Jackie Tyler's doing laundry when she hears Rose calling from just inside. She hurries to the front as they're coming in, just exasperated, overjoyed. Lonely: "Oh, I don't know why you bother with that phone! You never use it!" Rose gathers her up, grinning, and her mother tells her, again and again, how much she loves her. The Doctor tries to get past, but Jackie's too quick for him. She grabs him against weak protest and kisses him right on his wonderful mouth: "Oh, you lovely big fella! Oh, you're all mine!" He begs her to put him down as things get more and more domestic. "Yes, you are!" she says, overjoyed and exuberant, and kisses him again, heading back into the house. The Doctor follows, wiping his mouth like a little boy.
Rose is in the sitting room with a sackful of laundry and a tiny beautiful bottle for Jackie: "It's from the market on this asteroid bazaar. It's made of...um..." The Doctor gives her the information as he flicks through magazines: "Bezulium." She nods: "Bezulium. When it gets cold, yeah? Means it's gonna rain. When it's hot, it's gonna be sunny! You can use it to tell the weather!" Jackie's lit inside by something else, and can't wait to share it. "Got a surprise for you and all," she says. Rose blows her bangs: "I get her bezulium, she doesn't even say thanks!" But Jackie's not listening: "Guess who's coming to visit? You're just in time, he'll be here at ten past! Who do you think it is?" It's Father's Day. Rose doesn't know: "I hate guessing. Just tell me." Jackie's shining like Christmas; like Rose on Father's Day: "It's your Granddad. Granddad Prentice! He's on his way, any minute!" Rose stares at Jackie, and she vanishes back into the kitchen for tea. The etymology for the name "Orpheus" is really hard to pin down. "To be deprived"; "to put asunder, to separate." "Darkness," orphanos, "to lament, sing wildly, cast a spell." Orpheus was defined by loss and the failure of faith. You look back -- at the end of life -- and if you're not willing to give it up at that moment, you never deserved it in the first place. He couldn't cut the cord, couldn't let it lie, couldn't be strong unto himself and say goodbye with his back straight. Jackie's more practiced in looking back at what's been taken than most people. She got hard; she grasps at shadows. Rose stares at her and the Doctor, grinning; if Jackie's gone mad, tell me something new. "Granddad Prentice, that's her dad," Rose tells the Doctor. "But he died, like ten years ago." The most wonderful man in the world.