It wasn’t as if he didn’t have dreams. Real dreams. Dreams of seeing the world. Seeing how people lived. The places they lived. The things they built. And he wanted to start with the Eiffel Tower, but how could he explain that? It was just there were so many things in his life. So many things that filled his house and his brain that he had never had time to actually think about what he wanted. Mr. Garraway was still looking at him.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, but just give it some thought. Some consideration if you like. Ponder upon it if you will.”

Marty nodded.

“Right, then,” he said as he started walking past Marty, “I need a coffee.”

And just like that, their chat was over. Mr. Garraway slapped him on the back with his enormous hand until he almost winded him.

“Thanks, sir.”

“You’re welcome, sonny.”

Mr. Garraway strode out and along the corridor, leaving Marty in the doorway, his head still spinning.

Gracie had lain on her bed thinking about how to tell her dad she was off on an adventure with Marty and Grandad. The only problem was that Dad positively and absolutely hated Grandad. Not that they even knew each other properly. They’d only spoken to argue, really. Her dad referred to him as Bonkers Allotment Man. Gracie couldn’t really blame him, as Grandad was always lighting fires and burning things so that columns of smoke would waft into their pristine kitchen, or he’d be at the allotment at some ungodly hour on a Sunday noisily hacking away at some wood with his ax, and of course, there was the annual fish stink fest. The chances of him agreeing to her going on a day trip with him were exactly less than a big fat zero. The only option left to her was to lie, or perhaps to let her father assume some things and not correct him.