We decided on a walk, despite the fine rain that was still falling. The decision reminded me of my Sunday evening with Caro, and I felt a vague sense of guilt again. Was I betraying her? I couldn’t really pretend that my interest in Barbara was entirely innocent – but if nothing happened, did that matter? Where did unfaithfulness start, with the thought or the deed? With a touch, or a kiss…or what?

The door below stayed shut for once as we passed, but a curtain shifted as we stepped out into the street.

‘You should think about finding somewhere else to live,’ I said.

Barbara looked at me, slightly surprised, then saw where my gaze was directed. ‘I have. No money, I’m afraid.’

‘And you wouldn’t consider moving back with your mother or something?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Would you?’

‘Well, it was just a suggestion.’

She slipped her arm in mine again as we set off, which probably wasn’t standard practice for aunts and nephews, but I wasn’t complaining. We walked in silence for several hundred yards. Then, to keep myself from imagining Caro leaping out at us from a dark corner, I decided to tackle some of the things that had been starting to bother me about Barbara’s situation.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Of course.’

‘What, ultimately, is the point of convincing people about what you went through? What do you hope to achieve? I mean, I can see it would make a difference to you, being able to talk freely about it, but…well, maybe I just don’t see why it’s so important.’

She pulled me to a stop, and looked around her. ‘The Thames is, what, a little under two miles from here? In less than a hundred years, the warehouses and factories along the banks will all be derelict and empty, there will be bodies floating in the river, and Daleks on Westminster Bridge. You told me early on that the future doesn’t exist – well, I’ve seen it. It was terrifying.’

‘And…what, you hope to prevent that happening?’

She made a gesture and we went on walking. ‘I don’t know if that’s possible. I don’t know if what we saw was the only possible future, or simply one of many alternatives. If the future is set, absolutely fixed, how can anything we do make a difference?’

‘It can’t be like that,’ I said.

I stopped.

‘I mean, I chose to stop, then. I can walk on now, or stay still, or turn around. Any of those actions will make a different future.’

She looked at me for a long moment. ‘But you can only actually do one of them.’

‘Yes, but I can choose—’

‘Suppose the one you choose was always going to be your choice? Suppose freewill is just an illusion?’

I considered. ‘I could choose…to take my coat off.’ For a moment I had been about to say "to kiss you". ‘Or I can leave it on. Surely there’s nothing influencing my decision – apart from the cold and the rain. I could do either.’

She shook her head. ‘No. You think you can do either. In fact, in actuality, you can only do one or the other. In that respect, choice is a kind of illusion.’

‘But I can still make a choice…before the event.’

‘But only before.’

I tried to get the idea to make sense. ‘Uh…you’ll have to give a minute on that one. I see what you’re saying, but there’s got to be something…something that…’

We went on walking. ‘It is believed in some traditions,’ she said, ‘that we have no control whatsoever over anything that happens in the material world; only in our reactions to what happens.’

I shook my head. ‘That’s appalling. I couldn’t live like that.’

‘How do you know you don’t?’ She smiled. ‘Look at it this way, it would mean it was impossible to make a mistake. If whatever happens is the only thing that can happen…’

‘Then what’s the point of doing anything, trying anything – what’s the point of living, for Christ’s sake?’

‘Now there’s a question. What does Colin Wilson think is the point of living?’

I tried to think. I wasn’t sure he’d ever stated it explicitly; I had the impression he might feel the attitude behind the question was too defeatist. ‘Um…I don’t know, but I guess he’d look on it as a kind of evolutionary thing – you know, onwards and upwards, getting better all the time, like the song says.’

If reference to Sgt Pepper passed her by she didn’t acknowledge it. ‘But then,’ she said, ‘how do you measure "better"?’

‘Well, technological improvement, better standards of living, less poverty…it’s quality of life, isn’t it?’

‘And when everyone’s life is perfect?’

I snorted. ‘I doubt that’ll ever happen.’

‘So the purpose of life is to pursue an unattainable goal? Suppose…just suppose for a moment that it could be done, that everyone could have everything they need…what then?’

‘I’m…not sure what you mean.’

‘Well…what would people do?’

‘Whatever they wanted, I guess.’

‘All right – what would you do?’

I took a deep breath. ‘If I had everything I needed? …Write, I suppose.’

‘About what?’

‘Um…that’s a tricky one, since I don’t have any ideas at the moment.’ I tried to think, but my mind was a blank.

‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that in a perfect world there would be nothing to do. Well, perfect as we understand the concept of perfection, anyway.’

‘So you don’t think we should aim for perfection?’

She looked at me with something like indecision. ‘Actually I think we already have it, if only we could see it, but that’s probably a discussion for another time. What I’m saying, I think, is that it is in the nature of life that it be a struggle. Certainly the times I felt most alive were all during my two years in the TARDIS. On a material level, without something to push against we have no reason to make any effort.’

‘So you’re saying that the point of living is to fight – any fight?’

‘On the physical level…yes, something like that, I suppose.’

For a few moments neither of us spoke. I was trying to recall how the conversation had got going. ‘So…is that why you’re trying to make your adventures public? Just for the sake of making the effort, the struggle – no matter whether it makes any difference?’

She was silent for what seemed like a long time. ‘No,’ she murmured finally. ‘No, that isn’t it. This just seems important – more than important, necessary. I was given, for whatever reason, a glimpse of something far beyond the experience of everyone else on this planet. That seems to me to be something I just can’t ignore. It has to be significant.’ She looked at me. ‘I don’t have any neat rationalisations for what I’m doing. I can’t do anything else. I can’t just slip back into my life like…like…’

‘Like Ian?’ I wondered why she was reluctant to say the name. ‘Is that what he’s done, then? Just gone back to living as if nothing happened?’

Her eyes were lifted to the night sky. ‘His point of view is that there’s no practical good that can come of dwelling on what happened to us…which I can’t really dispute. But, just at the moment…I don’t seem to be able to let it go.’

‘Do you wish you could?’ My heart seemed to wobble as I said: ‘Do you wish you could settle down and just share life with him?’

She stood staring up at the stars. ‘Sometimes.’ She turned her eyes to mine. ‘Yes…sometimes I wish that with all of my heart.’

‘Then why the bloody hell don’t you go and see him?’

Her breath shuddered out in a cloud. ‘I…can’t. Not at the moment. It’s difficult to explain, but I feel that something has to happen first. Something needs to be settled. Perhaps I need to find some kind of peace.’ She looked at me for a moment. ‘If I went to him now, I’d still be…fragmented in some way, not…not truly with him. Do you understand?’

‘I think so. So…do you have any idea what it is you need to do, to…get your head together?’

She gave a short laugh. ‘The oddest thing is, in a way I know that there is nothing to be done – nothing that needs to be done.’ She looked away, then brought her gaze back to mine. ‘I’m sorry, it must seem as though I’m talking rubbish – constantly contradicting myself.’ She lifted an eyebrow at me. ‘Actually, it’s your fault – you looking at those Indian books sent me back to them and I was reminded of a few things I should never have forgotten. So you can blame yourself if I talk nonsense.’

I shrugged. For the moment I was just relieved that she wasn’t going to rush off to Ian.

‘Shall we get a cup of something, to warm us up?’ she suggested. ‘I think there was a place open a little way back.’

I took her arm and we retraced our steps. The rain was stopping, but its persistence had soaked us both through to the skin. She looked at me as we went into the café. ‘I’m sorry – it was thoughtless of me to drag you out on a night like this.’

‘As I recall it was a joint decision.’ As I watched her expression of concern, something occurred to me. ‘And maybe it was the only one we could have made.’

‘Now you’re mocking me.’

‘Only a bit.’

We got a cup of tea each and she insisted on buying me a piece of cake although she had nothing herself. We sat damply for a few minutes, half-listening to the tinny radio behind the counter. I was trying to grasp what she had been saying about life; her constant reference to the struggle being on the material level obviously implied that she thought there was another dimension, presumably the spiritual. I wasn’t sure I felt up to tackling her on that one.

‘What does Caro do?’ she asked suddenly.

For a moment I couldn’t think of an answer. The next moment I realised it was because I didn’t have one. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think she’s doing anything at the moment…work, I mean. She dropped out of an art course.’

‘Oh? Do you know why?’

‘I suspect she has trouble playing to other people’s rules.’

‘So what will she do now?’

I shrugged. ‘Whatever she wants would be my guess. She’s…very independent. And she doesn’t seemed frightened of anything.’

Barbara gave me a quizzical look. It was a moment or two before she spoke. ‘So…what are you afraid of?’

‘Hah. Practically everything, it sometimes feels like. Of doing things, of not doing things, of changing, and not changing, of taking a chance…’

‘Of life,’ she summed up.

I nodded, my eyes on the table. ‘Sometimes, yeah.’ I looked up. ‘I dunno why I told you that. I wouldn’t have admitted that to anyone else. It’s a bit to do with what Caro said last night – some people prefer to stay safe. I think I’m one of that type. I suppose it’s a bit pathetic.’

‘It’s more common than you think, even with apparently fearless individuals like Caro.’ She stretched a hand across the table and let it rest on mine. ‘What chances are you afraid of taking?’

I met her eyes and couldn’t say what was on my mind. I searched for something else to say while I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her perfectly shaped lips.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Perhaps I’m being intrusive. Please don’t feel you have to—’

‘I was thinking that I wonder what it would be like to kiss you,’ I blurted.

She said nothing for a few seconds. Then, very gently: ‘And what do you think would happen if you did?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose that’s why I wonder.’

‘And…Caro?’

‘I guess that’s mostly why I’m only wondering.’

‘Do you love her?’

‘I…hardly know her, really. Met her about the same time I met you.’ I wondered if this focus on Caro was a deliberate attempt to stop me wondering about her own reaction to what I’d said. Her face gave nothing away and her voice was pitched low and even.

‘Do you…’ she paused, searching for the words. ‘Do you want something to happen between you and her? Is that your hope for the immediate future?’

‘I suppose it is.’

She nodded slightly. ‘Then why did you say what you just said to me?’

‘Because it was the truth. I don’t know what it means, I don’t understand it at all, but it’s…I seem to—’ I sat back. ‘Look, it’s not important. Forget I said it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…I have no right—’

‘Thank you for saying it.’ She smiled without a trace of embarrassment. ‘You’ve made an old lady feel quite young.’

‘But..?’ I murmured, sensing something beneath her smile.

‘I think it would be a dangerous experiment.’

‘Wh-why?’

‘Because I might like it.’ She sat up straight. ‘Have you finished your tea? Perhaps we should get back.’

As we walked out Dusty Springfield was singing ‘Give Me Time’. I smiled slightly to myself, but if Barbara was conscious of any irony, either personal or cosmic, she didn’t show it.

Outside she slipped her hand onto my arm as if nothing had happened – presumably to indicate that nothing had happened. I didn’t know what to make of her last admission. Some might have taken it as a subtle piece of encouragement, but given her record of directness, I suspected she wouldn’t have been so equivocal if she had been sure what she wanted.

We walked in silence for a long time. I suppose we were both finding it difficult to come up with a neutral subject of conversation. Or any conversation at all. I must admit I was tempted to pull her into the shadow of a tree and see what happened, but I restrained myself by concentrating on the feeling of her fingers lightly touching the sleeve of my coat.

She stopped suddenly as we turned into a small street. I glanced at her, saw the expression on her face, then followed her eyes to a dark shape just ahead of us. I laughed. ‘Haven’t you got used to seeing them about the place yet?’

She smiled, slightly sheepish. ‘I…yes, I should have. I’m just never sure whether it might not be…him.’

‘What would you do if it was?’

She disengaged her arm from mine and walked up to the Police Box. ‘I don’t know. If you mean, would I want to go with him…no. No, I couldn’t – not without Ian. I couldn’t leave him to face it all alone.’

‘All what? Face all what alone?’ I moved closer to her.

She looked away from the box, but not towards me. Her eyes were unfocussed. ‘The memories.’ Her eyes came to mine. ‘Do you understand – it would be impossibly lonely, being the only one in the whole world who knew…’

‘Maybe he doesn’t see it that way.’

‘I think he would if I…went away.’

I had the distinct impression she had just avoided saying "died", and I wondered if she had any reason to think she might die soon. And then a more frightening possibility occurred to me. ‘Why should you go away?’

She looked surprised. ‘We were talking about the Doctor coming back. Where else would I go?’

I looked narrowly at her. I decided to be as straightforward as I could. ‘It was something in the way you said it…Do you think about death a lot?’

She looked at me squarely with a hint of a smile. ‘All the time.’

‘I-in what way?’

She laughed suddenly. ‘Oh, I’m not going to kill myself. Don’t worry about that. But death is very important. It is the one certainty in an unknowable future, the one fixed point in a changing world. The ultimate consummation for a philosopher.’

The phrase rang a bell. ‘Plato,’ I dredged up from somewhere. ‘Wilson thinks that’s a revolting sentiment.’

She came up to me, smiling. ‘Well, I did say that he hadn’t got it all right.’

As we set off again I said: ‘Look, we can’t go on like this. Sooner or later you’re going to have to give me a more detailed breakdown of the way you look at the world. If not, we’re always going to be talking at cross-purposes.’

‘I said before; it’s a big subject.’

‘But it’s obviously important to you. And I want to understand.’

There was a gleam in her eye. ‘More than you want to kiss me?’

‘Um…much more, I think…if you don’t find that too offensive.’

‘I’ll get over it.’ She wrapped both her arms around mine and leaned against me. ‘Do you think you’re up for it tonight?’

‘Uh…what?’

‘The Barbara Wright view of the world. Of course it’s not mine at all, really…’

‘What’s the time?’

She extracted one arm and glanced at her watch. ‘Nearly half-past eight. When’s the last train?’

‘Half-eleven-ish.’ I squared my shoulders. ‘All right. If you think you can explain the whole world in three hours…’

We didn’t talk much on the way back, except for a general conversation about music. As I’d expected, her taste tended towards the old-fashioned – what she referred to as "an unaccountable fondness" for someone called Joan Regan (the Be My Guest woman, I finally remembered) and Sinatra, Tony Bennett and the like – but she showed a surprising awareness of Dylan’s early work, and she did seem genuinely appreciative of what Dennis and the others were doing – although with typical teacher’s reserve she was unsure about the security of music as a career.

From that we drifted onto the subject of school. As we climbed the steps I was talking about how much I’d hated it all. She was silent; I suppose it wasn’t a point of view she had that much sympathy for. I decided to shut up as we went inside.

By now my eyes went automatically to that door. It stayed shut until we were almost out of sight on the stairs; then it squeaked open a crack. Barbara shook her head at me as she unlocked her own door. ‘Don’t pay any attention to them. They almost make me wish we were up to something.’

A phone started to ring. I couldn’t locate the sound at first; then I realised it was down in the hall. Barbara ignored it; she held her door open for me. I heard the room below us open and there were footsteps shuffling across the hall.

As Barbara was closing her door a shrill shout came up to us. ‘Miss Wright!’

Barbara motioned me to sit down and stuck her head out onto the landing. ‘Yes?’

‘Telephone.’

‘I’ll be right down.’ She mimed an apology to me and disappeared, leaving the door ajar. I heard a cracked female voice say. ‘A young man. He rang before, when you were out.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Cordell. I’m sorry if you were troubled.’

There was a kind of grunt and I heard the woman shuffle away. Barbara said nothing for a few moments; the door downstairs creaked closed, but there was no sound of it shutting. Barbara was silent. The door shut with a slight rattle.

‘Hello?’

I decided I was already feeling too morally bankrupt to listen in to a private conversation, so I went over to the books and started looking through the pile. She had made it fairly clear that the Indian stuff was closely tied up with her way of looking at things, so I separated those books from the rest of the pile and took them back to the chair.

It wasn’t until I sat down that I realised the state I was in. As usual I hadn’t thought to take my coat off; it was absolutely sodden, as were the lower reaches of my trousers. The room was cold; Barbara had turned off the heater while we were out.

I sat for a moment. I contemplated poking around the flat looking for a blanket or something, but although I was fairly sure she wouldn’t mind I decided I wasn’t quite comfortable enough with the idea to attempt it. I settled back in the chair and tried to ignore the heavy dampness against my skin. Barbara’s voice was a faint murmur below; I tried to shut it out.

The first book in the pile was the one I looked at before; The Ten Principal Upanishads, translated by Shree Purohit Swami and Yeats. I wondered whether it might be better to try another one, but after a moment I flipped it open.

"That is perfect. This is perfect. Perfect comes from perfect. Take perfect from perfect, the remainder is perfect."

What had she said about perfection? Something about having it already?

"May peace and peace and peace be everywhere."

I couldn’t deny the words had an oddly soothing effect; something to do with the repetition of "peace", I assumed. I flipped on a few pages.

"The ignorant man runs after pleasure, sinks into the entanglements of death; but the wise man, seeking the undying, does not run among things that die."

They seemed to be equating pleasure with death. I recalled Barbara’s insistence on the primacy of death, but I could find nothing more about it on the next couple of pages.

I put the book on the floor and opened the next one. This was a record of some talks with an Indian Sage – Ramana Maharshi. I noted the similarity of his last name to the Maharishi’s title.

I had spent a little while reading odd phrases here and there when I realised that Barbara was taking rather a long time on the phone. I might have been more patient if not for the fact that I’d started shivering. After a moment’s consideration I lifted the books off my lap and went to the door. I leaned my ear towards the crack.

For a few moments there was silence.

‘How can I explain something I don’t understand myself?’ There was a quaver in Barbara’s voice. ‘I don’t know. I can’t put a time limit on this. I’ve told you that.’

I was torn. I knew I shouldn’t be listening, but the distress in her tone was impossible to ignore. I stood frozen.

‘Ian…’ Her voice now had a slightly desperate quality. A violent tremor went through my body. All of a sudden I couldn’t stop shivering.

‘Ian, I have to go. I have someone here.’ A silence. ‘No. No, of course not.’ There was a hint of anger now. ‘You know that’s impossible. You know—’ She seemed to make a soft choking sound. ‘Now you’re being ridiculous! Ian, you know I—’

She fell silent. Even from where I was it seemed to me that I could hear her laboured breathing. Then I heard the receiver gently replaced.

It seemed a long time before her footsteps started up the stairs. I looked back at my chair, but then resolved to stay where I was. I thought it might be easier to deal with the situation if she didn’t have to pretend everything was all right. I tried to hold my shivering body still.

I stepped back from the door as she pushed it open. Her face was pale, and she looked as if she might fall over at any moment. Her eyes were swollen and her lips were pressed firmly together.

I cast around mentally for something, anything to say – and all I could come up with was what had occurred to me when I first registered where the phone was.

‘You ran all the way down there in a bath-towel to answer the phone that time?’

She looked at me blankly. ‘Wh..? Oh…yes.’ She walked past me, heading for the chair. ‘Everyone else was out,’ she said in a soft monotone. She lowered herself into the chair. Her hands were clasped in front of her; she seemed to be resisting the urge to bring them up to her face.

I went over and knelt in front of her, trying to look up into her eyes. Tentatively, I took hold of her hands. ‘Look, I…I overheard the end of that. You mustn’t let yourself be upset…I’m sure it’s—’

‘My God.’ She was staring at me. ‘Oh God, look at you. You must be frozen. What was I thinking of?’ She pushed me aside and bustled to the heater. ‘You should have called me. I’ll never forgive myself. You’ve got to get those things off – God knows what you’ll catch.’

‘Well, what about you?’

‘I’m all right. I just can’t believe I didn’t think…’ She stepped back from the heater and turned to me. ‘And your hair…oh God, mine must look a state…Please, take that coat off. I’ll try to find a dressing gown or a blanket or…or something.’ She was almost babbling. I stepped closer and took hold of her wrists.

‘Look, I’m all right. You’ve got to calm down. C’mon, sit here a moment – let me make some tea.’

Her breath was coming in little pants. She pulled against my grip. ‘No, I can’t let you…I…it’s…’

And then she was sobbing against my coat. Even in the face of her distress I felt awkward, but I closed my arms around her and stood there. I wanted to say something, but the soothing platitudes that rose to my lips were impossible to voice. I raised one hand to her heavy, damp hair and pulled her head close to my shoulder. Even then all I could think about was how uncomfortable my wet coat must feel to her.

After about a minute she was silent. With gentle but insistent pressure she pushed herself free and emerged wiping her eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’m sorry. What must you think of me, after that display?’

She was still breathing heavily, and when she attempted a laugh it came in a kind of rush of breath, like a silent cough. ‘It’s been quite an emotional evening, all in all, hasn’t it?’ She had been avoiding my eyes but now she looked at me. ‘I really am dreadfully sorry. You shouldn’t have had to witness that. I don’t know what came over me…’

‘What did he say to you?’

For a second she seemed about to answer the question. Then she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. He misunderstood. I suppose I should have expected that. He must have doubts, after so long…’ She put her head on one side and let out an exasperated breath. ‘Isn’t it about time you got out of that damned coat?’

I shrugged it off. ‘I do recall someone saying they were going to look for a blanket…’

‘Oh yes…’ She disappeared into the bedroom. I saw the clotheshorse against the far wall; I opened it and spread my coat over it. Barbara returned holding a folded pale blanket. Her hair had been dragged into a semblance of order, I noticed. ‘Perhaps you should take this into the bedroom,’ she said. ‘So you can change…’

‘All right.’ I took the blanket. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll get out of these in a minute.’

I could see there was no point arguing with her.

The bedroom was as sparsely furnished as the rest of the flat. Just a low bed, a tiny table with a lamp and a clock, and a tall wardrobe. On the window-sill there was a cheap-looking radio. I sat on the bed, noticing that there was only a single sheet on it. This was where the blanket had come from.

I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my soaking trousers, then pulled my sweater over my head. That was enough, I decided; my shirt was only damp in patches. I wrapped the blanket around myself; I noticed a small book lying on the table by the bed, but I didn’t want her to have to wait to change. I waddled over to the door.

When I emerged she was in the kitchen., boiling water for tea. ‘Can you watch this?’ she asked, then hurried into the bedroom. The water was only just coming to the boil when she came back in a long dark dressing gown and slippers. She made me sit down; I had just about arranged the blanket around me when she came in with the tea.

For a while we sat in silence. Barbara let her tea rest on the arm of her chair; she held the mug without making any attempt to drink from it. Her face was still pale. She hardly seemed to see anything around her; when I put my mug on the floor she started slightly at the movement.

‘You should drink yours before it’s cold,’ I suggested gently.

She sipped obediently.

It was a shock, seeing her like this. After her initial flurry of panic over my condition, the phone call seemed to have sapped her of all her energy; I guessed I was not going to be treated to her worldview tonight.

But there was something else. I was loath to leave her in this condition. It wasn’t that I thought she would do anything stupid – I simply felt she might prefer not to be alone. Apart from Ian, I could lay some claim to being the only one who had an inkling of what she was going through, of the isolation of her life. I knew she would never ask me to stay, but I hoped I could at least make her forget about my last train so I could stay until I was sure she was all right. The walk home would only take me an hour or so; I’d be tired at work but I could cope with that. The problem was how to occupy her mind, to make sure she didn’t think about the time until I felt it was all right to leave her.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again after a while. ‘I don’t why I’m behaving like this…’ She took a swallow of her tea and tried a smile. ‘I was going to tell what the world is really like, wasn’t I?’

‘Well,’ I said cautiously, ‘if you think you’re up to it.’ I watched her face then went on: ‘What about something less…heavy? Maybe your next adventure with the Doctor?’

Her face creased in a frown. ‘I suppose…I suppose it might be easier. In this state I’m not much of an advertisement for my beliefs, I’m afraid.’

‘Well, then…’

She looked at me with a strange expression. ‘It’s funny…since you’ve said you believe in me, in what I’m telling you, it doesn’t seem nearly so important to tell you about the adventures. I wonder if giving you all the details wasn’t just…just what seemed the best way of convincing you.’

‘I’d…still like to hear more.’

She sat silent for a moment. Then she nodded. ‘All right.’