During the winding drive to Millimba, Sylvie sits with me in the back of the Land Rover. She’s agreed to give me the spell but has told Dad she will take no responsibility if something goes wrong.

‘You do understand that you must come back within twenty-four hours?’ she says. ‘If you can’t find your mum within that time, you must go to the exact place you landed and bring yourself back. You understand?’

I nod.

‘But she will land wherever Merry is, right?’ says Dad over his shoulder.

‘That’s the idea,’ says Sylvie.

We left the circus in a big rush; everyone seemed to think we were driving somewhere to collect Mum. I found Kit in our favourite tree and he swung down and gave me a tight hug, even though he’s not the huggy type. He knew I needed one.

Dad swerves off the highway onto the Millimba road and takes a phone call from Vince, who’s organising the pack-up of the torn big top.

‘What might have gone wrong for Mum?’ I ask Sylvie quietly. I’d prefer Dad didn’t hear this. ‘Why do you think she didn’t make it back?’

‘There are many possible reasons. Landing in water is one – you need a certain amount of earth around you to come back. An electrical storm. Or anything that simply stops you getting back to the place you landed.’ She rubs her hands together. ‘Now, listen. I’ll tell you the spell. All but the last line. It’s complicated because it’s complicated magic. Swyn. Boed i’r grym fy llenwi, a’m cynnal, a’m cadw’n ddiogel. May the power enter me, hold me, keep me safe.’

I repeat the words back but can only whisper. My throat is tight with foreboding.

‘Cymer fi i fyd arall, cymer fi i fyd lle bu fy nghyd-ddewin o’r blaen. Take me to another realm, take me where my fellow magician has been before.’

At the Millimba showground, Sylvie finds the stick she banged into the ground and makes a circle around it, using twigs from a nearby fig tree. She takes hold of my shoulders and turns me. ‘Face east. Now, the last line of the spell is this: Cymer fi ati hi. Got it?’

I nod and whisper it to myself. ‘What does it mean?’ I ask.

‘Take me to her.’

Dad helps me do up the stiff zip on my too-big, musty-smelling fleece jacket. It’s actually Mum’s jacket, which Dad dug out of a storage box. He kisses me lightly on the top of my head. ‘I love you,’ he whispers. ‘I will always love you, here or there, wherever you may be. My love for you just always is.’ He hands me a photo of Mum sitting on the steps of our van, along with a hundred-dollar note, and goes to stand by the Land Rover.