Saturday morning sounds swirled through the house. The vacuum cleaner hummed. The washing machine tumbled and turned. Music swam through the open windows from a neighbour across the street. In the kitchen, Leo stirred a glass of chocolate milk, watching the whirlpool speed up and slow down. At the table behind him, Peg squished playdough into lumpy shapes.

Everyone was busy. That was good. Leo wanted to forget about school and hoped Mum and Dad would too. He joined Peg at the table, tore off a chunk of playdough and rolled it into a ball. When it was smooth and round, he added three eyes, a pair of horns and a line of spines across its back. He showed it to Peg.

‘It’s an alien,’ she said.

He nodded. ‘I’ll call this one a … Gronk.’

He put it to the side and made some more. There was a cube-shaped creature with one eye, a lumpy yellow thing covered in pink spots, tiny round critters, long wobbly beasts, and one that looked human, only with two heads and an extra pair of arms.

He stood and admired his creations. Each alien was different, but they all looked friendly. Big smiles, wide eyes – he couldn’t imagine any of them butting in or walking away.

‘Are you going to keep them?’ said Peg. ‘I need more playdough.’

Leo ran into his room and found the polaroid camera he shared with her. He came back to the table, lined his aliens up in a row and took photos of them, one at a time. When the camera had printed the last picture, he squashed each doughy alien in his fists and gave the lot to Peg. Then he found a square notepad and stuck the photos on the pages. Underneath each picture, he wrote its alien name. Gronk. Fump. Wozzle. Meeb. Spelling didn’t matter because it was all made up.

Peg was still prodding and poking the dough. She made blobby shapes and arranged them next to each other.

‘What are they?’ he said.

She placed a lumpy figure beside the others. ‘Friends.’

He flipped through the pages of his alien album and smiled. ‘Mine too.’ Then he scrawled Frends on the front cover.