Standing beside the TARDIS, the Doctor watched as the bride trotted down to the lychgate. She wrinkled her nose as she took the brown envelope from her grandfather.
“Oh, don’t tell me: it’s a bill. Just what I need right now,” she groaned. Tearing the flap open with a finger, she pulled out a piece of paper. “A lottery ticket? What a cheap present. Who was that? Still, you never know. It’s a triple rollover this week. I might get lucky.”
Handing the empty envelope back to Wilf, she folded the ticket and tucked it into a hidden pouch at the waist of her dress, then patted the satin flat. “My best idea ever, Mum. At my fitting, they looked at me like I was bonkers, but I told them, give me pockets! Why’s no one thought of it before?”
As she spun and climbed back up the churchyard path to the rest of the wedding party, the Doctor let his gaze linger on the scene, memorising every detail, then turned and disappeared into the waiting police box.