I take out my phone and look at the time: forty-five minutes have passed since Dad left in the car to go back to the hospital. There are no new messages, but that doesn’t surprise me. Mam and Dad are pretty preoccupied.

There’s a mossy stone bench in the garden that Susan and I sit on. I think Susan’s a bit embarrassed by her grandmother. She says, ‘I’m sorry about Mola.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘She might be right. But, even if she is, it makes no difference. I can’t get back to the dream. The Dreaminators have gone.’

‘What?’

I explain about Dad taking them to the hospital for examination. ‘And he definitely won’t bring them back home. Especially if I ask him to. He thinks it’s dangerous nonsense. He’d get on well with Mola.’

Susan reaches out her hand and squeezes mine. I’ve never seen another kid do this. It’s strange but … not embarrassing. I turn to look at her and she seems almost as sad as I am.

She says, ‘If only there was another one. A Dreaminator, I mean.’

I stare at the rattling prayer flags. They flap and flutter in the wind.

And something snaps into focus in my mind – an image.

‘There is another one.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A Dreaminator. I know where to get one.’ I stand up, quickly. ‘Come on. We haven’t got long.’