who wrote it. In many ways, the Doctor was a mystery.
"Well, what can you remember?" John asked patiently.
The Doctor thought for a moment. Then his face brightened. "School!"
John frowned. "It's a start. Which school?"
Now the Doctor's face fell. "I don't know."
"Any idea of the area? Here in London or further afield?"
Again the Doctor's face was lit by a fragment of memory. "Shoreditch! I remember it was in Shoreditch."
"Now we're getting somewhere." John slipped the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb. "Now all we need is a phone directory."
***
Twenty minutes later the car was pulled up alongside a red telephone box. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, flicking through the directory in the fading light of the afternoon.
"Got it!" he declared. He threw the directory back onto the shelf and jumped back into the car. "Coal Hill School," he informed John.
The younger man nodded. "That's great, but I'm not from round here," he commented.
The Doctor gave him the address he had found in the phone book and they were off again, heading for the Doctor's mystery appointment.
***
The school was mostly in darkness when they arrived. There was a single light burning in the entrance hall.
"Are you sure you won't have missed your appointment?" John asked.
"I can but try," the Doctor replied, climbing out of the car. "I know it's very important."
"Who were you supposed to be meeting?" John inquired.
The Doctor stopped short, his mind racing. Then he smiled. "Susan Foreman," he said with a grin.
John was beside him as they walked towards the entrance hall. "So, is she a teacher then?"
"I have no idea," the Doctor replied with a smile.
***
"Hello? Anyone home?" the Doctor called loudly.
Further down the dim corridor, a door creaked open. An elderly man in a brown smock appeared, peering at the two young men over the top of his glasses.
"Can I 'elp you?" he said.
"I hope so," the Doctor replied, giving him a charming smile. "I was supposed to be meeting someone here. Susan Foreman?"
"Nobody 'ere now but me and Mister Briggs, the 'eadmaster. Maybe 'e can 'elp you."
At that point another door opened and a balding man stepped out into the hallway. He had a smart suit on and an air of authority about him.
"What's going on, Whitaker?" he asked the caretaker.
"Two men Mister Briggs, looking for someone," the older man replied.
"Indeed," the Doctor said. "I was supposed to meet Susan Foreman here."
Mister Briggs frowned for a moment, considering the name. "Ah, yes, girl in 5C. But all the children have gone home for the weekend."
The Doctor frowned. "Can you give me her address? It's very important I speak to her!"
"I'm sorry, sir, but that sort of information is classified. We can't just let anybody have addresses of our pupils."
"But I'm her Doctor!"
Briggs' face softened under the intense scrutiny of those cool, blue eyes. "Well, that's alright then. Just give me a moment." He disappeared back into his office.
"Are you really this girl's Doctor?" John whispered as the caretaker went back to his duties.
"No," the Doctor hissed back. "But he would never have given me the address otherwise."
Briggs returned at that moment with a slip of paper. "There you go, Doctor. 76 Totters Lane."
"Of course!" the Doctor said, grinning like a maniac. "Thank you, Mister Briggs, you've been a great help."
The Doctor and John turned away, then the Doctor paused, turning back to the Headmaster. But the man had returned to his office.
"What's wrong now?" John wanted to know.
The Doctor shook his head. "I don't know. I had the overwhelming urge to warn him about pepperpots."
John frowned. "Have I ever told you, Doctor, how much rubbish you talk sometimes?"
"No, but I'm sure you will. Now, let's get going." He sprinted for the car, leaving John to catch up with him.
***
The Doctor had slid into the driver's seat of the car outside the school, leaving John to the passenger seat. Now they were hurtling around the streets of London at a speed that took no heed of the early evening fog.
"Slow down, Doctor!" John pleaded. "If you don't get us arrested, you'll wrap us around a lamppost. I've got a gig tonight, remember? I didn't expect to be going on some magical mystery tour."
"That's why I'm going so fast. You'll still make the gig John, don't worry about that." He paused, considering what his friend had said. "Magical mystery tour. Sounds like a title for a song." He grinned suddenly at John.
"Yeah, but I can't play the guitar while I'm in traction!"
The Doctor glanced over at his friend. "We're nearly there."
"More memory returned, has it?"
"Well, I remembered how to get here from the school. And the way to the school from that phone box." The car took a corner on two wheels and skidded to a stop behind another car, parked in the street.
The Doctor was out of the car in an instant. He paused to look at the car they were parked behind. His hand brushed the paintwork.
He mumbled something that John couldn't quite here. It sounded like "Ian's."
Suddenly, from across the street, a great cacophony broke the still evening air. The raucous sound seemed to be coming from behind a pair of wooden gates. A light was strobing behind the gates as well.
"Oh no, we're too late!" the Doctor declared, racing across the street anyway. John followed.
But they had both been beaten to it. A policeman was across the street and he too had been alerted to the noise and light in the yard. He pushed the gate open just as both faded away.
John caught up with the Doctor as he was about to follow the policeman inside the yard.
"Do you think that's a good idea? He might wonder what we're doing here," John said quietly.
The Doctor turned to his friend and John saw the pain and loss in his eyes. It was a pain almost too much to bear.
"It doesn't matter now anyway," the Doctor said. "They're gone."
John would have asked who had gone, but he thought his friend looked bad enough. Instead, he promised him a front row seat at that night's gig as he steered the Doctor back towards the car.
***
The following morning, the Doctor and John were sitting in the cafe again. But the carefree atmosphere of the day before had been dispelled by two things. The Doctor's mood and the news from the radio.
"I can't believe it," John said. "Kennedy, gone. Just like that. Shot by some maniac. It's unbelievable."
"I knew it was going to happen," the Doctor said quietly.
John gaped at him. "I wouldn't say that too loudly. The FBI has a long reach."
The Doctor smiled thinly. "Oh, I didn't have anything to do with it. I just have these flashes of insight sometimes, like my flashes of memory. I got one yesterday, when I saw the calendar. I knew President Kennedy would be shot dead."
John frowned. "I'm not sure I'd want to know the future," he said. "I think I would be quite content not knowing how I was going to die."
The Doctor nodded. "Trust me, you're best not knowing."
