‘Before we start,’ I said to Caro as we moved along Kings Road, ‘suppose you tell me where you went last night.’

She eyed me narrowly for a moment and I thought she was going to refuse to answer, but then she shrugged. ‘Nothing that special. Guy had tickets to the premiere of Half A Sixpence.’

‘Oh, the Tommy Steele thing. Uh…who is Guy?’

‘My brother. You’ll meet him tonight.’

‘Oh. Was it good?’

She shrugged again. ‘For what it was. Not really my thing.’

‘So why did you go?’

‘I was invited.’

That seemed to end that topic of conversation, and she looked at me expectantly as we went up the road.

I was still having difficulty figuring out how to approach the subject. And my uncertainty was compounded by not knowing what else was in store.

When we had met outside the station Caro had announced she was taking me back to hers – it was the easiest place to talk, she said. This was entirely unexpected; I hadn’t made any firm plans but I’d envisaged something similar to my day out with Barbara – a walk in a park, then the film. But I had to admit to myself that the weather was considerably less suited to walking around than it had been a week or so earlier.

Caro had greeted me with a firm hug and a brief but enthusiastic kiss. It seemed I had been completely forgiven for being close-mouthed; but I was now beginning to wonder if I might have done better to keep my secrets. There was only one way to be sure, but I could feel my nerve starting to fail me.

‘How much further to your place?’

‘About another five minutes. Stop looking for excuses. Talk to me.’

I expelled a long breath. ‘Let’s stop for a minute. Look into my eyes.’

She obeyed, obviously intrigued by the seriousness of my tone. I faced her and took hold of her hands.

‘You must believe this: I’m not about to lie to you. What I’ll tell you is the absolute truth, as far as I’m able to judge. I don’t know why I believe it – you probably won’t, you’ll probably think I’ve gone right off the deep end. Just look at me now and tell me if you think I’m crazy.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re not crazy.’

‘You sure?’

She smiled faintly. ‘At the moment.’

‘Well, hold onto that thought.’

We started walking again. I found a place to start. ‘You remember the Police Box?’

‘Of course. Then, I thought you might be crazy.’

Perhaps it wasn’t such a good place to start. How would she react when I told her it could have been a Space/Time ship? I hadn’t believed it myself, at the time – at least not consciously. ‘Uh…we’ll come back to that. Do you…do you believe there might be life on other planets?’

‘Don’t really care, unless they come here. So, what, you’re going to tell me Barbara’s from Jupiter?’

‘No, no, she’s as human as you or me. No, it’s—’

‘She believes she’s discovered life on other planets?’

I looked somewhat fearfully at Caro. ‘She’s…been there.’

I saw several different reactions fighting for control of her features. Eventually she swallowed and said: ‘She showed you evidence of this?’

‘Uh…no, not really. Listen, I know what you’re thinking – I thought so too, at first, of course I did – but you have to talk to her. There’s so much detail, so many little things…’ And yet I knew that wasn’t the truth. Anyone could make up a story, could fill in the details if they spent enough time. ‘It was her. Look into her eyes while she’s telling you these things, and you’ll believe her, too.’

‘And…how did she get to…to other planets?’

‘Um…in a spaceship…’

‘I was assuming she didn’t catch a bus.’ Suddenly she spun to face me. ‘What’s going on? You can’t be seriously telling me she’s been describing life on other planets and you believe her? What is it really?’ She made an obvious effort to calm herself, then said quietly: ‘I can accept anything…I just want you to trust me with the truth.’

I felt helpless. How could I possibly convince her? I couldn’t blame her for this reaction; it was exactly how I would have responded, given this information second hand. What could I say? I lifted my hands in a gesture of near-despair, turning away from her. ‘I don’t know what to tell you…all I can repeat is that it’s much easier to believe when you talk to her.’

‘Does…does anyone else believe her stories?’

I looked back towards her. ‘There’s a man. Ian…Ian something. Chesterton, that’s it. He was with her. They left together, came back together.’

‘But left how? Did he build this spaceship? Why hasn’t something come out in the news about this?’ She stepped up to me. ‘Come on – this is just ridiculous!’ When she saw that she was not reaching me, she said: ‘Have you met this Ian?’

‘No. She spoke to him on the phone a couple of nights ago, while I was there.’ Seeing her impatient look of disbelief, I added: ‘He does exist – and I know they shared something pretty fundamental. I heard Sally Willmott talking to Barbara about it.’

‘Have you asked to meet him?’

‘There are reasons…it’s…it’s complicated.’

‘I bet.’ She sighed harshly, and her shoulders sagged. She twisted her head on her neck as if trying to relieve cramped muscles, then she looked at me. ‘A-all right. For the moment, say I accept that she’s told you some stories – and you’re sure that she believes them. Why are you so certain she’s not just off her head?’

‘You’ve talked to her.’

‘But not about life amongst the fucking Mekons!’ She balled her fists just under her chin, snarling. Then she grabbed my arm. ‘Come on. We’re going to get a cup of strong coffee and talk about this in comfort.’

She marched me to her place, which turned out to be a huge house just off the main road. Somehow I was not surprised to find out it was owned by a friend of her brother’s. She had a room near the top of the house; she had told me the place was shared by about a dozen students and other young people. There were two rather interesting-looking girls in a state of semi-undress sitting sipping coffee when we passed the kitchen, but Caro propelled me straight up the stairs. ‘There’s a second kitchen on my floor. I don’t want them thinking you’re loopy before they’ve even got to know you.’

Thinking about the smile one of the girls had given me I was willing to take the chance, but I decided it would be undiplomatic and allowed myself to be shoved onward and upward.

She made coffee in the small upstairs kitchen with deft, concise movements, her mind clearly elsewhere. There was no milk; she didn’t ask if I minded it black. The house was well put together but slightly shabby around the edges; there were odd corners of peeling wallpaper and the carpets were faded and even torn in places. It had the appearance of a place that had just become inhabited after years of neglect; there was little furniture and a lot of boxes, full and empty. But I liked the atmosphere; it was a complete contrast to the starched tidiness and precision of my parents’ place.

Caro pushed a large full mug into my hand and steered me out of the kitchen and around a corner. She kicked open a door that was already ajar. ‘Welcome to the Batcave.’

The name was not chosen at random. I entered a medium-sized room that contained one tattered armchair, a low double-bed, a chest of drawers and walls dominated by Adam West and Burt Ward in full costume. As Caro shrugged off her coat, switching her coffee from hand to hand, she glanced surreptitiously at me to gauge my reaction.

‘I thought you looked down on comics.’

‘Oh, these aren’t mine. They were here when I moved in. I was going to take them down, but…I decided I rather liked them. Stops me taking anything too seriously while I’m in here.’

‘Leave all pretension at the door.’

‘Exactly. Besides, the programme is a classic even if nearly all the women are idiots. At least the men are too.’ She waved a hand at the bed as she bent to switch on a small electric heater. ‘Get yourself comfortable. That was the idea of coming here, after all.’

I sat on the nearest corner and cradled my coffee in both hands. Caro seemed to sense my slight unease and gave me a knowing look; she dumped her mug on the floor and kicked off her long boots. I tried not to look at her legs, for no reason I could readily understand. She picked up her coffee and wriggled herself along the bed until she was next to me. ‘Aren’t you even going to take your coat off?’

I murmured an apology and quickly pulled it off. Caro held my coffee and passed it back to me when I sat down again. A few moments passed. I could sense her looking at me. She took a long swig.

‘Now,’ she said, ‘you can tell me everything Barbara’s told you about her trips to other planets.’

So I did. Her reactions were varied; I could see understanding and incredulity fighting for possession of her face when I told her about the Police Box, as she remembered our walk and tried to grapple with the idea that something could be bigger inside than out, and she was caught between amazement and amusement as I tried to describe the Daleks. I was conscious of giving a rather jumbled account; the details were obviously not as clear in my head as they were in Barbara’s, and I was constantly leaving small but essential details out of the story. But she listened to it all and showed admirable restraint, even when I passed on to some of the snippets about other adventures Barbara had given me during our afternoon in the park.

‘Giant ants and talking wasps? This woman should be writing for Lost In Space.’

‘I must admit I found that bit difficult to swallow.’

She gave me a look that indicated clearly her estimation of my credulity.

I spread my hands. ‘And…that’s about it. As much as I can remember, anyway. There’re probably quite a few things I’ve missed out; if anything really puzzles you you’ll have to ask Barbara.’

‘You told her you were going to fill me in on all this?’

‘I had to. Having heard it, you can understand why.’

She stretched forward, until she was laying prone with her head hanging just off the edge of the bed. Her eyes were on the floor. ‘I suppose.’ She turned slowly onto her back, looking up at me. For a long time she said nothing. Then she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know. What am I supposed to make of it? Either she’s got a fantastic imagination, or you have, or she’s lying, or you are…or it’s all true.’ She closed her eyes. ‘And it can’t be true.’

‘Why not? Who’s to say what it’s like out there? Who’s to say there aren’t aliens on this planet even now, disguised as human beings? We don’t know, do we? How can we just dismiss things without proof?’

Caro lay with her eyes closed. I was tempted to lean over and kiss her but the moment didn’t seem right. ‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘Yes, it seems to contradict everything we know about the world, the universe…but what about when people thought the world was flat, or that the sun went round the Earth? They were making assumptions based on the evidence – and they were wrong. They didn’t have all the facts – or they did and they were misinterpreting them. Couldn’t we – and I mean even the scientists and so on – couldn’t we be doing the same?’

She opened her eyes. ‘Well…I suppose that’s a reasonable argument. Proves you aren’t crazy, anyway.’

‘Thanks. But Barbara isn’t, either. Really. I’m sure I could tell.’

‘I’ll try to reserve judgement,’ she said, stretching her arms above her head. She glanced at her watch. ‘Now then; what to do until our appointment with Catherine Deneuve? Have to be something pretty distracting to stop me thinking about all this craziness…’

This time I did kiss her.

I was mildly surprised when we did actually make it to the cinema. Caro seemed to have a fair bit of self-discipline in such matters. Or maybe my diversion wasn’t as diverting as she’d hoped.

And we didn’t end up under the covers, either. And oddly enough I was quite pleased; perhaps it was a strange echo of Barbara’s experience but I knew my view of Caro would have changed if she’d taken us so far so soon. And perhaps it was pride – perhaps I wanted at least the illusion that I had some say in where things were going, and how fast.

The streets were dark when we came out of the cinema, something I’ve always found oddly disorientating. You go in in afternoon daylight and you don’t think about the hours passing, and the world seems to have changed by the time you come out. It felt like our day together was almost over. There was still this party, of course, but I don’t always handle crowds too well and I was wondering if I could gracefully back out. I asked her where it was, wondering if transport might offer me an excuse.

‘It’s at ours – didn’t I say? There’ll probably be a few people there already.’

‘You said you’d been asked to a party – you don’t usually get invited to a party at your own place.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, I wasn’t involved in the organisation. I only found out about it yesterday – so it’s nothing to do with me, really.’

‘Will it go on late?’

She looked at me as if I’d asked whether Bob Dylan was any good at song-writing. ‘Why – what do you turn into at midnight?’

‘I do have to work tomorrow.’

‘Nobody has to do anything.’

I decided I was being slightly cowardly. ‘Whatever, I’ll manage. You did promise me some famous faces, after all.’

‘No guarantees. I hope that’s not the only reason you’re interested.’

‘Well, from what I saw of your housemates I wouldn’t mind getting to know them better.’

‘When did you see any of them?’

‘In the kitchen downstairs. When we came in.’

‘Oh. Vee and Roxie.’ She gave me a strange smile. ‘You’ll be lucky. Those two sleep together.’

There were signs of activity when we got back. Caro made an offer to help in the kitchen, but she was waved away – although not before I’d been introduced to her brother Guy, who looked rather like a younger version of Commander Crane from Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. He seemed nice enough despite his impossible handsomeness, although he looked at me carefully as if he knew I was not just another of Caro’s friends.

We retreated upstairs for a while. Caro had not mentioned the subject of Barbara since we set out for the cinema; she said nothing now. Good as her word, she unearthed a small record player from beneath her bed and played me the Mystery Tour EP. After another cup of coffee she darted downstairs and came back to say the party was livening up.

‘Go on down,’ she said. ‘I want to change.’

I thought she looked fine in her jeans and jumper and told her so. She pulled a face. ‘Pooh. I want to make an impact. Go on – I’ll be about ten minutes.’

I thought this sounded a little optimistic, based on my previous experience, but I merely kissed her quickly and ventured downstairs.

The first person I spotted at the bottom of the stairs, heaving off his parka, was Dennis. ‘Con!’ he shouted up, obviously as relieved to see me as I was to see him. ‘Didn’t know you’d be here…’ He turned to help the girl next to him off with her coat and I realised with a mild shock that it was Sally Willmott. She smiled slightly tremulously, like someone caught in the middle of a minor but embarrassing misdemeanour. We exchanged muted hellos while Dennis grinned at me over her shoulder.

The party proper seemed to be taking place in a sprawling room next to the kitchen. Music was playing; it sounded like John Sebastian’s vocals although it wasn’t a Spoonful track I recognised. People were mostly lounging on low white sofas or cushions. Some of them had obviously wasted no time getting high; the air was already thick with the smoke. Someone pushed a glass into my hand as they passed with a tray; I sniffed it, but this left me no wiser. A cautious sip told me it was some kind of punch.

Dennis had acquired a glass and was pressing it on Sally. She was looking a little uncomfortable; I wondered how he’d persuaded her to come. I could sympathise with her; I wished I could slip out and go to see Barbara. My aversion to crowds was turning into a positive loathing of large parties.

Dennis saw someone he was sure was Tom McGuinness. ‘We’ve got to talk to him!’ He tried to pull Sally in that direction, but she was reluctant to move. ‘Tom who?’

‘The bass player with Mannfred Mann! Come on!’

‘You go. I’ll be all right for a minute.’

Dennis hovered for a moment, but the lure of one of his heroes proved too great, and he worked his way through the growing crowd. Sally stepped closer to me. For a moment she looked unsure whether she should say anything, but then she murmured, barely audible above the chatter around us: ‘You know it was Barbara’s last day today?’

I’d completely forgotten, and I felt a wave of guilt. I wondered if I should try to ring her; she was probably alone tonight, and I wasn’t doing myself or anyone else much good by being here.

‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Sally said suddenly. ‘He made it sound like fun. I thought I might meet someone…interesting. Well – I mean famous. I’ve never met a pop star.’

‘Tom McGuinness is a pop star.’

She wrinkled her nose, sipping from her glass. ‘I liked them better when Paul Jones was singing. I’d love to meet him.’

‘Does Dennis know you’re just using him?’ I smiled.

To my shock she took me quite seriously. ‘That’s an awful thing to say. What d’you think I am? Dennis is nice – I know I shouldn’t be here with him, but it’s harmless. It’s not like we’re…well, you know.’

‘Sorry.’

She gave me a wounded look and went in search of Dennis. I shook my head. This simple movement made me realise that I was already feeling slightly woozy. Whatever the punch was it had quite a kick, and I wasn’t used to drink. I looked around the room. No sign of Caro as yet; Barbara loomed large in my mind. I wondered how she was feeling.

On impulse I stopped the first person who was passing. It was a blonde in her middle twenties who looked a little like Sally. She was carrying two glasses. I sort-of blinked at her, then managed to say; ‘Um – do you know if there’s a phone somewhere?’

As soon as I said it I realised it was a stupid question; of course there would be one. But she merely pointed towards the hall. ‘Out there.’

Purple Haze suddenly crashed into my consciousness. Someone had turned up the music. The woman looked towards the source of the sound and then at me. ‘Ohhh…can you do me a favour?’ Without waiting for an answer she went on: ‘Just take this over to George – he’s in the corner. Tell him I’ve gone to dance.’ As she spoke she pointed vaguely. I took the glass and she disappeared into the crowd.

I wondered how on earth I was supposed to know which one was George. I went in the direction she had indicated, and I saw a figure sitting alone on a sofa, smoking. There were others around him but although they seemed to be covertly watching him no one went near. His face seemed familiar.

George? I realised who I had been talking to, and looked back into the crowd. She was nowhere to be seen. I went nearer to the figure on the sofa.

As I stopped a few feet away from him he looked up and shook his head gently. ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m not him.’

For once nerves didn’t get the better of me. ‘In that case you must be the other George Harrison – the columnist. If you see the guitarist George Harrison,’ I stepped forward, ‘could you give him this and tell him Patti’s just gone off to dance.’ I held out the glass. After a moment he sat forward and took it, a slight nod of his head indicating his thanks.

I thought about backing away, but then I thought how scornful Caro would be of my timidity. She probably met a Beatle every other week. I searched my mind for a topic of conversation. ‘So…what’s the Magical Mystery Tour Film going to be like?’

‘I dunno. You’d have to ask Paul.’

That was my arsenal exhausted. My mind was a blank. Abruptly he looked up at me. ‘Sorry – I’m not much in the mood. We did all this last night at the Royal Lancaster. Patti wanted to look in for a bit – she knows Guy Blackman.’

Caro’s brother? Just how exalted were the circles he moved in, I wondered. I decided to beat a retreat, but I wanted one last bite at this cherry. There was someone sitting in front of me whose experience was unique. But what could I say? Then it came to me – something Barbara had asked me during our very first proper conversation. ‘Just one question. What’s…what’s the most important thing that’s happened to you…the most important thing you’ve learned since becoming a Beatle?’

His look of polite patience turned into something more thoughtful. He sat back slowly. ‘Really want to know?’

‘That’s why I asked.’

He left his cigarette in his mouth and fished inside his jacket. After a moment he produced a thin, tattered paperback; an American edition. He held it out. Not knowing what else to do, I took it and looked at it.

The Bhagavad Gita.

He stood up. ‘Read that. It’ll tell you more than I ever could.’ He went to walk past me, then stopped and gave me a curious stare. ‘Maybe you were the reason I decided to come tonight.’ His mouth curved in an oddly shy smile. Then he went off in the direction his wife had taken.

People nearby were looking at me. I felt very self-conscious and tried to tuck the book into my jeans pocket. It wouldn’t fit, and I decided to make for the exit and try to phone Barbara.

I made it as far as the kitchen doorway, where Caro was berating the two girls I’d seen earlier. ‘Oh, fucking tosh! He sings "something he doesn’t know to begin with"! ‘Just Like a Woman’ I’ll grant you, but no way is ‘4^th Street’ misogynistic!’ She saw me and grabbed me before I could get past. ‘Tell them! I can’t argue with people who don’t even listen to the words of songs…’

For a moment I just stared at her. She was wearing a very, very short black mini-dress obviously modelled on the one Raquel Welch had worn in Fathom – it had an oval cut out over her cleavage. She also had taken some trouble with her make-up and the effect was stunning.

She started to look impatient then obviously realised what I was staring at. Her face softened. ‘Not too bad, you think?’

‘Uhbb…I…yes, not too bad at all.’

She grinned and wrapped an arm around my waist. I smiled at the other two girls and she introduced us all properly. ‘Vee, Roxie…Conrad.’ Then her eyes fell on the book. ‘What’s that? Where’d you get it?’

‘Ridiculously enough, George Harrison just gave it to me.’

She smirked. Then she stared at my face. ‘What, really? He’s here?’

‘Um, yeah…in the—’

I got no further; she was gone.

‘Don’t mind her,’ said the redhead who had been introduced as Roxie. ‘She gets a bit star-struck. It’s very sweet, really. What’d he give you?’

I held up the book and she lifted her eyebrows. ‘Heavy.’

‘I’ll have to read it and see, won’t I?’ Before I could be interrupted again I excused myself and went towards the phone. I was smiling, and I realised it was at Caro’s behaviour. She had surprised me again. I rather liked it; she wasn’t as hard-boiled as she made out.

It was a coin-box phone. I found a few coppers and dialled Barbara’s number.

‘Hello?’ It was not her voice. I’d momentarily forgotten the phone was not in her room. ‘Uh…could I speak to B—Miss Wright, please?’

There was a sullen silence. ‘Wait a minute.’ I heard Barbara’s name being shrieked up the stairs. After a few seconds I could make out her footsteps on the stairs. The landlady said something before she handed over the receiver but I could not make out the words.

‘H-hello?’

‘Barbara, it’s me – Conrad.’

‘Oh. …Hello. I’m…I’m so glad you—’

‘Are you all right? You sound a bit…I don’t know, wobbly somehow.’

‘I can’t talk now.’ Her voice was very low.

‘The old snoop is listening in, is she?’

‘Something like that. Look – could we meet tomorrow? I know you’ve got work, but I…I need to talk. Perhaps in the evening – you could come here, or…’

‘Can I bring Caro, if she wants to come?’

A long silence. ‘It…would be better if you didn’t. I’ll explain when I see you. Is that all right?’

‘…Okay. I’ll come to you, then. About eight?’

‘Yes. Yes, that would be fine. Thank you. I’ll see you then. Goodbye.’

She was gone. I listened to the tone for a few moments, then hung up the receiver. I wondered if the end of her job could have affected her that badly. She had sounded distinctly shaken.

As I turned from the phone two figures in coats came past me. One of them stopped. I looked at him and he pointed down at the book I was holding. ‘Remember. Read it. It’ll change everything.’ Patti gave me a little wave, and then they were gone.

Caro was at my side. She plucked the book from my hand. ‘Has he written his name in it?’

I took it back. ‘He gave it to me. I promised him I’d read it.’ Of course I’d done no such thing, but I still felt under an obligation. He had looked very earnest when he spoke to me. I weighed the book in my hand. I remembered an evening that seemed a long time ago; Barbara had recommended it to me. But how could it make so much difference?