‘They’re … broken,’ I say.

‘Yes. Sorry. We have taken them apart, as you can see. We kind of had to, in order to examine them.’ He lifts up the tangle of plastic and woven threads and wire to demonstrate that they have been properly dismantled. As he does so, a few of the crystals fall off and roll on to the floor.

I must look pretty upset because the doctor pulls a guilty face. ‘Can you, um, get more?’ he says.

‘No,’ I say. ‘The man who—’ But I realise I can’t tell them about Kenneth McKinley. ‘The man I got them off at the Lifeboat sale didn’t have any others.’

‘Ah, sorry about that,’ says the doctor. ‘Still – we were able to study them, at least.’

‘And?’ says Dad.

‘Well,’ says the young doctor, ‘there’s good news and bad news. Malcolm, you’ll be pleased to learn that there is nothing, nothing at all, about these Dream … things that could possibly have been harmful to Sebastian. The bad news, of course, is that they have given us no further clues whatever to his condition, but then we didn’t really expect them to, did we?’ He looks over at Dad for that last bit.

Dad sits back on the sofa, looking satisfied.

I say, ‘When you say, “nothing at all”, what does that mean?’

‘Just that, young man. It’s a plastic hoop with a few strings and wires with some small stones …’

‘They’re crystals!’

He doesn’t seem impressed. ‘If you say so. They’re each illuminated by a low-watt filament powered by a battery.’ He smiles at me. ‘My girlfriend works in the radiology department. They’re always quiet today so I had her run all the tests – you know, X-rays and so on? It is exactly what it looks like – a cheap toy. And completely ineffective. Like I say, there’s absolutely nothing …’

I think it’s ‘cheap toy’ that upsets me the most. I interrupt him. ‘It’s not! It’s not a cheap toy. It’s a wonderful invention and the inventor’s just died and the only reason that it’s ineffective now is because you’ve pulled it apart!’

The young doctor looks startled at my outburst. ‘I … I’m sorry, Malcolm. I mean, I could try to fix them if you want, only your dad …’

‘That won’t be necessary, doctor,’ says Dad, briskly. ‘Thanks for taking so much trouble over a complete waste of time.’ He gathers up the bundle of wires and string and plastic pieces and dumps the whole lot in the swing-bin in the corner, then dusts his hands in a ‘job-done’ sort of way.

He turns to me. There are tears pricking the back of my eyes now and I think he can tell because he softens his tone and sits down with a sigh. Mam’s glaring at him.

‘Malky, mate. I knew I recognised the name of those things from somewhere. It’s been bugging me for ages.’ He tuts to himself as if remembering something unpleasant. His eyes flick to the doctor, as though he is wondering whether to continue, then he takes a breath. ‘When I was … getting better … there was a patient in our therapy group, Karen. Well into her sixties, maybe more. She said she’d come across a “Dreaminator” years ago and, well …’ Dad pauses to find the right words. ‘She blamed it for her … for her troubles. Her addictions. It’s all nonsense, Malky. But some nonsense can be dangerous, do you see?’

He waits until I nod.

‘Who is this dead inventor anyway? I thought you said you got them at the Lifeboat sale.’

I can feel myself getting red with anger and shame. ‘I … er …’

Dad snaps, ‘I hope you haven’t been lying, Malky.’

Now Mam gets involved. Since Dad left, she hates him telling me and Seb off. ‘Back off, Tom – he’s upset. And keep your voice down. You’ve no idea what it’s like bringing them two up when you don’t even contribute enough money …’

‘Don’t go there, Mary, just don’t!’ hisses Dad. ‘At least I wouldn’t allow physical violence …’

And they’re off. I watch this go on, along with an embarrassed doctor and a bewildered Uncle Pete and Mormor. I don’t even say anything. I just leave the room, closing the door behind me and managing to hold on to my tears until I’m in the car park, when they come like I’ve taken my finger off the end of a hose. I can’t even see Dad’s car, so I just sit on a wall and sob.

I cry for Seb, alone in a horrible dream land, getting worse by the hour. I cry for Kenneth McKinley as well, a sad old man dying alone and forgotten. And I cry for myself, wrongly accused of punching my brother when he’s sick. Most of all, though, I cry out of fear: for now I know there is only one thing left I can do.

Of course, the doctor is wrong. I know that much. You can analyse and examine something, and pull it apart as much as you like. But he and his stupid girlfriend didn’t ever use it, did they? They never lay underneath it and slept, and shared dreams, and sailed in Spanish galleons, and experienced the whole … the whole … magic of it. Did they?

One thing is for sure, though.

I have to act, and soon. I have to get into Becker’s funeral parlour, and steal the last remaining Dreaminator.