The door of the Tardis opened, and out stepped the Doctor. “Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. This can’t be right.” He ran to the wall of the room and tapped it, smelt it, licked it. Tasted paint, made a face. “This isn’t right. Christmas Eve, 2006, check. But why doesn’t the Tardis know where?”

“It’s my room.” It was a boy, about four years old. He was sitting up in bed. “Are you Father Christmas?”

“Ah. No. Father Christmas, me and him, we’re like that.” The Doctor crossed his fingers. “By which I mean I’ve fought evil doubles of him. Couple of times. But I’m not, actually, him, no. He’ll be along in a minute, I should think.” He went to the window, pulled open the curtains, and looked out at a picturesque landscape, like something from a Christmas card. “Now that’s . . .... that’s odd, ‘ ’cos this was meant to be central London, ‘ ’cos I always like to have a look at the Christmas lights, but there’s something weird going on with the Tardis, and — ”

He looked round to see that the small boy had got out of bed, and was peering into the Tardis. “Ah, now, wait — ”

But the boy had already stepped inside.

The Doctor ran in after him.

The boy was at the console. He didn’t seem to have wasted any time with the usual oohing and ahhing and saying how it was bigger on the inside than the outside. He was hitting buttons.

The Doctor stared. “Now — wait — oi!”

The doors slammed. The central column started to rise and fall.

The Doctor grabbed the controls. But nothing was working. It was as iflike the Tardis was co- operating with the boy. Which was a bit of a cheek, because it never did that for him. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Daniel.”

“Listen, Daniel, Danny, Dan the Man, you’ve just taken us off into time and space. I’d better get you back home, or your Mum and Dad are in for a shock — ”