We were so absorbed that we didn’t hear her come upstairs. She sees the new additions to the room, hanging from the ceiling, straight away. ‘What the heck are they?’

If I was going to come up with some explanation that wasn’t the whole truth, then I’m too late, because Seb answers immediately.

‘They’re called Dreaminators. They … give you better dreams.’

Mam rolls her eyes and goes, ‘Pfft!’, the way she does when one of us says something so unbelievable that she can’t even be bothered to argue. ‘Where on earth did you get them?’

‘Malky found them!’

Mam narrows her eyes. She’s suspicious. Seb continues. ‘At the Lifeboat Nearly New Sale. This afternoon. Hassan’s mam was running a stall. A pound for them both. Weren’t they, Malky? What do you reckon?’

He’s such a convincing liar, I’m almost envious. But here’s the thing: I owe him now, and he knows it.

Mam shakes her head and smiles. She picks up the sheet of instructions from the bed and glances over it, far too quickly to read it properly, and I know I’ve got her. ‘They look ridiculous. Do they play nursery rhymes?’

Seb is defensive. ‘No! They allow you to control your dreams.’

‘Oh aye? You did that with Cuthbert the crocodile when you were little, Malky. Do you remember?’ I bristle. I haven’t been troubled by crocodile dreams for ages. Mam is properly chuckling now. ‘Good luck with that, boys. If it works, let me know – I’ve got a couple of dreams myself that I wouldn’t mind coming true!’

I smile back at her little joke. I like making Mam laugh. She doesn’t do it often and when I asked her why, about a year ago, she got really sad so I never mentioned it again.

She’s being normal Mam again soon enough. ‘Now, Sebastian, have you finished your holiday project? Well, why not, Seb? It’s only stickers. And, Malky, when did you last wash your hair? It’s like a ferret’s nest. Don’t forget – tonight, please. First day of term tomorrow.’

Later that evening, I’m in the bathroom, looking at my chest. It’s scabbed and raw and still oozing blood in one or two places. I’ve tried to dab at it with a clean sponge. There’s no antiseptic spray in the bathroom cabinet so I’ve smeared a bit of the yak’s butter on the deepest scratch.

‘Outta the way, Malk. I’m dying for a wee! Oh! What you done to … ugh! That looks gross. And what’s that smell?’

Told you. Totally annoying.

‘Get lost. I’m … I’m not well.’

One of the many problems with Seb is that he’s not easily put off when I snarl at him. ‘What did you do?’ he says. ‘That’s blood, that is.’

‘I know. I fell over, okay? Just … don’t say anything. Mam’s got enough to worry about.’ That’s good, I think. I sound responsible, big-brotherly. From the look on his face, though, Seb has joined the dots: he knows my injuries and the Dreaminators are connected.

I pull on my pyjama top carefully to avoid the huge graze. I roll up my T-shirt so as to disguise the bloodstains, and put it at the bottom of the laundry basket.

When Mam comes into our room to kiss us goodnight, she leans over me and tightens the duvet across my chest and I have to remember not to wince in pain and to smile as she says, ‘New school year, boys. Shall we have a story?’

I reply, ‘No,’ so quickly that Mam blinks in surprise. ‘I … I mean, not tonight, Mam.’ I force a little yawn, but I can tell Mam’s a bit hurt. She likes reading us stories, even if it’s Kobi the Cave Boy for the billionth time.

‘I’m working lates a lot this month,’ she says. ‘There may not be as many chances.’

I certainly know the thing by heart, and at least it’s not long. Seb reaches under his bed and pulls out the very well-used picture book. I always thought he’d grow out of it, but he never did. I can’t even remember a time when he wasn’t obsessed with it.

Mam settles down on Seb’s bed and begins reading, and Seb mouths along with the words, while I stare at the Dreaminators, silently urging her to speed up.

‘In the shadows of the cave, the fire flickers red,

And Kobi lies down with a rock beneath his head …’

It’s the story of a boy in the Stone Age who lives with his family in a cave, long before houses and cars and aeroplanes and machines and clothes were invented. There’s a lake, and another tribe of Stone Age people, and he rides on a mammoth …

I yawn again, a big one this time, and Mam pauses.

‘Aww, I want the end,’ says Seb, but I manage to catch his eye and I flick a glance upwards. He gets it. ‘But if Malky’s tired that’s okay.’

Mam closes the book and looks between us, with mock surprise. ‘Hang on – have you two just agreed on something without arguing?’ She runs her fingers through her short curls and shakes her head. ‘I hope it lasts! Sweet dreams,’ she says. She always says that: it’s like an unreliable magic spell that only sometimes works. Then she switches the light off and the twin circles of dull blue light hanging over our beds stand out in the dark.

‘Do they stay on all night?’ she says. Then, before I can answer, she starts to sniff the air. ‘What’s that smell?’

‘Yeah – I noticed that as well,’ says Seb. ‘I thought it was Malky’s socks!’

It’s rancid yak’s butter, but obviously I’m not going to say that. Instead, I say, ‘Dunno. I can’t smell anything.’ Mam shrugs and goes out.

We lie awake in silence for a while, Seb and I. I’m staring up at the circles of blue crystals.

Eventually, I hear, ‘Psst. Malk. You awake?’

‘Mmm?’

‘Are you scared?’

‘Scared of what?’

‘You know. The Dreamylater.’

‘Dreaminator. No. Why? You?’

Pause. ‘No.’

He means yes.

‘Psst. Malk.’

Sigh. ‘What now?’

‘Good luck.’

I remember the sheet of instructions:

Remember – perfect results may not be achieved straight away.

In order to dream, of course, you have to be asleep. Instead of falling asleep, though, I find my head churning around with the events of the last few hours.

The Dreaminator glows faintly above me.

Kez Becker … the empty backyard … that poor dog and his broken claw … the old lady … the flags … the girl, what was her name again?

It’s gone.

And then I’m gone.