‘Subtle,’ nodded Wilf. ‘Sylv’ll come round. Probably.’

‘Really?’

‘Nah,’ and Wilf roared. ‘Not a chance, mate.’

The Doctor smiled again. ‘You don’t have a problem with me, then?’

‘Oh, you make my Donna happy. Keep that up and you’re fine with me. Do anything that upsets her, though, and you’ll hear from me, even on Mars.’

The Doctor looked surprised at this. ‘How much has she told you?’

‘Everything. Right from the off.’ Wilf pointed at his telescope. ‘I was up here, looking up into the sky when she told me about you. I didn’t believe her at first.’

‘Well, no one could blame you for that.’

‘Truth is, I don’t think I understood what she was actually telling me. Then I saw you after that fat business, flying through the sky, Donna waving down at me, and I realised it was all true. She keeps me up to date when she can. Postcards, emails. The odd gift. Still don’t know what to do with the Verron medal. Or what exactly a Verron medal is!’

The Doctor grinned. ‘Marvellous race, Verrons. They have a brilliant air corps. Utterly useless, they haven’t fought a war in a few millennia, but their air corps is their proudest achievement. It’s a bit like you sending someone a three-bar DSO.’ The Doctor shrugged. ‘Hang on, when did she send you that, where did she get it from, and how on earth did she get it to you?’

Wilf almost recoiled from the Doctor’s stream-of-conscious barrage of questions.

‘Not a clue. ’Ere, you don’t need it back do you? I mean, it wasn’t stolen? Donna hasn’t nicked anything since those sweets from Woolies when she was eight. We made her take ’em back and apologise and everything.’

‘No, no, I doubt she nicked it. Verrons are very generous. I just want to know when she met a Verron.’

‘I’d hate to think my little girl was not being properly looked after, Doctor,’ Wilf said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Helios 5,’ the Doctor said. ‘Had to be there. Or Ylum.

I like Ylum, so did Donna – very cosmopolitan. Or perhaps from the Moulin Très Rouge. There was a street market there. Or I suppose there was that day on—’

‘Anyway,’ Wilf cut across him, ‘we came here for a reason.’

‘A reason other than you wanting to check what my intentions were towards your granddaughter? And to give my left cheek a chance to cool down.’

Wilf laughed. ‘Oh, that’s Sylvia’s way, not mine. I know you’re honourable. I also know Donna can take care of herself in that regard. Any dishonourability from you, you’d never hear the end of it. Literally.’

The Doctor thought about ‘oi’ and decided yes, Wilf knew his granddaughter very well indeed.

Wilf adjusted his telescope. ‘Look though here.’

The Doctor did, and saw a star. A tiny little pinprick of light, flickering enough that every so often it seemed to vanish.

‘Like it? 7432MOTT,’ Wilf said proudly.

‘I’m sorry,’ the Doctor said, staring back at him again.

‘They named it after you?’

‘I discovered it. I joined a node. Not long after, I discovered that star. The RPS are doing me a dinner tomorrow night.’

‘I node nudding anout nodes,’ the Doctor said.

‘Ah, well a node is—’ Wilf started, but the Doctor waved it aside.

‘I’m joking. I know what a node is. And I’m dead impressed, Wilf, that you have a star named in your honour and I’m even more overjoyed the Royal Planetary Society are throwing you a knees-up. And I bet you bought a new tie and everything. And I am so sorry to have to rain on your parade, but can I just point out that there’s another new star, just down there. It’s incredibly bright, just to the left of the sword of Orion.’

Wilf leaned down and eased the Doctor aside. ‘There?’

‘No, there.’

‘Oh, there. Yeah, we all like that one, too. It’s very pretty.’

‘Yeah, very pretty. A very pretty new star shining brightly in a constellation that it shouldn’t be anywhere near. Thing is, stars of that magnitude and shininess don’t just show up for no good reason.’

‘Shininess? Is that a technical term?’

The Doctor threw Wilf a look. ‘It’s good enough for me.’

‘Only I know that everyone who’s been talking about it calls stars like that Chaos Bodies, apparently.’

The Doctor thought for a second or two, then shrugged.

‘Do they? That’s a new one on me.’

‘It’s what they called it in the papers.’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Ah, well, if the newspapers said it, it must be true, because who on earth would argue with the tabloids.’ He looked up at the thing in the sky. ‘Chaos Bodies. Good descriptive name though, they got that right.’ The Doctor threw an arm around Wilf’s shoulder.

‘But you know what, who cares? You got a star, a much less worrying star, named after you and I’m very proud.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad you said that cos you have just solved my problem for me.’

‘What problem is that?’

‘I need someone to take me to Vauxhall.’

‘Why?’

‘The dinner.’

‘Who with?’

‘The Society.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow night.’

‘How?’

‘By TARDIS?’

‘Yeah, cos that’s gonna happen.’

‘Well all right, on the tube, then. Sylvia thinks I’m not capable of going by myself. I mean, I’m fine sitting in a cold, damp allotment every night, which plays havoc with my—’

‘So Sylvia doesn’t want you going out late at night, right?’

‘I mean, I’m not gonna get lost, Doctor, but she’s getting all protective and daft these days. Since she lost

Geoff. And with Donna away so much. And now Netty…’

‘You know what, Wilfred Mott, I should be delighted to accompany you to dinner in Vauxhall. By taxi – how posh is that? I haven’t had a meal at the RPS since Bernard and Paula took me there in 1969 to watch the moon landings.

Do they still do that chocolate syrup pudding?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t been before.’

‘Then tomorrow night, Wilfred Mott of Chiswick, assuming the menu hasn’t changed in forty years, and being the Royal Planetary Society I think I’m on safe ground there, you are in for a culinary treat.’

The Doctor looked at the worryingly bright new star that wasn’t 7432MOTT one last time through the telescope. ‘Chaos Body indeed.’

‘It is beautiful though,’ Wilf murmured.

And both men suddenly shivered. Like someone was walking over their graves.

Or the grave of the entire planet.

‘Beautiful Chaos,’ the Doctor said quietly.

SATURDAY

Caitlin stood waiting at Heathrow Airport, Terminal 5, waiting for flights that would once have gone into Terminal 2. That was currently being demolished, ready for the East Terminal that would replace the one European flights used to come into. She was meeting various inbound flights, including one due in from JFK at midday, which would arrive before the European ones. She watched the huge 787-9 jet come in to land, sunlight gleaming off its new fuselage as it slowly crawled to a halt, before taxiing across to the arrival gate and being drawn into position by the small pilot truck.

Caitlin was dressed in a smart Terminal Staff uniform, her access-all-areas pass, with the highest security clearing Madam Delphi could get, dangling from the strap around her neck. She smiled sweetly at a couple of other staff, neither of whom challenged her even though they couldn’t possibly have ever seen her before. It was the