It was incredible to see how easily he slipped into make-believe. In his mind, the room really was transformed into space, although exactly what he thought space was she had no idea. She remembered doing the same in her own childhood. She had gone through a spell when she was obsessed with some He-Man and She-Ra dolls her dad had bought for her. She had played with them for hours, inventing all kinds of scenarios and stories in which they were rescued from danger or won battles or made and broke friendships. She had really believed in them.

And for Max the moon and stars and Narnia were just as real as anything else. As far as he was concerned, Warrington Town Centre was as remote and exotic as the moon. They both existed only in his mind.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘There’s the man in the moon.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘He lives on the moon. You can see his face on a dark night.’

Max looked at her. ‘Can I see it tonight?’

Maggie tried to smile. ‘You have to be outside.’

‘Oh,’ Max said. ‘Outside.’

Outside was a place Max had heard of, but never been. For him it was a bit like space, or Hogwarts, or Narnia.

‘We can see him in our imagination, though,’ Maggie said. ‘There he is!’

‘What’s he doing?’ Max asked.

‘He’s digging up some moon rocks to eat,’ Maggie said.

‘He eats rocks?’

‘The moon is made of green cheese. That’s what he eats.’

‘Where’s his mummy?’ Max asked.

Maggie’s answer caught in her throat. He hadn’t asked where are his friends or where is his brother, but where’s his mummy. It was an unwelcome reminder of the smallness of his life.

‘She’s at his moon house,’ Maggie said. ‘She loves him very much.’

‘I love you very much,’ Max said, his eyes nearly closed. ‘And I want to go back to the moon.’

He was starting to fall asleep, his body relaxing. Maggie kissed him on the forehead as his breathing deepened.

‘I love you too,’ she whispered. ‘More than you will ever know.’

3

Maggie was nearly asleep when she heard him coming. She always knew he was on his way; there was a kind of scraping noise, like rock or steel grinding, which she assumed was a door of some kind hiding the entrance to the stairs that led to the room.

She had imagined it many times since the first time she had heard it. Was it a manhole cover in the corner of his garage? Or a heavy stone in his garden? Or a thick wooden cover hidden at the back of a wardrobe? She had no idea; all she knew was that, twenty or so seconds after she heard the noise it made when he moved it, the door to the room would open, and he would be there.