‘Isn’t there a law against using magic for greedy purposes?’ I say.

‘Well …’ She shrugs. ‘When I used to go to parallel universes, I made money playing cards. I’d use magic to win and then I’d take the money and buy things. Bringing things back is fine. It’s just money that seems to be a problem. I sold the things once I got back here.’ She waves her hands around. ‘I never got a consequence, so …’

‘What did you need so much money for?’

‘Oh, equipment for the circus. Costumes. The van. Jewellery. A holiday with the kids. I had money stashed in the caravan, in a few secret compartments, but I think your mum and Vincent must have spent it because it’s not there now. Anyway, once I get my full powers back I’ll be able to go to parallel universes again, as long as there’s someone to come and collect me. We could save your circus and really spruce it up. And you and I could have the most amazing magic act the world has ever seen.’

Just as we reach the showground gates, everything she’s been saying falls into place, like a final jigsaw piece clicking into position.

I stop walking. ‘Hang on. You don’t actually believe I can get Mum back, do you? Have you ever believed I can do it?’

Before she can reply, a panicked shout comes from the circus camp. The big top is lit up – which it never is at this time of night. I hurry through the gate and see Dad, high up our tallest ladder, which is leaning against the big top. Down below, Jerry is frantically banging in pegs and Diego’s tightening ropes. Kit starts up Dad’s ladder, a rope coiled over one shoulder. There’s another shout, then – and it happens so slowly, as if in a dream – half of the big top crumples and the ladder tips sideways.

I’m running even as Kit and Dad fall heavily onto the ground. Kit gets up straight away, but Dad doesn’t move. Everyone crowds around and as I reach them, Jerry’s helping Dad sit up.

‘Are you okay?’ I ask. He has a smear of something black on one cheek.

‘Where have you been?’ he demands. ‘You said you were with Kit. You lied to me!’

‘I was with Sylvie. Are you all right?’ As I speak, there’s a great ripping sound behind us and the last of the tent collapses with a great, sad whump. The king poles have fallen inwards and are tangled in the canvas.

Dad groans and presses his hands to his eyes.

Everyone gathers near the ticket office van.