Doctor Who The Lodger Page #5

Season #5 Episode #11

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[Tardis]

(The Tardis is shaking, and there is a shower of sparks nearby.)

AMY:
Doctor? It's saying we're on Earth. Essex, Colchester.

(The shaking stops.)

AMY:
Doctor? It's taking off again. Doctor, can you hear me?

[Aickman Road]

DOCTOR:
Amy! Amy.

(One day later, a young man is strolling past one of the terraces of houses when he hears a voice.)

MAN [OC]:
Hello? Hello, please? Hello? I need your help. There's been an accident. Please, help me.

(The young man goes up to the door, which has a cat flap in it. The voice is coming from the intercom for the two flats, 79a and 79b. The door is electronically opened.)

[House]

(The upstairs lights are flickering.)

STEVEN:
Hello?

MAN [OC]:
Please, will you help me?

STEVEN:
Help you? What's wrong?

(A figure is standing at the top of the stairs.)

MAN:
Something terrible's happened. Please help me.

(Steven goes up the stairs and into the flat to the sound of spooky music. This door is exactly like the front door, complete with cat flap.)

[Flat]

(Downstairs, in 79b.)

SOPHIE:
Craig, what's that on the ceiling?

CRAIG:
What's what on the ceiling?

SOPHIE:
That. It's coming from upstairs.

(A damp stain in the corner.)

SOPHIE:
Who lives up there again?

CRAIG:
Just some bloke.

(The stain spreads.)

CRAIG:
So what's the plan tonight? Pizza, booze, telly?

SOPHIE:
Yeah, pizza, booze, telly.

(Bang! upstairs.)

SOPHIE:
What is he doing up there? You put the advert up yet?

CRAIG:
Yeah, did it today, paper shop window. One furnished room available immediately, shared kitchen, bathroom, with twenty seven year old male, non-smoker, four hundred pound pcm, per calendar month, suit young professional.

SOPHIE:
Mmm, sounds ideal. That's your mission in life, Craig. Find me a man.

CRAIG:
Yeah, otherwise you'll have to settle for me.

SOPHIE:
You'll have to settle for me first.

(Sophie answers her phone.)

SOPHIE:
Oh, Melina again. What? Right. Yeah, but I've kind of got plans. No, it's nothing important, it's just Craig.

(Craig sees the stain spreading again.)

CRAIG:
Oh, thanks, Soph.

SOPHIE:
Sorry. You know what I mean. Okay, I'll talk to Craig. Okay. Now she's having a Dylan crisis on top of the Clare crisis. It could be another all-nighter. I'm sorry, but I really should go. Do you mind if I go?

CRAIG:
No, not at all. No, honestly. Course not. Go.

SOPHIE:
Because I could stay.

CRAIG:
No, go on.

SOPHIE:
I mean, we've got plans.

CRAIG:
Just pizza.

SOPHIE:
Yeah, it's just pizza. Okay, right, I'm going.

CRAIG:
All right, then. Well, er, I'll see you soon.

SOPHIE:
Yeah.

CRAIG:
All right. And give me a call, and I hope everything's okay.

SOPHIE:
Thanks, sorry.

(Sophie leaves the flat and hears noises from upstairs, then footsteps. She leaves the house.)

CRAIG:
Just tell her. Just tell her. I love you. I love you. Oh, just. Hey, I don't know if you knew. Oh.

(The doorbell rings.)

CRAIG:
Every time.

(Sophie has left her keys behind on a fluffy pink key ring, so he picks them up and goes to the front door.)

CRAIG:
I love you. I love you.

[Front door]

CRAIG:
I love you. I love you.

(He opens the door.)

CRAIG:
I love you.

DOCTOR:
Well, that's good, because I'm your new lodger. Do you know, this is going to be easier than I expected.

(The Doctor takes the fluffy pink keys from Craig. There is a Bluetooth device in his ear.)

CRAIG:
But I only put the advert up today. I didn't put my address.

DOCTOR:
Well, aren't you lucky I came along? More lucky than you know. Less of a young professional, more of an ancient amateur, but frankly I'm an absolute dream.

CRAIG:
Hang on a minute, mate. I don't know if I want you staying. And give me back those keys. You can't have those.

DOCTOR:
Yes, quite right. Have some rent.

(The Doctor hands Craig a paper take-away bag with lots of twenty pound notes in it.)

DOCTOR:
That's probably quite a lot, isn't it? Looks like a lot. Is it a lot? I can never tell.

(They go into the hallway. The lights upstairs are flickering.)

DOCTOR:
Don't spend it all on sweets, unless you like sweets. I like sweets. Ooo.

(The Doctor gives Craig a couple of air kisses about six inches from each cheek.)

DOCTOR:
That's how we greet each other nowadays, isn't it? I'm the Doctor. Well, they call me the Doctor. I don't know why. I call me the Doctor, too. Still don't know why.

CRAIG:
Craig Owens. The Doctor?

DOCTOR:
Yep. Who lives upstairs?

CRAIG:
Just some bloke.

DOCTOR:
What's he look like?

CRAIG:
Normal. He's very quiet.

(Crash.)

CRAIG:
Usually. Sorry, who are you again? Hello?

[Flat]

CRAIG:
Excuse me?

DOCTOR:
Ah. I suppose that's dry rot?

CRAIG:
Or damp. Or mildew.

DOCTOR:
Or none of the above.

CRAIG:
I'll get someone to fix it.

DOCTOR:
No, I'll fix it. I'm good at fixing rot. Call me the Rotmeister. No, I'm the Doctor, don't call me the Rotmeister. This is the most beautiful parlour I have ever seen. You're obviously a man of impeccable taste. I can stay, Craig, can't I? Say I can.

CRAIG:
You haven't even seen the room.

DOCTOR:
The room?

CRAIG:
Your room.

DOCTOR:
My room? Oh, yes. My room. My room. Take me to my room.

[Doctor's room]

(Eighties decor.)

CRAIG:
Yeah, this is Mark's old room. He owns the place. Moved out about a month ago. This uncle he'd never even heard of died and left a load of money in the will.

DOCTOR:
How very convenient. This'll do just right. In fact.

(Another loud crash from above. The Doctor tests the air with a damp finger.)

DOCTOR:
No time to lose. I'll take it. Ah you'll want to see my credentials. There.

(The psychic paper gets passed behind the Doctor's back and shown to Craig three times.)

DOCTOR:
National Insurance number. NHS number. References.

CRAIG:
Is that a reference from the Archbishop of Canterbury?

DOCTOR:
I'm his special favourite. Are you hungry? I'm hungry.

CRAIG:
I haven't got anything in.

[Flat]

DOCTOR:
You've got everything I need for an omelette fines herbes, pour deux. So, who's the girl on the fridge?

(A photograph of Craig and Sophie, along with the Vincent van Gogh Self-portrait in Straw Hat postcard.)

CRAIG:
My friend. Sophie.

DOCTOR:
Girlfriend?

CRAIG:
A friend who is a girl. There's nothing going on.

DOCTOR:
Oh, that's completely normal. Works for me.

CRAIG:
We met at work about a year ago, at the call centre.

DOCTOR:
Oh really, a communications exchange? That could be handy.

CRAIG:
Firm's going down though. The bosses are using a totally rubbish business model. I know what they should do. I got a plan all worked out. But I'm just a phone drone, I can't go running in saying I know best. Why am I telling you this? I don't even know you.

DOCTOR:
Well, I've got one of those faces. People never stop blurting out their plans while I'm around.

CRAIG:
Right. Where's your stuff?

DOCTOR:
Oh, don't worry, it'll materialise. If all goes to plan.

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