I decided to keep clear of Barbara for a few days, partly to give myself time to think. But it was difficult to resist the temptation to pick up the phone and call her; I had heard hints of what was to come during our time in the park and it did sound as if the adventure with the cavemen was a fairly mild curtain raiser.

I had to keep myself occupied somehow. I needed to put my mind on something else, to distance myself from what I’d heard, and see how it all looked in the light of reason.

After looking at my notes I decided reluctantly that my fantasy novel was not going to serve as a distraction. With my thoughts in their current turmoil I was in no shape to pull the book together and start writing it. Plus – and this was odd, considering how briefly I’d known her – I was a little deterred by Barbara’s disapproval of its derivative origins. I trawled my mind for other possible projects but came up with nothing.

And then salvation of sorts came out of the blue.

About lunchtime on Sunday Mrs. Muller called up the stairs.

‘Conrad! Some visitors!’

This was entirely unexpected. I was up, but still in my pyjamas. I wasn’t sure who it could be and I couldn’t decide for a moment whether to risk appearing as I was or to stall. After a couple of seconds I called down: ‘Can you fix them a cup of tea, please? I’ll be down in a sec.’

Mrs. Muller would probably assume I was in the throes of a particularly difficult piece of composition, as that was the image I’d cultivated with her. I threw on some clothes, "dragged a comb across my head" and skipped downstairs.

In the kitchen were Dennis and Caro. This – or at least Caro – was a pleasant surprise, although it took me only a second to realise that a girl’s appearance would be reported back to my mother, and I suddenly started to feel grateful for Dennis’ presence.

‘Hey, Con. You remember Caro.’

I suppressed the absurd gallantries that rose to my lips. ‘Sure. Sorry to have kept you. Thanks,’ I added to Mrs. Muller, who excused herself gracefully and retired to her sitting room at the front of the house.

This left us free to use the dining room, as I tried to recall the exact state of my bedroom and whether there was anything up there I’d be embarrassed for Caro to see. Then I remembered I’d worked most of Saturday, and on Friday I’d left the place tidy on the off-chance that I might end up there with Barbara.

‘Want to come up?’ I said, gratefully noting that Mrs. Muller had also left me a cup of tea. I led the way, although Dennis had been there before. I tried to remember how long it had been since I’d had a girl in my room; it seemed months.

Inside I turned my writing chair around and used it for myself, inviting the other two to share the edge of the bed. In my slightly distracted state I hadn’t looked at Caro and I now noticed she was wearing a mini-skirt. For a second I couldn’t prevent myself staring; her legs were a little skinny, but very presentable. I looked up to her face and felt sure she had noticed where my eyes had been.

‘Bet you’re wondering why we’re here,’ said Dennis with a slight grin.

‘Had crossed my mind.’

For a moment there was silence. Caro was looking at me intently. Then Dennis nudged her. ‘She likes your lyrics. The ones we weren’t so keen on.’

‘Sub-Velvets stuff,’ I said casually. ‘I hope to do better.’

‘That’s why we’re here.’ Caro spoke for the first time. She had a husky quality to her voice that had not struck me the first time I met her. ‘I was wondering if you had any more. The other stuff is good, but a little…forced. Got anything a little more direct, more…honest?’

I tried to look as if I was thinking. ‘Ummm…’ In fact I knew very well I had a folder full of fragments of song lyrics and aborted poems. ‘I’ve got some other stuff, but I’ve never actually shown it to anyone. I’m not sure…’

‘Up to you,’ said Caro. ‘But I’d be interested.’

The last sentence was delivered in a very meaningful way. She knew I was attracted to her; I couldn’t work out at this stage whether it was mutual or whether she was just using my feelings to manipulate me. I decided I didn’t mind too much at the moment. I got out the folder and handed it to her. ‘It’s all in there.’

Dennis leaned over her shoulder to look at the sheets as she pulled them out. I realised I didn’t like seeing him so close to her. I glanced around for something to distract him; all I could come up with was a couple of issues of The Fantastic Four which luckily featured the Silver Surfer. ‘Hey, Den – I picked these up from one of the waterfront stalls the other day.’

It did the trick; he leaned back on the bed, turning away from Caro, and started to leaf through the comics. I pulled my chair a little way across the room, so I could lean forward and see which lyrics Caro was looking at.

She seemed to be reading them very quickly, obviously deciding from the first verse whether or not she liked a song. Some of them she clearly read all the way through, and she started a small pile by her side, putting aside a sheet every once in a while. I wanted to speak to her but couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘She wants to change the direction of the group,’ said Dennis over his shoulder. ‘I dunno, women…as soon as they join anything they start taking charge.’

‘Someone needs to,’ said Caro without looking up. ‘At the moment you’re all pulling in different directions.’

‘Whatever,’ said Dennis. ‘So long as you don’t upset Rob.’

‘Rob’s got a good brain,’ admitted Caro, looking at me. ‘It’s a shame he isn’t a better guitarist.’

‘George Harrison isn’t exactly a virtuoso,’ I pointed out. ‘Come to that, nor is Lou Reed.’

‘But Reed’s playing has character, and Harrison has the best backing band in the world – or at least the best songs to play.’ Caro reached the end of my pile of paper, and leafed quickly back through the sheets. Then, apparently satisfied, she put the papers back in the folder, and picked up the smaller pile by her side. ‘These have promise.’

‘Nice of you to say so,’ I said ironically.

‘Don’t be like that,’ she said quickly. ‘I mean, we could make something good out of these, I think. Want to try it?’

‘Uh…what?’

She looked at me a moment, then seemed to realise she hadn’t made herself clear. ‘I wondered if you’d mind trying to re-write some of these – with me.’

I was a bit lost for words, I have to admit. ‘Well, umm, yeah. Uh…when?’

She gave me a direct stare. ‘Are you doing anything this afternoon?’

‘Um…no.’

‘Well, then.’

‘My cue to go,’ said Dennis, getting up and letting the comics flop back onto the bed. ‘I might borrow those sometime. But you know I’m no good with lyrics, so I’ll leave you to it.’

I stood up quickly. ‘I’ll see you out.’

As soon as we were halfway down the stairs I whispered: ‘What’s going on, Dennis?’

‘Dunno what you mean.’

‘I mean a girl I hardly know coming here and wanting to spend the afternoon writing with me.’

He grinned at me. ‘I told you you’d get on.’

We stopped at the bottom of the stairs. Something about this didn’t feel right. I searched for words to express my misgivings, but Dennis just swiped me on the arm. ‘Seriously, she liked your lyrics. It looks to me like she digs you, too. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Why are you being so generous? Don’t you like her?’

‘Not my type. I’m into older women, myself.’ And he winked.

‘Not…Sally Willmott?’

He assumed a non-committal expression. ‘Well…who knows? But Caro’s a bit on the brainy side for me, anyway.’

That rang true, at least, I thought.

‘Of course Rob likes her,’ added Dennis. ‘But it’s definitely unrequited.’ He slapped my arm again. ‘So go to it! Have some fun!’

He made for the door. I stood there feeling a mixture of excitement and terror. This was all happening rather quickly. After a few moments I turned and went up the stairs.

When I opened the door Caro was looking straight at me. ‘I imagine,’ she said without preamble, ‘that you’ve been discussing me.’

After a moment of pure confusion I decided honesty would work best. ‘I’m a bit surprised by all this. I’m not sure what’s going on.’

‘It’s not that complicated, surely. We’re going to turn some of your lyrics into decent songs.’

Now I felt she was playing with me. ‘And that’s all?’

She simply smiled. ‘Come here and let me tell you what I want to do with these.’

We worked on the lyrics for nearly three hours. In the end I didn’t feel that much of my originals survived; I stifled my irritation as she seemed intent on changing everything, and my temper hardly improved when I saw that she was actually turning most of the work into something better. But the feeling gradually faded. I could see there was nothing personal in her approach, and I began to be impressed at the skill she was showing. Her insistence on kicking off her boots and curling her long legs on my bed was a bit distracting, but as she seemed to think nothing of it, I learned to ignore the spectacle.

It was late afternoon when she sat up, stretched (I did wonder if she was doing this on purpose) and said: ‘I think that’s all we can do for the moment. Fancy a walk?’

I glanced reflexively towards the window. For the last hour I had been hearing the none-too-gentle patter of steady rain and evening was already drawing in.

She noted my hesitation. ‘Not bothered by a little rain, are you? This is the best kind of day for a wander.’

‘It’s hardly day any more – it’ll be dark in half an hour.’

‘Scared of the dark, are you?’

I wasn’t going to rise to something as obvious as that. I simply looked at her, trying to work out what sort of game she was playing.

‘Look,’ she said quietly, ‘I happen to like walking in the rain, especially on winter evenings. All I’m asking is if you want to come with me. I’d like you to, but there’s no obligation. It’s entirely up to you.’

Put like that, it didn’t seem a difficult decision. I got up and went for my coat.

When she went for a walk, she went for it. We seemed to go miles, mostly unspeaking, occasionally talking about the group. They still hadn’t found a name they could all agree on. The rain didn’t let up and before long the bottoms of my trousers were heavy with it. Neither of us had an umbrella; I had offered to borrow one from Mrs. Muller, but Caro didn’t care for them. She seemed to exult in getting wet; her hair became plastered down against her skull and her cheeks, and water ran down her face, but I could see a kind of fierce enjoyment burning in her eyes.

‘You’re crazy,’ I told her eventually as we stopped across the road from a small green. She contemplated the darkened slope of grass that stretched away from us, then smiled slightly. Without replying, she skipped across the road.

I hurried to catch up with her. I felt a little unease about heading onto the grass; I was no longer sure my shoes were very waterproof. I decided not to risk Caro’s scorn by voicing my fears. I almost lost sight of her as she vanished beneath the clump of trees that stood to one side of the green. I could just make out the pale brown of her coat, and I went towards her. As I came close she stepped towards me and took hold of my head, pulling my mouth down to hers.

It was more like an introduction than an exploration; she released me almost immediately.

‘What was that for?’

‘Well what’s it usually for?’

I had no answer to that. She stood looking up at me; I found it difficult to make out her expression, but then it was hard enough to tell what she was thinking even when I could see her clearly. ‘I guess I’m not used to…that kind of directness.’

‘You must have led a very sheltered existence.’

‘I didn’t think so ‘til now.’ I wondered about taking her in my arms and experimenting on my own terms, but she seemed to enjoy being in control and for the moment I wasn’t sure enough about how I felt to risk disrupting things.

She folded her arms. ‘So you didn’t like it enough to want more?’

That was a direct challenge, but I decided to play her kind of game, at least for a minute. I put my hands in my raincoat pockets. ‘You can’t manipulate me quite that easily.’

‘Well did you or didn’t you?’

She was better at this than me. I shrugged slightly without removing my hands. ‘If you’d given me a real chance to find out…’

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to be counter-manipulated.

The problem was, I felt in some obscure way that I was betraying my growing feelings for Barbara. Colin Wilson’s hero may not have had any trouble contemplating having two mistresses, but I did. I wasn’t sure about my intentions towards either of these women. I would have preferred it if Caro had made some further move and resolved my dilemma. She was undoubtedly a tempting prospect.

‘Look,’ I said eventually, ‘it’s not that I don’t find you attractive. I’m not blind or stupid – and I’d have to be to not be interested in you.’

‘So what’s the problem? There’s no one else, as far as I know; Dennis made a couple of comments about your "older woman", but they seemed to be jokes.’

I cursed Dennis silently. For a moment all I could do was look at Caro. She made an impatient movement. ‘Well? Is there or isn’t there? Who is this "older woman"?’

‘Just someone I talk to.’

‘So what do you talk about?’

She didn’t realise what a question that was. ‘I think – for the moment at least – that’s my business. Don’t you?’

She inclined her head a fraction in acknowledgement. ‘It depends,’ she said, ‘on whether your relationship with her is what’s preventing you from kissing me.’

Suddenly I knew it wasn’t. I was just scared; it was too long since I’d been in a situation like this. I stepped forward and put my arms around her. Her face came up and I bent my head. This time I was making the pace, and I took it more slowly. Nevertheless her lips parted almost at once, and I decided not to hold back.

After about half a minute I drew away.

‘Better,’ she said. ‘Shall we head back?’

I laughed softly, wondering what was coming next. ‘Whatever you say.’

We took a slightly different route on the way back; she had been leading, going where she wanted, on the way out, but I knew a quicker way home and she didn’t seem to object to my taking over. She slipped her arm in mine, which was a nice feeling.

As we came around a corner a large shape loomed out of the darkness. I stopped dead.

It was a Police Telephone Box.

I knew I was being stupid, but I couldn’t help staring at it. I disengaged myself from Caro and stepped closer.

‘What is it?’

I ignored the question, knowing I could give her no sensible answer. I reached out my hand, feeling a ridiculous fear as my fingers stretched towards the dark, wet wood.

‘If you call a policeman I shan’t be able to rape you,’ said Caro with slight impatience.

I touched the Police Box. It was completely still, inert. What had I expected? Some kind of vibration? The low hum of electrical power?

I laughed. My heart was beating powerfully. Caro came up beside me. ‘What is it?’ She sounded genuinely intrigued now and I looked at her. She put her hand on the wet surface, next to mine. ‘What are you doing?’

I shook my head. ‘I can’t explain it – not at the moment. It was just a crazy thing somebody told me – something I had to check.’

‘Well, now I’m definitely curious.’

I faced her, feeling helpless. I didn’t want to lose her trust at this delicate stage of our relationship, but I could hardly tell her what I had discussed with Barbara. ‘Believe me, I’d love to tell you – but I’d be breaking a confidence. Maybe later.’

As I’d hoped, the appeal to her principles mollified her. She nodded. ‘All right. But if you’re finished with that, can we get back to yours? I could do unspeakable things to a cup of tea right now.’

I smiled and took her arm.

My mind was whirling on the rest of the walk back. What had I been doing? Did my actions mean that, somehow, I believed Barbara’s story? Had I really been expecting to find something out of the ordinary? With everything that had happened that afternoon, Barbara had receded in my mind, but now I could think of little else. Caro seemed to sense my distraction and kept silent as we walked.

By the time we got home I had decided not to put off seeing Barbara; I was suddenly fearful she might vanish, and what she had to say was too interesting to miss. Once we were inside I ushered Caro towards the kitchen. ‘Can you put the kettle on? I’ve got to make a ‘phone call.’

‘What, to report seeing a Police Box? Who’re you calling, Interpol?’

Despite her words she went into the kitchen. I darted upstairs and retrieved the piece of paper with Barbara’s number on it. By the time I’d dialled, Caro had come to stand in the kitchen doorway, leaning on the frame and watching with her arms folded. I turned away from her as the ‘phone started to ring.

It seemed a long time until the receiver was picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘Barbara?’

‘This is Barbara Wright.’

For a moment I hadn’t been sure. The voice had a slightly breathless quality; or maybe the afternoon’s events had thrown me more than I realised. ‘This is Conrad.’

‘Oh. Hello. I’m sorry I took so long. I was in the bath.’

That was a distracting image. And feeling Caro’s eyes on my back wasn’t helping. I grappled with my thoughts. ‘I…think we need to talk again.’

There was a moment’s silence on the other end. ‘You know I’m happy to talk whenever you like. Wh-when were you thinking of?’

I wondered what the time was, when Caro intended to leave, whether I could risk asking her to go. I decided to play it safe. ‘How about tomorrow?’

‘It will have to be after the survey work – in the evening. Shall we meet at the cafe?’

‘Okay.’ I needed to finish this quickly; I felt I might be trying Caro’s patience. ‘I’ll see you just after seven.’

‘All right. Around seven, then. Goodbye.’

‘Bye.’ I hung up quickly and turned, but Caro had gone back into the kitchen. I wasn’t sure this was a good sign, so I hurried to join her.

She seemed quite at home there and had almost finished making the tea. ‘Don’t you ever do this for your guests, or do you always find a way to get out of it?’ Her smile was only of amusement; I felt I’d been worrying about nothing. But I realised I was still carrying an image of Barbara wrapped in a bath towel.

‘Sorry.’ I lifted the boiling kettle from the stove and poured. Caro stood back a little and eyed me, apparently casually. ‘You sorted out what you wanted?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ I hoped she wouldn’t want to see me tomorrow. Then I wondered if I could interest her in Barbara’s stories.

‘Was it to do with that Police Box?’ As I hesitated, she said: ‘Oh, surely you can tell me that much, at least.’

‘It…wasn’t really. Not directly. It just reminded me of something.’

She nodded. I passed her one of the mugs. Suddenly I felt I was looking at her for the first time since we had got in. ‘Christ, you’re soaked!’

She laughed and sipped her tea. ‘And this is where you tell me I must get out of those wet things.’

I looked down at myself. ‘I think we both should.’

‘Sounds like an interesting prospect.’

I glanced up at her. I was still unsure how to take her, never quite certain whether she was joking. I gestured upstairs. ‘Look, I’ll run up, get changed, and pull out a couple of old bits of stuff for you to wear while your clothes are drying.’

Her face was completely unreadable. After a moment she nodded. ‘All right.’

I retreated to my room, wondering whether I’d disappointed her.

Seeing her in a huge jumper and a pair of my old trousers made her seem less threatening. She stretched out on my bed, wriggling her toes and patting absently at her hair with a towel. I sat and watched her, still marvelling at the fact she was here at all.

Her elbow descended on something papery, and she twisted her head to look back over her shoulder. She pulled out the Fantastic Four comics I’d used to distract Dennis earlier. ‘Do you read a lot of these?’

‘Not that many. Can’t afford it.’

‘And is that the only reason?’

I shrugged. ‘It probably is. Wouldn’t you indulge yourself a lot more if you had the money?’

She shot me a sly look. ‘How d’you know I’m not rich?’ She flipped open one of the mags. ‘But… d’you think there’s any point to this stuff? What d’you get from it? I mean, the art’s got a lot of energy, but…I mean to read this when you could be reading Dante, Tolstoy, Hesse – even Ayn Rand. Bit of a waste of time, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe it is. I wouldn’t claim to be perfect – or even particularly disciplined. Do you have a problem with all fantasy stuff, then?’

She closed the comic. ‘Not per se. I haven’t read much – Peake, of course and C.L. Moore – so I can’t really judge. It’s just the premise of these things…super-heroes. All muscles and fist-fights.’

I smiled. ‘Don’t let Dennis hear you say that.’

She sighed and lay back. ‘Oh, we’ve had the Silver Surfer conversation. I looked at one or two, to keep him quiet. I found it rather naïve.’ She raised her head. ‘I think he told me you were writing some kind of fantasy novel?’

I grimaced. ‘That’s an exaggeration. I’m planning to write one. Haven’t got very far.’

‘Can I see it?

‘It’s just notes at the moment. There’s nothing to see, really.’

She fixed me with a level stare. ‘You’d better get on with it then, hadn’t you. Or at least get on with something.’

I looked around the room, unable to meet the directness of her look. ‘It would be easier if I was convinced it was worth doing.’

‘What do you mean?’ She hoisted herself up to a sitting position, looking interested.

‘Well, like you said – the premise of fantasy sometimes seems…so pointless. Removed from reality. Not important.’

‘Depends what you do with it, surely. The Divine Comedy is a fantasy.’

‘But I’m not Dante.’

‘Then perhaps you should try to be.’

I was taken aback. ‘What..? How d’you mean? Write poetry?’

‘Not necessarily. Just do something that seems important. Something, if possible, that seems to be the most important thing you could do.’

‘And is that what you’re doing, singing with Dennis and the others?’

She did not return my smile. ’That’s only one of the things I’m doing.’

‘Am I allowed to ask what the others are?’

Now she did smile. ‘Shall we save that for when you know me a little better?’

She left not long after that, her clothes still only half-dry. I wasn’t inclined to make her stay; I felt I’d had enough for one day, and needed some time to myself, to think. She kissed me briefly in the hall and took my number away with her. There was no ‘phone where she was living at the moment, but she said one was being installed any day now. She promised she’d be in touch quite soon and I believed her.

I went upstairs in a kind of dream. The day had definitely not turned out as I’d expected. My room seemed strangely unreal to me, as if it looked different somehow. I looked at the clock; it was half past eight. I thought about my desk and the things Caro had said. I should be doing something important, something that mattered. But what?

Then Barbara came to mind. I still didn’t know what to think about her stories, and I couldn’t begin to understand my reaction to the Police Box earlier in the evening. But suppose – just suppose – what she was telling me was true? Wouldn’t that make it about the most important thing to write about at the moment? And even if she was fantasising, I had to admit her imagination was better than mine at the moment. I decided I’d talk to her about writing down her stories of the Doctor and his machine. I wasn’t sure how she’d react, but I hoped that if she believed it would get others to pay attention, she’d go along with the idea.

I felt better with a definite aim in mind. I picked up Ritual and read ‘til I was tired. After the kind of day I’d had, I wondered about the sort of dreams that might result, but in the event I don’t remember dreaming at all that night.