May. 18th, 2013

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Donna's divorce had finally come through. It was a short-lived marriage. Doomed before it had even begun. Donna had received a lottery ticket on her wedding day. To this day she still didn't know who had left it with her Grandad for her - and she wasn't sure if she wanted to smack them or hug them. That night she had won 23 million pounds - triple rollover. Talk about a stroke of good luck; she was overjoyed. What better way to start married life than with a heap of cash in the bank?

Apparently what they say is true - money can't buy you happiness. Donna was quick to realise that with 23 million pounds in the bank Shaun was a lot less interest in her and a lot more interested in her bank account. She figured that maybe it was just excitement, after all, neither of them had ever had very much money, it was an exciting time. But when the impulse buying didn't seem to stop Donna began to see it wasn't just the initial excitement.

She had barely touched a penny of the money for herself. She had paid off the mortgage on her mum's house and had treated herself to a few pairs of shoes and a few outfits. And she had browsed a few house sites looking for a love nest. But in the same amount of time Shaun had blown money on expensive casino trips with his mates, a motorbike, new gadgets, champagne parties and other needless things. Donna was all for having a good time, but it seemed that once Shaun got with his mates she became invisible. When he bought a yacht despite not liking water, she drew the line and filed for divorce.

It was a long, slow, tedious process. And Shaun fought tooth and nail to try and get his hands on half her money. In the end the judge ruled that he wasn't entitled to a penny because lottery winnings were not "matrimonial property". She left him with his yacht and his motorbike and their crappy rented apartment and she moved back in with her mum and grandad until she could look for a place of her own.

What she needed, she decided, was a night out. A nice, normal night out so she could just forget about all the drama back home and just relax. She phoned Veena, and agreed to meet in the pub at seven.

That was two and a half hours ago. Veena hadn't shown, just sent a text to say she couldn't make it. Great. Just what Donna needed. She could've called Nerys, but that was probably worse than sitting alone. And that is how she came to be sat at the bar cradling a glass of wine and a bag of pork scratchings; and most likely verging closer to the side of drunk rather than sober.

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Donna Noble

May 2013

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