And so here we are. Seb is still in a coma, in hospital, and I am back on my unmade bed.

Earlier, I watched silently as Dad took the Dreaminators down from their hooks and now, from my window, I see him toss them carelessly into the back seat of his car. Tony and Lynn from across the road have come over to see what’s going on: there was an ambulance outside our house early in the morning, so they must know something’s up. Fit Billy’s out there as well and they’re all talking.

If only I had taken them down last night, none of this would have happened.

Mine and Susan’s plan to put everything right by returning the Dreaminators has been well and truly smashed to pieces now. The Dreaminators are lying, tangled and messy, in Dad’s car.

I can tell their conversation pretty much from seeing all their reactions. Heads on one side, nodding and concerned. Then Lynn’s hand goes to her mouth in surprise, and Tony shakes his head, sorrowfully. Billy leans in, asking for more details, curious about what might have made Seb sleep so deeply, and shakes his head again. They both turn to look at our house and nod. (Dad has obviously told them I’m in, and they’re saying they’ll keep an eye on me.) Then Lynn puts her hand on Dad’s arm and he nods in response before he gets into his car. They watch him go. Billy exchanges a few more words with Lynn and Tony, then turns and comes into our house, using his own key I think, which is new.

Dad said he’d be gone a couple of hours. That doesn’t give me a lot of time, but I know what I need to do.

I put my head round the living-room door. Billy’s making himself comfortable on the sofa and he has brought his own games console round. He says, ‘I’m really sorry about Seb, Malky. I’m sure, you know … he’ll be okay. Doctors know all about stuff like that.’

He’s being kind, so I just nod. He pats the sofa next to him. ‘Wanna play a game? I’ve got Wolf’s Lair. It was the name of Hitler’s headquarters for the German advance on Russia, and you’ve got to …’

‘Billy?’ I interrupt. ‘I’m very tired. I’m going back to bed.’ I close the door and head upstairs. As I go, he’s putting his headphones on. Even better.

The front door’s no good. Tony and Lynn are not exactly guarding me, but their house faces ours, so there’s a fair chance they’ll see me if I go out, and they’ll be worried, and call Dad. He and Mam have got enough to worry about.

So I go out of the kitchen door at the back and, a minute later, I’m through the yard door, down the alleyway and along the back lane before I can even argue with myself.

‘Call round tomorrow,’ Susan had said. She’ll be expecting me. But it’s not Susan I need to see.

I’m relieved that it’s Mola who opens the door, but there’s no more, ‘Ah, special Dream-boy!’ stuff. All that is replaced by a dark look of distrust. I get it immediately: Susan has told Mola about me, Seb and the Dreaminators, and Mola is not impressed. I’m sort of glad in a way. It saves me having to explain it all.

‘Hello, young man. Is Susan expecting you?’ Her voice has lost all of its singsong warmth and almost makes me shiver. She looks up at me standing on the doorstep. She’s not in her usual long cotton things, but still manages to look completely round in a baggy T-shirt and long skirt.

‘It’s you I came to see, Mola,’ I begin, but then, from behind her, Susan comes down the hallway. She looks at me in surprise. It’s a sunny day, and I’m sweaty from running here.

‘Hello. You look terrible, Malky. Come in. What is wrong?’

I look between the two of them and they are both frowning.

‘It’s Seb,’ I blurt out. ‘He’s not woken up. We were dreaming, and I can’t wake him, and he’s being held captive by the big guys, but Dad’s taken the Dreaminators to hospital, and Mam’s there, and Fit Billy’s at home, so …’

‘Whoa, young man! Shh. Steady,’ says Mola, holding up her palms. I stop talking, realising that I’ve been gabbling. She tips her head on one side and looks at me, curiously, like you might gaze on an interesting exhibit in a zoo, then she nods, slowly. The whole thing is oddly calming. ‘Come. Follow me.’

We go out into the garden where there’s a wooden picnic table and the remains of breakfast. Mola points to the bench.

‘Now then. Sit down and have some tea.’ Her tone is still brisk: her offer of tea is like a nurse prescribing medicine, but she sounds a tiny bit friendlier.

‘I don’t want any tea …’ I begin, but then I see her eyes, gentler now, and I stop. ‘It’s Seb,’ I say, again still wondering how much Mola actually knows, worried that she will be angry.

What does it matter, Malky? She already knows, and who cares how angry she gets?

We sit at the table in the shade, and I tell them everything about the Stone Age dream, and Seb being captured.

Neither of them gets angry. Neither says, ‘I told you those things were dangerous, you stupid boy. Look at the mess you’ve created. Why were you so irresponsible?’

No, they both just listen without commenting, without judging.

Then Susan says, ‘What happens now?’

‘No idea. The doctors are investigating. They say he’s “stable”, that it’s like a coma. It might even be a coma, and that people usually … come out of comas, but you can’t tell how long …’

I trail off. It was saying the word ‘usually’ that tripped me up.

‘Oh, and one more thing …’ I say and I tell them about Seb’s wrists looking red, and the dream I had when I was attacked by Cuthbert, and the pain I felt and the marks that were left when the crocodile bit my arm.

‘But … but that cannot happen,’ says Susan. ‘It is actually impossible. Are you …?’

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ I sink my head on to my hands and slump forward on the table, knocking a plate on to the grass. Mola shuffles along to me, making little clucking noises of concern. From the corner of my eye, I see her arm reaching to me and I think she’s going to cuddle me or something, which I’m not really ready for, but instead she taps me twice on the top of my head, quite sharply.

‘Hey. Hey! Dream-boy! Don’t leave us now. We need you here, we need you present, and fully awake, yes? And so does your brother.’

I lift my head wearily.

Then she says something so quietly that I can hardly hear. ‘Why did you do it, Malky? If it was going bad? Why?’

I blink at her, puzzled. Is she trying to tell me off – you know, ‘I told you not to mess with this’? I have to think for a long while before I answer.

‘I guess I didn’t believe it myself. I mean, I knew the shared dreams were really happening, but how wrong could it go? They’re dreams, Mola! They only exist in my mind. And Seb’s.’

Susan stares at her trainers for a while, then she raises her head and looks at Mola, as if she knows a reply is coming.

Mola shakes her head, with a sad smile. ‘The internal life, Dream-boy,’ she says, ‘is as real as anything else. Perhaps even more so.’