When I bend over the eyepiece, the microscope turns out to be a telescope after all. It gives me a view of the sideways building, some distance from the edge of the Sweet Dreams platform. I have never been able to see up there very well from ground level, partly because the glare of neon obscures the details of the building. But the microscope/telescope resolves individual tables that must be bolted to the side of the building; they never slide off. I look at one table and see the candle flame burning horizontally instead of vertically. There is a white-haired person in a wheelchair there – could almost swear it was O, but I can only see the back of their head.

My first thought is that it can’t be O. She doesn’t use Sweet Dreams. My second thought is to remember that I’m in a natural dream, no earring, so the Sweet Dreams platform isn’t even really here. My subconscious has put O up on that building, the one I’ve been trying to get into but can’t. Why?

Ever so slowly, the person turns towards me as if they know I am here. Anticipating a view of O’s grouchy face in the telescope, instead I see the Creeper’s mask with its chemical symbols.

I know that it sees me, too. I start to hyperventilate.

There’s a sound of drumming, angry, aggressive. Someone is pounding on the flat door.

‘Charlie! Charlie, wake up FFS!’

* * *

I wake to the distant honking of O saying words I can’t make out, then Shandy’s voice sounding breathless.

‘Let me in. I need her, we’ve got plans for this morning but she’s overslept.’

I hear Shandy’s footsteps coming down the hall.

‘I didn’t realise,’ O says mildly. ‘Will it take all day? I’ve booked Charlie with a client later this afternoon.’

‘It shouldn’t take too long,’ Shandy says. ‘I need her to help me with something. Family business.’

I’m struggling to sit up and wrap my hair when the door to my room bursts open and Shandy is there, holding her finger on her lips and rolling her eyes in silent command for me to go along with whatever she says.

‘Oh good, you’re almost ready!’ she cries. ‘Hurry up, don’t want to be late.’

* * *

Shandy refuses to answer my questions about what we are doing in Belsize Park, where Bernard Zborowski lives, but whatever is going on, I know it can’t be good. We get to Bernard’s road and walk past the house. Shandy has brought two shopping bags full of random groceries. She leans on a plane tree, pretending to rummage in her bags, occasionally glancing up.

‘What are you doing, Shand?’ I hiss. ‘Please can we just go before he comes home and sees us?’

‘The postie should be along any moment. Let me know when you see them.’