Have you ever had a dream where you are naked in public?

It’s not exactly unusual. Apparently ‘being naked in public’ is the most common bad dream people have. It sits ahead of falling, flying, being chased and being unprepared for an exam.

In my recurring bad dream, I’m at school, although not this school – my primary school. I’m in the playground and, looking down, I realise to my complete horror that I am completely naked. Not a stitch on, and the funny thing is that nobody seems to have noticed. If I carry on walking, and dodging into doorways, people just ignore me. I don’t have far to go until I get to the cloakrooms, where there will be some clothes on a hook that I can put on. But even though I am walking in the right direction, the cloakroom gets no closer, while I am becoming more and more certain that people will notice that I have nothing on. The embarrassment builds into a real fear that everyone will turn and look, and I eventually wake up. I know the dream so well that sometimes I tell myself, in my dream, ‘Oh, Ethel, it’s just that silly dream again. Why don’t you wake up?’ And I do.

I agree: other people’s dreams are usually very boring. I wouldn’t normally tell anyone about a dream, because I find myself getting bored stiff when other people tell me theirs. But this one is important because when I emerge from the wings of the school stage that is exactly how I feel.

I am naked as the day I was born, with one major difference: nobody can see me.

A strange feeling? You bet.

I am onstage, in front of the whole school, with no clothes on.

For a moment or two, I just stand there, rigid with fear.

I’m expecting at any minute to hear someone shout:

‘Look! There’s Ethel Leatherhead with no clothes on!’

But they don’t.

Instead, Boydy continues to stumble his way through a guitar piece, and it’s awful. People are starting to giggle.

I come up behind Boydy and lean in close.

‘It’s me, Ethel.’

He gasps and jerks his head round, causing him to miss another note.

The audience are openly laughing now, and I hear the first ‘boo’, even though mocking the performers is strictly not allowed.

Then Boydy just stops altogether.

I reach forward and gently take the guitar from him.

‘Let go. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.’ I’m whispering so that the microphone doesn’t pick it up.

With his left hand, he releases his grip on the guitar’s neck, and I slowly lift it a bit higher.

The audience falls silent, and then I hear a small gasp, which builds.

Into his ear I say, ‘Now pretend you’re making it fly.’

I’ll give him this: he’s good. He gets it straight away, and moves his hands in mysterious gestures, as I make the guitar sway from side to side and pick up the tune where Boydy left off.

I can’t actually do much playing while I’m moving the guitar around – I’m not that good. But I do manage to pull off some near-accurate chords and stuff in between more elaborate twists and turns of the instrument, and the audience are loving it!

Boydy fixes a grin on his face and turns his head a little towards me, saying through his grin, ‘Ethel, are you, erm … Are you naked?’

‘Shh. Yes. I am, obviously. Don’t even think about it.’

He keeps his fixed smile. ‘I wasn’t. Honest. Until now.’

‘Shut up.’

‘Got it.’

A ripple of applause starts, and then a cheer as I lift the guitar higher. I’m laughing inside as I imagine what the audience is seeing: it must look truly magical!

Boydy is grinning like mad, and waving his arms around as if he’s conducting the guitar’s movements as we go from one side of the stage to the other, and I’m feeling so confident that I tell him, ‘Follow me!’

There’s an aisle up the centre of the seating, which leads to the rear doors of the theatre. With Boydy following and waving his arms, and me strumming the guitar as best I can, I go down the steps at the front of the stage and up the aisle.

I know: it’s a massive risk. But I’ve led a pretty risk-free life so far, and I think I have a bit of catching up to do.

I think it’s the thrill that gives me the confidence. The thrill of doing something so outrageous yet being completely unseen.

At any time, someone could reach out and touch me, but they’re all so awestruck that no one does. They just watch, open-mouthed, as Boydy – grinning like a madman – conducts his floating guitar down the centre aisle, through the audience, surfing a wave of amazement.

People are shaking their heads in astonishment, their mouths agape, eyes shining, just loving it, and loving him, and I just want this to go on for ever.

Someone please tell me: why is it that when I’m enjoying myself the most, there’s a little voice in the back of my head telling me that it’s all going to go wrong? It means I can never lose myself ‘in the moment’, however much that’s supposed to be a good thing to do.

Instead, I always come back to what Gram would say at such a time:

‘Pride, Ethel, comes before a fall.’

It’s not meant literally, obviously, but I should have seen it coming.

Or should I? I don’t know: how could anyone?

I suppose it’s just Jesmond and Jarrow Knight; wherever they are, you have to be on your guard, and I do spot them, halfway to the back, sitting on the edge of the aisle.

With water bottles. How innocent is that?

Not water pistols, or Super Soakers, or anything like that. Just water bottles, with those sports tops that have the little hole in them.

I see Jesmond out of the corner of my eye, but I’m too late.

He already has the water bottle raised, a stupid grin all over his stupid face. He hands something to his sister – his phone, I think. Then he squeezes the bottle, a jet of water firing directly towards Boydy. It’s just a thin spout of water, but it gets me right in the face and on my hair.

Beside him, Jarrow is holding the phone, filming.