"Arggggh!"
Tom awoke in an instant at the screams ringing loudly through the TARDIS and sat bolt upright, hangover temporarily forgotten. "Iris?" he croaked, struggling to get up from the seat he was lying across. He could see his travelling companion sitting in the drivers seat at the other end of the bus, hands clutched to her face while she continued to wail in distress. He ran forward, and hovered behind her breathlessly. "Iris?" he asked again.
The woman didn't respond for a moment, her hands still covering the top half of her face while her gaze fixed horror-struck at the driving mirror above her head, shoulders heaving with despair. Tom rested a hand on one of them and tried to appear comforting.
"Iris, what is it? Are you hurt? Are we in trouble? What's happening?"
"Yes!" she blurted, voice muffled by her hands, which she tore away from her face to swing round to face him. "Look!" she cried.
Tom blanched at what confronted him. "Yikes!"
Iris started to cry.
So he made her a cup of hot sweet tea and got the chocolate Hob-Nobs out, sat her down and tried to talk her through it. He'd discovered this method worked with a lot of her problems, including the technical ones involving atomic reactors and rampaging killer androids. Tom put a lot of faith in simple remedies.
"I'm sure it's not permanent... look, haven't you got anything in the TARDIS that will help?"
Iris's crying had subsided to sniffles, but she was still desperately unhappy. "No! I've checked everywhere! There's nothing in any of the medical kits that will help!" She took a long slurp from her teacup and looked round at him. "How can anything help this?"
Tom tried not to wince again, but he couldn't help it. Iris's nose was a mess; it was big and red and swollen, as if a bee had stung it or she'd taken a solid right hook from Mike Tyson. But no bee sting or boxing match had caused this, but a much more insidious adversary.
Alcohol.
"If you would mix your drinks," sighed Tom, sifting through the first aid chest for something that might help. "I mean, Voxnic Sunrises with Babycham chasers? Not to mention all that sherry you drank before the meal. And after it!"
"It was nice!" blurted Iris. "I never could resist a fine old vintage like that... old Queedlethawn certainly keeps a great cellar!"
"Yes, but you're obviously allergic to it! How about seeing a doctor?"
"No! He'd only laugh and make fun!" she sobbed.
"Not that Doctor, you nit! I mean a doctor!"
"Never!" She stood up and glared at him. "I shall just have to regenerate!" She placed a hand on her chin and deliberated. "I fancy something brunette, this time..."
So did Tom, but he wasn't about to say so. "Look, don't be hasty... why not try some ointment? Germoline, or something?"
"Ointment? Germoline? Good heavens, you'll be suggesting leeches next!"
He shrugged. "Works for me."
She gaped at him. "Leeches?"
"No, Germoline!" He sighed, and stood up. "Why not set the controls for Earth, and pop into a chemist?"
"Well..."
"You're always saying how regeneration is a gift, and not something to be frittered away willy-nilly..."
"Did I say that?"
"You said that to that Time Lady at the party last night. What's her face..."
"Oh, her! Well, if you see what she regenerates into every time, you'd know why!"
"Catty, dear. Very catty!"
Iris turned away to the controls. "You should hear what she says about me," she muttered. "All right. I'll give it a try. If that doesn't work, prepare to warm up the VCR... I might have a spot of re-casting to do!"
Tom shuddered.
***
Tom cast a look up and down the street. "All clear!" he hissed into the bus.
"Sure?"
"I'm sure... look, is that beekeepers' bonnet really necessary?"
"Yes! I don't want to frighten anyone!"
"You think you won't, dressed like that?"
Iris pushed past him and hurried towards the chemist shop opposite. "Just shut up and keep the engine running," she snapped.
"It's always running!" he protested. Shaking his head, he leaned back against the bus and pulled a copy of 'The Beano' from his back pocket and settled down to wait.
***
The chemist placed the last red nose on top of the pile on the counter and stepped back to admire his handiwork. He was coming to love 'Red Nose Day' every year now. It really made him laugh, some of the things people did for charity. And those great TV programmes! He hoped they'd do another "Professor X" spoof like they did last year, he really loved that programme when it was on. George Clooney really would make an excellent Professor X, though he'd go a long way to beat that delightful Frankie Howard. But it was nice of him to do it.
The door banged open and a woman sidled into the shop. The chemist chuckled at what she was wearing; a green fluorescent jumpsuit and a beekeepers' hat complete with face-covering veil. The charity collectors were out in force today. Complete with silly outfits.
Iris peered along the shelves and scowled. She could barely see beneath this dratted veil. How beekeepers managed she could only imagine. She darted a look round. There was no one else in the shop apart from the man behind the counter. As a chemist, he probably wouldn't be easily shocked. She'd have to risk it. She pulled up the veil and continued her search, made easier now she could see properly.
Eventually she found the ointment section and, playing safe, picked up all the different sorts. Maybe she could make a cocktail of them... Clutching an armful of boxes and tubes to her chest, she hurried to the counter and plonked them down. The chemist grinned as he rang them up.
"What a lot of ointment!" he said.
"Yes," replied Iris shortly, trying not to look at him.
"Lovely day for it!" he declared.
"Quite," muttered Iris, wishing he'd shut up.
"There you are..." The chemist finished and packed the boxes into a carrier bag. "Fifteen pounds and ten pence, please."
Iris tossed a twenty-pound note onto the counter and scooped up her purchases. "Keep the change!"
The chemist beamed. "Thank you!" He picked up one of the red noses and held it up. "I was going to say, how about taking a comedy red nose..." he chuckled, "But I see you already have one!"
Iris turned around slowly, the rest of her face turning the same shade of red as her nose.
"What did you say?" she hissed dangerously.
***
Tom looked up as the shop door banged open and Iris came marching back out. To his surprise, she was smiling. "Okay?" he asked.
"Yes!" she replied brightly, and held her bag up. "Lots of lovely ointment!"
"No leeches?" he grinned.
"At the price I was charged..." she shook her head. "Come on..."
"Good." He turned and got back on the bus. "You look a lot happier now."
"Oh yes!" she declared, and held up her right fist to rub at the bruises forming across her knuckles. "I feel a lot better now!"
***
Which was more than could be said for the chemist. He peered into the mirror behind the counter and winced. He wouldn't be wearing a comedy red nose today.
Iris had given him one of his own.
"Some people have no sense of humour," he groaned, and reached for a fresh tissue to stem the bleeding.
More from Iris in: Good For What Ails You
