I’m lying on my bed.
Sleep? You’ve got to be kidding. I feel like I have crammed about a week into a whole day, and, if you imagine that that will make me tired, then let me tell you: I am about as far from sleepy as it’s possible to be.
Uncle Pete hadn’t known what to do, and for that I’m pretty glad.
When I turned up looking like I did, with the Dreaminator concealed under my jacket, Uncle Pete was confused. He’s been firm with me before, and once raised his voice at Seb, but I honestly don’t think he’s ever had to tell me off. The confusion was written all over his face, and I decided I would have to bluff this out.
What choice did I have?
‘What the blazes happened to you?’ he said. ‘And where’ve you been? Me and your Mormor have been worried sick. I was on my way out to come and get you.’
Mormor was just sitting on the sofa, shaking her head slightly in sorrow or disapproval: it’s hard to know which.
To be fair, I felt a bit sorry for them: as well as confused, they did look pretty upset. I could tell Uncle Pete was angry, but he doesn’t have kids of his own, so …
I bluffed. I lied, in other words. I made up some story about Susan’s guinea pig escaping, and having to chase it all round her garden, and I knew he’d never be able to check it out.
I hung my head. ‘Sorry, Uncle Pete. I didn’t mean to worry you,’ I said in a really small voice.
(Ooh, I hate having to do that. It’s so effective on people without kids, yet strangely ineffective on parents and teachers.)
Mormor tutted and muttered something in Swedish, then, ‘Malky, älskling. Your mama and papa have got enough to worry about. Go and get showered and then into bed. We’ll say no more about this. Give me a hug first.’
Oh no. Not a hug. Not when I’m hiding something under my jacket.
‘Kom hit,’ she said in Swedish, opening her arms. ‘Come here!’
I hesitated.
‘What’s wrong with you?’
There was no getting out of it. I leaned into her from a standing position and tried to angle my body away from her, but she kept pulling harder.
She’s bound to discover it.
‘Hey, what is this?’ she said, and I thought I was found out. But she was touching the tear in my sleeve. ‘Take your jacket off, Malky, älskling. I shall mend this for you before your mama finds out, how about that? Well, for what are you waiting? Get it off!’
At that second, Uncle Pete’s phone rang in his pocket and Mormor was distracted for a moment. We both stopped our hug and waited to see what the news was. I could tell from his tone that he was talking to Mam. He hardly said anything, just things like, ‘Mm-hm,’ and, ‘I see.’ Then there was a long pause, and he said, ‘Oh no.’ Mormor’s hand went up to her mouth in alarm.
‘That was your mam,’ said Uncle Pete, putting his phone away and sitting down heavily. ‘It’s not good news. Seb’s condition is getting worse. Tonight is going to be very critical. I’m really sorry, Malky.’ His mouth was turned down in a tight, thin line, and his face was becoming pink with the effort of not breaking down in front of me.
Mormor looked up at me, her eyes moist. ‘Do you pray, Malky?’
I shrugged. I don’t really, except when we have to at school.
‘You might want to tonight,’ she said, and turned away, quickly. I used the opportunity to dash upstairs. Obviously, they both thought I was going to my room to cry (or pray, perhaps), but I was just eager to get the Dreaminator out from under my jacket.
And so here I am and it’s nearly midnight.
The Dreaminator’s ring of lights seems to glow with a greater intensity than the ones Seb and I had and seems more green than blue. Does that mean it’s more effective?
Uncle Pete’s sleeping on the sofa downstairs and Mormor is in Mam’s room. The TV went off a while ago. Now everything’s quiet. And I’m wide awake.
Then my phone pings with an incoming text message. It’s from Susan.
There is a link to tap on, and when I do it opens a picture. It is a scan of an old newspaper article.
Edinburgh Evening News
Mystery death of ‘Mystic’s’ son
2 March 1988. The death of a teenager at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh has left doctors ‘baffled’.
Uri McKinley, 13, was admitted to the unit on February 23. He had fallen into a ‘spontaneous deep coma’ and doctors were unable to wake him.
His condition rapidly declined and he died peacefully two days ago. Doctors have been unable to pinpoint a cause of death and the matter has been referred to the Scottish legal authorities.
Uri was the only son of entertainer and self-styled ‘Mystic of the Highlands’ Kenneth McKinley and his wife Jeanette.
Mr McKinley toured Scotland in the sixties and seventies, but retired from public life a few years ago.
If I had had any remaining doubts about the seriousness of Seb’s situation, that short article has removed them all.
The more I think about being wide awake, the more it scares me. I have to get back into that dream. Seb is in real danger. He could die, like Kenneth McKinley’s son.
It’s down to me. Everything is down to me.